The Black Eyed Peas announcement of their hiatus was one of the most beautiful sounds ever to hit the human ear. Scientists have recently revealed that the announcement overtook such sounds as Verdi’s La Traviata and Margaret Thatcher’s resignation speech as one of the most delightful sounds ever uttered.

That was until they decided they would eventually come back.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that the multi-million selling idiot’s lantern known as the Black Eyed Peas were going to go and work on their own projects (which would presumably mean Fergie is working on yet another Golden Shower fetish video), frontfool William or Will.I.Am as wankily insists on being called told Ellen DeGeneres that they would be back in good time.

While we all hope that “in good time” means when Hell freezes over and the spectres of death stalk the earth, we imagine it will probably be more like a couple of years. That means that Summer 2013 will see every single sports wrap, advert, TV talent show and blithering idiot using the latest heavily sampled BEP tune as their “anfem”. Can this be allowed?

It doesn’t matter. We don’t have any control over it.

Of course, many possible explanations for the Peas’ hiatus have been touted with many pundits suggesting that “the other two” are going to use the time to convince people that they actually offer something to the group and Will.I.Am will spend most of the time trying to convince the world that he’s never ridden rough-shod over Cheryl Cole.

However, hecklerspray can exclusively reveal that we know why they’ve taken a hiatus.

As everyone knows, the Black Eyed Peas have now sampled every single song ever written by human hands, leaving only ELO’s catalogue (of course written by renowned android Roy Wood) untouched. The only reason the Black Eyed Peas would go on hiatus is blatantly obvious. There is no more music for them to ruin.

By waiting a couple of years, more songs will have been made and thus they will have some material to make a couple of hideous albums and make another pile of cash before disappearing back into the off-key, auto-tuned ether. Are the Black Eyed Peas a self-fulfilling prophecy? It’s possible.

Lucky us.

Have you noticed a trend in pop that sees artists sampling any old shit, rather than sourcing something that works right for a song? Eminem sampled Haddaway, Derulo used ‘Day-Oh (The Banana Boat Song)’ and Cher Lloyd unironically sang the tune from ‘Oh My Darling, Clementine’.

Who is to blame for this? The Black Eyed Peas, that’s who. Have you heard their use of ‘The Time Of My Life’? Crow-barred, lowest common denominating nonsense to provide modernity to familiarity, thereby, maximising sales and opportunities to get played at weddings and bar mitzvahs.

And now, having fully completed Operation Spoil Music For Everyone, they’re able to take a nice long break, knowing that their work is done. Seriously. They’re totally splitting up.

Pop the corks! Roll out the bunting! Put the heating on for half an hour longer than usual! The Black Eyed Peas, the scourge of ears around the world and owners of the title of Worst Super Bowl Halftime Show EVER, are going away for a long time!

HURRAY!

Of course, we won’t get rid of them that easily. They’re like cockroaches. You stomp on ‘em and they leak eggs, ready to make more abominations.

One of the band members who isn’t Fergie or will.i.am… possibly the one that looks like the Jitsu He-Man figure, said:

“We’re going to take a little vacation and focus on our personal things.”

will.i.am threatened the world via dead-eyed Ellen DeGeneres:

“[BEP] always have two cycles of records and then we take a break.”

“When we take breaks you know, we work on side projects and get our personal stuff in order to then come back and make beautiful music”

BEAUTIFUL MUSIC? BEAUTIFUL?

Haw, poor Michael Forever. The beleaguered tribute show to Michael Jackson is about as useful as a teapot made from Rizla. Basically, half the family hate it, the other half performing at it, joined by a cast of also-rans and nobodies.

And now, someone you will have heard of – the Black Eyed Peas – have cancelled their scheduled appearance at this weekend’s concert at Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium due to “unavoidable circumstances”.

Those ‘circumstances’ seem to be a realisation that this is going to be the worst gig in the history of performing arts. Yes, that includes BEP’s Super Bowl halftime show.

One of the biggest names on the bill in Smokey Robinson who, in fairness, is a bona fide genius… but alas, anyone who saw him at the Electric Proms will know that, thanks to the miracle of surgery, Robinson now looks like he’s permanently got a pair of tights over his face.

That wonderful voice is now not enough to stop children from cowering in his presence.

Chris Hunt, chief executive officer of Global Live Events, isn’t phased though. He says:

“It is with regret that we announce the removal of Black Eyed Peas from the Michael Forever bill, but I look forward to a great night with other earth shattering artists.”

Earth shattering you say? Who might that be?

