That's all from me!
And that’s all from the Brits.
If you’re after specifics I would say it was a 15% improvement on last year. But my goodness we have a long way still to go.
I suppose all that’s left for me to do is write some kind of neat retort, some sort of rhyme based polemic which neatly summarises the evening’s events?
Little Mix, a bag of tricks! It started really well
Dermot and Emma were not bad but “off-ish” - sort of like a bad smell?
Rag’n’Bone man succeeded, a man of few words he is
If only there were more mavericks like Skepta in this business we call showbiz?
Chris Martin was there, a very enthusiastic fella
Jamie Vardy hands Leicester Champions League lifeline against Sevilla
Now I am tired and actually quite worried this whole poetry thing was twee and crap
All that’s left for me to say is, that’s a rap!
Robbie didn’t deserve a mention.
Goodnight everyone. See you next year.
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Live review No 10: Robbie Williams – Welcome to the Heavy Entertainment Show/I Love My Life/Mixed Signals
Across the periodic table from the inert gases that most British male singers are formed from (eg James Bay, Ben Howard, even Rag’n’Bone Man), Robbie Williams is made from a violently unstable element, his charisma doing tequila shots with his ego and id until they come up with genius or Rudebox. This performance can draw from 20 years of solo material – and a host of Take That hits perhaps. Much of it is guff, of course, so does he control his volatility and pick out the pearls? Quite emphatically not. Underwear models parade past him to the strains of Welcome to the Heavy Entertainment Show as if TFI Friday never happened. He promises us that we can go home soon, but not before submitting us to songs that only the most craven performer would include in a lifetime achievement segment. He segues into I Love My Life, a 12-step affirmation bolted onto a Coldplay B-side; like Jeff Goldblum in Annie Hall, his is a mantra that is instantly forgettable. He then channels Jon Bon Jovi’s nasal wondering for Mixed Signals, a guitar anthem so anti-anthemic it’s evaporated from my head mere seconds after hearing it. In the crowd, five people point fingers to the sky while the rest stand stock still like characters contemplating their imminent death in a Roland Emmerich movie. It ends. Angels, She’s the One, Let Me Entertain You … all remain ignored by a performer who, for better but more often for worse, is at least convinced of his own unwavering brilliance.
Rob, mate. What happened there? We wanted the hits and you gave us some bemused gurns and a saggy rendition of some new songs nobody knows yet.
What I said about British music being in rude health earlier, I take back. This is truly Brexit Britain. Let’s celebrate the complacency of mediocre white men forever!
Here’s another way to look at it:
Robbie winning a Lifetime Achievement and doing a medley of the new album is the most punk thing that happened all night.
— Ryan Lofthouse (@lofthouse1982) February 22, 2017
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Here's Robbie
So that’s it? Skepta and Little Mix won in terms of performances, but for not a single grime artist to win a prize seems massively out of touch. A monotonous list of winners.
Robbie’s now on stage singing about how he loves his life and is free and whatever. If all these scantily clad women dancing around him don’t prove we’ve made progress then I don’t know what will!
(A friend just texted me that observation but it’s that stage of the night where I’ll honestly accept anything.)
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Live review No 9: Ed Sheeran – Castle on the Hill/Shape of You
Organisers of awards shows must love Ed Sheeran, as he can blow (well, mouth-breathe) everyone away with an acoustic guitar and a mic while they get on with erecting a candy-floss zebra for Katy Perry to flirt with. But here he’s got a full band, covering the Mumford and Sons classic Castle on the Hill. Then it’s a much more robust Shape of You than the Grammys – it’s good to see him connecting with the song’s full dancehall wine, rather than craning his neck downwards to check if his vocals are looped properly. Screams abound for Stormzy, coming out for a brand new guest verse and instantly obviating the unofficial remixes from Yung Bxne et al – studio version please! This is far from the clunky Rihanna-Klaxons Brits juxtapositions of old – lest we forget, Sheeran has an improbably robust grime pedigree via his early mixtapes. The Brits, pleasantly diverting as it often is, rarely nails the best of British – but this performance is the beating heart of the nation’s homegrown pop.
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David Bowie wins the British album award!
Duncan Jones is here to collect his award. He gave a short and sweet speech about his father, talking of how his dad always supported people who thought they were a bit weird or different: “This award is for the kooks and the people who make the kooks.”
