Having watched the whole bloody thing last night (largely done for the purposes of informing the recap I’d have to write this morning for my organization), I was originally thinking of posting an invective-speckled takedown of the 61st Annual Grammy Awards. But then, I figured, what’s the point? Anyone who is familiar with my tastes is already invariably of the understanding that -- with precious little exception -- most of the artists I care about have never been nominated for a Grammy Award. More to the point, as encapsulated far more eloquently by the incomparable Nick Cave in the video below, the merits of music are not meant to be quantified like points at a sporting event. While some may tout Grammy nominations and wins as rock-solid acknowledgement of certain music’s greatness, it’s ultimately still all completely subjective. Even if those accolades are distributed based on how many units were shifted, they’re still largely meaningless. Sales and popularity are absolutely zero indication of actual quality.
So, yeah, watching the pageantry last night held little fascination for me, given that my tastes skew rather sharply towards genres and styles popularly considered to be in decline, in recent years. Adding insult(s) to injury, the Best Rock Album category wasn’t even featured in the broadcast and, more irritatingly, went to the cloyingly empty vessel that is Greta Van Fleet. As mentioned elsewhere on this blog, there is indeed still viable, exciting music being made for people who enjoy guitars -– must I again mention IDLES and Daughters? --- but if you’re looking for Greta Van Fleet to restore your faith in rock, you’re ultimately part of the problem. And, believe me, the less said about the Red Hot Chili Peppers sharing a stage with Post Malone, the better.
But, y’know, the Grammys have pretty much always been something of a joke. I’m hard pressed to genuinely remember an instance when I haven’t wanted to defenestrate my television while watching it.
So, no, the fact that it was a rinky-dink clusterfuck of vacuous bullshit was not surprising. The only thing that did really bum me out was the failure to mention Mark E. Smith of The Fall and Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks in the In Memoriam section. I posted a virtually identical post to this one when, in 2017, they similarly failed to recognize the passing of Alan Vega of Suicide. Late millennial rapper Mac Miller got a mention, but did two crucially influential figures in British Punk and Post-Punk get even the slightest nod? No, and that failure to respect them earns the Grammys get my eternal scorn. So, fuck them.
Here’s Nick Cave being classy and wise about award-show bullshit.
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