She's known in New Look, she's got a card there

Further evidence of just how seriously Keith Allen's daughter takes her music career - she's signed up to "design" a range of clothes for New Look. Yes, New Look. Presumably Peacocks didn't come up with a convincing enough offer.

Family tradition

Hank Williams Junior has filed for divorce from his fourth wife. Apparently, it doesn't get any easier:

“Today is one of the toughest days in my life,” the country singer said in a statement sent to The Associated Press by his publicist, Kirt Webster. “All families experience difficulties; I hope everyone will respect our privacy during this time.”

The best way to ensure your privacy is to send a release to the AP.

Crosby and Nash stilled

The Stills-free tour of Crosby and Nash has been halted as David Crosby falls ill. They're hoping he'll be well enough for the tour to take place later. Otherwise it might just be Nash, an ampersand and some commas.

Pete Doherty caught on camera

It's not so much that the Sunday People has got hold of cameraphone footage supposedly of Pete Doherty snorting ketamine and cocaine (he calls it CK, of course, because he moves in fashionista circles these days), but more the question of if the man has any common sense at all. He's been caught by "friends" snorting drugs on their mobile phones so bloody often, you think by now he'd carry a Faraday cage or something before getting his works out. Or at least have the sense to appoint an official photographer to take his drug portraits so he can control the sale and make some of the rich royalty stream on offer.

Heather Mills, with apologies to Matt Groening and humour

The story in today's Sunday Mirror about Heather Mill's plans to create a cartoon family called "The McFartneys" details a bad idea taken to such rotten extremes, it sounds like it's either been made up by Paul McCartney's supporters in a ham-fisted attempt to discredit Heather (although that seems unlikely, as she needs little enough help there) or must be the result of such a long process of Chinese Whispers as to make the eventual story bear no relation to the original idea. Perhaps Heather was heard saying "I should get someone to do one of those caricatures of Paul, with a big wallet or something", and by the time it made the paper it was like this:

The bizarre animation show will portray Sir Paul as a crude Homer Simpson-like slob who spends all day smoking pot and breaking wind.

His children Stella, James and Mary are also ridiculed - while Heather paints herself as a supermum juggling her business and family life.

In one episode she also plans to feature Sir Paul's late wife Linda - who died from breast cancer in 1998 - as a ghost. Heather believes she will be able to get away with outrageous storylines as long as the McCartneys' names are changed slightly.

But, clearly, it wouldn't, and you don't even need a libel lawyer to tell you that that would leave you open to any number of legal actions; not to mention how such a strange activity would look when you came to court to fight for custody of your child.

However unlikely the project might sound, the Sunday Mirror's Michael Duffy has dug about and found Heather has established a company called - hold your sides - Raspberry Fields, and the company that administrates her personal website has, indeed, registered webnames in including McFartneys.co.uk and mcfartneys.com. Duffy also claims that the project is being trotted round animation companies, and some work is being done on development:

"The McFartneys will all get names similar to the McCartneys. So Heather will be given another flower name. This way the viewer will be able to work out who is meant to be who."

In case the subtlety of "McFartney" flies over your head, presumably.

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?

The Leon Kings

Slapped into digital form and available for you to gather the kids round the PC speakers to listen to as a family: Kings of Leon's new single, On Call.

Five years? What a surprise

Next Saturday, after five years and fifty shows, Glam-ou-rama has announced next Saturday's Club Bohemia is to be the last:

As Bowie says "We've got five years, that's all we've got" and indeed he was right. You may already have heard the rumours but this will be the last ever Club Bohemia. Our beloved child shall ascend to the stars at the end of the night to seek out a brighter future in another galaxy. For us this is the end of a chapter. It's been an amazing time doing Club Bohemia, but with Preston no longer in the country and myself very busy with other commitments we cannot give the club the attention it needs. So after our birthday we will be closing the doors on Club Bohemia forever. We realise as the last night and our 5th birthday it might be quite busy so we advise people to get there early.

I said "why did you cut your hair, it used to look so lovely"/ if looks could kill, I wouldn't be here today

We know it's our sworn and solemn duty to try and pick the bones out of events in the world of pop, but we're looking at the Britney Spears story and it's like a duck carcass - where do we start with all the bones?

