“AARRRGGGHH!” This isn’t the sound I make when somebody stands on my foot. This isn’t even the sound I make when I realise somebody has stolen the last Wagon Wheel I had stashed in my secret location.
This is the sound I make when I am forced to endure the Brit Awards.
In my day we had real musicians: Tony Hadley, Jon Bon Jovi, Andrew Ridgeley. Those boys knew how to belt out a tune.
Now we have Mumford & Sons scooping the ‘‘Best British Group’’ award, a bunch of Wellington-wearing banjo-botherers not fit to to shine David Stewart’s shoes.
Coldplay winning ‘‘Best Live Act’’? Do me a favour. Who wants to listen to Chris Martin sobbing into his microphone when they can remember the glory years of Simon Le Bon?
I’ll never forget the nirvana I felt at the Queens Hall in Leeds in 1982 when Duran Duran set the world alight with their Rio Tour. Real musicians, real inspirations, proper vocalists.
Next year I won’t be bothering. I’ll be slipping on Spandau’s ‘‘Gold’’ and remembering the truly golden era of the 1980s.
Nick Lone, Alness Drive, Acomb Park, York.
• I WISH to express my total dismay at the Brit Awards. This is supposed to be an event to celebrate the cream of British music, yet all we got was an abundance of limp dross.
I have been in the music business for more than 20 years, most notably as a session musician for hard rock outfits such as Keane and Franz Ferdinand. Now those boys knew how to party.
When I saw Mumford & Sons collect their award, they looked like nice schoolboys who would be petrified at the thought of having half a shandy.
Where are the sex symbols, the modern day Tom Jones? The hard rock and rollers such as Mick Jagger or Paul Young?
James Corden was truly abysmal as a host. He is no Chris Evans, put it that way. Some of his banter made me cringe so much that if I had been wearing my steel toe-capped boots I could quite easily have put my foot through my television (and I would have sent ITV the bill).
The only decent act on the show was the marvellous Justin Timberlake. Thank the Lord for him. Now, that man is a class act.
Cus ‘‘Cussy Boy’’ Goodwin, Sirocco Court, York.