The show must go on! Yes, 2014 was pretty crappy in many different ways for many of us, including Dinesh (May1366) establishing an unwanted first for this community by dying, and 2015 so far doesn’t look like being much better. But it was a pretty good year for music – maybe we’re back with the dynamic of the 1970s and early 1980s, where social dysfunction and austerity sparked creativity – and anyway, what else can we do but turn our frowns upside down, pad our bras and put on our dancing shoes to dance away the heartache like a brave little toaster in the company of friends? Lights! Music! Glittery Things! The show must go on!
[performs incompetent but spirited tap dance while humming something that vaguely resembles Pharrell Williams’ Happy]
And who better to lift the mood than the Spill’s very own and very wonderful Mnemonic?
Mnemonic here, curled up on the sofa with cats, Zissou and Zebedee, and contemplating the Hero of the Year. All three of the finalists have shown grace in facing up to impending death.
In third place, Wilko Johnson, who first of all showed bravery at the prospect of impending death with stoicism and good humour, planning to fit in as many gigs as he could before dropping off the perch, but then undergoing gruelling and radical surgery, which has extended his life, although who knows for how long. Confronting a diagnosis of cancer is something that many of us will have to do as we age. What makes Wilco special is his attitude to it.
In second place, Stephen Sutton, another cancer sufferer, who, instead of succumbing to victimhood, spent the time that remained to him raising a phenomenal amount of money for cancer research. Unlike Wilco, he died ridiculously young, with no sense of having had a life well lived and enjoyed, but they have (or had) in common a complete lack of self pity.
However, the winner is Malala Yousafzai, shot and left for dead by the Taliban, simply for the crime of wanting an education. Her recovery is amazing; whatever lasting difficulties she may have are left unspoken, and she remains completely unintimidated by the continuing threats to her life, which she is devoting to gaining those same rights to education to her fellow Muslim women. Her courage is astounding and she is a a worthy winner for this year’s Spill Award.
Back to Herr Abahachi…
Well, yes, death again, bit of a downer – but it’s going to come to us all in the end, and we can only hope that we can face it with the same spirit! Where are the balloons?
Okay, with this next category, the organising committee had some serious discussion as to whether we should pass straight over this one and onto something more cheerful, but tradition is tradition and rules are rules, and so it gives me only a limited amount of pleasure to contemplate, briefly, some of the people responsible for last year being basically shit, in the Villain of the Year award.
In third place, narrowly beating David Cameron, George Osborne, the traitorous yellow Cleggy bastards and Iain Duncan Smith, is… The Whole Coalition Shower. May they rot in hell after May. Register to vote, people!
In second place, aided and abetted by the inexplicable conviction of the BBC that he’s a serious politican and national figure, is the Poundshop Pierre Poujade… Nigel Farage.
In first place, in recognition of the fact that his evil, hate-mongering activities have taken place at a global rather than national level, is…
Is this thing on?
Hello? Can anyone hear me?
Jerry? Problem here?
우리는 당신이 사랑하는 리더 명예를 훼손 할 수 없습니다.
우리는 당신이 사랑하는 리더 명예를 훼손 할 수 없습니다.
당신은 인터뷰를 언급하는 건가요?
Who are you? What do you want?
당신은 인터뷰를 언급하는 건가요?
Jerry, have you any idea what this is about?
Oh, right. Okay.
No, you’re fine. Totally different villain. Maybe next year.
Sorry about that, everyone. The Villain of the Year 2014 is… Vladimir Putin.
Вот и все, что ты мертв, декадентские западные гиены.
Right, so in 2015 I shall mostly be hiding out from Kremlin hit teams. On the whole still a more inviting prospect than another Tory-led government…
Time to move on to a more cheerful subject, and to introduce another special guest who’s guaranteed to get the party started and blow away those clouds. To present the award for Event of the Year, please put your hands together for Marvin the Paranoid Android!
I think you ought to know that I’m feeling very depressed.
Event of the year? Life continued to persist. Unfortunately.
If a tree falls in the forest, and gradually rots away and is eaten by ants and devoured by fungus, and no one is watching, does this differ in any way from my existence? No.
I have to read things from these cards. I hate cards.
Number 3. Some bicycle race took place in the north of England rather than France. And then went to France. I hate bicycles.
