It’s that time of year again, when the dimmest lights of the British music industry battle it out to see who will get to have those irritating little stickers that never fully come off even with boiling water, stuck onto their album covers, which in time will look as sad as that local restaurant that once got nominated for ‘Local Eatery of the Year 2002’ and still polishes the little framed certificate every day, as if it still fucking means something 8 years on when they’re facing bankruptcy due to the sudden rise in popularity of Uzbekistani cuisine, which they refuse to even acknowledge, in favour of just guffing out the same fetid Prawn Frittatas in a Mango and Poppy-seed Jus, that was once their trademark dish.
So, who is in the running this year? Well. As we’ve come to expect there’s the usual heady blend of dirgey, irrelevant indie acts, a token ‘Urban’ group that have been carefully selected by a man so middle class and white, he would shit the Daz doorstep challenge a new bum-tube.
But let’s get a proper rundown of who’s in with a chance:
Mumford & Sons: Since 2007, this self styled band of rabble-rousing fuck-a-billy beard enthusiasts have been on a mission to piss a luke warm, marzipan scented aural stream of twangly bum vomit into as many ears as possible.
Reviews for ‘Sigh No More’
“It sounds like Chad Kroeger trying to shit out an entire skiffle group with his pants still on.” – Puzzler Magazine.
“Mumford & Sons are the aural equivalent of a tweed ghost’s disenchanted sigh” – JUGZ.
Kit Downes Trio: When asked to explain the surprise inclusion of the Jazz outfit to the line up, Mercury panellist Jeremiah Sansoreilles stated simply: “Who? Not a fucking clue mate, we just generally stick a nail through a copy of ‘Downbeat’ magazine and whoever it hits, gets a nom. Is that them then? I wondered what that smell was”
Blending a mixture of maudlin, self indulgent piano noodling and a complete disregard for the concept of Joy, we predict Kit Downes Trio will go on to bigger and better hotel lobbies in the not too distant future.
Reviews for Golden:
“What is this shit? It sounds like a clinically depressed child bashing a cat to death against an untuned piano” – Horse and Hound.
Biffy Clyro: Scottish favourites Biffy Clyro continue to pedal their inexplicably popular ‘Jimmy Eat World sodomising the lifeless corpse of Idlewild with an old horse cock’ noise to our nation’s troubled youths, and have earned themselves a nomination because, fuck it. I don’t know. They’re trying to tap into the Emo teen demographic for when the Mercury Compiler comes out? I’m honestly baffled.
Reviews for Only Revolutions:
“Jesus.” – Yorkshire Friend.
Dizzee Rascal: British Hip-Hop’s answer to Black Lace has now been nominated every year since 1974, winning the coveted sticker with ‘Boy in Da Corner’ and is back this year, mainly because organisers get all their Hip-Hop knowledge from that free magazine you get in Sainsbury.
Reviews for Whatever Dizzee Rascal’s New Album is Called, I Can’t be Arsed to Look It Up:
“Bonkers is to music, what Rohypnol is to the art of seduction” – Sudoku Challenge Monthly.
Paul Weller: After a surprise victory last year, Weller is back to defend his crown. At the age of 73, The Modfather continues to confound nay-sayers by simply choosing to ignore them and churn out more doddery old warty Dad-Rock regardless.
Reviews for Wake Up a Nation:
“What is wrong with his fucking hair? It looks like he’s wearing a fire damaged deer-stalker” – Grazia
The XX: This year’s ‘Band Who Probably Deserve to Win, But Won’t.’ Let’s move on, shall we.
Laura Marling: The warbling Alt-Folk Succubus gets the nod again for her second album, which a lot of clueless record company executives are referring to as being “a lot darker than her first” and it is, in the same way the Harry Potter films have gotten progressively more violent and ‘edgy.’
Reviews for I Speak Because I can:
“I’m glad she can, I just wish she wouldn’t” – Metalhammer.
There are others, but to be quite frank. I can’t bring myself to listen to them. Here are some lazy, ill informed and hastily thrown together comparisons:
Foals – Total Life Forever: Fleet Foxes, The National and MGMT weepily tugging each other off in a darkened room.
Wild Beasts – Two Dancers: Talking Heads, fronted by Kate Bush. Only somehow dull.
Villagers – Becoming a Jackal: Rambly, limp wristed indie-folk bumbling, which they probably think is wistful, but sounds for all the world like a mash-up of members of Turin Brakes and Kings of Convenience calling their ex at 4am after a bottle and a half of Gin.
I am Kloot – The Sky at Night: Shane MacGowan attempting Americana in the style of a heliumed up Lou Reed.
Corrine Bailey Rae? Christ. Do you really care?