In an extraordinary couple of days, Spears has managed to make Federline look like the most well-balanced of Preston's parents. If our understanding of the timeline is correct, it runs something like:

Britney checks into rehab
Britney checks out of rehab less than 24 hours later
Britney shaves her head
Britney gets a tattoo

Britney thinks, of all this, it's the head shaving that will make her Mum freak.

Although perhaps not, as momma hasn't been above feeding the problem herself, has she? An article in the OC Register this weekend about celeb-spotting maps suggests that Ma and daughter aren't above checking her status:

"Celebrities like being on the map," she tells you. "It's status – it's a sign of who's in and who's out. Once a car pulled up and a woman asked if Britney Spears was on the map – and I could see Britney in the back seat! It was her mother asking!"

The Reuters isn't sure what to make of the head-shaving - afraid that, rather than being a desperate act of a woman on the verge, it might be a hot new trend, it plumps for:

Britney Goes Bald in Stunning Makeover

Coming soon: "Britney dazzles in new 'strapped to a gurney' fashion" and "Red Carpet must-have: those plastic things to stop you biting clean through your own tongue."

The Syndney Morning Herald at least grasps there's something going wrong here, although isn't entirely sympathetic:

Hollywood's next car crash
Is Britney Spears the new Anna Nicole Smith?
Far be it from this column to go easy on the pampered princesses of Hollywood, but this is clearly a young woman in trouble, and someone must be blamed. Is it evidence of the evil influence of Disney? Of the music industry? Of Hollywood or Paris? Or should Britney cop the blame for her predicament, while she still can?

We're no fans of Disney, but we're not entirely sure it's fair to blame the Mouse for her total collapse years after she wore the plastic comedy ears for the last time, is it?

Britney's troubles might be a little more recent. Quoted in the Edmonton Sun, her most recent warm-body Isaac Cohen pointed a finger at some, uh, issues:

"It was clear she was not over her marriage. The first time she invited me to her home I saw her wedding dress hung on the wall in a glass box. As we made love that night it was like Kevin was in bed beside us. She had not even begun to move on with her life."

There can be little more off-putting than the idea of "Kevin in the bed with us" - the smell of pickled onions being eaten with fingers, the constant "dude, I think I writted a new rap tune, whaddya think, guys?" and, we'd imagine, toenail clipping on the duvet. No wonder it's all going to hell in a handbasket.

Even today's Sunday tabloid troika hasn't really got a clue what's going to happen next - normally they'd make something up, of course, but with such a careering, high-speed and directionless story, the News of the World is reduced to slapping up ABC's report on the haircut and shrugging with the rest of us.

This week just gone

Sunday, traditional day for a look-back at the week on No Rock and Roll Fun.

The ten most-accessed individual pages were:

1. Presumably inspired by her naked PETA pics, people were visiting the Jamelia page
2. ... and then for the legendary Heather Mills McCartney nude calendar
3. Lily Allen wasn't really dancing with her tits on display on board the Eurostar
4. ... but sadly, you could see McFly waving their cocks about
5. The ever-popular 'are KT Tunstall's songs about lesbianism and/or her?' debate
6. Mariah Carey: yes, in Playboy. No, not naked
7. Live coverage of the Brits: Anything could happen, but... didn't
8. Grammys awarded: Blunt gets bum's rush
9. Seventy million well spent? The Police reunite
10. R Kelly's sex video to be played in open courts: a 2006 story

Away from naked pop stars and glittering awards ceremonies, the big stories this week included Cheryl Tweedy supposedly pulling her reality series; the first night of the The Long Blondes tour; a first listen to the new Dinosaur Jr single; the not-entirely surprising discovery that illegal filesharing doesn't affect sales; Robbie Williams checking into a spa ("rehab") and Tony Wilson announcing he has cancer.

Five years ago this week, Epitonic users suggested indie music and pornography were similar (not because both are popular with paranoid virgins); Elton John appeared on Newsnight to condemn his own Best Of collection and the whole music-as-cornflakes approach of the music industry; South Mendip Council made it a licence condition for Glastonbury that it had to invite Mean Fiddler to run the logistics; the secret of Tim Burgess' new high voice was revealed, and Oasis announced the Hindu Times. Oh, yes, and Radio One "rested" John Peel for a month, which we suggested might have been a dry run for ways to replace him.

