A taxi driver writes (with apologies to Private Eye):
‘Anyway, did you see those Brit awards last night? Fackin’ ‘ell: call that music? None of these modern acts can sing, it’s all autotune, rap crap – give me the 1980s when music was proper music, you could still beat up your children without the PC/woke/snowflake brigade getting offended, you could still go drinking in town and have ten pints of Boston’s Old Thumper and then drive home and whip your animals without some tree-hugger tying himself to the railings. Anyway – I had that Laurence Fox in the cab the other day….’
Given that I have not taken a taxi in decades, I don’t know if a taxi driver would say such a thing, but I do expect similar comments to appear on social networks from my generation who remember the endless hot summers that never really happened and a golden age in Britain that someone’s grandmother told them about. The same people go to sites like ‘Bristol – Then And Now’ – and compare photos of the city today and 100 years ago concluding things were much better when people had outside toilets, no form of heating and smallpox. Who knows? They may be right, that Bristol was a far better city when the riff-raff knew their place and there was no NHS. However, I doubt it. It’s the same with the Brits, which I didn’t watch.
The reason I didn’t watch the Brits is it’s not for me. By and large, it is supposed to reflect the popular modern music scene and specifically the singles charts. There are nods to more independent artists – I think the brilliant Arlo Parks was nominated by music industry suits – but most of it is for the Radio 1 generation, people aged under 24. There are mainstream nods to middle aged folk with appearances by the likes of Coldplay which I suppose brings in a different demographic to the viewing figures, although that does more to put me off watching than tuning in.
At least some of the winners still have a social conscience. The brilliant Dua Lipa made a plea for a pay rise for nurses, though sadly not for care workers (hello, it’s me) who earn a small fraction of NHS wages. Good for her. I shall have to dash through the show later on to see her speech and not, of course, ogle at the songstress apparently performing in her under-garments.
Chill out, my fellow old folk. If you want to listen to old music, there are dozens of radio stations which are nostalgia jukeboxes, from Smooth, through Greatest Hits radio, Capital, Planet Rock to Absolute where you can find warm, cuddly, end-to-end familiar music you will already know and won’t feel challenged by.
The Brits ain’t for me but that’s because I am official very old. When you hear people complaining about it today, you will probably find that they are, too.
