Hello! Welcome to the hecklerspray liveblog of the Brit Awards 2011, sponsored by someone or other. Tonight, we’ll be growing increasingly weary and angry at all the goings-on at The Brits.
Your Mick Fleetwood and Sam Fox for the evening are tiresome ‘spray editor, Mof Gimmers and ravishing bombshell JustRestingMyEyes (not her real name of course). They’ll be fluffing their cues (and each other) and drinking heavily throughout each hammy link from James Corden. Click over for the descent into hell… AND KEEP HITTING THE REFRESH BUTTON!
Mof Gimmers: Hello there. Are you ready for the long haul? Good. You’re more prepared than us at least. There’s a high chance that the Brit Awards 2011 could be the most disastrous yet, what with it being moved to a new venue (it has moved from the Lewisham Crown Green Bowls’ Association Clubhouse to the impressive EnormoDome somewhere else in That London) and the fact that James Corden is hosting proceedings.
Also, be sure to follow us on Twitter, where David Baddiel lookalike, Kris Silver is running things along with Randy Figgins and keeping our lawyer on his toes. Now, who fancies a quick drink before we get going? Mine’s a rum.
JustRestingMyEyes: Oh, Christ, the bloody Brits. Another year’s gone by, and what do we have to show for it? Scanning the nominees list, it looks like the only British music of note in the last year has been made by boys mooching miserably about underground clubs in fake nerdy glasses, or women so unbearably twee that just one verse of their siren song compels most grown men to reach for the nearest puppy to shred. Well, I presume so, anyway. I haven’t heard of a single one of them. The Brits, well…it’s for the kids, isn’t it? Like Christmas, or Cheesestrings, or shagging someone while wearing a condom with JLS’s face on it.
That’s a horrifying thought to start. It’s only gonna get worse. Strap the hell in and rum the hell up.
7.31 And what’s this shit? That John Sergeant bloke who stomped around on Strictly like a Scooby Doo mummy, cheekily observing houses so disgusting that Dennis Rodman wouldn’t shag in them. [MG]
7.36 Ah, clearly you’ve made the wise choice to avoid the red carpet coverage on ITV2, where the highlights so far have been Peter Andre answering “yes” to the question “What is your name?” and Dave Berry systematically sucking the joy out of everything. [JRME]
7.45 Don’t forget to keep pressing refresh folks. Mainly because we’re not obscenely wealthy like the BBC or the Guardian who of course, do inferior liveblogs to us. *ahem* [MG]
7.51 Never mind Tinie Tempah dressed like a cross between Joe 90 and Bryan Ferry talking to the utterly loathsome Dave Berry. Never mind walking Kinder Egg toy Paloma Faith… I’m struggling to open a packet of sweets and I’ve already punched ten of my own teeth out. *weeps uncontrollably* [MG]
7.55 So how many minutes into the ceremony will James Corden unleash the belly beast? I hope he’s done something hilarious and subversive like painted an Egyptian flag or a painting of Chairman Mao on it. We’re about to find out. Jesus Anthony Costa! It’s beginning! [JRME]
8.00 Sorry. Peter Andre‘s immense live TV skills and Justin Bieber‘s complete unwillingness to talk has left this writer agog. Now, it’s time for some Tron bollocks with Take That. [MG]
8.05 In Take That’s dystopian future, all riot police get naked and all songs sound like Muse. I’m scared. [JRME]
8.08 And PLAN B WINS the first award for BEST BRITISH SOLO MALE, loves his mum, and does nothing of any note whatsoever apart from make Elton John get all moist around the eye. Because he cries at how talented the young chap is! Honestly, you people make me sick. [JRME]
8.11 Over at ‘spray twitter, TVBite says “It’s nice to see the people who beat you up on night buses getting awards, isn’t it?” in reference to Take That‘s performance. [MG]
8.14 Oh pissing hell. Brit School graduate Adele is here to show us how painfully ‘real’ she is’ Of course, ‘real’ means ‘not thin’ in the pop world. Still, her hair looks like a delicious Cornish pasty, so that’s something. [MG]
