Grammys 2008: Softer, Worse, Slower, Weaker

I promised I wasn't going to blog about this, but the Hancock apologists are getting to me. Here's why the Grammys suck. Or mostly suck.

Look, I realise that this is a nearly impossible job for the people at NARAS: 400 awards are given out in all sorts of categories and there is simply no way to please all music lovers. And I get that. Heck, there's no way to even give out ten percent of the awards live. Most are presented in the form of an on-screen text update, like a sports ticker or those weird notes that appear over an interview on the Larry King show.

The Grammy organizers are painfully aware of how tough their job is every year, I think: everything about this year's show was about bridging the old and the new. Stars from different eras performed together; modern interpretations of classics were celebrated; and this new-fangled "text messaging" techgnology was promoted, for a contest, by someone who was once on "Silver Spoons." Come together, right now, over Jason Bateman.

But my goodness, they have to figure something out. There has got to be a better way. I may be a little too focused on the value of newness to music, but there is a reason for that: the awards are given out for the best recordings of the year and the sort of music that gets me excited is something that feels fresh to my ears.

Not that I don't have an appreciation for the classics. I'm as big a fan of vintage Abba as the next guy. But let's take a look at the show.

The broadcast kicked off with a duet between Frank Sinatra and Alicia Keys. One of these people is dead; the other should know better. This isn't just a bad idea: it was a bad idea when Natalie Cole did it fifteen years ago and a bad idea on each of the Sinatra Duets albums (it was only his career that was dead at the time). But the industry, so beleaguered of late, would come off a little better to me if it didn't kick off its biggest night of the year by reminding us that the business was healthier 50 years ago. They actually left Frank in black and white, which is something: had the Grammys been on a Ted Turner network, he probably would have colorised. And let's be honest: Frank would never stand behind someone else's piano. He'd have sucker-punched Keys or had someone do it for him and taken centre stage.

Carrie Underwood - a big winner last year and one of the bright lights in the music industry - performed "Before He Cheats," one of the all time great justifications for vandalism. Carrie is incredibly pretty: so much so that she can single-handedly make football players lose games, but even she can't carry off a shiny one-piece shirt/shorts combo. The folks from Stomp were on stage with her to help perform: I guess it's not such a big leap, to go from playing a washboard and whistling into a jug to banging garbage can lids around. Still, weird. But I do love that finger-tap-on-top-of-the-microphone that Carrie Underwood does, now: it's her signature move and it requires very little exertion. That's how you keep up a relentless touring schedule, kids.

Prince presented the first award of the evening to Alicia Keys, and she thanked God. Prince is God to me, so it seemed a bit redundant. My goodness, though, for a woman in her fifties Prince looks pretty good. Ba-dum-bum.

What's weird its that The Time then perform for the first time since anyone cared about them. This is super-odd for a number of reasons. One, Jimmy Jam is actually playing a keytar. Two, there are about five million bands who we'd be more excitied to see a reunion of. The Police reuinited this year! Led Zeppelin got back together! Men at Work haven't performed together in years! And we're getting a one-hit wonder. Oh, and three, I'm loving this version of "Jungle Love,". Oh-ee-oh-ee-oh! And then the recurring theme of old and new is introduced, again: Rihanna plays with them, bridging their song into something called "Umbrella" thatI had never heard before and then "Don't Stop The Music," a song of hers that samples another 20-year old song. Again, just to remind us that the past is present.

Rihanna, by the way, appears to be wearing an entire dead bird.


Tom Hanks then comes out to talk about space. No, wait, World War II. No, wait The Beatles. Oh, Tom, is there a boomer-era piece of cultural history you're not interested in? There is a tribute to The Beatles, both from Cirque du Soleil and the movie "Across the Universe," and shortly thereafter George Martin wins a Grammy. And it actually takes some people a few seconds to figure out whether or not they should stand and give an ovation. George Martin, people! Produced everything The Beatles ever did! Show some respect or they are going to let Ringo speak!

They let Ringo speak.

But no one lets Yoko speak, so that's good.

Miley Cyrus presents with Cyndi Lauper. To those of you who are under 30, Cyndi Lauper was once bigger than Madonna. To those of you who are over 30 and don't have tween daugthers, Miley Cyrus is the biggest star on the planet right now. Hit records, number one movie in America, popular TV show. She shines so bright she has actually managed to resurrect her Dad, Billy Ray Cyrus' career. This is the pop culture equivalent of losing someeone on the table and then getting them back.

