Bawdy Brand's Brits bits borderline but balanced

Ofcom have given their judgement on Russell Brand's stewardship of this year's Brit awards [pdf]. They dismissed most of the complaints about his jokes without batting an eye, but did give closer examination to two specific jokes:

“Let’s send actual love to Robbie Williams…get well England’s Rose. One day at a time old bean…Oh them bloody drugs. Curse them drugs they’re everywhere. What about the rumours David Cameron smoked drugs as a schoolboy? What worries me most is that he dressed up as a schoolboy to do it, the pervert. Though perhaps, let’s not condemn him regardless. Who among us didn’t smoke just a little bit of weed at school, just to take the edge off those irksome crack come-downs? Actually, as it turns out, it’s about as good an anti-drugs campaign as you’re going to get, don’t take drugs you might end up leader of the Tories with a face like a little painted egg”.

and

“…time to find out who has pierced
the hymen of awareness to ejaculate success into the uterus of popular culture”.

Ofcom decided, on balance, the two jokes just about scraped past the demands of a pre-watershed audience.

As regards older children and under-eighteens, our view is that, again although on the edge of acceptability, the comments were justified in the context of a humorous ‘tongue-in-cheek’ style expected at a music awards ceremony transmitted after 20:00.
Importantly, the overall context of the comments made by the presenter was not that
drugs were acceptable.

Yes, the threat of turning into David Cameron is hardly an advertisement for taking drugs, although we understand that until it was explained to Menzies Campbell that it was a joke, he was trying to cut a hole in a plastic water bottle.

We do love the precision of "well, that's what you'd expect at a music awards ceremony after eight o'clock at night" - of course, had it been a literary awards programme at 9.15, licences would have been revoked and the dogs of war loosened.

More surprisingly, EMAP's television channel The Hits has been caught flashing cunts, tits and wanks onscreen. The words, which flashed up on one of the on-screen premium rate text services with which they splatter their programming, have brought a stiff rebuke from Ofcom. EMAP explained that it had basically little to do with the service besides taking a share of the cash; the company to whom it had ceded all responsibility had managed to catch the attempts by bored viewers to see if they could get the words on the programme, but, for reasons unclear, the moderator had decided that cunt was a word that had a place during the afternoon and allowed the entries to go forward.

Timberlake denies sending secret messages

Justin Timberlake's mysterious honking to "stop drinking, you know who you are, I'm speaking to you" at the Brit awards wasn't directed at Britney Spears.

Indeed, Timberlake doesn't seem to know what he was talking about:

"Oh my god, I don't even know anything about this. Honestly I am so far removed from that situation. A coded message to Britney?"

Oddly, he couldn't say what he meant. We're just a little surprised that he hasn't tried to claim responsibility for a 25% sales rise in non-alcoholic lagers, though.

Take That in cash for honours scandal

Take That have admitted they're buying their Brit awards from the music prize organisers.

Well, replacement statues, anyway; the band are having to pay to get new ones made after they lost the original ones. Mark Owen explains:

"What we have had to do for all of us to have one is to get one each made which we've ordered from The Brits.

"We'll have to pay for it. We've won four in the past and I don't know where they went. The lads say they haven't got one so perhaps Robbie has four of ours sat in his house."

This award means a lot, says Mark, as he won it with dignity:

"Patience winning a Brit was fantastic and a proudmoment. People seem to like the songs this time around. I'm not sure in the old days if it was just about five guys with their clothes off in a magazine.

"The response to the songs has been really positive. I'm proud of that. We haven't had to get our bums out yet but there's always that old chestnut if we need it."

Actually, Mark, you know, if you wanted to, for old time's sake, I'm sur enobody would mind. (You keep your pants on, though, Barlow. There's a line, for god's sake.)

Owen then explains how they agonised over if they should have performed at the Brits or not - contradicting Gary Barlow's more eye-rolling dismissal of Williams' rehab as a publicity stunt:

"It was a hard one because when I first heard he'd gone into rehab I thought we maybe shouldn't go to the Brits.

"But then I felt that Robbie would have been more upset if we didn't go. He's pleased for us. He has said 'well done' on numerous occasions. Cancelling wouldn't have been the right thing because it feels like Rob's involved in the band. It's just a shame he couldn't be there with us.

"Before the last tour we talked to Robbie about whether we should do it and he told us to go for it.

"He has been kept informed of everything we've done along the way so it feels like he is here with us really."

"It's far more serious what Rob is going through," Mark said. "Emotions and feelings aren't something you can play around with. You can't say it's my birthday and they are going to win a Brit so I'll go into rehab.

"I don't think he'd do that. Robbie felt it was something he needed to do. We wish him the best. I haven't spoken to him since he went in but we are there for him."

It's true that you can't time a breakdown to fit in with the awards. But you can plan a holiday.

Anything's got to be better than sitting with Bono

There's actually something quite sweet about Larry Mullen's offer to sit in for the injured Jonny Quinn when Snow Patrol played the Brits.

We wonder why Snow Patrol turned him down? We like a nice supergroup. Okay, this wouldn't have actually been "super", but you know what we mean.

Robbie Williams is not without his supporters

After they failed to even mumble a "get well soon, Robbie" at the Brit awards, some people suggested that maybe Take That were some sort of evil, uncaring bastards who spend their evenings laughing at the plight of poor Robbie.

The next day, Jason Orange stepped in to explain why they kept quiet onstage:

"We didn't thank Robbie because it is about his private situation. It's not for us to comment. He's going through a personal problem and we wish him the best - we love him."

It turns out, though, that a private situation means "one which can be freely discussed in the pages of Reveal magazine", as Mark and Howard have given an interview commenting on Robbie's medical treatment:

Mark Owen said: "I'm so worried about him. I'm gutted and devastated things have ended up like this. I think he should come back to the UK."

And fellow pop star Howard Donald said in the interview with Reveal magazine: "I've been calling him loads.