Well, hosted by the hate-inducing Fearne Cotton, revellers will be able to gawp at Marlon, Tito, Jackie and LaToya all looking like lost toddlers on a big stage, while Cee Lo Green, Leona Lewis, Alien Ant Farm, 3T and JLS will roll up and do their best to keep a straight face while talking about Michael Jackson’s cadaver.

Sadly, Kiss have been removed after everyone remembered that Gene Simmons said:

“Well, you know, where there’s smoke there’s fire. There’s no question in my mind he molested those kids. Not a doubt.”

Oh well.

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Bands and gimmicks – who’d have thought that some artists use them as a fall back when we realise that the music they release is gash? Fake London type Pete Doherty has a hilarious heroin routine which sees him in constant bother with the local law enforcement. Elsewhere, X-Factor winner Leona Lewis continues in her quest to make a tin of paint seem more exciting than her personality.

So one band we can never work is American chumps The Black Eyed Peas. Fronted by a man whose mother has a terrible understanding of grammar, will.i.am and joined by Fergie, a woman who isn’t shy of urinating herself on-stage for either her own sick pleasure, or fans of golden showers. Grammar and whizzing your pants. Some gimmick!

Anogther trick used by the band is to employ the thinking that using choruses from other people’s songs and releasing them for thick people to buy. However, one of their songs will never be played again. You see, ‘My Humps’ has gotten into all-sorts of complicated legal mishaps.

The song itself is something Hugh Hefner would give a personal seal of approval on. It sounds like some sort of appreciation of women with small breasts. How refreshing to hear that The Black Eyed Peas won’t discriminate people depending on the size of their mammaries.

However, if some of the hecklerspray writers got their moobs out and rubbed them in the face of Will.I.Am, we doubt he’d be inking raps that sing our praises. Feel free to view the video monstrosity for yourself, featuring all sorts of over the top brand placement for stuff you’ll never be able to afford:

At the time of its release, My Humps sold bucket loads, but not all of the work on the track can be accredited to the band.

Due to the tedious nature of sampling, certain parts of My Humps had been borrowed from a track from some unknown DJ going under the catchy title of DJ Orrin Lynn Tolliver.

Released under the name Sexual Harassment with collaborator James McCant, there is a striking resemblance to what The Black Eyed Peas vomited out:

Squabbles broke out over the use of the sample and a judge subsequently ruled in favour of DJ Orrin Lynn Tolliver, rewarding him with $1.2 million in damages and profits – but not Sexual Harassment. Confused? Let us badly explain.

This is where you’d probably expect us to go on a rant where we’d call Will.I.Am and his band a load of sample lifting bandits. However, the original song was recorded by DJ Tolliver with James McCant. McCant was the person who seemingly licensed out the track to The Black Eyed Peas without telling his mate, DJ Tolliver. He got upset that he was never asked and then ironically made more money that if he’d given permission. The moral of the story? Basically, if your mate sells out without your knowledge, you can pretty much cash in at some point.

Does will.i.am know about this fierce legal battle? Probably not, not judging by this quote anyway:

“It wasn’t lyrical miracles. It got to the point where we didn’t want to play it no more. But the beat was rocking.”

Aww, a “lyrical miracle.” It sounds like something that would appear in a gangster rappers first “wurdz” book when they learn to read and write at the age of 14.

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If the Black Eyed Peas brand of dreadful music wasn’t bad enough, they’re going to infect your games console by making a game for you to get furious with, leaving you kicking your controllers out of the window and throttling yourself with the plug flex.

That’s right! will.i.am, Fergie and the other two who don’t seem to do much will be prancing around in a game… but what will it be like?

Well, rumour has it that it’ll be one of those dreary things where you dance and singalonga to the monstrous hits they’ve made. However, if the developers are reading this, they should hear our ideas first because they’re miles better and guaranteed to make they game sell roughly a million less copies.

BEP have teamed up with Ubisoft, whose created the popular Just Dance software. They’re now going to make The Black Eyed Peas Experience on Nintendo Wii, Xbox 360 and ZX Spectrum 48k

Ubisoft head Yves Guillemot says:

“The Black Eyed Peas are a worldwide phenomenon and Ubisoft is the worldwide leader in dance games – together we are going to make The Black Eyed Peas Experience a game that fans around the world will love”.

Fergie adds:

“It’s a perfect fit for us. The Black Eyed Peas are bringing the party to the people”

That’s all well and good, but wouldn’t it be better if a game was created on Fergie’s bladder called ‘Correct Yoself Before You We Yoself’ where players are encouraged to warble hysterically while soiling themselves? The grace in which you deal with public urination will get you points, with bonuses being offered for little accidental poos that you do.