Then Kanye West performs, with such energy that the lights have to be dimmed because he is quite literally glowing. Kanye is talented, and dangerous, and awesome. He is rock 'n' roll, if rock 'n' roll had rap in it. There is a massive pyramid-structure behind him that I originally thought
was there just to contain his ego, but it in fact contains Daft Punk. Everyone rocks out until Kanye finishes with a truly emotional performance of a song for his recently departed mother. The hottest moment and the most touching, from the biggest force working in music today. If he asked, I would be his black Kate Moss. Tonight.

Cher introduces a duet between Beyonce and Tina Turner: if the Scissor Sisters were on hand it would be a gay perfect storm. Or maybe we could get Elton John on piano. There is a massive "Tina and Beyonce" marquee over the two of them as they perform, as if once needs to be reminded of who they are. There is a really weird sort of spoken jazz intro thing, as Beyonce does some weird sort of tribute to Tina Turner before she comes out. Of course, included in her little intro is a line about how, in the history of African-American female singers there was only one "queen," that being Tina.

So I think to myself, how does the "Queen of Soul," Aretha Franklin, who is scheduled to perform on the same stage in less than an hour feel about this? Well done, Grammy people! Next time, show the woman some R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Get it?

That being said, I don't love Beyonce, but I think she is the quintessence of star power, and may be the most joyous performer working in music right now. She just appears so very happy to sharing the stage with Tina. This is why it's a great thing for our pop stars to have workaholic, emotionally abusive parents. All the joy they never get to feel in life comes out on stage. Tina, by the way, is almost 70 and just extraordinary. This has been a good year for her: Ike Turner died and...no, that's it.

Too soon?

Okay, Andy Williams presents, flanked by Nelly Furtado and Rosalyn Sanchez. and not all the Viagra in the world can help him. Three classical musicians have a chance to play with the Foo Fighters and America texts in votes for...the hot violinist chick. Shocking. Kanye West accepts his award for rap album of the year, reminds everyone that he's the greatest, still throws out props to Mark ronson and Amy Winehouse, shames the orchestra into not playing over him while he thanks his mother, while simultaneously releasing three more singles and baking a cheese souffle.

Aretha Franklin leads a gospel choir in a tribute to Cab Calloway, dressed in yellow. Actually, she looks more like a giant grapefruit from the old Fruit of the Loom commercials, but whatever. She may have eaten Beyonce for that earlier slight.

But goodness, can she sing. I may well convert to whatever religion it is she's singing for, I'm so impressed.

Stevie Wonder then introduces Alicia Keys and she gives her second performance of the evening - but this one is for real. "No One," one of the biggest songs of the last year, starts of small and then gets bigger than it's ever been. This performance is so good it survives the introduction of John Mayer and that "I just came" face he makes when he plays the guitar.

We get more Ringo, at this point, but it's okay. He gives an award to Vince Gill who quips, "I just got an award given to me by a Beatle...have you had that happen yet Kanye?" and the place goes nuts.

There's a classical-slash-jazzy Gershwin tribute, Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban sing together so I watch a little "American Gladiators," because it's anything is better than that, and soon enough Amy Winehouse is performing live...via satellite, from London. Now, not that someone with a history of abusing stimulants should ever be forced to perform at 4am their time, but this sort of works. Partially it's the sheer danger of it - Amy could knock it out of the park, or collapse, or pull an eight ball out of her hairdo and snort the entire thing. She does pretty well, and looks genuinely stunned to win Record of the Year for "Rehab" minutes later. Or maybe the three synapses left in her head can only produce the one facial expression.

So we've had our moments of danger, and sex, and newness, but they are few and far between this year. The show ends with a performance from John Fogerty, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard. Legends all, don't get me wrong. Lewis looks like he's grown an extra set of jowls (the better to hide a 14 year-old cousin in) and Little Richard has the greatest mullet wig I have ever seen on him. It's probably made of two separate pieces that each have their own brain, like an Octopus' tentacles. Shortly thereafter, Herbie Hancock wins Album of the Year for his jazzy reinterpretation of Joni Mitchell songs, "River: The Joni Letters."