"I'm upset some people think it's our success that's made him depressed."

Mark's depressed; Howard's depressed. It's one long circle of misery, isn't it? Clearly, Take That's bounce into having to talk to the press about how they're, whatever, upset about thingy they used to work with being in some sort of hospital is a postmodern joke based on the film about The Queen, and how she was forced to pretend that she was really sad that her husband had killed her former daughter-in-law, or whatever conspiracy about Diana we're meant to be believing this week.

Owen's also upset at some of the jokes being made at Robbie's expense:

Owen also said comments about Williams at the Brits from host Russell Brand and Oasis star Noel Gallagher were uncalled for.

"I felt bad at the Brits because there were some jokes said about Robbie that made it look like he was being mocked," he told the magazine.

It didn't just look like it, Mark. Pretty much, yeah, he was being mocked.

Noel warns Liam, apparently

Poor Victoria Newton: she's got hold of a story which claims that Noel Gallagher was so hacked off with how poor Liam's vocals were at the Brits that he's issued a lot of (over-inflated and empty) threats:

A source said: “Noel had some harsh words for Liam after the show.

“He thought Liam’s voice was too nasal and well off his best. He reckons his singing is becoming more pub karaoke than professional."

Trouble is, of course, any Sun readers who rely on Newton for their showbiz coverage might find this a little surprising, since she found no room to mention how rubbish Liam's singing was before. Come, watch Victoria flap in the wind to try and fold Noel's criticisms into her own opinion:

I have to agree with Noel.

I thought Oasis were brilliant at the Brits, blasting out an explosion of sound at Earl’s Court. But the crowd’s singing drowned out Liam’s vocals.

Having watched it back on TV, he seemed short of breath and strained his voice to the point where he sounded like a caricature of himself. His swagger was still superb and attitude seeped from every pore.

Oh, good. He's seeping arrogance from his armpits. That'll sound brilliant on the next album. "Sorry, Liam, the microphone isn't picking up the swagger - could you hunch your shoulders and look a little like a tramp in a wind-tunnel a bit closer to the mic, please?"

Ominously for Liam, the 3AM Girls have a quote from Noel which suggests that, like Guigsy and Bonehead, Liam could find himself being thrown from the balloon. Let's all try and pay attention to Noel, who will be interesting, and let's not let our attention wander off, shall we?:

"If I was a solo artist I'd be the biggest solo artist in the country, easy, no messing. I'd be bigger than Elvis.

"I've seen a lot of people from other bands go solo and end up very lonely boys. But don't ever think I couldn't do it. I could."

Yes... bigger than Elvis... of course... or the size of Paul Weller, certainly... or maybe Simon Webbe and Duncan James locked forever in a secret kiss... solonolo... oh...

NOTW exclusive: People take drugs at music industry shindig

Yes, it's hard to believe, but according to Rav Singh in this morning's News of the World, people at music industry get-togethers take cocaine.

We're not sure what further exclusives we can expect from Rav over the coming weeks - perhaps "sometimes boys in boarding schools masturbate each other after lights out", or "some American lobbyists are little more than semi-official bribe machines." For this week, though, Rav has one of those really unattractive (and, it should be said, inconclusive) extreme close-ups of Amy Winehouse's nose, taken at the Brits:

My exclusive snaps show the sozzled singer leaving an awards party with traces of snow-white powder coating her nostrils.

It looks like the ‘party' drug cocaine — if so, I'm afraid Amy has hit a grim low.

Oh, get a grip, man. Cocaine is a nasty drug, supporting horrible political regimes and fuelling a lot of the crime in the UK. But to suggest one possible snort is a "grim low" is something of an over-statement, and that's even before you bring in "friends" to sound worried:

Last night a close friend of Amy's told me: "Everyone knows Amy's one of the biggest caners on the scene at the moment, but if she's getting into Class-As, it's bad news."

Is it just me, or does that sound less like the way a close friend would speak about a friend with a possibly addictive habit? "Amy's one of the biggest caners on the scene at the moment" isn't a phrase anyone would ever use, much less a worried mate.

But then "Sunday tabloid journalist assigns dubious quotes to unnamed friends" is right up there with "people take drugs at music industry shindig", isn't it?

Keith's daughter and Winehouse fall out

The trouble with big parties is everyone stays up late, gets over excited, perhaps has a little too much to eat and drink, and, of course, not everyone can win prizes and that causes upset. Many parents will sympathise with Keith Allen, whose daughter ended up having a big falling-out with her friend Amy Winehouse:

Lily, 21, looked devastated in the morning and was consoled by boyfriend Seb Chew outside her hotel - but was still in tears as she later prepared to board a Heathrow jet.

The star sobbed: "I had a real slanging match with Amy Winehouse. We had a really bad row. It was terrible."

When an onlooker asked if she was OK, she sniffed: "No, not really. I'm miserable and don't want to talk about it."

It's not clear who she actually sobbed the soundbite to, is it?

And what became of it at last, quoth little Peterkin? Ah, that I cannot say, says he, but it went out live on ITV

Another quick rush round the Brits coverage from the web, starting with the viewing figures. They're not exactly great news for ITV, which managed an average of just 5.3million, coming second to a football match on BBC1 (Bolton versus what used to be Arsenal) which reached an average of 5.7million.

The Brits started with 6.3 million, from which it went downhill, although half-time at the football brought a small peak, reports MediaGuardian. This performance is better than last year (average of 4.6 million) but not as good as 2005's.

After pointing out that we were unable to click through to find The Times' Brit coverage during this morning's post, we got an email from Wapping with a link to Caitlin Moran's coverage of the awards. Do you wonder, like I do, if Caitlin still keeps in touch with former Naked City cohists Johnny Vaughan, Andrew Collins and Wigan's Stuart Maconie? It'd be an interesting little gathering that, don't you think? Anyway, Caitlin points out Russell Brand bears more than a passing resemblance to Timothy Claypole, before wondering just why the Brits have the reputation for danger:

For these days, the Brit Awards is nothing more than a gigantic works do, organised to allow people in marketing at Warner Bros to put on their second-best suits, get drunk and letch at that hot chick from Parlophone.

