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THE BRITS HIT THE FAN As we head into February and I start to recover from the over indulgences of the Festive Season, another sickly feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. This time, not one self-inflicted however. It's the effects of the full on assault to the senses of glitz, glamour, stardom and chintz that is Awards Season. Come mid Feb you can't switch a channel or turn a page without an Oscar, Bafta, Grammy or Brit being shoved in your face. Now I'm fully aware I sound an utter killjoy and that millions of people across the world love these events. I once did too ... when I was younger I would sit, unbeknownst to my parents, glued to the television through the night, palms sweating as the tension mounted before each winner's announcement. But I didn't watch these events for the glitz, or the glamour, nor even the beautifuul women, (but they helped). No, I loved them because every time I agreed with the panel's decision on the victor, I would pump my fist in the air with delight as it somehow validated my taste and helped me win arguments in the playground. In 1983 of course The Police were a better band than Spandau Ballet, and they had the Brit to prove it, no argument then. This was especially convenient when the winners were acts I liked. In my misguided mind, I thought the ceremonies had merit and were the official confirmation of the countles top tens I had been writing in the back of my Maths exercise book during class. No, not top 10 sums, dummy, Top ten bands, guitarists, songs, drummers, choruses...anything I could possibly think of to do with music needed grading! Of course, I was wrong on so many, many counts - just as I was on all the answers in my maths exams. Awards for artistic endeavours, particularly film and music, are about so many things...but not one of them is artistic endeavour. The lobbying, back scratching and poltical subterfuge that goes on before these events would make the characters on the West Wing blush. These events are geared to helping companies sell as many cinema tickets or CDs as possible, and no amount of talent is going to prevent that happening. So it's little surpise that as my taste has become more marginalised and interesting over the years, the awards panels and I have gone our separate ways, and it has been a long time since I have backed a winner....or indeed, even a nominee. But then as I annually deride the omission of the likes of Richard Thompson in any categories, I subconsciously become the panel and presenter of my own independent film or music awards and it becomes clear that my own lofty stance is in itself ridiculous and I become the curator of a no less insular and self serving shrine to my own tastes. The bottom line being, of course, that you can't possibly claim that one record is X amount better than another. The Arts, and especially music, are just too subjective. Are Arcade Fire better than Take That? Who says they are? The critics? The Fans? The Sales Figures? Dare you even say it ... The Awards Panel?!? I frankly, don't give a Brit who is better, but I know who I would rather listen to. Until next time Adam
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