Michael Hann’s verdict:
“Bowie never won a best album award at the Brits while he was alive, which surely proves he never made a good album until now, because the Brits voters would never fail to reward the best music, would they? But now, at last, posthumously, he has reached the crowning glory of his career. To paraphrase an old Robbie Williams gag, he’s looking down on the Brits tonight – not because he’s dead, he’s just really condescending.
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FULL TIME: Sevilla 2-1 Leicester City
The real winner tonight was Jamie Vardy’s away goal that has kept Leicester City’s Champions League dreams alive!
Nice work, football!
I am a bit sleepy so here are some tweets about Ed Sheeran’s performance:
I preferred him in Harry Potter. #EdSheeran
— The Dolphin (@The_Dolphin_Pub) February 22, 2017
I'm sure Ed Sheeran is a very nice man but he is also literally every musician I ever saw playing beach bars in Cornwall in the mid 2000s.
— Laura Snapes (@laurasnapes) February 22, 2017
As @Popjustice once pointed out, Ed Sherman turns up to shows in a suit, then gets into his t shirt and jeans. That is his stage costume. 😑
— Sophie WilkINson (@sophwilkinson) February 22, 2017
Without grime's co-sign ed is very Christian Rock sometimes init come on don't lie
— kieranyates (@kieran_yates) February 22, 2017
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Winner of internet award
... sorry best video. Voted by fans. Turns out One Direction are big online?
Just Liam is here to pick up the prize. Doesn’t mean the band are going to split though. Still best mates. Everything’s fine. One Direction for life!
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Live review No 8: Coldplay and the Chainsmokers – Something Just Like This
Chris Martin’s back! Following A Sky Full of Stars with Avicii, Martin’s “collaborations with EDM bros who’ll take me to bars and get me waved with 22-year-old sportswear models” phase continues. It’s what George Michael would have wanted. In a synergistic marketing push that must have involved a lot of passive-aggressive emails between Warners, Sony and Spotify, Coldplay’s collaboration with the Chainsmokers, Something Just Like This, dropped just before the Brits ceremony. It makes a lot of sense – the two groups share earnestly uplifting, entirely generic neon-hued feels – and I would happily bound around to it on my fifth mixed-berries Kopparberg at Wireless this summer. Martin stage dives into the crowd, who follow the presumably stern talking-to they had before the performance, and keep their hands where we can see them; the guitar soloing lifts the final minute just as it did the 1975. It could be a Closer-sized hit, but whether the Chainsmokers can sustain their single songwriting style – tongue-lolling, molly-friendly buildup crashing into three-note instrumental chorus – beyond one spring break cycle is very much up for debate.
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Coldplay are performing their new song with the Chainsmokers. Ben will submit his proper review in a minute but in the meantime I’d like to do a poem.
I love Coldplay
Honestly I do
But they are really testing my limits
Justin Trudeau
A Tribe Called Quest and Beyoncé win awards but can’t be arsed to send in a video message. This is a new low. Here’s Mr Hann’s verdict:
Beyoncé – best international female
Ha! Stick that in your Grammy-shaped pipe and smoke it, America! That said, who else was going to win? Much as we’d have loved to see Christine and the Queens or Solange get the nod, it was never going to happen, was it?
A Tribe Called Quest – best international group
Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. Even though Foo Fighters weren’t nominated, we assumed they would somehow win this one, like they always do (it turns out they’ve only won it three times, it just feels like more). This is one we can surely all celebrate: a great, returning (and now disappearing again) group, who made a fantastic album, lost a much-loved member, and emerged admired by everyone. Well done, chaps.
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Live review No 7: Skepta – Shutdown
Kanye brought on every grime MC in a 10-mile radius for his performance in 2015, and the Brits managed to ignore absolutely all of them the following year, resulting in much well-deserved #BritsSoWhite hashtaggery. But better late than never, as Skepta delivers Shutdown here in a pulled-up hoodie. As he lifts his fists aloft to the racist comments bandied about that very Kanye performance played over the PA, it’s a big symbolic win for grime by the mainstream – but he should still be able to deliver “wha gwan sexy” at the climax of the final verse. “Ring, ring pussy” doesn’t get past the ITV censors, so congrats to them. A shame perhaps that there was no cameo from fellow grime nominee Kano, who has come out at Skepta’s recent live shows, and indeed recent London tourist and collaborator Drake – but at least we didn’t have to listen to the latter’s chat about “on road” and “ends” and “pengest munch” in a bid to win some UK cred.