Its prominent place in the media calendar does, more often than not, make as much sense as televising Zoo magazine’s Christmas party. Less sense, in fact — I bet Zoo has shackled bears dancing on hot trays and one of those vodka luges shaped like the great god Pan.

Well, there were those women dressed up in costumes somewhere between Goth weekend in Whitby on a budget and "marriage minded Lithuanian seeks man, any age", a jarring note of old school-isms. If they'd gone with a proper bordello theme, or had some pretty boys naked but for feather dusters to escort winners to the stage, we might understand the blind eye being turned, but this was just a spot of business as usual: the men helm the stage, the women wear their undies and take a supporting role.

Random Ramblings was poised to bring us all the action, but:

Unfortunately I dozed off during Snow Patrol so I have no idea whether it descended into anarchy, as Russell mooned the audience and James Morrisson chucked a bucket of water over Gordon Brown. Somehow I doubt it. I doubt if any politicians actually turned out this year as they would certainly have come in for some stick. Not like the old days.

He says that almost as if it's a pity that you can't rely on Noel Gallagher to sob his heart out as Tony Blair makes a promise about how the promised land is just around the corner.

Talking of whom, and somewhat inexplicably, Punk Rock suggested that Noel Gallagher deserved the lifetime achievement award for, uh, the sense he talks:

Gallagher did deserve the Brits’ Outstanding Contribution to Music Award – if only because in recent years the Oasis badboy and king of Nineties Britpop has become a rare voice of reason on the British music scene. They are sad times indeed when otherwise unremarkable statements of common sense become worthy of note. Yet Gallagher’s tirades against the ridiculous and famous are soundbites of rationality in a pop culture dominated by the bien-pensant and self-regarding.

The man bought Mike Oldfield's seaside villa and yacht, Punk Rock. He is the very model of a modern self-regarding ridiculous machine, surely?

And if he really was outside the pop-back-slap-circle-jerk, why would they have offered him a prize for being a good egg? And why would he have accepted it?

Elsewhere, Lily Allen had apparently been a bad loser ever before she'd officially lost, with Starpulse quoting her telling MTV she'd been carved up before she'd even got into the auditorium:

"I already know I won't win any awards. I bet you £100 I'll get nothing.

"The judging committee are all industry insiders and they're predominantly from Universal (Records) - and I'm on EMI. I think you'll find that 70 per cent of the artists here tonight are on Universal. I'll leave you with that."

Well, of course it's all a bit of a stitch up, but is she right that Universal scoop 70% of the prizes?

Let's see:
* British Male Solo Artist James Morrison - Polydor (U)
* British Female Solo Artist Amy Winehouse - Island/Universal (U)
* British Group Arctic Monkeys - Domino (Indie)
* MasterCard British Album Arctic Monkeys - Domino (I)
“Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not”
* British Single Take That “Patience” MCA-Polydor (U)
* British Breakthrough Act Fratellis - Island (U)
* British Live Act Muse - Warners
* International Male Solo Artist Justin Timberlake - Jive (Sony/BMG)
* International Female Solo Artist Nelly Furtado - Geffen (U)
* International Group The Killers - Island (U)
* International Album Killers “Sam’s Town” - Island (U)
* International Breakthrough Act Orson - Mercury (U)
* Outstanding Contribution to Music Oasis - Sony/BMG

So, out of 13 awards, 8 went to artists on Universal - just over sixty per cent. Spookily, if you take away the acts voted for, in some way, by the public, you get a figure of 62.5% wins by Universal acts. Almost like there was some sort of quota.

On the other hand, Allen was rejected in the public polls, not even making the shortlist for best single, which might just suggest she's not as good as people are supposed to think she is, and, given a secret ballot, nobody pretends they like her any more. It's a lesson either way.

Some of the other lessons we've learned were detailed by Drowned In Sound:

# Hitting duff notes on the telly doesn’t matter when the viewers have already voted your single their favourite of the last year: see Take That.
# James Morrison, right, he’s really bad.
# Fearne Cotton’s accent is well weird sometimes. Is she from London or Lancashire? Or, like, Greenland. What?

Apparently, we also learned that Joss Stone is hot, or so I'm Not Obsessed would have you believe:

At first, I wasn’t LOVING the pink hair. I thought Joss Stone looked like she was trying too hard. But it seems she has grown into this new person since she’s made the change. Very confident and sexy!

We can only presume he was watching in black and white. On a small screen. Through a window. Or else he has a thing for 1980s gym bunnies.

Putting the counterpoint on Joss is Missy:

Then there was Joss Stone. Oh dear. There she was wondering around the stage failing to get the crowd going and sending love to Robbie in Rehab. If you want to send wishes to Robbie, send a card to his agent, don't sound like Madonna! And the hair!

Then there were certain international bands who won and were, lets face it, a tiny bit OTT. Accept an award with grace not by screaming and crying with excitment. They should take a tip from Amy Winehouse who was very modest thanking her boyfriend and parents.

Of course, turning up on stage so drunk you can't remember which way is forward helps keep the thank you speech to the point.

The mystery about who it was who was down the front trying to at least shake some of the apathy out of the audience is answered on the Brit School Blog, written by the kids at the school underwritten by the Brits foundation:

The BRIT School students were at the forefront of the show, in the pit, with the best view of the artists performing.

Although the only real highlight of the evening was the Arctic Monkeys "not turning up" video, it upset Denni Schanpp, especially because:

They dressed up in hideous costumes—different ones each time—which must have taken longer for them to put on than to get to the event, because they did make it to the Oasis (Musical Achievement) after-party!

