The annual circle-jerking of overrated, but cosy, inoffensive British acts on major labels are all getting a trophy and a party bag. The Wanker Olympics Category Thing – or the BRIT Award Nominations as they’re more commonly known – have been announced, much to the chagrin of anyone with the remotest taste in music.

Sub-Jack-Johnson-and-no-really-there-are-worse-people-than-Jack-Johnson ginger Ed Sheeran has been nominated for 4 awards; if you don’t know Sheeran, he makes sickly, boring ballads for drunk, fat people to sing at 3am outside clubs, and all of his fans are terrible. It’s even worse when he tries rapping.

James Blake was nominated for British Male Solo Artist along with Noel Gallagher, Professor Green and others, which is insulting, because James Blake is genuinely talented [if you like drip-hop that has all the verve and guile of a life-support machine slowly dying itself, that is - Ed].

Meanwhile, The Wanted’s “Glad You Came”, a song about “doing your bit”, foreplay-wise, is considered amongst the best songs that came out of Britain last year, along with Pixie Lott’s “All About Tonight” and Jessie J’s “Price Tag (ft. B.O.B.)”. Perhaps they are some of the best songs by UK artists in 2011, if you’ve only NOW! compilations in your CD collection and you’re a complete buffoon.

Despair.

In the Album of the Year stakes, Adele, a woman who exists solely for the benefit of people who’ve never actually heard a soul singer before, is up against Beaker from The Muppets, Coldplay, Florence & The Machine (Really? Did her album sell well? The woman sings like she’s drowning) and PJ Harvey, who won the Mercury Music Prize, where actual people who’ve listened to music decide on things.

Maroon 5 look like a sure-shot for International Group, which is depressing beyond words, while Blur are being praised for their Outstanding Contribution to Music.

There are more categories but frankly, this is all way, way too much.

The idea of being in the same country as Bruno Mars, for example, even if it’s just for a few nights while he’s polishing his International Male Solo Award, is enough to turn any reasonable human being who enjoys things like an interesting chord structure or clever lyricism into a pitchfork wielding (clever, right?), angry lunatic.

Go and illegally download some albums or something, you dicks.

John Lennon once sang “Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can?” Well actually, we can’t. We love rockstars and the daft things that define them. What would Lady GaGa be without her myriad of oddball possessions? Natasha Bedingfield, that’s who… and no-one wanted her in the first place.

And so, after seeing the little commercial spots during the Brit Awards coverage, where popstars talked about what was priceless to them – in the case of Lulu, a rather dazzling sequinned jacket, or the Ting Tings giving away their first guitar and such – we got thinking about our favourite things that popstars have.

Think about Slash without a top hat or Michael Jackson without a spangly glove or monkey? They become a bit rubbish don’t they?

If you missed the Brits, and in turn, missed our astonishingly brilliant liveblog (you monsters), you won’t know what we’re talking about.

So, have a look at this advert that Mastercard popped in their coverage of the Brit Awards 2011 and have a think about which items you love that help define a popstar.

Here’s our list of favourites (which we’ll almost immediately regret because we forgot a whole bunch of ace ones)

Flava Flav’s Clock

Flava Flav isn’t the best rapper in the world. He’s not even the best rapper in Public Enemy. However, he’s the largest character in rap. If it wasn’t for his amusingly large clock, no-one would remember his name. Not least Brigitte Nielsen who bafflingly had a bit of a thing with him.

John Lennon’s Glasses

John Lennon may have imagined no possessions, but what would he be if it wasn’t for his Rickenbacker guitar, his white piano or his famous spectacles. If you see a pair of basic, round-rimmed specs, you immediately think “Lennon glasses!” They were especially useful in later years because, well, he looked stupid without them on.

Elton John’s Donald Duck Outfit

Ah. Elton John. Here’s a man who doesn’t mind owning a whole buncha stuff. The best thing he’s owned is his Donald Duck outfit which he actually wore in public. This Donald Duck get-up only just beats his wig for the top spot in our fave Elton possession.

Johnny Cash’s Entirely Black Wardrobe

The Man In Pastel Colours doesn’t have the same gravitas as Johnny Cash’s nickname, The Man In Black. His attire matched his earthy growl and often bleak subject matter in his songs. Murder, death, poverty and criminal behaviour wouldn’t really go down as well if he performed in pink slacks and a lemon yellow golfing sweater.