Look, this may be a great album. I doubt it: it came in at number 81 on the Village Voice's year end aggregate critics' "Pazz and Jop" poll, which is a pretty good indication of what the intelligensia are thinking. I get that this is entirely objective, what people feel about music, but the Grammys totally blew it...again. Kanye West's album deserved to win, almost the same way "The Return of the King" did for the Lord of the Rings trilogy. A strong work in its own righ,t it was also the culmination of an impressive artistic triptych. And so it was with Kanye West's "Graduation." But the people at NARAS have an amazing history of making safe choices for Album of the Year. Ray Charles beat Kanye three years ago. Steely Dan (STEELY DAN!!!!) beat Eminem a few years before that. And now, Herbie Hancock (a legend in the industry, etc.) wins for an album almost no one bought and no one championed. Yes, Herbie's great. I hear you all. He's been doing this for forever, he's a jazz pioneer, and "Rockit" had that great video and nearly inspired me to break my neck on a piece of cardboard while trying to headstand. I say nearly: my common sense prevailed. Not so at the Grammys this year. Voters, many of whom I might guess didn't even hear the album, voted for the safest choice, and it bothers me. Vintage Joni Mitchell wouldn't have stood for this: they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.

Liking Alicia Keys

...is not something that I should admit to, but I will anyway. My friend Matthew would be aghast at this - not that I like Alicia Keys, although who knows, but at the fact that I wouldn't be comfortable admitting it. Matthew has a sort of relentlessly hip taste in music - he's the sort of person who might have a blog that dissects every single Bjork song ever (and by "might have" I mean "actually has"). But he made a good point a while ago when I mentioned that Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" was a guilty pleasure: he said that there should be no such thing. And he's right (well, maybe heroin should be a guilty pleasure, but that's someone else's blog.) So I'll say it: "Since U Been Gone" is probably the second best pop song of the millennium, and I like the new Alicia Keys album.

There, I admit it. The first single, "No One," is the sort of radio-friendly singalong that no one should be ashamed to sing along to (much like, well, the aforementioned Kelly Clarkson track) and there are plenty of other eminently hummable tunes. I first caught win of the record almost by accident: Ms. Keys performed on "Fashion Rocks" this year and I was so taken by her live version of "The Thing About Love" that I assumed it was actually a cover.



So, there, I've admitted to it. There's more on the album, too: a great jam called "I Need You," and something called "Teenage Love Affair" that should be awful but isn't. I may be sacrificing whatever little hipster cred I have managed to hold on to until now by writing about this, but I don't worry, 'cause everything's gonna be all right.

New Spice Girls Video!

Sure, why not? I think the idea behind the video goes something like this: get Geri to do a million crunches and three hundred thousand hours of Pilates; deprive Victoria of food for five years; but Mel B on a reality show where she actually has to run around for eight hours a day; take the just-delivered-a-kid Emma and emphasize the fact that her rack is really big; and hide Melanie C in Ann Wilson's old clothes.



Seriously, what is this, a Wilson Phillips video from fifteen years ago? Put the thin girls in the band in their underwear and throw the other one in in one of Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation era three-quarter length jackets?

Still, I like the fact that they haven't made any weird attempts to update their sound: no spare Timbaland beats, here. It's the same Stannard and Rowe (Standard and Rowe?) pop balladry that we got on "2 Become 1," or "Viva Forever," or "Goodbye." Hopefully, there's a more dance-friendly, uptempo new single one the Greatest Hits album. The DJ threw "Stop" on at a bar I was at last week, and we all sang along and did the cute little dance from the video. Hmm. That may have been the gayest sentence I've ever written.

They tried to make me go to rehab...

Britney Spears has shaved her head. Really. it looks like someone drank an industrial-sized bottle of crazy, no? I'm actually interested to see if this career can be saved - we're heading into Michael Jackson territory here, and that's certainly not a good thing.

But at least now we know that the carpet matches the drapes.

Grammy Thoughts

It's the five hundredth Grammy awards, or whatever. Already, it looks like the music industry is apologising as best as it can to the Dixie Chicks. A couple of awards, and the night is just over half done.