Or perhaps there could be a Streets Of Rage style game where the four Peas roam the streets with pipes and knives… however, the object is to get your arse handed to you as comprehensively as possible. That would be easy enough with the one with the stupid name who is going blind.

Maybe, finally, there could be a game created by Ubisoft that is an original idea that has no awful celebrity tie-in? How about that?

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The Super Bowl is one of the most baffling and brilliant events in the calendar. Three hour long national anthems, jets flying overhead, pomp and more pomp, fireworks, halftime shows and roughly 7300 commercial breaks all herald the final of one of the slowest sports on Earth.

Effectively, American Football is crown-green bowling as played by robots and extras from The Salute Of The Jugger.

It was, of course, just the tonic we all needed. A game many of us don’t understand, yet, filled with enough pizazz to distract us from all the horrible things going on in the world (although, that said, the constant referring to war veterans, fighter jets, patriots and talk of exploding rockets in the Star Spangled Banner didn’t help). Last night saw the whole world united and speaking with one voice. It was a beautiful moment that brought many close to tears. As one, the world stood together and said in a single voice… “Fuck. The Black Eyed Peas are awful aren’t they?”

If you didn’t know, then you probably don’t care that the Green Bay Packers won the Super Bowl last night. This is a good thing, mainly for two reasons. The first is that they’re owned by their fans as opposed to some wealthy oil baron or balding magnate with a head like a dinosaur egg. They’re a proper ‘people’s team’. And, much more importantly than all that, is that the Green Bay Packers have a much nicer typeface than the Pittsburgh Steelers.

The kit of American Football is incredibly important to the sport. Firstly, the helmets are really cool and secondly, to give the whole spectacle a grisly edge, players are required to wear tights so that you can clearly see the outline of their withered genitalia, presumably battered by rough manhandling during the sport itself and constant whippings from high-jinx with wet towels in the dressing room.

American football, like the country that invented it, is a spectacular and weird sport.

The same can’t be said of the woeful trophy though. The Super Bowl prize is hilariously awful. The design of the trophy is woefully poor, as was the cheap looking Camaro that is offered to the MVP (or Man of the Match) of the final. All that endeavour for a cruddy, boxy looking car, a terrible looking trophy and a special ring that Super Bowl winners receive.

And the sport itself is incredibly ugly for the most part. It seems that, in a squad of around 60,000 people, only four or five people actually get to have a go with the ball. The rest of the team is employed to simply run at the opposition as fast as they can in an attempt to make the outside of their bodies enter the innards of the other. It’s like watching a sex-scene in a world where romance has been replaced with android bears.

Of course, this will be news to Americans who don’t even watch the sport. They tune in for the Super Bowl to simply eat as many nachos as possible, dribble at the commercials and wait for the halftime show.

Last night’s halftime show was desperately poor. The Black Eyed Peas took to the stage dressed like Tron: The Musical, faced with what seemed like a brainwashed cult, all dressed in white and fawning with reverence. Later, these mindless minions could be seen dancing with cardboard boxes on their heads.

Thanks to the Black Eyed Peas not being very good at writing songs, they decided to nix the notion of doing a setlist of tunes in favour of a Stars On 45/Black Lace/Jive Bunny medley. Which just happened to feature Usher for absolutely no reason.

Tipped-up goth flavoured Pot Noodle, Slash, appeared to wank notes all over the place too, to become the biggest slag music has ever produced. Seriously. Pop stars may favour the guest rap, but Slash is always lurking in the shadows, waiting to play as many pointless notes as possible. When Slash dies, he’ll probably do a widdly solo over the sound of his own life support machine. Still, at least he didn’t look like Cyndi Lauper like anthem singer Christina Aguilera did.

Back to the game and a continued obsession and confusion with all things American from this side of the pond, the Super Bowl continued to be played in shards, with the game never wanting to ebb and flow, save for the occasional interception and frankly bizarre moment when the game got a war veteran to stand in the end zone and wave at everyone for a minute or two.

And so, a mindtrick worth of statistics, impenetrable jargon and more numbers than the dreams of an autistic bingo caller, the Super Bowl rolled in-and-out of town with maximum fanfare and players with the most amusing names in sport (we’re looking at you Zombo, Willie Colon and Markuise Pouncey), only to be forgotten almost immediately by everyone outside of America…

…’til next year.

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The Superbowl is one of the most peculiar spectacles on Earth. For a start, the whole world reports on it despite not even having the vaguest idea what is going on. Of course, the basic elements of American Football are incredibly easy to dissect. Get ball – score touchdown – wear helmet.