Arthur Brown’s Fire Hat

Arthur Brown had one hit. It was called ‘Fire’. And so, to cement him into our psyche, he set his head on fire. In the early days, scorching hot oil would run down his back while performing. Makes Justin Bieber’s stupid haircut look a bit pointless now, eh?

Elvis Presely’s Jumpsuit

Elvis, in his youth, was a devastatingly attractive chap. Look at the pictures of him in the ’68s Comeback Special in his leathers, and he’s all sex… enough to make a straight man aroused. However, the most enduring Elvis is the tubby, kung-fu one that strutted the boards of Vegas in a Nudie jumpsuit. Nudie made all the outfits for the country singers, but the caped jumpsuits that Elvis wore will always be his most famous creation.

Madonna’s Bra

Even now, after a career that has spanned millennia, Madonna is still known for her Gaultier pointy bra. If you want to go to a fancy dress party as Madge, you don’t don a purple leotard, but rather, jam two ice-creams on your chest and stick a bent straw in your hair. Easy.

Devo’s Hats

Devo would forever be forgotten as Some Arty Band if it wasn’t for their peculiar dress sense. Even McDonald’s ripped the group off with a Happy Meal toy! The Pet Shop Boys also aped Devo with weird wardrobe decisions in the ’90s.

Kiss’s Make-up Bag

Kiss are just another pedestrian stadium rock band that have two or three famous records that you recognise on a night out. However, they had a secret that saw them eclipsing other, similar bands – a make-up bag! So whether you’re done up like a cat or some weird lightning flash demi-god, the Kiss look is immediate. And brilliant.

The Bloke From Dr Hook’s Eye Patch

Seriously. He’d be a nobody if he wasn’t a cyclops.

Why not add your own in the comments and tell us how stupid we are for forgetting a whole bunch of people?

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Once upon a time, bands and artists were nominated for musical awards based on the merit of the audio they committed to LPs. Now, it seems that you can predict the nominees for ceremonies months in advance. Lady Gaga could release an album where she tapes herself constructing a shelf. It could sell bugger-all, but if a good marketing campaign backs it up, then some idiot will buy it.

Hooray for the humble PR team, the people who are paid to promote artists and generate advertising for them at inappropriate times – such as Take That on every single TV show and advert when opportunity becomes available.

Given that, let us offer our worthless opinion for this year’s nominations that had a great marketing team, appeared at festivals or featured in trashy magazines.

It isn’t all bad news though, we can happily report that Muse didn’t receive any nominations and nobody on the Brit committee decided to award Michael Jackson another post-death statue.

However, just like fans of the two artists mentioned, the ceremony will be devoid of laughs and personality as James Corden attempts to host. Perhaps he’ll just resort to running around with belly out for a couple of cheap thrills. Oh how the O2 arena will erupt into a lol frenzy.

Looking at the lists in all the categories, one thing stands out to us (once we cast aside any musical prejudice).

Every single person is instantly recongnisable and seemingly nominated because they’ve sold a bucket load of records. Of course, this seems obvious as “pop” is short for “popular”, but amazingly, there are all sorts of hidden gems that never get played, mainly because the music industry is close to imploding. Anyone daring to play something or even experimental may find it backfires and ends up short on sales.

Therefore, household names like Cheryl “coz am worth it pet” Cole, Eminem and the Glee Cast are being handed nominations on a plate. Cole’s album is nothing more than a ropey cash-in based on the seeming love for the electro sound and songs all about her marriage. As for Eminem? He did that song with the lovely Rihanna, focusing on happy themes such as domestic violence, even though he did something similar with Dido on the track Stan. And Glee? Well, that is nothing more than sugar coated karaoke featuring children who look innocent and sweet, but they’d probably form a crime syndicate if they weren’t actors.

Even though “celebrity” is muscling in on the modern day award ceremony with rock n roll behavior being classed as staying up till 2AM and squirting someone with ketchup, a small lifeline to music is still being offered.

Best Producer may throw up names that aren’t instantly recogniseable, but without these people, half the records on the shelves wouldn’t be there. Whilst bands might be able to pluck a guitar sweetly, they mightn’t have the technical ability and skills to record the sounds, subsequently arranging and manipulating audio in to songs. Whilst a band may have four official members, the unknown fifth is always the producer.