Celebrities not turning up to award ceremonies where they are honoured are a pet peeve of mine. I can understand it (grudgingly) if they are actually on tour/playing a gig or—as in Robbie's case—in rehab. I cannot understand it if they feel that they are too big to grace the event with their presence, because it makes me feel like an idiot sitting in front of the telly watching it.

Yeah, shame on the Monkeys for not bothering with hanging about for two hours just to get to mumble a thank you - if they were that keen on not going, they should have eaten three packets of Pro-Plus a day for ten years like Robbie, and had an excuse to check into a health farm. Youngsters today, eh?

Splash enjoyed the Brits so much, they didn't mind not having sex:

I don’t know about you, but I thoroughly enjoyed watching The BRIT Awards last night. It made the perfect date for valentine’s night. The BRITS was sexy, well dressed, funny and all round entertaining, who needs a man!

Well, if you idea of a perfect date is one spent all evening being forced to watch someone celebrating their own dubious achievements and dominating you with their questionable taste, the Brits surely would be the perfect date. Plus, there's someone from accounts I could hook you up with.

Hang about a moment, though, because Lily Allen appears to have changed her mind about the dark conspiracy at the heart of the Brits voting - she didn't lose out because she was victim of block voting, she's quoted by VIP Glamour as saying, it's just bad luck:

“When I heard about the nominations I felt like it was a bit of a burden. I hate being in competitions because I never win. I’ll go home with nothing. I just know I will.”
“Corinne Bailey Rae? I think she’s a bit boring, sorry. She’s a lovely girl but I don’t think her music stands out and I’d be a bit annoyed if she won Best Female Artist. I’d be really happy if Amy Winehouse wins, though. She’s brilliant.”

But Amy Winehouse is on Island, isn't she? Part of the Opus Dei of the Brit panel, isn't it? Shouldn't you be supporting EMI's CBR?

Kudos to Guardian blogger Alex Needham, who watched the ITV2 aftershow show so nobody else had to:

the quote of the night came from Ana Matronic out of the Scissor Sisters backstage on ITV2: "I'm sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market".

Last word, I think, to Wateracre, and his post headlined "The Brit Awards cause opinions from 11 years ago to become again timely and relevant":

Christ Almighty, Oasis are shit.

Brits: Anything could have happened, but didn't

The Sun is insisting this morning that "hundreds of viewers" complained to ITV about Russell Brand:

[H]e swore before the watershed and hundreds of viewers complained to ITV1 over his risque gags in the live show.

He cracked a joke about FRIENDLY FIRE — days after the furore over the Iraq killing of British soldier Matty Hull.

It then republishes the somewhat tame shirts and skins joke in full.

The paper even tries to suggest that Russell was sharing the outrage around:

Brand said AMY WINEHOUSE’S name was a description of her liver — then credited Noel Gallagher for that gag.

No, actually, he credited Noel Gallagher with the (funnier) suggestion the set was like being in one of Amy Winehouse's tattoo. But you're near enough.

You'll be pleased to hear that Bizarre has come up with a "verdict" for you to write down on a piece of paper and take away:

BIZARRE VERDICT: Playing to a live crowd is a tough feat — but Russell managed to get the right mix of comedy without being too risque.

Hang about, though - you started out saying that "hundreds of viewers" complained - either they don't exist, or your verdict is totally at odds with your story. And has there ever been anyone on a stage who hasn't played to a "live crowd" - the paper seems confused, as if it thinks that it's the audience who's been on tape the last few years.

But as Alexis Petridis points out in The Guardian, not even Brand talking about Keith Allen's willy was going to be able to make the show live up to what it desperately wanted to be (a shadow of its former self):

You can tell it's that time of year again when you hear music PRs, representatives of the British Phonographic Industry and TV executives telling you that anything can happen at the ceremony, expect the unexpected, batten down the hatches for the most outrageous event in history.

This year, even the host, Russell Brand, was at it. The event, he claimed, was going to be "a carnival of mayhem".

What's aggrieving about those comments - aside from the spirit-sapping tone of forced you-don't-have-to-be-mad-to-work-here jollity, and the fact that it's hard to imagine any kind of Carnival of Mayhem sponsored by Mastercard - is that anything can't happen at the Brits. Nothing unexpected has occurred at the ceremony since 1996.

The Daily Mail attempts to work up some outrage about Russell Brand's performance, but you can just tell its heart isn't really in it:

Brand did his utmost to shock throughout the two-hour show. One swear-word and two references to intimate body parts came within the first hour.

A bad-taste gag about Robbie Williams who is currently in rehab, was poorly received. His joke about the size of the singer's medicine cabinet was greeted with boos.

He also did little to endear himself to Tory leader David Cameron by claiming that the politician, who is said to have smoked cannabis in his youth, was an ideal advocate for the anti-drugs brigade.

Yes, that's what a wild and crazy evening the Brits offered: live, on national TV, Russell Brand threw away his chance of ever becoming home secretary in a Cameron cabinet.

The Telegraph observes that ITV carried the show with a live delay (so, erm, not actually live then), musing that this was probably "wise" with Brand on board. But the paper only mentioned the Cameron gag - presumably it had flipped channels to catch up on Location, Location, Location while he was making jokes about photos of the Queen's vagina. Or maybe that sort of thing is now considered fair game in the multimedia Telegraph hub these days.

The Mirror's coverage, led (of course) by the 3AM Girls, isn't bothered about Brand at all. They're much more scandalised by Sophie Ellis-Bextor's wardrobe:

There was some definite nipple action going on underneath this frilly see-through number.

And she told us: "I took more than two hours to get ready and just when I thought I could slip out, I had to read a bedtime story to my little one."
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We hope she's talking about her son!

No, 3AM Girls, she's talking about her penis.