However, elsewhere, it’s utterly mystifying. Man shouts a series of numbers like he’s gone mad watching Lost, then, swings it under his gusset like bull’s bollocks, before handing it to someone who launches it toward a man who gets jumped on, leaving the commentators to say 96th, 3rd and down or something. Then they repeat the process and go to an ad-break.

The Superbowl of course, has the longest half-time break ever (it lasts for approximately 42 hours) and has bands on while the fans run on the pitch. For a bit. And this year, the entertainment will be in the shape of The Black Eyed Peas.

Of course, The Black Eyed Peas are a strange spectacle in their own right. When they’re staring at you with wide eyes, wondering why on Earth you’d be offended by a song called ‘Let’s Get Retarded’, Fergie is urinating inside her own trousers on-stage, making her the almost palatable version of GG Allin.

And we never thought we’d compare those two. Ever.

Anyway, there’s been some gigantically famous acts on during the Superbowl half-time show in the past. You may have seen Bruce Springsteen, The Who, Paul McCartney and Prince playing. Yeah. And now The Black Eyed Peas. Whoever goes to the Cowboys Stadium on February 6th will no doubt feel shortchanged.

It’s like being ordering steak and getting a drawing of cow in return.

We still don’t understand the fascination with American football, but of course, that in turn will make us curious and tune in for the thing as usual and report on that all-important Who Will Do The Big Expensive Commercial Break Thingy This Year?

So yeah. GO SPORTS! TOUCHDOWN AND 8th! NICKEL AND DIME! HUP! HUP!

Sorry. We learned all we knew and promptly forgot it from John Madden’s games on the Megadrive.

*ahem*

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Michael Jackson’s corpse has had an incredibly busy time of things hasn’t it? First, his ghost appeared on some news programme in America, as well as appearing under a giant silver cloche at his mind-melting send-off that was televised and sneered at by Trevor Nelson. Then everyone poked at it in their minds like an open sore so they could cry all over again whilst listening to Man in the Mirror.

Now he’s got a new album coming out! He’s like Tupac or something! And it already has a bad review!

Black Eyed Peas thingy (singer? Rapper?) will.i.am has insisted that an album of unreleased Michael Jackson songs should not be put out.

So does he think the album is a load of old shit?

Alas, no. He thinks the album shouldn’t be put out as a mark of respect to the late singer.

As well you mental Michael Jackson fans know, producer Darkchild was hoping to release a record of unheard Jackson tracks.

However, will.i.am believes that Jackson wouldn’t have wanted the songs to be released without his giving his final seal of approval. Very respectful for a man who once sang “Let’s get retarded!” and played a part in Perez Hilton getting a smack in the mouth.

Discussing the project with The AP, he said:

“I don’t think that should ever come out. That’s bad. He was a perfectionist and he wouldn’t have wanted it that way. How you gonna release Michael Jackson when Michael Jackson ain’t here to bless it?

“Now that he is not part of the process, what are they doing? Why would you put a record out like that? Because he was a friend of mine, I just think that’s disrespectful. What’s wrong with what he already contributed to the world?

“So what? You don’t disrespect someone when they’re gone… How much can you suck from his energy?… Freaking parasites!”

Aaaah! But Mr Iams, you’ve missed a trick here!

Mr Darkchild hooked up with Derek Acorah who, of course, contacted Michael Jackson in the spirit world. When Jackson’s spectre said “say hello to Quincy Jones”, he also whispered “and tell Darkchild to release an album of unreleased material. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t made a decent record since ‘Dangerous’, and most of that was average tosh’.

Don’t have a go at us Michael Jackson fans. Take it up with Acorah. That’s what he definitely told us.

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Everyone loves Cheryl Cole – what with her shiny hair, impenetrable regional accent and fondness for morons.

She’s adorable. Cheryl Cole is so adorable, in fact, that the Black Eyed Peas are quickly falling under her spell. There have long been rumours that Will.I.Am and Cheryl Cole either had or are having some sort of romance, and now his bandmate Fergie has joined the party by admitting a crush on Cheryl too. Cheryl’s a lucky woman – what we wouldn’t give to be wooed by an occasionally incontinent bisexual former meth addict.

So that’s half of the Black Eyed Peas who now love Cheryl Cole. Maybe more – for all we know the other two could be in love with her as well. It’s hard to say for sure, though, because we don’t know how they feel. Or what their names are. Or what they look like, actually.

Whatever it is about Cheryl Cole – maybe it’s her absurd dress sense or her ability to cry on live TV – she certainly knows how to make men fall for her. Right now, for example, nobody knows whether or now she’s going out with Will.I.Am from the Black Eyed Peas or that dancer bloke. And, don’t forget, Ashley Cole loved her so much that he only ever knowingly vomited on one drunk hairdresser during intercourse behind her back. For Ashley Cole, that’s an impressive display of commitment.

