The BRITS - a middle-aged perspective

One of the perils of spending time occasionally with teenage children is that their habits do not coincide with mine. For the two who are currently on half-time, this means that they are operating on roughly Eastern US time (up about noon - bed about 3am). The only problem with this is that I either have to bow out of interesting conversations because I have to work in the morning, or I come into work exhausted because I didn't. Falls into the nice problems to have category.

On the downside though, I came in last night to find them watching the BRIT Awards. Something that I had long thought of as in my past. I remember Blur dominating with Parklife, Chumbawamba v Prescott, Jarvis etc. But I have outgrown that. I had planned to sit and read a little, and perhaps follow the BBC2 Folk Awards on the red button, but plainly that wasn't going to be allowed. And yes, I could have gone upstairs and kept myself to myself. But I do enjoy the boys' company. So instead I turned into my father. "Call that music?" "Oh, I know the original of that one ...." And there is some real talent out there. Nile Rodgers of course. Pharrell Williams also. But some I didn't know. The guy out of Bastille can really sing. So can Ellie Goulding but she sounded like she was outside her comfortable rang, so there wasn't enough power to compete with a thousand drummers.

And there were some entirely expected things too. Katy Perry without Autotune is not a good thing. And rockers from Northern cities who try to be sophisticated and cryptic come across as pretentious wankers. And comics trying to satirise the whole sleb-culture that they are part of tend to die on their arses - even if they have sorted out their tax affairs.

So, as you can tell, I ended up getting into the programme - and even more so Twitter's reaction to it. Catty, unpleasant, roaringly funny - it provided a splendid backdrop to the evening. So nice to know that in thousands of homes across the country, so many of us are doing the same and thinking the same - from wondering why Lorde came dressed as Edward Scissorhands to wondering why James Cordon. (Not why anything - just Why?).

So I can't say my evening made me feel particularly enthusiastic about the state of British music, but British humour is thriving, and we should all be thankful for that.