8.20 James Corden was so moved by Adele’s honking that he could barely splutter his way through the clunking iTunes advert he had to deliver. Hey, James! You gonna tell a joke at some point? All this sincerity is frankly harshing our buzz. [JRME]
8.21 Fearne Cotton AND Justin Bieber? Jesus wept. [MG]
8.22 TINIE TEMPAH wins A THING! BEST DICKIE BOW WEARING BREAKTHROUGH SOMETHING OR OTHER! With any luck, he’ll kick Fearne all over the stage and then smash her face off with his award. GO ON TEMPAH! [MG]
8.24 Tinie you fucking wimp. [MG]
8.26 THE ARCADE FIRE, one of the most tedious, self-serving bunch of shits who ever shaved the side of their heads, win something or other. I already don’t care. I want someone to punch someone. [MG]
8.27 BUT RIHANNA IS HERE! [MG]
8.31 Don’t expect any words here. I’m furiously masturbating and crying with joy [MG]
8.33 It’s OK, Mof. James Corden says it’s OK to play with yourself during Rihanna’s performance. She’s got the epic pins out, which is good, but try to get put off your stride by the sudden presence of the cast of Stomp. [JRME]
8.34 That was amazing. I was amazing. Everyone was amazing. Especially Rihanna. She’s particularly amazing. Mumford & Sons were probably clapping along politely like nanas at a wedding.[MG]
8.35 What kind of stupid fuck sends a press release out on Brits night? Seriously. [MG]
8.37 TV’s Dawn Porter, like every woman watching The Brits tweeted: “Rhianna just had me thinking all sorts of things there.” Also, while we’re here, let us have a big hand for Kris Silver and Randy Figgins who is running our twitter account and probably getting us into all kinds of legal trouble. [MG]
8.38 And, like all good orgasms (Rihanna) here comes that clawing sense of puking depression (Mark Ronson). [MG]
8.40 And JESSIE J wins the one that we already knew about, the CRITIC’S CHOICE award. She does it like a mandem, which sounds like a terrifying marine beast, and seems to have misplaced her vajazzle in the accompanying video. Betty Boo is doing the do whilst pretending to be Lady Gaga. Thank Christ she didn’t turn up in a Kinder egg. [JRME]
8.45 Nice to see The Brits giving a chance to some homeless fellas. Very kind of the… wait?! That’s Mumford & Sons! hecklerspray is firmly behind Mark E. Smith‘s view on the band… and that was, essentially, to throw a towel at them that he’d pissed on. [MG]
8.48 Jesus, Mumford and Sons, where do you think you are, BBC4? Take your post-ironic trucker’s hat and fairy lights and banjo – Banjo! This is the Brits! Geri Halliwell has shown her brain on this hallowed stage! – and hurry on back to the Mercuries where people will stroke your beards until you politely cough out a climax. [JRME]
8.49 And the award for the most irritatingly catchy song of the year goes to Cee Lo Green. In fact, you can shorten that to plain ‘irritating’. Okay. It was for INTERNATIONAL SOLO ARTIST. [MG]
9.00 Oh, TINIE TEMPAH gets a double with BEST SINGLE, with the song that starts slow then gets a bit faster, revolutionising the music industry. And then make us all wait while someone called Labyrinth doesn’t appear on stage. We can wait all night, Tinie. We’ve got nowhere to go. [JRME]
9.01 Arcade Fire win something. No-one cares. [MG]
9.03 Scally soulman Plan B rightfully gets attacked by London’s metropolitan police force with a kettling job. Of course, Take That did the same thing earlier, making Plan B look like a massive dick-end Which he is of course Sadly, it isn’t Plan B who leaves the stage in flames, rather, hecklerspray writer Matthew Laidlow who tried to justly kick Plan B in the balls. [MG]
9.07 Oh joy of joys. Grotty bedsit noodlers, The XX are here to cast a huge cloud of gloom over us all. Fantastic. Thanks The XX. You’re able to deliver more misery than a clunky Matt Corden link. [MG]
9.09 Matt Corden there, in love with Cee Lo Green for two reasons: 1. He’s fat. 2. Someone flew him on a plane to the Brits. What? Did he expect the fucker to walk? It might have done him some good in fairness.
