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].
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Playing Margaret Thatcher must be great for an actress like Meryl Streep. Thesps just love it when they get the chance to play vile people from history. Murderers, rapists, sex offenders and the like give an actor the opportunity to feel brave and bold.
And ol’ Streepy knew too well that pretty much everyone on Earth hates Thatcher. This is something that made her ”more interested” in portraying the heartless witch in ‘The Iron Lady’.
And Meryl has some theories on why everyone despised her so much and… well… she’s off the mark really.
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The North of England hates Margaret Thatcher almost unreservedly. Seriously. Being a Tory in Ultra-Labourite Manchester is akin to being a leper. A leper who likes the music of James Blunt. A James Blunt loving leper in a Liverpool FC shirt.
And so, when Meryl Streep appeared randomly at Freya and Graham McAnally’s wedding at Manchester town hall, you’d have to assume only one thing…
…that locals gathered ’round Streep, figured she was the closest thing they’d get to seeing Thatcher in the flesh, and kicked her to death.
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The best way to win the respect of your acting peers is to go ugly. Monstrously ugly. For example, people fawn over those brave enough to play Hitler. Or a wife-beater. Or some kind of sex offender.
In the case of Meryl Streep, she’s being touted as a likely Oscar winner for her turn as Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady.
It takes nerve to play the biggest on-screen monster since Cloverfield.
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Black culture has always been the musical innovator, just waiting for everyone else to start ripping it off. The black community can sit smug, safe in the knowledge that they invented rock ‘n’ roll, the blues, jazz, hip hop, soul, reggae, dance music… and not country and western.
And so, with that, the MOBO Awards have always been a showcase for the things everyone else is going to ride the coattails of next year.
Not if you include the 2011 nominees though. Why? Because it’s a terrible list of nominations utterly dominated by Jessie J and other dross.
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Black culture has always been the musical innovator, just waiting for everyone else to start ripping it off. The black community can sit smug, safe in the knowledge that they invented rock ‘n’ roll, the blues, jazz, hip hop, soul, reggae, dance music… and not country and western. And so, with that, the MOBO Awards [...]
Back when we were just writing swear words on our parent’s walls in crayon, MTV did provide us with some light musical relief. Alongside the mundane pop dross, there were some gems to be found. The programme most likely to fill you with a mix of Scandanavian indie and wobbly acid grooves was 120 Minutes. Only problem was that it was broadcast in the early hours of Sunday morning.
So for the insomniacs, 120 Minutes was a mix of uncommercial sounds and experimental videos that wouldn’t have been broadcast during the day. Just look at certain Sqaurepusher and Mogwai promos.
In an age where music is being broadcast to a wider audience via the internet, you’d expect MTV to do the same. But no, they instead decided to shun the show for moronic programming which, over time, has diluted the channel to such an extent that hardly any music videos are played. But this hasn’t stopped the network from holding its annual VMA ceremony.
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Today we bring to you a witty take on the Mercury Music Prize Nominees before anyone else and you should thank us, because we have endured listening to Ms. Dynamite on the Lauren Laverne show to do this; there was terrible music and hateful voices everywhere. We really do not look forward to watching them on TV, when we will be forced to stare into her dead eyes while Jools Holland carries on regardless in the background.
As some clever sod said on twitter, The Mercury’s are the private school of awards, which is probably why anyone who wins goes on to do nothing of any importance with the money.
Feel free to disagree with that previous statement, but just know we have tricks up our designer sleeves. Pulp did alright didn’t they? Arguably so did Dizzee Rascal, except now he touts CBBC theme music – you could say all of these things but then we would say Speech Debelle and you would lose.
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The stupid Oscars have been and gone, with only a very select few giving the remotest of shits. Those that include themselves in that number are the people who will be making posters of all of Colin Firth’s new films and the simpering, worthy smug git who condescends the Davina McCall lookalike on the BBC’s Film show.
Oh, and we imagine there’ll be a whole host of stupid fashion writers all squeeing over various items of clothing, mixed with tubby women widening their eyes at people who have made a fashion faux-pas.
And so, because we’re legally obliged to announce the winners of the Oscars 2011, we’ve copy and pasted the list from somewhere else and replaced all the names of the winners with videos so you can try and work out who won yourself.
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