No more heroes

So, yesterday we were treated to the corporate kiss-ass of a ceremony that was the Brits' 2010. The usual parade of pop puppets came with added vacancy and the sing-by-numbers scent of Cowell all over it.

It was, in that respect, everything you would expect from the credit-card-sponsored-record-company love-in. But the Brits' has thrown up some mischief in the past as organic (as opposed to groomed) musicians are invited along or even gifted with an award to add an air of credibility.

Nary a one of them were in sight last night. Where are the protest singers these days? Surely we can't be relying on Billy Bragg to set social commentary to a tune all by himself?

In the year of a general election there was no Rock the Vote. Not even a obscure word scrawled illegibly across a face-out palm.

There was merely the uncanny resemblance Cheryl Cole bore to Jacko and the barely-controversial moments of Liam Gallagher being Liam Gallagher and Ginger Spice taking a pop at Kula Shaker (finally, the moment she'd been waiting for came after years of waiting only for her bitterness to be greeted with a collective 'Kula who? Is that a Spice Girl?'). Robbie Williams delivered an edgy performance (but not really in a flipping the finger at authority sense of edgy).

It was a badly-synced soulless car-crash of show salvaged momentarily by the Dizzee Rascal / Florence Welsh duet and a flawless but slightly cold run out for Jay-Z and Alicia Keys' Empire State of Mind.

And all I could think (other than please dear sweet lord don't let Rob announce he's getting back with Take That) was, is this it? Are these our heroes now? Are we supposed to aspire to be auto-tuned pretty shells? Where are the creatives challenging the status quo (and even challenging Status Quo) and holding authority to account?

No more the call to arms, silence where once poetic provocation. There was a section of musical society that used music in an attempt to change the world. Now it seems there is no time for politics through pop because the schedule is full of spray tans and always being seen in the right place.

There was a time when music meant something more and the Brits scattergun approach to recognition occasionally gave that a platform to address a mainstream audience but if pop isn't getting into debate it could at least be frivolous and fun in its flippancy?

Neither one thing or another last night was a triumph of the insipid, of the instantly forgotten, a jarring nudge that despite two hours of music only an empty void was left inside.

And, Robbie, sweetheart...you don't have to do this anymore. You know that right? If you scared you can't be that showman now. But that's fine. We've got some memories and they're better left unscathed. Go find your twinkle. We'll still be here.

Disclaimer: Yes, thank you, I am aware that this post is basically 'it wasn't like this in my day'. I am however happy with taking this step on my journey towards Cynical Old Hack.