You can read all the stories from the week on one page,
or skim the week before in one post.

And during the week, we tried to flog you some of this stuff from our little suitcase:


Splendid dawn-of-indie compilation, including Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, early Scritti and Throbbing Gristle


Wonderfully, the US version of The Fall's Reformation Post TLC features a picture of the band on the sleeve - that'll turn it into an impulse buy in Wal-Mart


Femi Kuti, reckoned by Kershaw to be a billion times better than his "over-rated" Dad


Of Montreal deliver another album's worth of songtitles sounding like Guardian crossword clues


Do Make Say Think return from the Canadian wilderness


...Shepherd's Bush was only one. Tracey Ullman's You Broke My Heart in 17 Places gets remastered


Re-release of Loudon Wainwright's album in remembrance of his mother - including the masterly White Winos


The Makes Nice. Cristo at Harmony in my Ears says they're "liberally looting the pop style of British invasioners like The Creation; this trio punctuates the ruckus with emphatic harmonies and guitar breaks to make your legs quake."


This week's Superior Swedish pop contender: Hug


Often forgotten Merchant Ivory featuring The Mud People gatecrashing a 1930s country house party

So long, I'm off to rejoin a Cult

Ian Astbury, who, lest we forget, has been spending the last four years pretending to be Jim Morrison in The Doors, has had enough. He's heading back off to restart The Cult. There's a statement:

"I have decided to move on and focus on my own music and legacy. I have learned a great deal from the both of them, and it certainly has expanded my abilities as a performer.

"This has been a difficult decision to make but I feel I would be holding them back as well as myself if I did not depart at this time."

I'm sorry, Ian, did you just say you were going to focus on your legacy, like you're Billie Holiday or Malcolm X?

And you've got to love the idea that the continued presence of Ian Astbury might "hold back" Riders On The Storm (they can't actually call themselves The Doors) more than, say, the fact that the whole point of the band existing vanished when a guy ODed in the bath back when Elsie Tanner was a lass.

North Dakota knocks back Bono prize

Are you listening, Tony Blair? North Dakota's House of Representatives has knocked back a plan to honor Bono for being so great.

The idea came from Democrat Scot Kelsh, who thought it would be a great thing to do because, erm, no other state had honoured Vox. The majority of his legislative chums, though, figured there was good reason for that, and voted down the proposal.

And then some attempted to take down Bono's ego, too:

Republican Gil Herbel of Grafton, North Dakota, told the AP that he originally though the resolution referred to the late Sonny Bono, the former singer/actor/ Republican congressman and husband of Cher.

"When I saw the resolution, I was looking for Cher's name in there," Herbel said.

The official reason for the knock back was that Bono had no apparent connection with the State - which isn't usually a problem; he often arranges his tax affairs to be paying in a place with no apparent connection with him.

Fur enough

PETA's campaign to persuade people to not wear anything that's been made by ripping the outer flesh off animals has signed up another famous person (well, alright, Jamelia) to rip off her clothes and be photographed.

We're not sure it's such a good idea. Apart from the feeling that PETA have totally run out of ideas - how many naked people have done versions of this ad now? - it might be a little self-defeating. After all, since it's clear that, as long as people wear fur , PETA will persuade pretty young pop stars, models and actors to do nude photoshoots, isn't that going to make people who like to see Jamelia and others with their pants off actively go out and buy rabbit coats?

All the girls love Alice

This, like you didn't know, is Alice McLaughlin. Rather than sitting and looking at her photo, you're being invited to go and sit and listen to her, at the following places:

21st February The Boileroom, Guildford
1st March Hoxton Bar & Grill
2nd Fopp Tottenham Court Road (for free)
6th Brighton Joogleberry
8th Borderline London (with Po'Girl)
12th Slaughtered Lamb Electroacoustic Club

A party with the Gallaghers

Having performed the vital role as the signal that it was time for everyone to go home at the Brits, Oasis moved on to their after-career party ("after-show party").

Liam, of course, was charm itself, turning his attention to former best pal Robbie Williams:

“What’s his fuckin’ problem, man?