The Brits always offers supposed change and diversity, but these categories are still the same old boring ones we’re used to seeing. Why not dedicate something towards new artists by having an award for “best debut album”. Best breakthrough is a basic term for “artist who became really popular and sold loads of records”. Elsewhere, “best independent label” wouldn’t go a miss, so recognition could be shown to labels actively hunting and promoting underground music.

Or thinking out of the box completely, looking at sub-genres in established genres, such as the currently popular dubstep in electronic music.

Come the time the awards are dished out, we probably won’t feel any more excitement than we currently do. Saying that, as long as lovely Rihanna wins, that’ll make us happy. The full nominations below:

BRITISH MALE SOLO ARTIST
Mark Ronson
Paul Weller
Plan B
Robert Plant
Tinie Tempah

BRITISH FEMALE SOLO ARTIST
Cheryl Cole
Ellie Goulding
Laura Marling
Paloma Faith
Rumer

BRITISH BREAKTHROUGH ACT
Ellie Goulding
Mumford & Sons
Rumer
Tinie Tempah
The xx

BRITISH GROUP
Biffy Clyro
Gorillaz
Mumford & Sons
Take That
The xx

BRITISH SINGLE
Alexandra Burke ft Pitbull – All Night Long
Cheryl Cole – Parachute
Florence & The Machine – You’ve Got The Love
Matt Cardle – When We Collide
Olly Murs – Please Don’t Let Me Go
Plan B – She Said
Scouting for Girls – This Ain’t A Love Song
Taio Cruz – Dynamite
Tinie Tempah – Pass Out
The Wanted – All Time Low

MASTERCARD BRITISH ALBUM OF THE YEAR
Mumford & Sons – Sigh No More
Plan B – The Defamation of Strickland Banks
Take That – Progress
Tinie Tempah – Disc-Overy
The xx – XX

INTERNATIONAL MALE SOLO ARTIST
Bruce Springsteen
Cee Lo Green
David Guetta
Eminem
Kanye West

INTERNATIONAL FEMALE SOLO ARTIST
Alicia Keys
Katy Perry
Kylie Minogue
Rihanna
Robyn

INTERNATIONAL BREAKTHROUGH ACT
Bruno Mars
Glee Cast
Justin Bieber
The National
The Temper Trap

INTERNATIONAL GROUP
Arcade Fire
Black Eyed Peas
Kings of Leon
The Script
Vampire Weekend

INTERNATIONAL ALBUM
Arcade Fire – The Suburbs
Cee Lo Green – The Lady Killer
Eminem – Recovery
Katy Perry – Teenage Dream
Kings of Leon – Come Around Sundown

CRITICS’ CHOICE
Jessie J
James Blake
The Vaccines

BRITISH PRODUCER
Ethan Johns
John Leckie
Markus Dravs
Mike Pela
Stuart Price

There are loads of reasons to be proud of being British. An army of lads taking over an Eastern European capital on a stag do; lazy racism perpetuated through newspapers; the BNP.

The one thing that really does make us bloody brilliant is music.

Popstars eh, aren’t they just wonderful? With all their singing and dancing and sitting on tour-coaches and tolerating interviews with Jonathan Ross. Plus the other stuff they, um, probably do. The ultra rich need a night of free alcohol and to celebrate each other’s wonderfulness, before the inevitable decline towards cruise ships and the Line Up round on Buzzcocks. And so, the Brits. The painful pseudo-live event that reminds everyone involved just how fleeting fame is. JLS will be watching the 2012 Brits on their sofa at home, bitterly Tweeting about Geri Halliwell.

This year’s Brits, purportedly live, but any pretence ruined after swearing was blocked out in the first ten minutes, was as much of as shambles as any other year. Host Peter Kay (looking as though he’d been inflated and stuck in a suit three sizes too small) clearly didn’t want to be there, and neatly recycled two carefully crafted jokes over the evening:

He’s [where the artist is from]‘s answer to [someone vaguely similar, or not similar at all, or just a random name]

BBC News summarised some of them:

He described Lady Gaga as “New York’s answer to Su Polllard”, former Spice Girl Mel B as “Yorkshire’s answer to Beyonce”, described Kasabian as “Leicester’s answer to Aswad” and called Robbie Williams “Stoke on Trent’s answer to Shakin’ Stevens”.

