Read This! Brilliant Piss Take Of The Mercury AwardsRead This! Brilliant Piss Take Of The Mercury Awards.

The Polar Foxes – PS

That difficult 12th album sees Mansfield’s favourite sons adopting a new Baroque Pimp look and songs that are much slower and far more boring than the fast, funny ones that made their name. Still, lead singer Aled Turnip can still knock out killer lyrics like “you said you’d keep me warm, then bought me Argyll socks from the market.” That’ll keep Bill Turnbull in stitches for months.

James Bland – Overproduced

This time last year Bland was being touted as this year’s Jamie Lidell or next year’s Antony and The Johnsons but now there are approximately a million other tortured soul/minimal electronic male artists plodding out Radio 2 neo trip hop for coffee shops and poor Jimmy sounds so dated.

Tommy Glam – This is Tommy Glam

Die hard glam rocker Tommy Glam marks his 120th year in showbiz with an LP full of Weimar Republic torch songs and semi-autobiographic stories of painting his face daft colours and wearing a dress. Zowie, what a weirdo but deep down Tommy’s just a normal Bermondsey carrot smuggler aint he Guv?

Bake Jug – Bake Jug

Cashing in on the new craze for cupcakes, Doncaster miner’s son, Bake Jug plays songs that make a connection between Arthur Askey and Nick Drake’s milkman. Having played the mandolin since the age of 3 months, Jug now plays in a jug band and sings songs dedicated to different varieties of loaves.

Discomfort – Settee

Ever sat on a settee and felt the springs on yer arse? Dead uncomfy innit? This record sounds fuck all like sitting on an uncomfy settee but it does sound a lot like loads of records made around 20 years ago that feature generic Beth Gibbons soundalikes babbling deep shit about love and loss n’ stuff set to a bibbedy bobbedy, UKG skip-hop drum machine.

Calves – Holey Socks

Calves have always been so far ahead of the game that sounding like a post-punk clever clogs white funk band seemed novel at the time. Oh how cruel pop can be when your karaoke act is ignored and the likes of Bastille make Athlete sound like The Gang Of 4 and even Franz Ferdinand have made a comeback. Even the post-ACR Hitler Youth thing’s old hat now.

Jeff Hopeless – Impala

A concept album in five movements about the life of an impala as it tries to avoid predators in the brutal Serenghetti may not sound like everyone’s idea of fun, that’s cos it isn’t, it’s pretentious shite.

Lucy Starling – Once I was A Starling

This is the seventeenth time 16 year old Starling has been nominated for the Mercury. Bookies make her joint favourite at 55-1 to win with this her most mature album since September’s ‘Another LP’ LP. A big favourite with 6Music DJs and nu-feminists who wish they were back in the 60s, Starling makes the kind of music that makes Beth Orton sound like Kate McGarrigle.

Lucy N’Baldy – Psalms For The Sun

This year’ token black nomination, Lucy is being called a black version of Sinead O’Connor by fans of bald women in pop or even whatshername out of Skunk whatever, she had the same shtick too but was shit. Anyway, she’s got one good tune and a baldy swede, so that’s one more tune than most on this list.

Tempramental – Away

Old Harrovian broken beats dubstep grime electro ravers Tempramental are keeping it old skool tie. By listening to the likes of Muddy Waters, Leadbelly, Tommy Steele and Chopin, they carve out a groove that screams ‘Glasto Darnce Stage 2014 daddio!’

Sausages – Cook Yourself

Sausages are a five piece all meat band who sing songs about being a sausage and how painful it is to be placed into hot oil in a frying pan before being eaten alive by a brickie with rough hands.

Phoneys – (Brackets)

Phoneys come from Ireland which is of itself nothing to write home about. Ah, but they write songs about writing home to their mammy from strange, alien places like Morecambe where they study business engineering before coming home to their mammy at the end of term playing their fiddle dee dee traditional instrumentals and cracking on to be charming west coast rogues like those lads on the Richmonds sausage adverts.

Next year – same shit, different order.

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