Still, kudos to the girls for getting the interview everyone wanted, with, erm, Jamelia. The column's obsession with Jamelia is a fascinating thing to behold - they even let her guest-edit once, and now they carry her every utterance as if she was Britney or something, rather than a Samantha Mumba understudy:

"Being nominated for a Brit Award meant so much to me.

"You can't help being worried when you read all these things saying that you're about to be dropped or horrible rumours that your album is in some bargain bucket.

"So I felt an enormous sense of relief about being nominated, it made me feel more secure."

That's great. Some people might have thought they were on a rather weak shortlist, just making up the numbers, and felt a little bit used.

Talking of which, how was Lily Allen? The 3AM know, or rather, heard someone who did:

And despite being up for a staggering three awards, the Smile star went home with NOTHING.

Later when a fan told her she should have beaten her rival, Lily let rip: "I fucking know."

A staggering three awards? Three is hardly that amazing a number, is it? There's more than three people left in Westlife, for example.

Back at the Sun, though, Victoria Newton knew what the real story about Lily Allen was, though - it was all about Newton:

SMILE singer LILY ALLEN had little to be cheerful about after she was snubbed for all FOUR of her gongs, as we predicted.

Erm, actually, Victoria, you didn't. Your article said Lily was afraid of losing them all, and quoted "experts" who said it was possible - you, yourself, didn't predict a thing.

Of course, the Daily Record view everything from a Scottish perspective - pointing out that Snow patrol were also up for three awards, and won nothing. And they even made them play live.

The Record is also the only paper which seems to think the victory of the Fratellis is worth a headline - but, of course, national pride prevents the paper from suggesting this might prove they've got a fanbase more prepared to rig a vote than their best breakthrough competitors. It certainly suggests that, for all Lily Allen's new friends requests she gets on MySpace, few of her friends are prepared to spend a couple of minutes bombarding the Radio One with votes. Popularity only means something if people are prepared to act upon it.

It falls to the Scottish paper, as well, to provide a sentence which crystallises just how horrible mainstream British music has become:

Paisley singing sensation Paolo Nutini was pipped to the Best British Male Award by [James] Morrison.

We're not quite sure how far from the front the Telegraph's pisspoor Spy column was sitting, but the quality of their backstage gossip suggests they might not even have made it out of Earls' Court tube:

Cleo Roccos hasn't let the grass grow under her feet since leaving the Big Brother house. Spy recently reported that Roccos had been seen in the House of Commons with fellow contestant Jermaine Jackson. Roccos informs me of the plans she is hatching with him.

"We are forming a sort of Nobel Peace Prize meets the Oscars," she tells Celia Walden. "It will recompense people like Nelson Mandela and Al Gore for their achievements and the ceremony will take place in Dubai next February.

We bet Al Gore is already clearing his diary to get a prize off that woman who used to be on the Kenny Everett show twenty years ago. Mandela will be there, though. He's a bit of a showbiz whore these days. He's on Buzzcocks week after next.

Seriously, if The Times has anything about the Brits this morning on its site, I couldn't find it - there was a ticker which seemed to be about Amy Winehouse, but clicking on it didn't do anything. (Firefox 2.0.0.1, Mac 10.4.8 if it helps you, Mr. Murdoch.)

Perhaps we should give the last word, for now, to Alexis Petridis in The Guardian:

It's like a musical equivalent of Ski Sunday. No one watches it to see who wins, they tune in only in the hope of seeing something go disastrously wrong. When it doesn't - and it hasn't for over a decade - the Carnival of Mayhem immediately evaporates from the collective memory.

Brits live, live

7.40pm
In a few moments, the Brits will be taking to the airwaves, live - LIVE, dammit. Anything can happen, promises ITV, although that's not entirely true, is it? After all, not being on television live hasn't meant rock stars couldn't perform badly in the last few years, it's just they haven't bothered. So if they do tonight, it's going to be playing up for the cameras, rather than genuine hedonism or excitement.

Added to which, the odd spot of bad behaviour that has happened has been edited out by the Brits producers (employed by the Brits) anyway - so it's not even as if not being live has in itself kept things tame: anodyne editing has been down to the organisers. Why should it be any different tonight? An hasty cut-away instead of a jump-cut, and the result would be the same.

The date is a bit rubbish, too: since the idea is to try and flog some records in a quiet month, what's the point of televising the awards on the night when young people with disposable income are all out disposing of their income, paying double at the Pizza Express? Last night, with the ad breaks crammed full of slots promoting Love Collections albums, it would have made sense. Tonight, the second most popular night of the year for going out, seems to be a bit of an own goal.

And that was without factoring in the performance of Oasis, who've just popped up on Channel 4 News looking like refugees from a 'come as a refugee' fancy dress party.

We'll be adding to the post as anything which is going to happen, happens.

8.00pm
Jason's just told Eileen that he bubbled himself to social services. There's a sense this might be as exciting as the evening is going to get. ITV is trailing The Abbey, which looks like the sort of programme deliberately placed to be dropped at a moment's over-running notice.

Continuity stress that anything could happen. Good lord, the break bumpers are YouTubesque bits of people miming to songs.

Scissor Sisters are on first - Jakes Shears is wearing the sort of gloves last seen on TV when James Herriot was inspecting cows' backsides. There's no muppets this year, but the gimmick is dancers where you can only see their legs. Oh, and more 1970s kids TV black-dressed puppetry after all.

I Don't Feel Like Dancing. That's the note to set things off on, then.

8.10pm
Ooh, they've got Tom Baker doing voice over and an animated skull. Brand's come on to The Smiths. Not wearing a scarf tonight, Russell? Afraid the ITV audience might not be ready for such effemecy yet?

He observes that the set looks like one of "Amy Winehouse's tattoos".

"Dear Robbie... he's gone to rehab. Let me entertain you? As long you don't need 60 red bulls to get in the mood..."

Russell is now getting the audience to "send love" to Williams -he's not being ironic - and now moving onto some business about David Cameron taking drugs and his "egg for a face."