“We all know what it is — he’s a fuckin’ drama fuckin’ queen.

“If you’ve got a fuckin’ problem, why do you want the whole world knowing about it? He has to be on the front fuckin’ pages, doesn’t he? Just sort your fuckin’ self out.

“You make a fuckin’ crap album then want everyone to feel fuckin’ sorry for you. Fuckin’ tosser!”

He added: “If you take drugs you end up in rehab unless you’re a fuckin’ rock like me — and then you just give them up.”

You could just have sent some grapes and a card, you know, Liam.

Curiously, Liam appears to have been involved in some sort of scuffle outside the party, which The Sun doesn't mention at all and the the 3AM girls only make passing reference to:

Liam was causing a riot outside the club. It started with him scrawling on snappers' lenses and bald heads with a permanent marker pen.

An autograph hunter was left concussed, cars were smashed, and punches were thrown as chaos reigned.

It all sounds very interesting. Sadly, though, the girls have no details as they were inside the club, looking at Sadie Frost.

Noel, apparently, had established the door policy himself:

"We're throwing our own party so we can snub people and not let them in."

You are controlling the quality of party people, and yet the 3AM Girls are inside the event? What... how does that... ooh...

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?

Westlife to reform

Oh... scrub that, apparently Boyzone and Westlife aren't the same band with a name changed to confuse their enemies. Boyzone are a totally different band, and they're coming back.

Although, to be honest, they were so bland it was hard to tell they weren't there in the first place. The Sun has spoken to someone who seems to know a lot about it:

It follows comebacks by Take That, E17 and the Police.

An insider said: “We have no doubt that Boyzone can do as well if not better.”

Since the East 17 comeback was an embarrassing debacle and the Police one hasn't taken place yet, quite possibly.

Nice Myspace You've Got Here: Maggie Horn

The Band: Maggie Horn

At: http://www.myspace.com/maggiehorn

Downloadable tunes? Yes, the rather fine Come Movie Skyscraper

She says: In the same veign of acts such as Portishead, Esthero, Morcheeba and others she sings seductively over moody hip-hop influenced tracks.

She sounds like: Portishead warming up in a deli

She looks like: she could beat you in a drinking contest

How many friends? 1,879, including Prince Charming (not that Prince Charming)

Have they reskinned? She's gone with blue link text on a creamy-brown background, unfortunately

Do they blog? Very infrequently, but with lessons for us all: "i have since begun fantasizing about said danishes and imagined the person that goes in every day to buy the last one up before i get in there EVERY single time. well folks, some days i win.... sort of... today i got in the cafe and to my delight there was one left. i was so excited i could barely wait to chomp down. and when i did. utter dissapointment."

Best comment: "what up ! I aint beatin no ones bush!"

Do we learn anything? The song done with Crunc Tesla will also be on the Tigerbeat6 LP due out this year

Do you really want to add Maggie Horn as a friend? Yes, but bring your own pastries.

Here come the saviours - they've got electric guitars in their hearts

We're not entirely sure that, well-meaning though Al Gore is, holding a massive series of gigs to try and save us from climate change is quite the best way to go about it. Still, nobody wanted to shout down his enthusiasm and so we're now looking at Live Earth on July 7th.

Muse might be on board, but they're at least aware of the inherent contradiction:

Frontman Matt revealed there might be a scheduling problem for the band, which could determine whether they take part or not:

"There's an issue. We've got a gig that same day in Ireland, so we need to work out if we can make it or not, that's basically what it depends on."

The band laughed off suggestions of 'doing a Phil Collins' and chartering a jet or helicopter to ensure they can take part:

"Private jets for climate change?! Not sure about that! That seems a bit on the edge to me. That's actually the issue to be honest, so we need to think about it."

If they really wanted to do something for climate change, they'd hold thousands of microgigs, just round the corner, that you could walk to, instead of seven or eight monster gigs that people will cumulatively travel millions of miles to get to. And we can't wait to see what sponsors get on board to pretend to care - what price "save the world - drink Coke"?