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Drake is THE best international male!
Given he was No 1 for pretty much all of 2016, this one doesn’t come as much of a surprise. The amazing thing is that so few people can remember the song that was No 1 for most of 2016. Or even name it. (We can. One Dance. Not telling you if we had to Google it.) These are the rewards of going Full Mope. Presumably, he’ll be spending tonight at some party, off his nut on drugs, getting propositioned by serial supermodels and then complaining about it. Mate, if it’s that bad, go home and watch repeats of Breaking Bad.
Here’s Skepta teaching the music world how it’s done. One man, boundless energy, charisma and a couple of red lasers. Even Simon Cowell stood up to applaud – possibly wondering how he could cash in on grime.
The complaint sampled from Kanye’s Brit’s performance in 2015 was a landmark moment for grime. Well done everyone.
Also relevant:
#Brits just don't get it...it's 9.08 PM. Don't mute @Skepta...@realDonaldTrump said pussy loads and he became President of the USA!
— elliottandrews (@elliottandrews) February 22, 2017
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Live review No 6: Katy Perry – Chained to the Rhythm
With its lyrics about rose-tinted glasses and living in a bubble, Chained to the Rhythm sees Katy Perry ushering in the “woke” phase of her career. Do we want the architect of boozy escapism to suddenly start pulling on your sleeve and pointing at Ta-Nehisi Coates articles on your iPad? Perhaps not, but rest assured Perry’s brand of resistance is as non-specific as a placard at a Corbyn rally. After her “freedom is good, yeah?” unveiling of the Declaration of Independence at the Grammys, she appears here amid a wee town made of cardboard houses, as a pair of giant besuited skeletons – HERE REPRESENTING CAPITALISM – come out to dance like Boris and Theresa at the Conservative party conference. It’s a decent song, but then again the lead track off a Katy Perry album should be, and she looks about 14% as arsed as she was at the Grammys.
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Dermot is so desperate to get some decent quotes from Rag’n’Bone Man that he’s literally asking him about his cat.
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Here’s the boring Adele bit.
We’re all about cross pollination here at the Guardian. So if anyone’s wondering what’s going on on the football liveblog: Sevilla 1 – 0 Leiscester.
Apparently Gray has come on for Musa, whose last act of the evening was to run the ball out of play for a goal kick down the left, while in a decent position. Musa was apparently dismal tonight; his lack of tracking back and closing down allowed Escudero the time and space to cross for Sevilla’s goal.
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Here’s Katy Perry – who last year discovered inequality and activism – performing her reggae protest song about apathy.
Her performance includes dancers dressed as houses (to make people aware of the housing crisis) and skeletons (to raise concern for veganism and possible cannibalism).
Really makes you think.
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Little Mix win best single!
Fantastic. They even got lost on their way to the podium.
I think we can all get on board with Little Mix even if the music’s not your cup of tea. They’re the sort of girls who’d share their deodorant with you.
“Cheers to our exes!” one of them says. “This one’s for you lads.”
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Live review No 5: Chris Martin – A Different Corner
Every bit of me was clenched ahead of watching Adele do Fastlove for the Grammys’ George Michael tribute – how could a dance song about queer sexuality sung by a weed-smoking bacchant get a string section added to it? But it was quite classy in the end. And so is the Brits’ effort. Here we have Chris Martin performing A Different Corner, its warm wash of synths transposed into Coldplay’s quintessential Christmas-lights piano – along with George himself in a compelling duet from beyond the grave. The way their voices chime together shows how Martin has quite a debt to pay to Michael’s earnest baritone – his ability to distil complex, messy emotions into universal lighters-aloft moments is surely drawn in part from George. There’s a deservingly resounding round of applause.
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Andrew Ridgeley, Pepsi and Shirlie are on stage. It’s the history of Wham! An emotional tribute to George Michael. Touching. A beautiful celebration of a great star’s kindness and talent.