First award: Keith Allen ("he produced Lily from his willy", before the watershed.)

Keith Allen tells us how incredible the response for his daughter was, although trying to wrap it up in a gag about Robin Hood.

Allen's here for the live act prize - Robbie's only shout of the night: Muse have been given it by Radio 2's audience. In Arizona, another can of vicodin is being cracked open.

Matt Bellamy thanks the fans, one of them tries to flirt with the idea of Courtney Love.

Oh, god, Snow Patrol. Chasing Cars. What a surprise.

8.15
"If I lie here, would you lie with me?"

No, but if you don't move, I'm going to drive my Mini Metro over you.

They've attempted to add some excitement by, erm, hanging some lightbulbs from the set. It looks a little like a health and safety officer's recreated that Police video with all the candles.

The front row is waving arms in co-ordinated movements - if we didn't know better, we'd assume they were placemen trying to whip the other seventy rows of stock-still people into making the event somehow televisual.

Still, kudos to ITV for not trying to pretend its shot on film, which is the sort of trick Channel 4 would play.

Now we're backstage with an excited Fearne Cotton and a not-so-excited Muse. Matt Bellamy has just said that Kasabian are great. Take back their bloody award.

We have the power to decide who wins the best single - there's a shortlist. Fearne says it's really easy to vote. Judging by the shortlist, Will Young, Snow Patrol, Take That, The Feeling (?) and Razorlight, it's already been too simple to rig. Will Young? They're bloody joking, aren't they?

8.25
British breakthrough ("and pierced the hymen") - it's Jarvis presenting. "Have you missed me?" asks Jarvis. He's got a job of work to do, it's not about nostalgia.

Radio One listeners voted for this one, so we know who to blame. In fact, Jarvis repeats that, with the air of a health warning.

Bloody hell, it's The Fratellis. Lily Allen is a step closer to a Craig David, as the band celebrate the capriciousness of the public by showering each other with Irn Bru. (They warned us anything could happen.)

The Fratellis thank the fans for being "in on this thing from the beginning... we'll never forget..."One of them looks like they couldn't remember their name. Oh, and it looks like they had the mic cut on them, so it's not as if anything at all will happen.

Russell suggests that we could avoid friendly fire incidents if the sides in war played shirts and skins.

Toni Collette has come on for international breakthrough act - she's excited to be here, although not as excited as Fearne Cotton. Nobody could be as excited as Fearne Cotton.

The winner, oddly, is Orson. They've turned up, which may or may not be connected. They think it's a fan-voted award. Shockingly, it's not. Tony Orson doesn't seem especially surprised.

Orson attempt to tickle Russell's cock with their prize.

8.35
Amy Winehouse - with half a beehive (a wasphive?) sounds bloody awful and is dancing in a way that suggests she thinks the floor isn't quite as fixed down as you'd expect. She's doing Rehab, of course. The performance isn't helped by a backing band who sound like they'll be the Hawaiian bar at Minehead Pontins all this summer.

Best British Male is being presented by Joss Stone, who has come dressed as TV-am's Mad Lizzie. Joss sends "big love to Robbie Williams for what he's going through right now." That'd be two boxes of Vicodin and a can of red bull, presumably.

When Tom Baker says "Paolo Nutini" it sounds more amusing than anything he ever had to say for Little Britain.

James Morrison has won. This means, somehow, people have concluded that he's better than Jarvis Cocker, which is plainly nuts.

He actually looks like the love child of James Blunt and Johnny Borrell. He can't believe he's here. Nor can we, pal, nor can we.

8.40
Back to Fearne, with Orson gathered around her, stressing again how "easy" it is to vote, although her instructions are different from last time. Did she just call James Morrison Richard?

8.50
Back from the adverts, Erin O'Connor and some fashion designer bloke are dragged on to flirt with each other and present International Male Solo artist. Who from the indistinguished list (and Dylan) will win?

Justin Timberlake. He's sent a thank you video telling us he's "flattered".

The Killers are introduced with a giant bedsheet with their name on it dropping away to reveal them. They actually sound a lot better than we were expecting - certainly there's a bit more about them live tonight than they usually manage on record. The effort seems to have gone into the performance rather than the gimmicks - we bet it was even a work experience boy at the record label who did the bedsheet thing.

So far, then, the closest we've had to edgy is the bloke from Orson wearing a hat that looked like it was stolen off a trucker on his day off (in place of his usual pork pie proper musician hat) and Russell Brand making a joke about a photo of the Queen's private parts. If they're not careful, they'll have made it past the watershed without outraged calls to Ofcom.

Jo Whiley has been given best British Female to present; she's doing a bit of career teacher bit about how there are more "girls" making music than ever before.

And yet they've still had to give a prize to Amy Winehouse. Two-nil down, Lily. To be fair, Lily doesn't look too bothered, although the screen froze when they cut away to her. Not as much as Amy does, though, during her rambling acceptance speech, in which she manages to make a list of names sound confusing.

Best international female falls to Ricky Wilson, who calls it best "international girl" - Nelly Furtado is there. Sorry, the winner. (Presumably, then, none of the international males had turned up, which would explain how Justin won in absentia.)

Nelly seems genuinely thrilled to be winning a Brit. And sober, which is quite a surprise.

9.00
Take That have chosen to do that new one for their performance, and their all-black matching outfits don't make them look sexy, just like Kwik Fit fitters gone to help out Oswald Moseley after work. Mark Owen has got his hand all done up like Gary Lineker during that World Cup; perhaps he'd trapped his hand in a mincing machine. Gary Barlow might dance like a middle-manager at a Christmas show, but they still sound great.

In Arizona, another box of Xannax and a can of Jolt cola are ordered from room service.

Back stage with Fearne, who is now babbling anything that sounds like it might be a link somewhere in her head. The light is flashing off her bracelet; we like to think it's sending porn stories out in morse code.