9.10 Nice to see secret couple The Ting Tings on a Mastercard advert. We all knew that right? It’s not a secret is it? [MG]
9.13 Hooray! Cee-Lo Green had changed out of his Alison Hammond costume and was sporting an actual bejewelled manhole cover around his wrist. [JRME]#
9.17 Avril Lavinge still partying like it’s 2005 and it’s so flaming rebellious to have a bit of green in your hair. And inexplicable automaton JUSTIN BIEBER wins BEST INTERNATIONAL FOETUS and runs his 100: thank fans 200: go to 100 Basic programme. I ovulate in sympathy. [JRME]
9.20 BEST FEMALE goes to docker-voiced child LAURA MARLING and a bleached Lily Cole gets up to accept it. Brits executives cry hot tears of joy at the credibility of it all and the rest of us wonder when Fearne Cotton is going to turn up again so we can scream abuse some more. [JRME]
9.23 Arcade Fire play on stage and the entire world goes for a piss. Good. We all needed a quick visit to the toilet to clear our stomachs after Bieber dragged his placenta across the stage. Weirdly, he called it ‘Mike’. The sick little bastard. [MG]
9.26 Wait? Take That have died? Then why the eulogy? [MG]
9.28 Over at our twitter account, Kris and Randy (still holding hands and typing with a hand each) are causing everyone endless headaches. “Is James Corden banned from the stage or something? Maybe Patrick Stewart is in the crowd.” [MG]
9.31 Full marks to anyone who actually noticed that we keep typing the host’s name out incorrectly as a little joke.
9.32 Cheryl Cole introduces Best International Female Artist (the most hotly contested award of the whole show to be honest) with a voice that sounds like she’s either just had a tooth out or her batteries are running out. Weird. Anyway, the GREATEST WOMAN ON EARTH wins the award. Yessir, it’s RIHANNA! [MG]
9.34 Sweet shitting crikey. Rihanna’s attractive isn’t she? Lovely top half of breasts. [MG]
9.36 Tinie Tempah is accompanied by a crow in human form on piano and blinds half of East London with all the lasers from the early ’90s combined. I’d have a flashback if I wasn’t such a massive square that the most acid I’ve ever had was on my chips. [JRME]
9.42 He’s made the building fall down. I’m unimpressed, frankly. [JRME]
9.44 TAKE THAT wins BEST GROUP, all dressed as geography teachers. Remember last winter, when you could set your watch by Take That singing The Rancid Bloody Flood every hour on the hour and there was something called a Matt Cardle? Me neither. [JRME]
9.48 And while we try and work out what proportions of Plan B’s bloodstream are E and coke, (none and none, lawyers!) over on Twitter, we’re informed “martine mccutcheons been in touch to let us know she’s still famous and a national treasure”. Get over there and follow them. [JRME]
9.51 Great news about Plan B wanted to massacre reggae as well as soul. What is he? Some kind of racist or something? [MG]
9.52 And here’s rock’s favourite bodybuilding pot noodle headed crooner. It’s Roger Daltry from The Who! He’s wants to tell us what the BEST BRITISH ALBUM IS! The XX, Mumford & Sons, Plan ‘Reggae’ B, Tinie Tempah and Take That fight it out. After Daltry gives Plan B a quick rimming by pretending he likes him, he announces that Mumford & Sons is the best album we British could manage this year. If you open your window right now, you’ll hear millions of bodies thudding against the ground like sacks of concrete and guts as we collectively end our lives. Fucking hell fire. [MG]
9.55 And of course, to celebrate British music, Cee Lo Green from America sings us out with a song which, ironically, instructs us all to completely forget this tawdry backslapping event. Wonderful. Great work Brits. You hapless fuckbags [MG]
9.59 Wait, that’s it? Cee-Lo duetting with Brit ancient Paloma Faith doing her best cackling Purley karaoke housewife, that’s the best finale you could come up with? And Anastasia’s ruddy shoes?! Honestly, that was the worst two hours of my life. And I’ve seen that Peter Andre show on ITV2. [JRME]
10.00 Well, thank you to everyone who read this bug-eyed bollocks. Myself and JRME are off to the aftershow party in our heads for a quick, agonising suicide after the shambles that was The Brit Awards 2011. Thanks to Kris and Figgins for doing such a sterling job with the twitter account. You’ve been wonderful, we’ve been dreadful… but not nearly as dreadful as the cunts who didn’t invite us to the Brits. Again.
Now piss off and we’ll see you in the morning. As ghosts. [MG]