But it’s not just men who love Cheryl Cole. According to a report – albeit a report that appears to have been written one-handed by a sweaty 14-year-old boy – Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas also wants a slice of Cheryl’s pie. And by ‘pie’ we think we mean ‘vagina’. The Sun reports:

The Black Eyed Peas singer said Cheryl was “hot enough to turn anyone”. Fergie, 35, added: “Some girls you look at and think, ‘Damn, you shouldn’t look that good’. Cheryl is one of them. She has this quality that turns powerful men into giggly schoolboys. Any guy that ends up with her will be lucky. It might not be a man. I’d take her out on a date and she knows it.”

It looks like Cheryl’s spoilt for choices at the moment, so who will she end up with? The dancer who’s linked to her because he wants to be more famous? The rapper who’s linked to her because she wants to be more famous? The woman primarily known for having the weakest bladder in pop? Some other numbskull who wants to momentarily boost their profile by pretending to fancy her? We just don’t know.

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When historians look back on 2009, beyond the wars and the recessions, they’ll see that it was a good year for music.

Actually, that’s a lie. They’ll see that it was a terrible year for music. But at least it was a good year for music awards shows. So far we’ve had Kanye West breaking Taylor Swift‘s heart in front of the world at the MTV VMAs and, even better, a full-on gay kiss and Michael Jackson winning all sorts of stuff he wasn’t qualified for at the AMAs. Top that, Grammys.

What’s that? You can’t? You’re just going to nominate Beyonce, Taylor Swift and the Black Eyed Peas for everything and then slink off into the background? Oh, OK.

All music awards shows have their particular little quirks – the MTV VMAs like to provoke controversy, the People’s Choice Awards is the only show voted for by the sub-literate and the Brits is where you go if you want to see a nervous, under-rehearsed comedian dying on his arse in front of thousands of disinterested industry bigwigs – and that goes for the Grammys, too. What’s the USP of the Grammys? Length.

Everything about the Grammys is too long. The speeches, the performances, the lecture on why illegal downloading is bad, the balding ponytails of the record label CEOs – it’s all an interminable slog designed specifically to make anyone who makes it all the way through feel simultaneously elated and completely depressed. And that goes for the Grammy nominations show, too, which is just like the Grammys except nobody wins anything and there isn’t any elation when its finished.

The Grammy nominations took place yesterday, and all the headlines seem to revolve around the acts who pulled in the most amount of nods. The New York Daily News reports:

Beyonce’s great big booty ruled this year’s Grammy nominations. The rump-happy star earned ten nods Wednesday night, nudging ahead of the year’s second most celebrated contender: Nashville-based cutie Taylor Swift, who nabbed eight. The top stars in play also included the Black Eyed Peas, neo-soul singer Maxwell, and Kanye West, each of whom garnered six bids.

Great – Beyonce, Taylor Swift and Kanye West get to be in the same room together again. We can’t imagine how that’ll turn out. And the Black Eyed Peas were always going to get a load of Grammy nominations, because they’re always nominated for everything, even though they’re awful. But Maxwell? Maxwell? Maxwell from the mid-1990s? Maxwell from no songs we can remember? Is he still around? Weird.

But it’s important to remember that a show as gargantuan as the Grammys can’t just give everything to a handful of acts. The Grammys celebrate music as a whole. So outside of this circle, who else has been nominated for one of these prestigious little awards?

The Ting Tings? Christ.

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Glastonbury Festival is imminent. You should know this because every single stinking update on Facebook is counting down to the non-event like some mud-clogged Doomsday Clock.

People from all over the world are bracing themselves for a weekend of squinting into pixelated screens three miles from the stage, dodging hugs from Earth Mothers and ducking lobbed cups full of dog puke.

Oh, and Status Quo are on.

Glasto is a phenomenon, no question. A rampaging, all-consuming one at that. Then again, so was swine flu. Without doubt, the Glastonbury Festival envelopes every single journalist in the country like local farmhands staring at the circus truck full of freaks rolling into town. Except this truck invariably runs on maize oil and smells of a mixture of B.O. and patchouli oil.

Not that anyone lets on.

You see, ask a reveller about the spectacle and they’ll tell you one of two things. The first is to “lighten up”, which is easier said than done when you’ve got 4,000 mongs shouting “BOLLOOOOCKS!” in waves across a field full of human shit and nine guy-ropes wrapped around your leg after a dash to the overflowing cesspools at three in the morning. The second is that Glasto “isn’t a just a festival… it’s an experience, man” So is getting a punch in the mouth. So is sitting in a bus shelter getting spat at. So is taking a leak in a swimming pool.

