The Grammys, again...

Sorry, mom...

This was a long week at work that left very little time to prepare a suitable post, so I'm calling a hiatus week. I’ll try to have something worth reading next time. Meanwhile, a brief rant on the Grammys...


My mom always used to caution "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all," and although this is excellent advice for maintaining good social relations, it's not really possible when discussing the abomination that is the Grammys.

If the Grammys are any indication of the state of modern culture, Western Civilization is indeed doomed. Once again I tried to watch this annual exercise in bloated excess, and once again failed to make it through. By the time The Beiber and Will Smith’s kid started bouncing around the stage like couple of children doing a really bad karaoke duet, I’d had enough.* It might have been nice to see the weathered, leathery presence of Dylan and Jagger -- at least those old dinosaurs know something about actual music -- but the potential reward simply wasn’t worth enduring the very real pain. This show was Busby Berkeley on crack, blowing off any attempt at class or style in favor of endlessly frenetic arm-and-elbow flapping by armies of dancers under the dazzling lights. Again, the appeal of Lady Gaga eluded me, but she was hardly the worst offender. Until this show, I’d assumed Christine Aguilera’s embarrassingly lame performance at the Super Bowl was an aberration, but extreme and utterly pointless vocal gymnastics seem to be her stock in trade, and what define her as a performer these days. Her on-stage act says just one thing: “Look at me!”

She’s got one hell of a voice – everybody knows that by now – but she really ought to apply a modicum of restraint. Quantity is not the same thing as quality. Dial it down, sweet-cheeks, and give the audience a break.

Lucky for him, Shakespeare never had to sit through the Grammys, but his quote from “Macbeth” seems a perfect fit for last week’s show: “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

But don’t take it from me – read Tim Goodman’s flame-throwing review in the Hollywood Reporter. Tim strapped on his rusty barbed-wire cranky-pants for this one, and came loaded for bear.

Check it out...


* Forgive the redundancy. All karaoke is really bad...