Even they can’t resist taking the piss, saying that Kay “put … his talents to good use while introducing acts.”

His other joke was to point out what was on the other channel (which was lucky; we nearly missed Muslim Driving School) and asked why you weren’t watching that. Hilarious, Pete. Especially the seventh time. Holby City, this time? Great.

He was upstaged by every proper comedian that came to present an award, even Alan Carr lighting things up by pretending he’d been hit by perennial uber-prick Liam Gallagher‘s award.

Because Liam, being the cool cat that he thinks he is, threw his award for ‘best album of the last 30 years’ into the crowd. It was fun, like a throwback to the past, as with Liam looking out-of-place as if they’d got Roy Orbison or Mozart up there.

Fearne Cotton bewilderingly presented the backstage bits, getting awkwardly excited over ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. Shut up, Fearne, it’s shit.

For some reason Geri Halliwell (in a toga) and Mel B (with the sides of her head shaved) were the only Spice Girls who could make it to pick up an award for most iconic brilliant performance or something, which had presumably been awarded for Geri’s Union Flag dress and pants. Clearly Emma Bunton had something better to do, probably working the late shift in her local Texaco. The organisers got their money’s worth though, with each of them making approximately 17 appearances over the course of the night, each time remembering more people they hadn’t thanked.

Lady Gaga, dressed as a giant tampon gave a weird performance and weird speeches, after winning everything from Best Album to Best Male. Jay Z, Lily Allen and other people who are far too cool for me to have heard of all performed, with Robbie Williams rounding things off in his inimitable smug, crowd-pleasing fashion.

Performance of the night went to Cheryl Cole, who sent out a clear message to husband Ashley Cole, who allegedly (do we still have to say allegedly?) cheated on her, by dressing as Michael Jackson and missing her cue to start miming, leaving the performance as out of sync as Jedward.

I’d like to thank everyone for making this column possible, Aimée, Sarah, Eleanor, Stuart, Alex, Robyn – you all know who you are. I’ve been Nik, England’s answer to dried dog shit.

This was a guest blog by Nik Johnson off of Shouting At Cows

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You’ve heard Florence and the Machine right? Of course you have. Every single time you turn the television on, you’re likely to hear the caterwaul yelping of their dreadful cover of You Got The Love. In fact, you can’t move without hearing it.

The government is planning on making it mandatory listening. Every time you open your eyes in the morning, a small speaker installed in your house will be activated by motion detectors and blast the screeching pop hit in your face. Many believe that this move is to see suicide rates rocket and thereby ‘keep the numbers’ down in our fair isle’s attempt to reduce the collective carbon footprint (so don’t use the rubber hose/exhaust pipe method for Christ’s sake!)

Anyway, Florence from Florence and The Machine has described her haul of nominations for this year’s Brit awards as “unbelievable”.

You’re telling us! It’s unbelievable that anyone with at least one functioning ear hole could justify one nomination, let alone three.

Mystifyingly, the singer from a band has been nominated for British female. They’ve also been nommed for British breakthrough act and British album. Flo told Newsbeat:

“I honestly never ever thought I’d be up against people like Lily Allen and Lady Gaga because they’re such huge stars. It seems unbelievable that we’d be in the same category. I just see them as really successful and famous artists. I still feel like I’m still just emerging. It’d be nice to win something like British breakthrough act because this year has been for me a big break through.”

The ceremony,which could see cocaine dealers enjoying a rush on during the recession (not that anyone famous takes drugs… no… that’s what the hangers-on are all up to), will be held on 16th February at London’s Earls Court. For those who haven’t seen it, it closely resembles Jools Holland‘s rubbish TV show, writ large like some horrible future when the rat-faced boogie merchant takes over the world.

It won’t be the first time Florence has played the show, last time…

“I was terrified. I cried. I’ve never done anything as scary as having to walk out onto that stage. I was literally having heart palpitations. I thought I was having a panic attack. Hopefully this time I won’t cry.”

Nope, that’ll be our job as viewer when we stare down our tellyboxes into the gaping cultural hole that is The Music Business Awards Ceremony, where ‘unlikely’ artists team up with each other and pat each other on the back for their amazing contribution to the element of surprise and originality.

