The Brits -- the aftermath

I meant to post a report on the Brit awards on Wednesday night, when I returned from the ceremony at Earls Court, but got delayed en route, didn't stumble in until about 4am, and was then too hungover on Thursday to contemplate writing anything at all. Professional until the last... In fact, I've written about some of what went down for a piece for tomorrow's Review section of the paper. Here are some brief further thoughts and a bit more context. The day started hilariously with a brief interview with Paris Hilton at the Sanderson hotel in central London. She has an album out in April or May -- news which might make you want to weep. But the heiress has been able to hire some of the biggest guns in the business and you know what? There really are a couple of decent tunes there. In any case, the prospect of meeting her was pretty entertaining. Never mind that in the end, the promised 15 minutes one-on-one turned into eight minutes shared with three other journalists (representatives from the Sun and Heat magazine and the excellent freelance writer Craig McLean). The very fact that someone like Paul McCartney will sit down with a writer from the Music Monthly mag for a couple of hours, but Paris can't handle more time than it takes to pluck an eyebrow is sort of amusing in itself; and of course, the conversation would probably dry up anyway pretty sharpish. But she did seem reasonably bright, and actually quite sweet. Then off to the pub with a friend from Warner Brothers, who'd invited me on to one of their tables at the Brits. When we got there, it turned out we were bang near the front, with endless stars and celebs dotted around, including Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips on our table. He seemed pretty nice too. The show itself was... great. I find all the sniping about the Brits a bit tiresome; everyone knows that it's staged for a primetime TV audience, and it's no great shock that lots of the acts are very middle of the road. Personally, I'm no great fan of Coldplay or the Kaiser Chiefs. Musically, there's no great leap forward from, say, skiffle, and politically the pickings are slim. But I do wish them or their fans ill? Not particularly. Anyway, there were truly memorable performances from Prince (who's on the cover of tomorrow's Observer Music Monthly), Kanye West and Gorillaz (just a shame they didn't win anything). But enough of that. The highlight for me was meeting Madonna. Again, I'm not her absolute biggest fan; but if you can't be a bit star-struck by her, then where exactly is the fun in life? Besides, I was already pretty hammered by then. More on this in tomorrow's paper. Then to the aftershow parties, and more shameless star-spotting, more booze.. and so ultimately, that devastating hangover. Do I feel like a corporate star-shagger? Do I care? It was fun.