Cornell's emancipation proclamation: 'slave no more

The future of Audioslave - which has looked pretty dubious for the last few weeks - has finally been smothered with Chris Cornell confirming he's out. Not that sort of out:

"Due to irresolvable personality conflicts as well as musical differences, I am permanently leaving the band Audioslave. I wish the other three members nothing but the best in all of their future endeavors."

But why would you wish them luck if you disagree with their musical direction so much you can't stand to be in the same band as them?

TV On The Radio raze Voice

TV On The Radio are fuming with Village Voice after they were depicted being driven over by Bob Dylan for a cover. TVOTR's Martín Perna suggests that drawing a white man (even Dylan) driving over a black man is insensitive:

Nowhere in the consciousness of Voice editors or illustrator David O'Keefe can we find memories of James Byrd, a black man who was dragged behind a truck to his death by white racists in Jasper, Texas, in 1998, or Arthur "J.R." Warren, who was run over four times and killed for being black and gay in West Virginia in 2000, and all the other lynchings that happened in the U.S. before and since. These events are still fresh in the minds of black people, as well as in the hearts and minds of the rest of us who may not be directly victimized by these particular lynchings but who are nonetheless endangered by racism and committed to social justice and healing America of its sick racist condition.

O'Keefe and his colleagues may not have meant to intentionally be racist. They probably meant to be funny, like the University of Texas law students, Clemson University undergrads, or white college students nationwide who plan and publicize their blackface or "ghetto parties," then act surprised that people find their actions offensive and unacceptable. That this picture could be drawn and not questioned or vetoed by any of the people who saw it prior to publication shows the level of ignorance and racism that persists in leftist institutions like the Voice that continue to posture as hip and progressive. It reveals that among decision-makers at the paper there is not one single person with any sort of racial consciousness or sensitivity who had the power or courage to send that picture back to the drawing board.

The Voice responds by, erm, blogging about it, or at least reproducing his letter, sucking their teeth and going "well... what do you think." Regardless of if you think Perna is seeing offence where there was none or not, that the Voice dealt with the issue by just opening a comments section on its website suggests a spot of cowardice on the editors' parts.

Still, at least some of the comments manage to focus on a more important question hanging over the drawing:

It's not the racist part of it; it doesn't always have to be race when there's a white guy doing something to a person of color. Instead, it's just violent. We get enough of that shoved down our throats daily.

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.

Kerrang widens lead over NME

The plastic-goth Emo craze has helped Kerrang extend its lead over NME, to keep the title of the world's best selling rock weekly. NME lost just over 1.5% of its sales since the last circulation audit, while Kerrang added 12% over the course of 2006. These are the figures from the UK and the Republic of Ireland, so this audit period covers the short-lived Irish NME adventure.

Q maintains its position as the best-selling music title in the UK, but it has dumped nearly 17% of its readership since July to December 2005. Of the monthlies, Uncut had the best performance, aided by an overhaul in May 2005.

The sales chart in full:
Q 140,282
Mojo 114,183
The Fly 108,683
Uncut 93,678
Kerrang! 85,377
New Musical Express 73,008
Classic Rock 62,699
Metal Hammer 48,977
Playmusic - Pickup 23,080
Rock Sound 23,031
Hot Press 19,168
Playmusic 7,434

We bet it'll be a silent movie

It surely isn't a tale that warrants more than an after-school special, but someone has come up with a plan to make a movie out of the the Milli Vanilli story.

Universal, in fact. A proper studio. But then again, of course, they were on a proper record label.

It's going to be made by that bloke who was responsible for Catch Me If You Can:

[T]he film will be written and directed by Jeff Nathanson, who wrote Catch Me If you Can starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks.

"I've always been fascinated by the notion of fakes and frauds, and in this case, you have guys who pulled off the ultimate con, selling 30 million singles and 11 million albums and then becoming the biggest laughing stocks of pop entertainment," Variety reports Nathanson as saying.

Is there really enough story here to justify an entire film? Unless there was some behind-the-scenes crime-fighting or superhero action going on, or a scene along the lines of "Rob, if we don't go on Soul Train and open and close our mouths for three minutes, he says he's gonna detonate that nuke in the middle of Manhattan", you're left with a fairly slight plot.

