As I watched the Red Hot Chili Peppers spray Ryan Seacrest with Silly String during the red carpet preshow, I couldn’t help but have hope for this year’s Grammy Awards.
But now that the Grammys have come and gone, I once again find myself disappointed by what claims to be the biggest night in the music world.
From start to finish, there was talk of the Grammys as the be-all-end-all of music extravaganzas. What was Beyoncé’s performance? “One-of-a-kind.” How would John Legend describe his night at the Grammys? “Historical.” What was Christina Aguilera’s James Brown tribute? “Legendary.” And ““ this is my personal favorite ““ how did Mary J. Blige end “Stay With Me?” With “a powerful high note that showered the attendees like sweet rain.”
Maybe it was because I wasn’t in attendance at the Grammys, but I certainly felt nothing like sweet rain. In fact, I would say I was dry as could be. Dry and asleep.
Never mind the 10-minute commercials every 15 minutes. Never mind the throngs of celebrities present. Never mind that less than a quarter of the 108 Grammy Awards are broadcast on television. My problem with the Grammys is how concerned they are with making history ““ or rather, forcing history to be made.
There were, of course, some incredible moments courtesy of the Grammy Awards’ massive budget. The reunion performance of the Police that opened the show was one; 21 years after their messy, bitter breakup, watching them onstage was a pleasure, despite the psychedelic breakdown they added in the middle of “Roxanne” and the fact that Sting, in his old age, had to sing some of his parts an octave lower.
Earth, Wind and Fire backing Ludacris and Mary J. Blige was one of the more memorable combinations of the night and, even though Ludacris is an awful rapper, the collaboration was twice as interesting as the songs Corinne Bailey Rae, John Legend and John Mayer played together ““ though, logically, putting three boring artists together would make their perfomance three times as boring.
And, speaking of making history, what better way than to load the Grammys with celebrities who have almost nothing to do with music? What on earth is David Spade doing on stage? Quentin Tarantino and Luke Wilson were given chances to speak? And I would really like to know who, in his or her infinite wisdom, decided that Queen Latifah and Al Gore should go onstage together.
But nothing ““ no, nothing ““ was quite as bad as the omnipresence of the Dixie Chicks. They came out on top of the Grammy crowd with five awards, and not because of their not-really-country-mostly-just-terrible style. With the American public having turned its back on President Bush, what could be more socially significant (or “historical”) than rewarding three artists that, in 2003, were being boycotted for speaking out against him?
Many of the actual awards followed in the same suit, celebrating artists who have been around longer and already made their mark on music rather than 2006’s most deserving artists: Slayer took Best Metal Performance over Mastodon, Madonna took Best Electronic/Dance Album over four much better nominees, Ludacris took Best Rap Album over the infinitely more talented T.I. (and an impressive comeback from The Roots), and the Dixie Chicks stole Record of the Year from Gnarls Barkley.
If there was one moment in which all Grammy politics were tossed aside and music was really made the focus, it was in honoring the artists who have died in the past year. The standing ovation that followed the James Brown tribute was the highlight of the night and the kind of moment that gives me hope for Grammy Awards shows to come.
And if the touching celebration of the Godfather of Soul isn’t enough, at least it’s uplifting to know that James Blunt was nominated for five awards and didn’t win a single one.
If you’re still astonished by James Blunt’s resemblance to Phoenix Suns point guard Steve Nash, e-mail Duhamel at dduhamel@media.ucla.edu.