I took a quick dip into the comments section to see how our dear Guardian readers are responding to the awards. It’s an abattoir.
OMG having seen those dresses I can only say. Brexit cannot come soon enough.
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Live review No 4: The 1975 – The Sound
Like a priapic Irish water spaniel let loose in Zara Men, frontman Matty Healy has led the 1975 to the edge of stadiums, and tonight they continue their pan-generational charm offensive. It’s a bit like watching your sister’s boyfriend talk to your dad about football while playing footsie under the table with your mum – with their INXS guitars, Duran Duran synths and Healy’s Dionysian charisma, no one is immune to their erudite soft-cock rock. They play The Sound with a full gospel choir – classic 80s white-band move! – and while Healy’s vocals start out a little high in the mix, everything coheres a bit more when he starts bantering with the world’s neatest mosh pit. The comment section disses from the video get flashed up amid it all in a pleasantly vanilla bit of culture jamming, and the exquisite guitar solo carries the whole thing home. Still an absolute jam – now where’s my girlfriend?
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News just in – David Bowie’s son Duncan Jones has been spotted in the audience tonight. Could this mean Bowie gets a second award? Or might he be Ed Sheeran’s special on-stage guest?
Ed: “You need me man, I don’t need you!”
Duncan on backing vocals, pointing: “Need you!”
Meanwhile, the Rag’n’Bone man fallout begins:
My main problem with Rag N' Bone Man is that he really, really seems like someone who'd audition for The Voice. #brits
— David Renshaw (@ddavidrenshaw) February 22, 2017
rag n bone man... uh oh guys... it's happening... this feels like when trump won michigan on election night.
— Joe Zadeh (@joe_zadeh) February 22, 2017
p sure rag n bone man cooked me a dead hippie at the meat liquor truck at field day
— André Leon Scally (@joe_bish) February 22, 2017
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Matt Healy is back on screen. If I were a poet – and some blogs have started to call me one since this liveblog started – I would change the lyrics to:
Well I know when you’re around ‘cause I know the sound
I know the sound, of your heart – I hate Brexit!
Well I know when you’re around ’cause I know the sound
I know the sound, of your heart – Scotland, do NOT make an exit!
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Live review No 3: Emeli Sande – Hurts
As the patron saint of the battling-with-adversity montage, Emeli Sandé’s performance should probably come backed with a slo-mo multipanel video of the Brownlee brothers, those baby iguanas from Planet Earth and Michelle Obama at Trump’s inauguration. Instead, it comes accompanied by jagged moves by a troupe of clapping dancers. Outside of video editing suites though, her latest album slid off the zeitgeist faster than a lubed blancmange – but don’t underestimate major labels’ doggedness in making it A Thing, as here she is with a live performance among pop’s top table, following her best British female solo artist win earlier in the evening. And this performance of Hurts is a reminder that her record Long Live the Angels – while uneven – was unjustly overlooked by most flesh-and-blood Brits. Her nimble flow shows she has one foot firmly in the world of rap, with the other in the balladeering she’s known for. Blending the two is no mean feat, but she does it with clear-eyed conviction on Hurts. Here’s to more of the former on her next album perhaps, rather than more beige montage fodder?
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British Breakthrough goes to Rag’N’Bone Man
Well done Rag? Bone Man? ‘N?
By well done, I mean this is an absolute travesty. He’s already got a Critics Choice award and has sold a bucket load of albums. He beat Skepta and Stormzy to win this.
“Oh my days,” he says. He giggles a bit and that’s it.
Now Ed Sheeran is on with his new glasses. Trendy glasses. Sorry for saying trendy.
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Let’s go back to 2007 and see what state the ceremony was in 10 years ago ...
The host was comic and lothario Russell Brand who referred to the awards as a “carnival of mayhem”. In reality it was more like a “convention of mild disruption”. The show received more than 400 complaints in total, entirely based on Brand’s blue, off-script rambling. “Can you genuinely say that if someone gives you an envelope with a photo of the Queen’s privates inside,” he rambled at one point, “... you wouldn’t have a look?”
Aside from Brand, however, the only real shocking moment of the whole show was Joss Stone’s accent, which, Alexis Petridis said, “seems to have unexpectedly relocated itself from her birthplace in Devon to somewhere in the deep south of America”.