Number 2. Football? Brain the size of a planet, and they ask me to talk about football. One lot of football players beat another lot of football players. Whoop de doo.
I have this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.
Event of the year? Something that didn’t happen but might have done. Excuse me for taking a deep breath of surprise which I don’t do anyway because I don’t breath. Scottish thing. Your problem, humans.
[falls over with a loud metallic clunk and starts to hum the opening of Pink Floyd’s Shine On You Crazy Diamond]
Right… Let’s lift our spirits with the award for TV Series of the Year, to be presented by the enormously popular fun-loving poet Sylvia Plath!
How frail the human heart must be. How frail. A mirrored pool of thought… In joint second place, Sherlock.
Dying is an art, like everything else. And they’re all dead. What is this, this face, so murderous in its strangle of branches? True Detective.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. Fargo. Black, black, black. Black.
Thank you, Sylvia. You’re a fun machine. Time for our next category: Film of the Year. And who better to award this than the Nobel Prize-winning author, humourist and party animal Samuel Beckett.
All I say cancels out. I’ll have said nothing. And given no awards.
Not even to Boyhood.
Or the Lego Movie.
Who are equal. In coming second. Or not coming first.
I can’t go on.
I must go on.
Grand Budapest Hotel. Yes.
Aged Tried Try Better Try again Never Fails Fails Never Fail again We Matter Live Better Fail better
Thank you, Sam. Wise words indeed.
Okay, audience research indicates that there are only two of you out there listening to this at the moment, so we’re not going to have too great an impact on the suicide statistics, but desperate times call for desperate measures. When all else fails, when the party spirit is trickling down the drain like the last dregs of the fluorescent heb-flavoured liqueur that seemed a good idea on that holiday five years ago, there’s only one solution… Call an Australian! Deano From Oz, are you there? Save us with your rustic Castlemaine XXXX-related humour and terrifying wildlife!
Is that me? Am I on? Which camera should I be looking into?
Its Deanofromoz here, coming to you from Melbourne, Australia, and may I say how honoured I am to be attending my first Spill Awards. There are certain things in your life that you look forward to like going on a date with a person you fancy, or winning the lottery. Then there are other things that you don’t look forward to, like paying your electricity bill or attending your annual prostate examination. Not sure which one the Spill Awards fits into yet, I will get back to you, but I will say it has always been a dream of mine to be one of those Eurovision song contest correspondents that report the results, and as my home nation has yet to make the case to be admitted to the European Union, so this may just have to do. I am more than prepared to pander to any clichéd notions of the land down under that you would like if it provides a more imaginable presence – yes, I do ride a kangaroo to work, yes, that is a Shrimp on the Barbie, no, that’s not a knife, this is a knife, and a dingo did take my bay-bee.
Allright, moving on, and in what can only be described as Abahachi handing over the asylum to the lunatic, I have been entrusted with presenting to you the coveted Album of the Year award. I cannot think of any award that I am more qualified and suited to presenting, considering I have not heard any of the albums that have been nominated, and I only purchased two 2014 releases in 2014!
Albums – remember them? Back in the day, musicians would record a series of songs, and would choose an order that they thought had merit, and would then press these songs in order onto a piece of black vinyl. Sometimes they would even put a neat little cover around it, containing nice pictures or amazing artwork. It was marvellous. Over time, the vinyl got replaced with tape, and then polycarbonate plastic that we called a compact disc. In more recent times, the songs went digital, and they now reside somewhere in “the cloud”, up there with nude selfies of celebrities. Back in the sixties, if someone had told you their music collection was up in the cloud with some photographs of naked sex sirens, we would have said “ease up on the LSD, and have another piece of marshmallow pie!”
Anyway, where was I? The album may not be dead but it is certainly battling away on life support. According to Wikipedia, that undisputable resource of accuracy and knowledge…um…sorry, I have my websites mixed up, that description relates to the Marconium….where was I? Oh yes, according to Wikipedia, the highest selling album of 2014 was Taylor Swift’s 1989 – with sales of 3.7 million – I don’t think your Thrillers or Dark Sides of the Moons have too much to worry about on that sales leaderboard.
