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Reality TV?

A visit to the Brit Awards

The other week I found myself among the audience of celebrities, record executives and prize winners at the annual Britannia Music Awards or the 'Brits'. It's very unusual for my name to be picked for anything, but as it happened, I had casually voted for certain nominees on the 'Brits' website several weeks previously.

My name was then automatically put into a draw which I promptly forgot all about, until a phone call from the local radio station complete with on-air interview to confirm that I was, for once, a winner. I went from being an ordinary housewife to rubbing shoulders with the stars at the Earls Court all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza.

It was the first opportunity I've really had to compare media hype and television coverage with first-hand reality on such a large scale. The media had made much of the tough security measures being laid on for celebrities' protection. In fact, we encountered nothing of the sort. My husband and I waved our ticket envelope and we were ushered through ù no close checking of tickets until our seats were shown to us, none of the x-ray machines or searches we'd heard would be taking place.

After the show was over, I walked unchallenged from our seating area to the table seating, where I mingled with household names. My expectations were pleasantly changed when I found that those I spoke to were charming and chatty, happy to have their photos taken.

Massaging the moment

The ceremony was hosted by comedian Frank Skinner and former children's TV presenter Zoe Ball, who were at times excruciatingly ill at ease. The TV show of the awards which went out the following evening had been cleverly cut to make both presenters more palatable. In reality, however, their forced attempts at humour - laden with innuendo and insults - fell largely on an unappreciative audience.
It was an evening of unadulterated promotion and self-congratulation. It was also a show of shameless spending. The musicians behind animated band Gorillaz reportedly spent £300,000 on huge screens carrying the cartoon of their performance. Kylie Minogue was said to have splashed out £100,000 on her routine, complete with silver-clad robotic dancers. As each performer tried to outdo the others with ever more spectacular sets, they undeniably took our breath away. Yet, exciting as it was to be there for one night only, I was glad not to belong to that microcosm where reality is money, where sex sells, and where happiness is achieved through public recognition and adoration. The popular music industry can, and does, entertain many. Nevertheless, more light is needed among those people than merely the spotlight can provide. While Premiership football clubs have chaplains, where is the ministry to the music industry? What a challenge as a mission field - perhaps those Christians who do get involved in mainstream music need our prayers more than ever.

Julie Skelton