I'm off: Preston turns his back on his career

For all the glitz and glamour and excitement and - yes, the very real sense that anything could happen - that hung around the neck of the Brits last night, it's interesting that the most entertaining pop music moment of the night on the TV was recorded two weeks ago and had already been blogged and written about.

Preston on - or rather off - Never Mind The Buzzcocks.

It had been puzzling us as to why he walked away when Simon Amstell read his own wife's autobiography out to him. Could it be that he was defending his wife's honour? But since he effectively said "not only is my wife's book embarrassing, but it is so embarrassing I can't think of anything to say about it when it's read to me in a public place", it wasn't so much a defence of her honour as a retreat beaten in shame.

He could have had a comeback. He could have even just sat there and taken it. Instead, he got up and walked. Could it be that he finally realised he'd become little more than "rock star boyfriend" in someone else's bad Jackie Collins novel life?

Still, let's enjoy the moment again, thanks to the magic of YouTube.

It's a wonderful moment - it's like Vinnie Jones dressed as Morrissey recreating John Nott on Nationwide.

For the record, the Brits wasn't even the second most enjoyable TV-pop moment last night: that would go to Westlife, and the looks in their eyes as, having been invited on to sing a special Valentine's song on the lottery draw, the football overran and shoved them back to the wrong side of eleven o'clock. After all, if they wanted to sing to sixteen disappointed people, they could get a support slot on an Ordinary Boys tour.

Noel Gallagher has the lost faith

We seem to recall that, upon his election, Noel Gallagher rushed round for tea with Tony Blair. And didn't Noel once make a speech, tears in his eyes, about how Tony was the only hope for the country?

Noel's changed his mind a little bit:

"David Cameron is no different from Tony Blair, and Gordon Brown is no different from David Cameron.

"They're all cut from the cloth and it annoys me that the biggest political icon from the last 30 years has been Margaret Thatcher, someone who tried to destroy the working class...it freaks me out you know.

"So I don't really think there's anything left to vote for. That's why people don't vote.....why people would rather vote for celebrity talent show than would vote for politics."

Noel, everyone can change their mind - indeed, better to be flexible than locked into an entrenched position - but shouldn't you at least try and explain where you think Blair went wrong? It can't be the Iraq war, as - if memory serves - you were one of the loudest voices trying to shout down the anti-war movement, weren't you?

Gallagher criticised Mr Cameron for refusing to admit or deny using drugs while a schoolboy.

"To say no comment is typical of him and his party copping out.

"They wait to see what Tony Blair says...and then they move in behind and switch it and change a little bit."

"It's like a song writer who's eternally ripping off someone else's song and just changing the odd line a little."

You mean... like a band that... perhaps copies The Beatles, or throws John Lennon lyrics into their own... or whose... hang about... all going swirly...

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.

Ruined in a day: Anthony H has cancer

Tony Wilson has been diagnosed with cancer; typically, he's attempting to argue it into submission:

"It was a bit of a surprise to find out I had cancer because there is no family history.

"All my family tend to have heart attacks in the middle of the night aged in their 70s, 80s and 90s.

"I wasn't too upset when I was told the news. I just think you have to go with it and I see it as another step in life's adventure."

Wilson has thanked the NHS staff who have looked after him at Manchester Royal:

"The sheer quality of the care provided to me by the nursing staff and doctors has been fantastic," he said.

"It's funny that everyone has a moan about the NHS except for people who actually use it."

He's staying in hospital for a while, but hoping a successful release will follow the ingestion of a lot of high-power drugs. Which must be like working with the Happy Mondays again.

Get well, Tony.

Mills meets with the cops

Nobody seems quite sure why, but Heather Mills has had a meeting with Sussex Police.

Her spokesperson suggests it might be a meeting she's requested:

Lady McCartney's spokesman Phil Hall said he had not spoken to her, but she had been having "ongoing communication" with police about death threats.

The police? They don't suggest that:

"It was a pre-planned meeting," said a spokeswoman for Sussex Police, adding it "did not relate to anything specific and she was not arrested".

The "not arrested" bit has the hanging air of an unspoken "on this occasion", doesn't it? The police comment doesn't sound like they'd arranged a meeting for Heather to make complaints.

Like so much of Heather's life, it's all rather curious.

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.