9.10
Best British band: Giles is giving this one out. Anthony Stewart Head anyway. He doesn't, sadly, come on to Coffee Advert Couples.

The Arctic Monkeys have won, but they're not there. They've filmed themselves dressed up as the Wizard of Oz, and wonderfully don't make any attempt to explain why.

Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and their new film are presenting best international album. The Killers get the prize as a thank-you for turning up. Well, even the least cynical would have smelled a rat if they'd given it to the Scissor Sisters.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers have, of course, removed some of their shirts for their performance. It's meant to be a real big deal for them to be on the bill tonight, but they've played Moe's Bar, so clearly they'll turn up anywhere.

Doesn't Anthony Kiedis look like Posh Spice these days?

9.20
They're advertising a Harry Potter chess set - collect week-by-week with some sort of magazine. It's all very exciting. And Microsoft are trying to claim that Windows Vista is on a par with the fall of the Berlin Wall and discovering an elk has moved in next door to you, whereas it's more like seeing the first edition of Metal Mickey and someone walking a cocker spaniel in the path. ITV are also desperately pushing The Abbey in every break, and evey trail makes Buzzcocks seem more and more attractive.

International Group is being awarded by the Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwoodesque pairing of Sophie Ellis Bextor and Steve Tyler. Tyler criticises Brand's hair while Sophie utters a businesslike "indeed..."

If Red Hot Chili Peppers win, it'll show the event up for a farrago.

Blimey, it's the Killers. Hurry up on stage, lads, for Fearne Cotton is filling in while you walk to the front with some words she has thinking in her head about rich rewards.

Good lord, it's shaping up for "Killer's night" headlines.

The mic fades down while Russell is introducing Corinne Bailey Rae - probably because of technical failure rather than outrageous rudery. Bailey Rae is standing looking like she's just got out of bed, and would rather still be there. Which may account for why she appears to be wearing a pillowcase rather than an outfit. Rather than employ dancers, the budget seems to have been blown on hiring a bunch of people to stand around the back of stage looking bored. Oh... hold on, they are moving slightly. One of them is on a bicycle.

Has there always been a middle eight in this song? They've celebrated its arrival by firing glitter over the stage and the standers turning into dancers. Heavy glitter has almost obscured the stage. Blimey, Corinne's swallowed some. Could this be the "anything" they promised? Someone choking on glitrer? Live on TV?

No.

9.30
What has been the outcome of the poll for best single? Alan Carr will tell us. Yes you do, Alan Carr. We can only thank god Justin Lee Collins hasn't turned up.

They've been busy counting, and the winner is Take That. Which is the least worst possible outcome. (It's worth noting that Lily didn't make it fromn longlist to shortlist here.)

Gary Barlow says it's unbelievable, and then the mics fail again while Mark Owen is trying to talk. Nobody mentions, you know, former friends who might be on hard times.

Best British album is time for Sean Bean to come on stage - presumably he's still got some sort of contract with ITV that he's working through? Maybe we'll see Caroline Quintin and Rebekah Wade's ex-bloke before we hit ten o'clock.

Will Lily break her duck?

Nope, it's gone to the Arctic Monkeys. Sean Bean mentions how he's from Sheffield seventeen times in his three minutes on stage. This time, the Arctic Monkeys are dressed as the Village People. Excellent.

Fearne's got Take That in her boudoir. Ver that tell her they're going to rotate who gets to look after the award, two weeks at a time. "What's your favourite moment of the Brits so far?" asks a keen Fearne. "Winning" says a Mark Owen, clearly bemused at such a lame question being asked on a flagship show.

Fearne then trails "a blistering set" by Oasis, which, erm, hasn't happened yet - so it's not clear how she can be so sure it's blistering, unless they had large sun lamps on the stage during rehearsal or something. What's left? Has Lily Allen run out of chances?

9.45
Great, Blogger is doing its trademark "verification letters not showing" bug. Trident, Cadbury's attempt to break into the less-peanut-allergy-and-samonella-laced chewing gum market, have just made their big launch under the slogan "Mastication for the nation". Do you get it?

Russell introduces another "really important" award, which he's said about them all. It's time for Oasis to be given they're "Your best years are behind you" prize. Brand does at least remind us of Noel's hanging out with Tony Blair. "When I first met liam, I didn't know if he was going to headbutt me or kiss me..." Apparently "football fans love them because they write poetry for all of us." Oh, please.

Wasn't Ringo meant to be giving this prize. Liam does a trying to look couldn't care less "this'll have to do" and Noel says something that can't be heard because the mics break again.

There's ten minutes to fill. That's a lot of Oasis.

9.50
Liam is stood, singing Cigarettes and Alcohol, arms behind the back like he did when they seemed a band full of possibilities. But he's singing it like he's a John Culshaw impersonation of himself. Noel stands with the air of a man thinking deeply about something, like he's waiting for a bus and wants to concentrate to avoid to avoid having to talk to the people around him. The sound dips out for a moment - for a second, it seems that they are about to confound us: could it be they're going to pull something a bit more Mudhoney on us? But no, it's just the sound problems ITV have been having all evening. It happens again and again - when they kept promising "anything could happen", who knew it meant the big headliners having their set screwed up by the broadcaster?

And that's it, then - a Brits without much in the way of a story to it, none of the promised excitement, and even watching Lily Allen not win anything wasn't as much fun as it could have been. It's ironic, though, that after all that time protesting that she didn't want to be known as her father's daughter, he was the only member of the clan who made it onto stage all evening.

Tonight, they're rock and roll veterans

Our stomach clenched a little with the news that Oasis are lining up to do five songs at tonight's Brits:

The group are then scheduled to perform 'Cigarettes & Alcohol', 'The Meaning Of Soul', 'Morning Glory', 'Don't Look Back In Anger' and 'Rock 'N' Roll Star'.