Y’know… just like Jools Holland playing boogie-woogie piano over a Seasick Steve set, only this time, with actual young people involved. It’s going to be appalling and you damn well know it.

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The Brit awards exist to recognise excellence in British music. Or at least it usually does – last night it couldn’t be bothered and just gave a load of prizes to Duffy instead.

That’s right. Duffy. Duffy who your mum likes. Duffy who sings like a baby goat stuck in a cattle grid. Duffy who looks like she’d burst into tears if you showed her a sad kitten. Duffy won three Brit awards last night, roughly six more than she deserves. But still, it’s not like Iron Maiden won anything, is it?

What? Iron Maiden did win something? God. We’re doomed.

If you missed the Brit awards last night you’d do well to keep quiet about it, because we didn’t and it was such a horrific waste of two hours that we’d seriously consider chopping the top of your head off in your sleep and swapping brains with you if it meant we’d forget it.

Because, let’s not mess around here, the Brits were bad last night. Worst in living memory bad. Everything about last night’s Brits was wrong. The barely-there hosts. The set (really, whose idea was it to make the winners go on a five-mile hike just to get to the podium?). All the cutaway shots of bored-looking bald men in suits. The winners. Everything.

In fact, to keep us from getting so angry that we accidentally crap out one of our kidneys, we’re just going to bulletpoint some of the more memorable moments from last night’s Brits for you and have done with it:

* U2 performing their new song as the lyrics flashed up behind them like they were too deeply profound to go ignored. They aren’t profound. It’s a song about some shoes.

* Incidentally, we promise never to mock Bono for his sunglasses again if he promises to never take them off again. Seriously, the man looks like Gollum’s malformed twin.

* Duffy winning Best British Female.

* Duffy accepting the award by saying “Best British Female? I don’t know what that means.” She’s a clever one, that Duffy.

* Coldplay still not realising that shouting “OK!” before every line of every song they perform makes them all look like wankers.

* Duffy winning Best British Breakthrough.

* Girls Aloud‘s artfully-staged ‘nude’ performance being wrecked by all the cameras clumsily picking up the straps of their dresses.

* Duffy winning Best British Album.

* Take That miming from an actual spaceship just to annoy Robbie Williams.

* Duffy winning Best Jumped-Up Working Mens’ Club Cabaret Act.

* Paul Weller winning Best British Male purely because there was nobody else to give it to.

* Duffy winning Most Marketable Amy Winehouse Substitute Who Probably Won’t Take All The Drugs Or Punch Paying Fans In The Face.

* Iron Maiden winning Best Live Act, followed by the swift realisation that Radio 2 listeners should never be allowed to vote for anything ever again.

* Duffy winning Best Sustained Impersonation Of Uni From The 1980s Dungeons And Dragons Cartoon.

That is all. Try harder next year, please.

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Tonight, ITV wipes its entire schedule of supposed entertainment to bring us the Brit Awards 2009.

It may not have happened yet, but we can’t see it being edgy, cool or vaguely risky. The show goes out at 8pm, leaving today’s young pop stars with an entire hour to swear before the watershed kicks in.

Just over a week ago, we watched the Grammys which quite frankly overshadowed the entire Brits ceremony. Not only did the Grammys have a million categories where nearly everyone can win, but we don’t expect there to be any pre-show scraps like the alleged one between Rihanna and Chris Brown. Unless someone attacks Chris Martin with a pack of streaky bacon.

Hosted by Kylie and the two blokes from Gavin And Stacy, we’ll no doubt see references to their own show multiple times during the Brits. Well, that and Kylie putting on her best fake smile when she doesn’t get all the references towards Cumberland sausage.

Its shame really that M.I.A couldn’t keep her newborn child inside her belly for an extra week. How selfish of how to boost the Grammy ratings with a potential live birth. Poor Fearne Cotton would have been perfect to follow the event live on a special ITV2 show. Imagine her mopping up M.I.A’s broken waters and getting the first interview with the child.

Coldplay, Duffy, Elbow, Radiohead and The Ting Tings have all been nominated for best British album. This strikes us as nothing short of an amazing feat for Radiohead to be nominated. Not because it’s a rubbish record, but their In Rainbows album was released in 2007. It became downloadable in October and physically went on sale in December. Perhaps the organisers didn’t want to nominate Estelle in case she did a wonky dance as an acceptance speech. Or maybe everything else released last year was utter gash.

