|A totem of absurdity|
You might think it irrational, pointless, and shallow to
waste one's energy getting upset about music awards shows, but last February's
Grammy Awards filled us with such bubbling rage, we almost threw the cat
at the TV.
It wasn't Cee-Lo's chicken outfit that did it. It wasn't
even Katy Perry on that goddamn swing or Barbara Streisand doing her best to
bore us out of remembering what a valuable artist she once was.
No, our main beef initially lay with the fact that the Grammys
were persisting with having both Song Of The Year and Record Of The
Year awards. Which -- unless you are a crack-smoker -- are clearly the same thing.
Was this some kind of elaborate hoax? An in-joke? Or just an evil plot to make
the world feel like it was taking crazy pills? We didn't know, either.
Then, when both awards went to the same artist -- Lady-bastard-Antebellum, to add insult to injury -- it felt as if the Recording
Academy was leaning down into our
tiny, confused faces, cackling like a gigantic super-villain and just plain
mocking us. We pledged, henceforth, to never pay attention to this silly
awards ceremony ever again.
But, as we all know, "ever again" in music-blogger years is about
seven weeks, so when the Grammy's announced yesterday that it's they were cutting 31 categories
for next year's awards, we couldn't help but sit up and ask "Doesn't that only
leave about nine?"