So onto the award – Shelley, please pass me the envelope…
In fourth place, we have a tie! A “three way tie” in fact – not sure if that is a cooking technique, or something scandalous that you could hack into via the cloud! I digress. The winners:
The Delines – Colfax – described by allmusic.com as “brooding and vulnerable country-soul”
Robert Plant – Lullaby and the Ceaseless Roar – described by the Guardian as “a set of remarkably personal, moving songs ruminating not only on romantic disappointment – beautifully rendered on the stark piano ballad A Stolen Kiss – and the horror of finding himself “adrift … high and lonesome” in the US, as Pocketful of Golden puts it, but on the agonies and pleasures of ageing”
Neneh Cherry – Blank Project – which, according to Pitchfork “isn’t a roaring, triumphant return to form. Instead it’s understated to the extreme, a master class in the ways in which simple pleasures can become fascinatingly deep”
Hmm, that’s a deep review – I remember the days when reviews were much less complicated – a shark sandwich – shit sandwich anyone?
Onto third place, and its none other than Mogwai – Rave Tapes. According to Paste magazine, “Mogwai’s nuanced focus is largely dependent upon the illusion of synthetic expansion rather than their trademarked barebones guitar-band meandering on Rave Tapes. Though that electronic dabbling may lurk in and out of the lion’s share of these songs, it’s not as if the band has hung up their space-y, drone-y roots.”
Our next announcement is second place award, which joins other 2014 second placers, such as Argentina at the World Cup, Australia on the Commonwealth games medal count, Jean-Christophe Péraud in the Tour de France, the Netherlands in the Eurovision song context, Eugenie Bouchard and Roger Federer at Wimbledon, and “Yes” in the Scotland independence vote.
And the runner up is – St Vincent – St Vincent According to Rolling Stone, this album “is her tightest, tensest, best set of songs to date, with wry, twisty beats pushing her lovably ornery melodies toward grueling revelations” that “the playful way these songs contort makes pain feel like a party.”
And speaking of playful painful contorting at a party….actually on second thoughts, that segue is not quite going to work……We are now at the moment that we have all been waiting for. The Spill Award for Album of the Year. TreeFrogDemon is sipping her margarita with nervous anticipation. DsD is that excited he nearly spilt his Jack Daniels all over CaroleBristol.
So, without further delay, I can announce that the Album of the Year award goes to an album that shares its name with one of the early films from the James Bond franchise. A film that was released in 1963 and starred… Hold on, Shelley is whispering in my earpiece…
Well, it looks like Russia to me.
Whaddya mean, ‘additional provocation’?
Well Ladies and Gentlemen, as I was saying, the award winning album contains the name of the birthplace of the Sean Connery, famous for the James Bond franchise films, and is none other than….
King Creosote – From Scotland with Love According to Kenny Anderson (King Creosote) himself, about the album: “It’s basically just looking at ourselves in the past – it’s like looking at your grandparents’ or your great grandparents’ generation goofing about, just doing what they’re doing. But you have to remember that it wasn’t the past for them – they were right at the cutting edge of time like we are now.”
Kenny isn’t able to attend tonight, but I am sure he would want me to thank the Academy, all the other nominees, and would probably want you all to pose for a selfie with Ellen DeGeneres.
So there it is everyone – thank you for allowing me to be a part of this special night of nights. There is only one thing left to do, and that is to throw back to your host with the most, the Professor of Perfection, none other than Abahachi!
Cheers, Deano. And I’m sure we all feel a lot better for that. Here’s to a 2015 that brings us back towards the national mean for deaths and nervous breakdowns. Thanks to all our special guests this evening, especially Mnemonic and Deano, and much love to you all. All three of you.
[raises a glass of The Mule, a purple-tinged blackcurrant stout with one hell of a kick, and falls over]
Hold on, I forgot one!
A special new category, proposed by CaroleBristol, called the WTF Is That All About? Award. Since it wasn’t advertised, we have only one nomination, but in the spirit of general inclusiveness I now declare it the winner!
My nomination is the rise of UK people celebrating Thanksgiving. I am not being negative about the event for Americans, it is, after all, part of their defining national mythology, but what on Earth is the relevance to British people? Why do some of us feel the need to sit down and stuff ourselves full of the world’s most pointless type of poultry a mere month before doing it all over again? Is this a sign of how far we are down the road to becoming the 51st state in some people’s minds?
The big question: is this more or less pointless and/or insidious than Black Friday? And if we just ignore it, will it go away?
We should all just go wassailing instead. G’night, all.