We’d go through each and every nomination, but to be honest it’ll be a waste of your time. Despite winning the Mercury prize, Elbow will win bugger all, Coldplay will sweep the board and make cheesy acceptance speeches and Take That will have to do with their music being used in supermarket adverts.

But what about the entertainment on the night? Who is going to perform at the ceremony and no doubt see their record sales/downloads rise dramatically the next day. Make sure your socks don’t blow off, because the following people are going to be singing and messing up dance routines. Coldplay, Duffy, Estelle, The Ting Tings, Pet Shop Boys, Girls Aloud, Kings Of Leon, Take That and bloody U2.

Yes, U2 are going to be providing us with a performance with their latest single in an attempt to get more people to like it and get over its strange title. We don’t know if Bono plans to spice it up with some visual imagery of dying children, topped off with a speech about how economically fucked we are.

Each year, the ceremony honours a band/artist who in the eyes of the BPI has contributed outstandingly to music. This year, synth-based techno duo The Pet Shop Boys get the dubious honour. With fifty million sales behind them, we can’t really argue with how successful they are. At least they kept Simply Red out for another year.

Will someone turn up drunk at the ceremony? How many swearwords will be uttered? Who’ll balls up their acceptance speech and fall off the stage? No-one knows! Tune in to ITV from 8pm tonight to see the supposed best of British music being celebrated.

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The Osbournes hosted the Brit awards last night, so the show promised to be jam-packed with enough controversy to turn your granny blue.

Is that what happened, though? No – thanks to the Brits' stringent 'don't let Ozzy Osbourne say more than three words in a row' policy, the only vaguely controversial thing the Osbournes brought to the Brit awards was the way that Sharon Osbourne's face looked as if it had been attacked by jellyfish in her sleep.

Oh, and Leona Lewis didn't win any of the four Brit awards she was nominated for. That's sort of controversial, isn't it? Anyone?

The Brit Awards always manage to scrape at least one stand-out moment, whether it's Jarvis Cocker mooning Michael Jackson, that Tubthumping bloke lobbing water at a politician or Joss Stone acting like the world's biggest anus. There was plenty of scope for controversy at last night's Brits, too – Ozzy Osbourne wanted to violently attack Heather Mills, for example, and the puffy-cheeked chimney sweep from Kaiser Chiefs got in a strop because people thought he was quite a lot crapper than he thought he was – but nothing came of it. 

In fact, aside from a brief display by Vic Reeves reinforcing why he isn't famous any more, the Brit awards were so utterly incident-free that we wish we spent two hours doing something a bit more worthwhile, like trying to burp the national anthem or crying.

So, without anything interesting to discuss, the Brits can be boiled down to two things – the performances and the awards. The awards went to the artists you expected them to – Take That got a couple, Foo Fighters got a couple, Arctic Monkeys got a couple, Mark Ronson won one – and Mika and Kate Nash also won a Brit each, although they weren't so much 'expected' as 'horribly, horribly wrong'.  

Sad old X Factor winner Leona Lewis didn't win a jot, though, despite being nominated for four Brits – Best Breakthrough, Best Female, Best Album and Best Single. Leona's losses might have been down to music industry snobbery – she won a talent show contest, after all – or a backlash because you can't listen to any local radio station for more than 30 seconds without hearing Bleeding Love any more.

And then there are the performances. Despite the much-trumpeted musical collaborations at this year's Brit awards, nothing really clawed out of the realms of mediocre. Mika wanked around like a little girl hopped up on Um Bongo at a karaoke party with Beth Ditto. Rihanna and Klaxons sounded like one of those dreary mash-ups that were popular six years ago. Mark Ronson, Adele, Daniel Merriweather and Amy Winehouse made Version sound even more Stars On 45s-y than usual and Kaiser Chiefs were upstaged by some tiny buildings.

And let's not forget that Paul McCartney finished the evening with the same four-hour version of Hey Jude that he closes every single bloody event he's ever invited to with.

So that was the Brits 2008. Woo hoo. Let's put in an early motion to get Joss Stone to host next year's show. And let's fill her dressing room with Special Brew beforehand. At least that way we'll have something to talk about afterwards.

Read more:

Leona Loser - Mirror