Having attended around a dozen of Britain’s festivals, I know exactly what ‘the experience’ entails. It revolves around bumping into pissed, pink-faced lads in Stone Roses t-shirts honking their lungs up into metal bins which have been painted by local school children and trying to avoid the onslaught of humus-weaving middle class hipster mung-munchers who favour sarongs and bindhis for the weekend in an attempt to fool themselves that they’re markedly different from the rest of the world, despite the fact that they’re dressed like every other ‘burb-dwelling poindexter, numbering 40,000 at one of the world’s most commercial events.

Even if you’re going ‘for the music’, you’re still an idiot. Glastonbury is one of the most conservative musical get-togethers on the circuit. I mean, you’re telling me that The Ting Tings, Gabrielle Cilmi, Bruce Springsteen, Kasabian, Pendulum, Paulo Nutini, Tom Jones, Lady GaGa and Black Eyed Peas are anything but mainstream shite? Reading the Glasto line-up is, for the most part, like climbing inside Gary Bushell‘s iPod.

There’s even bigger fools who will say things like “You could avoid every single band at Glastonbury and still have an amazing time” which again, is a completely inaccurate myth peddled by vapid, glass-eyed camper van drivers too dreamy to wake up and smell the £3 cup of instant coffee bought from a van pouring out acrid fumes into the Somerset sky. Glastonbury, away from the stages and tents, has lots going on, sure, but for the most part it’s the faint promise of a shower from a mobile phone company or a bloke showing you how he makes table legs with a wooden machine he’s fashioned over a decade in some futile attempt to be at one with some woolly notion in his head.

Failing that, you can encounter stall after stall of mass-produced jester hats, tacky leather wristbands and Made In An Indian Sweatshop t-shirts that say ‘Don’t Drink And Drive, Get Stoned And Fly’. Or, if you prefer, clothes made out of hemp. Which is so lame that it barely warrants a mention.

The simple matter of the fact is, that Glasto is only different from any other festival because it’s so stupidly big. The stages are so far apart that, should One Band You Like be on a different stage straight after That Other Band You Like, you can easily miss half the set as you fight your way through crowded gates, trudge through an ocean of shit and leg it as fast as you can, only to be met with an impenetrable wall of sweaty dickheads waving flags with witless slogans written on them.

Festivals are greeted with such unbridled joy because, if you face the reality of the situation you find yourself in and don’t swill booze like prohibition just got lifted, and hoover up class A drugs like a depressed prostitute, you’ll sit in a field and weep for three days straight. Glastonbury is a thoroughly miserable experience for anyone with a functioning brain or, at the very least, one working eye and one working nostril.

It’s camping… only incredibly expensive… surrounded by preening, braying dolts… soundtracked by the most average bands you ever did hear on Radio One. If you’re going, you’re probably too thick or misguided to read this article. Go away.

This was a guest blog by mighty Mof Gimmers from the equally mighty Electric Roulette. You be a square if you don’t check it, bwoy.

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Let’s quickly clear that headline up. Perez Hilton and Will.I.Am are having a squabble, and we think we might die of boredom.

Apparently Will.I.Am went up to Perez Hilton on Monday morning and got all “Mer mer mer” and Perez went “Mer mer? Mer mer MER mer!” back. Then something dreary happened and they’ve both made videos where they’re crying and screaming and it’s all fairly tedious.

Listen here Perez Hilton. You don’t have the monopoly on this. Next Tuesday in the soup aisle of Asda we’re going to give Bernie Clifton a wedgie. There, how do you like THAT?

Oh, now this is a tricky one. You know how in fights you’re supposed to pick sides based on the amount of commonalities you share with each party? Well we’re not sure we’re going to be able to do that this time.

Because, if reports are to be believed, an altercation took place in Canada on Monday morning between inexplicably popular celebrity blogger and professional lowest common denominator-panderer Perez Hilton and inexplicably popular musician and professional lowest common denominator-panderer Will.I.Am from the Black Eyed Peas over something or other that nobody could honestly say that they’d ever be able to care about.

Apparently Perez Hilton (who draws penises on people with MS Paint for a living) was beaten up by Will.I.Am (who sings songs about boobies for a living) and his manager, who has since turned himself in and been charged.

Fortunately, both Will.I.Am (who has deliberately given himself one of the two stupidest names in the history of the world) and Perez Hilton (who has deliberately given himself one of the two stupidest names in the history of the world) have made videos giving their side of events. They’re both here, after a brief preamble by this bloke…

So now you know as much as we do about this. The question is now who we should all side with. Here’s our handy cheat-sheet:

REASONS TO SIDE WITH WILL.I.AM:

Could you make it all the way through that screechy video of Perez Hilton without wanting to punch your monitor until your hand falls off? Us neither.

