Grammy Hall

I watched the Grammys. I recall some credible performances last year, and for that reason I'd begun to shake the feeling that this annual awards program is utterly ridiculous. (To paraphrase Woody Allen in Annie Hall: “They give an award for everything these days. Best fascist dictator: Adolf Hitler!”) Many of the honorees are terrible. Alicia Keys won a bunch of them a couple of years ago, and she has committed atrocities that are – well, maybe not on the level of Hitler, but they are certainly pop atrocities.

There was an opening sequence in which a bunch of artists essayed roughly eighty seconds of each of their hit songs, stitched together by sections of the Black Eyed Peas’ already-reworked “Let’s Get It Started.” Gwen Stefani and Eve sashayed and nodded to a Zero Mostel tune (!), Maroon Five played a portion of something I am embarrassed to say I know is called “This Love,” and Franz Ferdinand did their thing that combines early Gang of Four with Frankie Goes To Hollywood. The shark was jumped when everyone sang together at the big finish: all the choruses of all their hits at the same time.

In their way, the Grammy people have just acknowledged the mash-up. The underground mix artist has been generally avoided (if not actively prosecuted) by the RIAA and NARA for some time, although Jay-Z and Linkin Park did try to make a "legitimate" mash-up. But now, a full four years after Eminem and Britney Spears simultaneously invaded my hard drive with “Oops! The Real Slim Shady Did It Again,” and perhaps a week after the Village Voice 2005 critics’ poll ranked The Grey Album #10, the Big Industry has finally acknowledged that two songs being played at the same time can constitute art, or at least pop art. Interesting how an advertisement that ran a little while later included two car radios playing at the same time, mashing up Donna Summer's “Hot Stuff” with a song I’m apparently too old to recognize.

I guess that the same could apply to the boiling-down of both country music and Southern Rock to an eight-minute distillation of the Allmans, Gretchen Wilson and two Skynyrd songs. Whoo! Yes, they managed to fit “Ramblin’ Man” and “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Freebird” – plus a current big-hit artist worthy of thirteen of CBS’s ’60 Minutes’ a couple of weeks ago – into a couple of minutes. (And they did it without mashing them up.) Thanks, Nashville and the rest of the South, for playing. We’re going back to Usher or whoever now. You don’t stand a chance for the regular awards. [UPDATE: I understand Usher is actually from the South -- specifically, Dallas and Chattanooga. My mistake. But the idea that the country music people were bound to dwell in the margins of this year's Grammys is still true, I think.]

All this was preceded by towheaded nonentity Keith Urban briefly essaying Elvin Bishop’s 70s chestnut “Fooled Around and Fell In Love,” with Bishop on the stage playing guitar with a glass slide. No mention of the disastrous events in Bishop’s family a couple of years ago, which included mass murder, cults, witchcraft, the Playmate of the Month and human dismemberment.

Queen Latifah’s jazz number: Surprisingly pleasant voice. She ultimately was not convincing as a singer of standards, but she did put in a valiant effort. I get the feeling that she hasn’t genuinely been interested in new hip-hop records for several years.

Those guys in Hoobastank are total choads. And they just gave the “Best New Artist” award to Maroon 5, who obviously thought Kanye West deserved it.

Quentin Tarantino? What’s he doing here? Introducing Green Day, of course. (What, no lifetime achievement award for Stealers’ Wheel?) Green Day absolutely killed onstage. The video crew made sure they caught the words “redneck agenda” on camera too, although I must have missed “faggot America.” Moments later, Alicia Keys thanked God and shined her dim light. The elevator, it’s been said, does not stop at all the floors. At a certain elevation….

Anyway Kanye West did deliver his puzzling goods in the midst of a gospel-oriented segment begun by the Staples Singers. And then he got his award for Best Rap Album, unsurprisingly, although perhaps the biggest surprise was that he didn’t win much of anything else. And then he delivered the worst acceptance speech in history.

Joss Stone is one of the best karaoke singers ever. Melissa Etheridge is definitely the best bald one ever. Alicia Keys? She managed to turn a posthumous Ray Charles tribute (“Georgia On My Mind”) into an exhibition of self-love, just like she did with her necro-duet with Ray at the Super Bowl. Tasteless, really.

Charles appeared to win only two Grammys during the program, although I understand he won a total of eight. In the end, it may seem embarrassing that his duets record will be his Grammy-winning legacy (though I imagine Brother Ray won a few others during his life too). I mean, when I think of Frank Sinatra, I don’t think of him singing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” with Bono. But I’ll take it – Starbucks connection and all. My roommate thought Green Day was robbed.

There must have been more, but I was either messing with the fireplace or making food or not paying attention. I guess I half-remember the group hug for tsunami relief, but I’m trying to forget about it. Thank goodness they only do this once a year.


Music now playing: Big Star's "Back of A Car." Moments later, one of iTunes' best transitions ever: The Gourds' "Magnolia" (Stadium Blitzer version) into the Stones' "Casino Boogie"