The moral of this post is that the Brits have been a bit iffy for a decade.
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Emeli is on and the mood’s a little bleak, so let’s raise spirits and check out what Twitter thinks of Dermot and Emma’s presenting:
Dermot and Emma presenting together does not work #BRITS
— Dan (@danhcss) February 22, 2017
Dermot and Emma are not my cuppa tea for Brits hosts. #Britz2017
— Jenn (@_jennH29) February 22, 2017
really enjoying our presenters for this evening, dermot o'leary and alternate timeline davina mccall
— emo garland (@emmaggarland) February 22, 2017
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David Bowie wins British male solo artist!
Michael C Hall is here to collect the award for the late star. He says some nice stuff about kindness and artistic vitality.
Last time Bowie won, Kate Moss arrived in a catsuit and made a speech about Japanese myth and rabbits and urged Scotland to “stay with us”. (Seriously, though, Scotland, if you’re reading, please do actually stay with us. Just for a little bit longer. I know we’ve been awful recently but we’re going to get some therapy and hopefully this will all blow over soon and you can forgive us.)
Here’s what Michael Hann has to say about Bowie’s win:
“The late David Bowie has completed a hat-trick of male solo artist Brits wins, following his wins in 1984 and 2014! This time it’s in the wake of Blackstar, for having died and become even more untouchable than he was before, and – perhaps – because he’s been listened to more this past year than ever before (in the immediate wake of his death, global streams of his songs increased by 2,822%, pop fans). Hard to quibble, even if – whisper it – Blackstar isn’t really as much fun as, say, Ziggy Stardust and – whisper it even more quietly – Lazarus was bloody awful.”
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Matty – one of our great hopes for controversy and excitement – did a short speech about being in a band, purity, the album, before nearly but not quite talking about politics.
He said that a lot of artists are told to “stay in your lane when it comes to social issues but if you have a platform – don’t do that”.
It’s not quite “Boo to Brexit! I hate Tories!” but it will do. For now. Here’s a picture of the band looking like Laurence Llewelyn Bowen’s love children.
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Live review No 2: Bruno Mars – That's What I Like
The single wrong thing the Guardian has ever published – wronger than How Not to Let Kale Ruin Your Marriage – is this review of Bruno Mars’s Superbowl performance, in which Hermione Hoby, instead of admiring it as the irrepressible pinnacle of pop entertainment that it was, said it was “almost as dull as the football”. But where once these Bruno haters proudly walked among us, three years on and one Uptown Funk later, their numbers have dwindled to almost zero and they are forced to live underground, listening to London Grammar. The rest of us can revel here in his sensual bedroom funk, and his utterly ridiculous shirt, last seen in a Kettering indoor market circa 1992. That’s What I Like is another of his recent 80s pastiches, this one straight from the Galaxy and Flake adverts school of love jams. Bruno tells us a series of things he likes – sex by the fire at night, silk sheets and diamonds all white – that are utterly unsurprising, but it’s OK because they are things that literally everyone else likes as well. There’s a nicely harmonised breakdown, and while the sight of a three-foot Hawaiian thrusting his crotch doesn’t really do it for me erotically speaking, it’s certainly on beat.
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The 1975 win the British group award!
Lots of people seem to hate them, because Matty Healy is fabulously gobby (and because lots of their fans are teenage girls, and Real Music Fans don’t like that). But their second album, I Like It When You Sleep, For I Can Keep On Making The Title Of My Album Longer Without You Noticing won a tonne of people around for being sharp, clever and packed with pop bangers alongside a big dollop of darkness. Odds on that this will be the most bonkers speech. Radiohead, nominated in this category, have still never won a Brit.
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“Why is he wearing an old Crystal Palace kit?” – more scathing criticism thrown at the TV screen from the office, this time Michael Hann on Bruno Mars.
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Emeli Sandé thanked “the creator of all things” and her sister Lucy – “this award is for you” – who came on stage with her to accept the award.
I don’t want to spread rumours, but I heard Lucy writes all of Sandé’s songs and was contractually obliged to attend the Brits after five years of rigorous and private ballad scribing. Spread it!
