By Jehad Choate
Contributing Writer
When musicians think of a Grammy, they think of the highest and oldest honor available in their career. I’m a musician, and I knew nothing of the Grammy Awards growing up because I was more entertained by the MTV Video Music Awards, and was never as interested in a bunch of stuffy professionals in coats and ties, spreading religious propaganda and shooting out 27 names in every thank-you speech. If I wanted that, I would have stayed awake during my high school graduation ceremony. Since MTV stopped playing music and started promoting fist-pumping, and CBS has finally gotten to their earring-wearing, convertible-driving mid-life crisis enough to play contemporary acts in scandalous clothing, I would like to thank the academy, God, my wife, those producers in the corner, and the actual writers of this album for the great honor in recapping the Grammys, because let’s face it, what else is on TV these days that doesn’t make you want to pull your lip over your head and swallow?
The Grammy’s officially state that their awards are the “only peer-presented award to honor artistic achievement, technical proficiency, and overall excellence in the recording industry, without regard to album sales or chart position.” Ironically, these nominees are the same people with the highest grossing album sales and positions in charts. Now I would be fine and dandy with that information, if their credo didn’t include the criterion technical proficiency, and overall excellence. Because of those two not-so-ambiguous terms, I can completely understand why I never watched the Grammy’s before, because it doesn’t honor music of merit as much as it honors the press and egos of artists.
The performances were entertaining, kicking off with Lady Gaga. I am completely fine with admitting I love her. Most coverage completely overshadowed the meaning behind her entire act with the sudden musical cameo appearance of Elton John. I was impressed by her entire show, how she portrayed herself as a monster created by all the people in direct responsibility over her fame. She performed “Poker face” in a revealing, alien-like suit, and then was immediately thrown into some kind of machine, where the MC said she had to leave because she was a monster and she turns everyone who likes her into monsters. the music paused and then the doors of the machine opened to reveal a dirty and disheveled Lady Gaga and Elton John playing on a double-faced piano with arms all over it, where they sang a medley of both his and her music.
For those who retained any sort of metaphorical value in what they saw, it was a scoffing laugh towards the music industry, and far more exciting than the Green Day-meets-Broadway act. All we need now is Avenged Sevenfold singing songs off Rent, and rock, as we know it, can die along with anything else of merit passed down by our predecessors.
Speaking of death—there was yet another tribute to Michael Jackson (as if we didn’t get enough of it from his funeral and movie), followed by a not-so-surprising acceptance of his lifetime achievement award from his kids. I thought I was having an acid flashback when I watched the whole performance because I was not warned about the necessary 3-D glasses. Congratulations Mikey, your kids might not really be of your conception, but the idea of Captain Eo will live on, as your great music is linked with irrelevant 3-D graphics and odd shots of children sleeping in places they shouldn’t (in this case, a forest). Beyonce sang about wanting to be a boy and briefly covered “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morrisette, because man-hating karaoke and penis envy apparently go hand in hand. Pink performed too, but no body cared until she got naked and soaked, as usual.
With all the visual confetti flying through the air, it’s easy to forget that this show is about…um…what is it about again? Certainly not the merits of good music. I had to sit down and listen to all the ‘Album of the Year’ nominees just so I could know where we stand in pop culture; and much like watching all three Lord of the Rings movies, I can’t get back the time I wasted. The Black-Eyed Peas were up for best album, entitled The E.N.D., a title I find suiting if it refers to the use of natural vocals in a production. I thought musicians were supposed to progress with time, but it seems the Peas get worse with every album they’ve put out since Elephunk. Their lyrics are meaningless, their beats are conventionally cookie-cutter, and now with their sudden fascination with the Auto-tune plug-in, they are just pulling off a glorified version of what any amateur musician can do with a few hundred bucks. Dave Matthews Band was also up for best album, but that was just a sympathy screw from the academy, since everyone knows the worst part about Dave Matthews Band is, well, Dave.
That left Beyonce, Lady Gaga, and Taylor Swift. Now, after sitting down and listening to these three artists, I could see why Beyonce’s I am…Sasha Fierce album was considered: the hooks are great, the beats are solid, the words have shape to them, and her voice, although pretentious most of the time, is still powerful. Lady Gaga’s Fame had a similar vibe, and I kind of wanted her to win because her music is more infectious, even if you’re not a fan. But the winner of ‘Album of the Year’ went to Taylor Swift’s Fearless. I particularly enjoyed Taylor’s reaction to all her winnings; I would be shocked too if I won all those awards and knew my music sucked so bad. The entire Fearless album sounds like a banal Avril Lavigne singing on top of leftover Faith Hill tracks. Every song has a droning power ballad vibe devoid of any real dynamic contrast, perfect for your everyday Nashville reject soundtrack behind a chick flick starring Ashton Kutcher. Fearless. Her music is only fearless because it’s naïve and inexperienced.
I learned something while heavily critiquing the Grammys though. I learned that I do have the professional ability to put my particular tastes aside and evaluate contemporary music for what it is, even if it’s mostly crap. I also learned that I am still a musician, and if ever the opportunity came up where I could obtain a Grammy, I’ll take it, not because it’s an honor, but because I could probably pawn it to pay off my insane amount of music school loans. I’m going to go watch the newest episode of Jersey Shore. Congratulations Grammys, you’ve officially encouraged me to change my passion to accounting.
By Rebecca Perkins
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8. Best Local Bookstore: Trident Newbury St.