Rather than call the police, Perez Hilton went onto Twitter to ask other people to call the police for him, which literally makes no sense.

Will.I.Am’s notion – that everyone is allowed their own opinion but only if it’s the exact same opinion as Will.I.Am’s opinion because if it isn’t he might get someone to beat you up – isn’t flawed in any way that we can see.

REASONS TO SIDE WITH PEREZ HILTON:

Will.I.Am says that, aside from the scuffle, he had a fun night – even though he was at a Canadian music award show after-party that was also attended by Perez Hilton. We clearly can’t trust anything this man says.

If Will.I.Am goes to jail we’re guaranteed a period of time without any new Black Eyed Peas songs or Wolverine sequels. This is undoubtedly a good thing.

Perez Hilton’s notion – that violence is not the answer and also blah blah blah boo hoo Fergie looks bad in a dress – is similarly free of any obvious flaws.

RESULT:

Oh, who are we kidding? We dislike both of them an equal amount. Shucks, this is just impossible.

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Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

Planes are falling from the skies, the government is shrivelling up like a salted slug, and Brangelina are rumoured to be living separately. All unmistakable signs of an impending Apocalypse. But fear not: hecklerspray presents the music which this week will be arriving to make your lives wonderful. Better. Marginally more bearable. Slightly less of an endless dreary drag towards the inevitable end, and eternity spent in a pauper’s grave.

It’s the Monday Music Mango! Whoot!

As usual, each of the musics will be represented by a thought.

Firstly, The Eternal, Sonic Youth, Album. Nearly 30 years after their birth, the legendary “noiseniks” (TM) are about to release their 16th studio album. We’d like to believe that Placebo, who also release a new album this week, will have been sent a copy with the words “Real Music” scrawled across the cover.

Because, you know, Sonic Youth are ace and Placebo are a bit shit.

Featuring the beautifully emotion-filled vocals of Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon, the rumbling tumbling drums of Steve Shelley and more weirdly-tuned guitars than you can shake a plectrum at, courtesy of Lee Ranaldo, it’s a return to their peak. Kudos to the the Youth, by the way, for being incredibly zeigeisty and including what must have been a very hastily written song about Susan Boyle (Anti-Orgasm). You’ll like this album.

Trust us, we’re hecklerspray.

This album is represented by the thought:

“Okay, got the new Sonic Youth album, the Converse sneakers and an awesome pair of secondhand courduroy trousers. Time to head head home and write some material for tonight’s poetry jam.’

Secondly, The E.N.D., Black Eyed Peas, Album. Starring pants-wetting, formerly-ladylumps-loving singer Fergie, bandwagon-chasing-then-catching-then-singing-about shouter Will.I.Am., and two other blokes with even more ridiculously self-absorbed pseudonyms, the BEPs have been producing their catchy pop-hop since 2003. And more power to them, for what the world absolutely needs right now is more songs about boobs. Despite the video for I Gotta Feeling, which seems to have been directed by Abercrombie & Fitch‘s advertising agency, we have a soft spot for this sugary little album.

Standout track is Party All The Time, which we’d like to see subtitled as “When Kylie Met KISS“. This album is represented by the thought:

“Ladylumps! She means her tits!! LOLZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Thirdly, 20, Orbital, Album. 20th anniversary retrospective roundup by the overlords of intelligent electronica. Orbital make us want to cut our ears off and replace them with iPods playing Chime on an endless, uplifting loop. They make us want to tattoo the words “Orbital Exist As Gods Upon Earth” on the insides of our eyelids. They…we love Orbital, okay?

Go and buy this, listen to it in its fancy, dancey, feelgoody glory, then come back here and try to claim you haven’t just had your mind opened, probed with a lightsabre and stitched back together. Because you have. Just not literally.

This album is represented by the thought:

“Are We Here? asked the song. Who are ‘we’? And where is ‘here‘? Oh bollocks, here is the Ozric Tentacles tent, and our acid-soaked selves are missing Orbital at this festval which we are currently at. Shitwanks.

Farewell, good folk, until next week’s Mango.

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Those X-Men movies, they were OK – but it's blindingly obvious that they missed one vital ingredient.

And that's a mutant with the power to take any song you ever liked and ruin it by lazily babbling a lot of meaningless shit about tits over the top while waving a can of Pepsi Max around. But fear not – that'll all be changed with the new Wolverine prequel movie, because Will.i.am from the Black Eyed Peas has just signed up for a role.