Good bloody God: presumably ITV will have wandered off to show something with dinosaurs and/or Trevor McDonald in long before the end of that little bunch? After all, there's not much point in the Brits running past ten o'clock anyway, as it's the Preston strop on Never Mind The Buzzcocks tonight and, frankly, missing that to see Oasis doing Meaning of Soul (nope, us neither) isn't much of an attractive proposition.

Meanwhile, Noel has been wittering away about the next album:

"Our producer Dave Sardy is coming over for the BRITS so I guess we'll have a chat and kick around some ideas. I've got eight songs that I'm pretty happy with.

"Liam has got one of two that he thinks are brilliant. I fancy doing something more elaborate with this one. It's about time."

But every bloody time you suggest that the last album was just treading water and the next one is going to be amazing, until you... how many songs? Liam's got two... happy... clear the table, mother, I think I'm going...

Noel: The penny drops

It seems to have struck Noel Gallagher - too late, too late - that tonight, Oasis pick up the old fart's prize:

“We’re finally up there with EURYTHMICS, STING and BOB GELDOF.

Finally, Noel?

“Otherwise they’re going to ask us every year. It seemed the right time.

“We’d put out Stop The Clocks and we’re all under 40.

“So we just decided, ‘Fuck it, let’s ..."

No, it's no good... we're going...

Moss bans Doherty

We're not entirely sure he'd have been going anyway - although his enthusiastic embrace of The Madonna Lifestyle doesn't make it impossible - but, alledgedly Kate Moss has told Pete Doherty he's not allowed to go to the Brits.

Apparently she's "jealous" of his "friendship" with "Lily Allen".

Oh, if only there was some sort of unnamed source to explain to us what's going on.

Hang about - there is:

And things came to a head when Kate discovered a gift Lily had given him among Pete's stuff. Our source tells us: "Kate went ballistic and kept shouting about why he had kept the thing from Lily after all these months.

"Pete insisted that she was being paranoid, they were just mates.

"But Kate was having none of it and said that there was no way that Pete was going to the Brits if Lily was going - especially as she wasn't going herself.

"Pete was gutted as he was looking forward to it."

Of course, the real problem is that the Brits are taking place on Valentine's Night. It does raise the question of what bunch of dipping dots arranges the work's night out on February 14th. Especially when you're live on TV, to a nation of living rooms deserted by young people out eating spaghetti in a bid to get off with each other.

Keith Allen to Keith Allen's daughter: You bloody will go to the ball

Having generated a media-cloud by thinking she might not go to the Brits, now Lily Allen is getting a media-cloud by deciding to go after all.

Apparently, her Dad is Keith Allen out of Press Gang: who knew? Keith says Lily's got to go:

"It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing to be nominated for four Brits — you must go and have a good time."

Clearly, then, Keith doesn't think his daughter's career is going to have anything close to an upward trajectory.

Scissor Sisters - Sniiiiiiiip!

In a further indication of how far from having fingers on pulses the Brits organising committee is, one of their key acts for next week seems to be heading dumper-wards, at least in the US:

Jake Shears, 29, is refreshingly honest about Ta-Dah. He said: "The single I Don't Feel Like Dancin' hasn't done anything. The album's dead. It flopped. It stiffed. It tanked."

Meanwhile, ITV is trailing the awards with Russell Brand wandering through cages of dangerous people saying, effectively, "ooh... we're going to be dangerous because we're live."
Russell, sweetheart, GMTV is live for hours every morning. Not being on tape isn't, in itself, a guarantee of edginess.

Missing the point

We were surprised to receive an email encouraging us to "Vote for your favourite indie artists" - especially since the message was just beating up trade for the Fratellis, Wolfmother, Snow Patrol and Johnny Borrell and the Razorlights.

As if to ram home the missing of the point of "indie", the email came from Universal Music. It's like having a Republican Queen, boys.

"Doing a Craig David"

Having failed so singularly to get anyone to take up her "Lady Mucca" nickname, Victoria Newton is now trying to introduce the phrase "doing a Craig David" into the language. Apparently it's meant to mean "being nominated for some Brits and not winning any."

Yesterday, she reported that Lily Allen was afraid of doing a Craig David; today, supposedly, Corinne Bailey Rae is worried about the same thing. Although this quote doesn't sound right, or, indeed, make any sense:

She said: “If I didn’t win any, I might be disappointed.

“I saw Craig on TV after he was nominated for six Brits and he came away empty-handed.”

Did she really say anything about Craig David or has that been slipped in to turn what would otherwise be a complete non-story ("woman admits not winning prizes would be a bit of a shame") into just about enough of a story to scrape into the paper?

Allen puts some pressure on Brits organisers

It's up to you if you want to take Keith Allen's daughter at face value, and believe that she really is so afraid she'll leave the Brits empty-handed that she's planning on not turning up, or if you'd rather see this as a bargaining tool as the votes are being cast. Some sort of insider tells the Sun:

“Lily is seriously considering staying away from the Brits.

“She has a lot of commitments abroad so would have to make a special effort to fly in just for the day to go to the event.
*

“She was thrilled to be nominated in so many categories but many experts think she could lose out in all four.

“As soon as she was replaced by Amy Winehouse on the roster of performers, people started saying, ‘There’s no way she will win Best Female now — it will go to Winehouse.’

“The Best Album category is so tough this year and she’s got little chance of beating the ARCTIC MONKEYS.

“Best single is likely to go to LEONA LEWIS or TAKE THAT, and THE KOOKS are favourite to pick up the Newcomer award.”

The thing is, though, that if Allen's fear is of being sent away with no prizes, not turning up won't make that not happen - she'll either win a prize or not, and it'll still be just as shaming if she can't convert one nomination into a prize.

Especially as the ads pushing her Alright, Still have popped up on the TV with large splashes boasting of the nominations. It's a little late now to try and keep a "couldn't care less" discrete distance