The Grammys Joke
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I like music.
In a world where Maroon 5’s “Payphone,” a rotten, auto tuned, steaming pile of pop, can get nominated for a Grammy Award, I have to take a deep breath and remember that it will all be OK.
Even when it feels like I’m slowly suffocating under the genius lyric poetry of Adam Lavine, as he so eloquently captures life in 2013 by describing his use of a pay phone, I mustn’t try to get too worked up.
“I do like music. I do like music. I do like music.” It’s the meditative mantra I must repeat to transform myself into a calm, appreciative soul and not a raging Hulk monster. “Goe no call you maybe, no even from pay phone!”
Straight from the Grammy website: The awards are “to honor artistic achievement, technical proficiency, and overall excellence in the recording industry, without regard to album sales or chart position.” And in related news: “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn — Part 1” was a good movie because it won an MTV Movie Award.
The Grammys are supposed to be music’s biggest night. Instead, LMAFO will be there. The only “artistic achievement” those fools have given us is the Side Show Bob hair cut/plastic frame, no lens look.
The entire ceremony feels like a hollow shell. I should be excited about the live performances, but every time I tune in I get the distinct sense the whole night was created as an excuse to get a bunch of agalmatophiliacs in one room, drooling over each other to win a meaningless award on national TV.
Take a generic electronic house beat, throw some rap/sung lyrics about partying and drinking champagne on top and have a guest female vocalist sing the chorus and you’ve virtually created every chart topping Flo Rida song recorded since 2008.
I’d really like to know what makes “Wild Ones” so overly excellent and deserving of a nomination. Surely it can’t be because the album of the same name was certified platinum three times over? Nah. After all, album sales have nothing to do with it.
If the state of American culture lies within the lyrics of “Young, Wild & Free,” then I’d say our nation has some snacking to do. The entire Wiz Khalifa/Snoop Dogg joint, up for Best Rap Song, is an incredibly catchy ode to boozing and blazing a fat blunt. If the Grammys legitimizes this tune as a true work of artistic merit, then I say we make it the state song of Colorado. The lyrics are representative of our state’s chosen lifestyle, and, let’s not forget that “Rocky Mountain High” never got any love from the Recording Academy.
The Recording Academy claims to be this high-thinking, non-partial authority canonizing “America’s great cultural legacy” for generations to come. I’m sorry, but they lost credibility as a legitimate voice with musicians and fans when Al Walser got a Best Dance Recording nomination.
Who is Al Walser? Good question.
In a land of dance giants such as Avicii and Skrillex, Walser is a key-tar playing gnat. I honestly can’t tell if his song “I Can’t Live Without You” is a serious effort or if it is an annoying joke parody of dance music. One listen is enough to make you wish you were deaf.
Walser is a cheesy, soulless male version of Rebecca Black, only less talented.
A Walser win would be proof beyond a reasonable doubt that the Grammys are music’s biggest fraud.
Deep breath, “I do like music. I do like music. I do like music.”