Rumours that signing Will.i.am up for the Wolverine film is just a ploy to make people think that painting Frasier blue and casting him as a monster in X-Men 3 was a comparatively decent idea are still unconfirmed.

Unless you're a 14-year-old boy with enough hormones to floor a moose, chances are that your favourite of the X-Men is Wolverine. He's got it all – a bad attitude, a Flock Of Seagulls haircut and dirty great bits of metal that shoot out of his knuckles. So, with this in mind, it'd have to take something pretty special to talk you out of going to see a movie all about Wolverine, wouldn't it?

After all, these kids will go and watch any old crap if it's got laser beams and fighting and destruction in it. They even went to see X-Men 3, even though Brett Ratner directed it. Brett Ratner, for christ's sake. So the Wolverine movie will be a no-brainer box office success when it opens in May 2009, even if the producers end up casting someone so massively unsuitable that it takes three or four minutes of dumbfounded silence just to let the news sink in at all.

Which is just as well, because Will.i.am from the Black Eyed Peas has been cast as a see-though mutant in Wolverine. Reuters reports:

Black Eyed Peas singer Will.i.am will make his feature acting debut in "X-Men Origins: Wolverine," the "X-Men" spinoff starring Hugh Jackman. Danny Huston, Taylor Kitsch and Lynn Collins also have joined the Fox project, and Ryan Reynolds is making a cameo. Gavin Hood ("Tsotsi") is directing. "Wolverine," set 17 years before the "X-Men" movies, traces the origins of the popular mutant superhero. Will.i.am, whose real name is William Adams, will play Wraith, a mutant with the power to turn himself translucent.

Hopefully Will.i.am's participation in the Wolverine movie won't just end with a minor role as someone who's invisible for most of the time – hopefully producers will see sense and let Will.i.am do the Wolverine theme tune too, Will Smith-style. It's bound to be brilliant, even if Will.i.am just takes a piece of music that everyone's already familiar with from a film or a TV advert, doesn't bother altering it at all, mumbles a load of obvious rhymes about it and then calls it Wolverine's Humps (Pepsi Max – Max Your Life). Which, let's face it, is exactly what he's bound to do.

Will.i.am's casting in the Wolverine movie helps to hide a bunch of other problems with the film, though, like the fact it'll be a prequel set 17 years before X-Men starring an actor who looks eight years older than he did in X-Men, and that if these X-Men Origins movies catch on, eventually we'll have to put up with one about Halle Berry. And that'll just be frighteningly dull.

However, let's not assume that Wolverine is beyond being saved just because Will.i.am is in it. Maybe if he sweet-talks the producers they'll find a role for his bandmate Fergie. And, let's be fair, there's not a movie in history that wouldn't have been improved by the addition of a mutant who can't stop wetting her knickers.

Read more:

Black Eyed Peas singer joins "Wolverine" cast – Reuters 

Having their San Diego gig halted by local police was no big deal for Fergie and the Black Eyed Peas. She dedicated the group's hit song Where is the Love? to the unmoved law enforcers before strolling off stage and urinating into her Spandex hotpants.

Though in actual fact Fergie has not lost control of her faculties during a live show for quite some time. Apparently she has done so many sit-ups her bladder has regressed into her cleavage, where it occasionally swells up for photo shoots and pre-coital heaving.

During their Tuesday gig to promote the opening of the Hard Rock hotel in the city, The Black Eyed peas – consisting of Fergie, apl.de.ap, Taboo, will.i.am, Conceited.com, Boba Fett and Haile Selassie – were bobbing away like an elderly pantomime troupe until San Diego police pulled their plug for exceeding noise levels.

"Fergie said they would close the show with 'Where Is the Love?" commented a hotel representative. "She said it was for our friends – the police – in the lobby."

Of course Fergie was gracious – the concert was cutting into her all-important texting time. How can a 48-year-old woman with a face resembling Shere Khan possibly retain her appeal to the world's teenage mums without it?

Presumably the Peas must sample Fergie's mobile phone for most of its records, as every recent release has sounded like a cross between a ZX Spectrum loading and a travel alarm clock.

Yet despite finishing early, the entire 1,200 strong crowd of sonically-impaired revellers left happy and singing and off to the nearest newsstand to buy a Pepsi.

Incidentally The Black Eyed Peas donated the show’s profits to their chosen charity, The Peapod Foundation.

This does not, as we initially thought, represent the dying wishes of underprivileged garden vegetables, but rather distribute aid to needy and exploited children. Handily, many of these are actually situated in the same sweatshop where the group buys their trainers.

Read More:

Black Eyed Peas’ Police Trouble – Female First