The dust has settled on the year’s most hyped ‘music’ event in town. Getintothis reflects on the mania surrounding MTV Week.
It’s the Wednesday before the Thursday of the big night. I’ve been informed that my dangly golden carrot marked ‘MTV Europe Music Awards Tickets‘ has been snatched away at the last minute.
Having thrust out my hand to snatch said carrot for about two months, the feeling is like having a rusty fork jabbed in the groin. Especially as some greaseball cigar-munching, event sponsor, whose idea of entertainment comes in the shape of a Nickelback singsong, is no doubt taking my seat.
Ah, well, I keep telling myself it’ll be wank anyway. Who am I trying to kid?
The silver lining arrives an hour later as the remarkably ace PR from Sony, Marina, bags me VIP tickets to Perez Hilton‘s ‘One Night In Liverpool‘ MTV Pre-Show bash at the wee Carling Academy. Bonza.
Having established that Perez isn’t related to Paris, and that he’s some massive (???) US ‘sleb gossip buffoon, and that Estelle, The Ting Tings, The Killers and a certain Kanye West are due to feature, all is not lost.
Better still, the ladies from Daily Post Features‘ (they’re like The Girls Aloud of Old Hall Street – LOLZ) are due to go and a healthy contingent of Echo staffers are also joining in the fun.
So, 10pm we arrive with little miss Show Biz, Tina Miles of the Echo. You’d think Obama was expected given the hundreds waiting outside. Bizarrely there’s a London-style doubledecker parked outside the door making entry a Krypton Factor-style affair.
Unfortunately, I gave up vaulting buses for lent so instead I have to physically assault people to gain entry, whereupon we’re told to stand on the ‘red carpet’ (it’s grey, with blackened chewing gum engrained into it for added character). There’s complimentary bottled Fijian water for us next to our name tags, mine reads ‘Olaf Gudmungjohannsson’.
I’m stood next to a stunning lass from Norweigian TV, who tells me she’s basically here on a blag as their answer to Ronan Keating didn’t make the cut in Europe’s Best Costume Change Ever Award (Newcastle United’s Emre later beats Leona Lewis to the prize), while to my left some dude with outrageous facial hair attempts to get his giant video camera working. He’s sweating furiously.
Then BAM! Perez arrives looking like a stroke victim crossed with Mr Potato Head. Surprisingly, he’s rather likeable; contorting his face for the paps and happily chatting to anyone that’ll listen. When he finally gets to us he’s been asked every Liverpool/MTV-related question possible, so I ask where he bought his jumper.
Ben Sherman he guffaws, tweaking his golden quiff. Marvellous.
He then informs us he’s been shovelling hotel food (into his mouth presumably) all week, finds WAGs like Alex and Coleen ‘amazingly interesting, but boring‘ (I don’t question this profundity) and that he loves England, however hasn’t seen any of it but would ‘love to go to Brighton and see all the gays.’
Having clearly gained a friend, Perez then tootles off to Miss Norway and we’re told we MUST speak to stylists Bed Heds who are looking after everyone’s hair over the course of the next few days. What follows is an incredibly dull conversation with a dude that looks like a 1920s Italian pervert.
Like Perez, he’s charming, but hearing in minute detail about storyboarding hair-dos is hardly my idea of fun especially when you know there’s a VIP bar waiting around the corner.
And ho-ho-ho did we take advantage. One chap asks the Academy barstaff, if everything was free to which he gets the nod and invites himself to a glass of champagne – this I think to myself is too easy, walking off with two bottles of Moet and eight bottles of Sol. Of course it was all shared around the Post’s Girls Aloud.
Decamping to the nearest couch we engage in the greatest sport alive – People Watching. It’s at this type of event you realise how brilliantly removed from reality the entertainment world is. There’s one woman with green and white stripey tights, a purple waistcoat, red beret, HUGE black-thick rimmed specs, hair like Edward Scissorhands and orange stilettos – she looks like Tim Burton‘s wet dream. Then there’s Killers bassist Mark Stoermer who resembles a giraffe in a waistcoat.
Girl band The Saturdays are up first, but it’s not until midnight when Estelle takes to the stage that we’re abandoning our comfy couch, and the Academy almost bursts into flames when she introduces Mr West as they blast into American Boy.
Seeing a star of his magnitude in the mini confines of the Academy genuinely feels like a special moment – even if he only spits two verses and resembles a rippened tomato in his cherry bubble jacket.
Exiting the stage to rapturous applause, The Ting Tings soon follow and we’re chuffed to see how they’ve honed their live display with Katie White in particular looking fierce and confidently swapping cowbell for mic for guitar. They’ve risen through the ranks so quickly, they’ve acrued many cynics and haters along the way, but if you like your pop simple, hook-laden and instant, there’s very few that can match them right now.
Come 2am and closing time, we’re more than satisfied. The WAGS, Hollyoakers and hangers-on are in varying state of disarray, and to be fair so are we.
Like 99% of Scousers, the following night’s MTV EMAs passed us by completely. While Katy Perry straddled a purple lipstick over the other side of town we spent the night watching US noise vets Neptune in Korova’s basement – it was supremely ace.
Bono, Macca, Britney – bah, who needs em…
Five Things We Have Learnt:
1. If you went to the MTV EMAs you’re either good at raffles, good at brown-nosing, own a record company or are Katy Perry.
I am none of the above. Jealous.
2. MTV may contain the word ‘music’ but it is to music, what Amy Winehouse is to sobriety.
3. Kid Rock is rhyming slang for ‘what a cock’.
4. 30 Seconds To Mars are a joke band, right?
5. Rick Astley is the best act ever. LOL!!!!1!1!!!!