But here are some thoughts:

Justin Timberlake will rule the world. Eventually, I think, we'll do nothing but spend time on Google and listen to Justin Timberlake albums. We'll eventually forget to take bathroom breaks or eat or wash ourselves, and future civilisations or aliens will discover us slumped over our keyboards listening to "My Love" or watching "Dick in a Box" with a Google news feed giving us constant updates on Justin and Scarlett and Cameron.

Smokey Robinson can no longer blink. He just performed before Lionel Richie ("Hello," which is so far at the edges of the "terrible song/great video" intersection graph that scientists can't actually measure it) and Chris Brown. The three of them took a bow together with Brown in the middle of an awful plastic surgery sandwich. That poor kid: he did a back flip; he had six year old dancers; he slid down a massive slide in a weird mask - and still he winds up being surrounded by the ghosts of R & B past. It's as if the picture of Dorian Gray was standing to his left and his right.

John Mayer performed with Corrine Bailey Rae and John Legend. Dude needs a haircut, but more to the point, I wish I liked any of his music at all, because he seems genuinely funny and self-deprecating and seems to understand that he's pretty much won the lottery. That being said, when he plays blues guitar he makes one of those scrunched-up white boy faces that makes me think that I know what he looks like when he's having sex. Or passing a stone. As if Jessica Simpson can tell the difference.

Oh, and then the deathroll. My favourite part, because there is an endless supply of country and blues legends that I've never heard of and a couple dozen of them die every year. And the applause is polite, until someone people have actually heard about flashes on screen. Then the place goes crazy, because there's a lot of pent-up mourning there. And then someone leaves James Brown's cape on a mic stand and the thing fades to black, and no one watching who is under 30 understands what the hell just went on. JB is in a better place, though: I guess he's beating his wife and fining band members $50 for not keeping time at the great big Apollo theatre in the sky.

But Keith Urban managed to avoid being a part of this list by getting himself to rehab. And here he is, performing, with a warmth that threatens to melt even Nicole Kidman.

Mary J. Blige is performing with Ludacris and one of the guys from Earth Wind and Fire who clearly ate the rest of the band. Mary is always a fashion disaster - her choices sound like they might work in theory, but in practice, she looks like someone who is styled by Beyonce's mom after a horrendous bender. Oh, wait, that's Beyonce. Anyway, Mary J. is singing in a red haltered-catsuit that she had altered with a camel toe implant. It's classy. Luda, on the other hand, looks great in a fantastic dinner jacket and white vest combination. On his arm, Mary J. looks like an escort. Still, she's fierce and fabulous and other things that gay men say about women they will never get with.

Some girl named Robin Troup just won a competition to sing with Justin Timberlake and after a quick run through of "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" designed to show the world that Justin can play guitar, they launch into "My Love". The girl is doing a good job of not wetting herself, I'll give her that, and she wisely steps out of the way when TI comes in to rap. Why do I not think this is the last time she'll find herself between those two guys this evening?

Tony Bennett and Quentin Tarantino are now out to present together. My television is going to explode. Bennett just did the Bat Dance, I think, and asked QT for work, meaning he'll play an aging hitman's assistant with a predilection for light S&M and a Vicodin addiction in his next movie. Tarantino feels the need to editorialize as he announces each nominee, saying cute things like "Three Nice Girls From Texas" as he announces the Dixie Chicks are nominated. What does he think this adds to the proceedings? Does anyone need context like this? If Quentin likes the sound of his own voice so much, he should just rent Pulp Fiction like the rest of us, except he wouldn't fast forward over all of his scenes.

Oh, look, as the Red Hot Chili Peppers finish their song, reams and reams of treated, shiny ticker tape are dropped on the audience. How wasteful. And here to introduce the next award, it's Al Gore, Mister Environment himself. Ain't that ironic.

But here is the nut of it: The Most Beleaguered Industry in the World (tm) did something right tonight, by giving Carrie Underwood and Justin Timberlake as much airtime as they wanted. These are two legitimate crossover artists with enough star power to draw in viewers, and will at least give the industry a couple more seconds on life support. Which is no to say that the industry is in trouble or out of touch or anything - what can you say about a group that calls one of the prestige awards of the evening "Record of the Year"? Listen up, N.A.R.A.S - it hasn't been records for a long, long time. But congrats to the Dixie Chicks for winning MP3 of the year. Not too bad for Three Nice Girls from Texas.