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Live review No 1: Little Mix – Shout Out to My Ex
Thanks to their infectious realness, at least one solid gold banger per album and athleisure outfits seemingly taken from a pornographic remake of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Little Mix are the biggest (only?) pure pop group in the UK right now. Ditching the X Factor final ensembles that made Jesy look as if she’d urinated on herself, they instead plump for frosty silver numbers last seen on a Star Trek Beyond mood board. After screaming like banshees at the audience, they arrive on mirrored sedan chairs, before heavily channelling Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation military-industrial vibes alongside some silver-coloured Blue Man Group wannabes. They perform Shout Out to My Ex – the solid gold banger for this particular album – and its blend of Appalachian hoedown and pep rally for jilted One Direction exes gets the evening off to a brilliantly bombastic start.
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Emeli Sandé wins British female solo artist
You what? When she won this award in 2013, she was bestraddling British music like a montage-friendly colossus. There was literally no major event in the UK that did not need the presence of Emeli Sandé to prove it counted. This time? Not so much. Her second album, Long Live the Angels, has sold a 10th of her debut (admittedly, it was a December release, so there weren’t so many Olympics and what not for her to appear at).
“Shit outfit” “Wear a shirt mate” - just some of the abuse hurled at David Tennant from the Guardian staffers just now.
Little Mix have gone full Michael and Janet Jackson Scream-era with their frosty, futuristic entrance. This is a promising start – especially considering that two years ago it involved lots of trapeze artists jumping all over a table full of food.
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The Brits begin!
Here’s Emma Willis and Dermot O’Leary
Hope everyone is feeling cheery?
While I am here I may as well ask, which artists do you think have studied music theory?
Here we go then.
Hopefully everyone is enjoying Coronation Street on ITV before the Brits begin. I’ve got it on in the background while listening to the new Coldplay and Chainsmokers single on Spotify. Terrible sensory overload. Would not recommend.
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Yolo: polo?
I’ve had a quick look at the star’s sartorial choices on the red carpet. You might want to bulk buy black polo necks pronto.
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What to expect ...
This year we’re expecting live performances from Ed Sheeran (plus a secret guest), Katy Perry, Skepta, Bruno Mars, the 1975, Little Mix, Emeli Sandé and Robbie Williams. Which is already slightly more titillating than 2016. I’m struggling to think of anything that actually happened last year apart from:
- Ant and Dec being present
- Adele capturing the nation’s heart with her humility
- Campfire bros Justin Bieber and James Bay playing the acoustic guitar in front of an unruly BBQ
Apparently seven more things happened - here’s a blog about what we learned from last year’s event to refresh your memory.
The big issue that resounded in the aftermath of 2016’s ceremony was that the Brits urgently needed to rethink its voting process. After the #BritsSoWhite controversy exposed the frustration of artists and fans who felt British music was not being fully represented, organisers decided to take action and make the Brits board more diverse (read more about that here). Let’s hope their promise to be more inclusive is not just an empty gesture, but that they actually follow through. Not like that! Although watching Dermot O’Leary defecate live on ITV would liven things up a bit.
It’s an exciting period for British music. Not only have artists proven that they can shift huge units across the world (Adele, Ed Sheeran, the 1975) but the leading voices in grime have beaten the bureaucracy and confines of the major label system to break into the mainstream. It is now the UK’s most exciting and innovative export. Hopefully that is celebrated tonight (and hopefully this moment of solemnity will regain me some dignity after that hideous thing about Dermot).
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Welcome to the Brits 2017 liveblog!
Roses are red
Violets are blue
This is the Brits live blog
Lee Ryan from Blue.
Hello everyone! What better way to kick-start the most exciting event in the music calendar than a short verse of romantic poetry?
First of all, I would like to congratulate you for simply being here. In the 12 months since our last Brits blog, you’ve managed to navigate near-apocalyptic levels of political and societal upheaval, while also trying to maintain a healthy diet and consuming 15 box sets per month in order to stay relevant. It’s been exhausting. But things are looking up. Milo Yiannopoulos has lost his book deal and it’s feeling a bit like spring – let’s all climb aboard the revolution and listen to Katy Perry sing!
No more poetry after this, I promise.
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Why is all the music featured at these things aimed at 9 year olds? Someone, somewhere decided that pre teens should be the Target Market for the music industry and its media outlets and the rest of us just have to lump it. A pox on them.