Sunday, February 13, 2011
Musical Chairs
I never really watch the Grammys, mainly because I don't enjoy feeling bored and sad at the same time, but I made an exception this year, mainly because there were no good Lifetime movies on and it was too early to go to bed. I'm kind of glad I did, mainly because it reinforced all of my preconceived notions about the sorry state of the music business.
First there was the three-hour tribute to Aretha Franklin, who last time I checked was not actually dead yet. True to Grammys form, they had country superstar Martina McBride pay tribute to the Queen of Soul, which was sort of like having Hayden Panettierre pay tribute to Meryl Streep or Sue Grafton honor James Joyce. And they actually managed to go one song past the number of Aretha Franklin songs that I'm in any way aware of. Learning times, learning times.
Lady Gaga was fine and I was delighted that she made her entrance in some sort of spacey-looking pod, although at this point the shocking thing would have been if she had just strolled in in some sensible shoes and started strumming an acoustic guitar. After the meat dress it's hard to know what she could do to really surprise people, short of setting fire to Mariah Carey, which I highly recommend.
Justin Bieber and Usher were highly creepy. The way the presenter introduced them made it sound like they were dating, and the strange chemistry between them didn't help. I just don't think that America is ready for televised musical interracial pedophilia.
The worst part of the evening hands down was when (1) Katy Perry sang a ballad and (2) they showed clips of her wedding to Russell Brand while she was singing. If that isn't outlawed by the Geneva Convention, I must abandon all faith in international law.
I sort of dug the Cee-Lo bit because it reminded me of how I used to get a contact high from watching H.R. Puffnstuff, but then one of the puppets turned into Gwyneth Paltrow and it was all over for me. The first time she sang it was cute. By the fourth time she's just a skinny bitch with pink feathered earrings and Cate Blanchett's Oscar.
I never really watch the Grammys, mainly because I don't enjoy feeling bored and sad at the same time, but I made an exception this year, mainly because there were no good Lifetime movies on and it was too early to go to bed. I'm kind of glad I did, mainly because it reinforced all of my preconceived notions about the sorry state of the music business.
First there was the three-hour tribute to Aretha Franklin, who last time I checked was not actually dead yet. True to Grammys form, they had country superstar Martina McBride pay tribute to the Queen of Soul, which was sort of like having Hayden Panettierre pay tribute to Meryl Streep or Sue Grafton honor James Joyce. And they actually managed to go one song past the number of Aretha Franklin songs that I'm in any way aware of. Learning times, learning times.
Lady Gaga was fine and I was delighted that she made her entrance in some sort of spacey-looking pod, although at this point the shocking thing would have been if she had just strolled in in some sensible shoes and started strumming an acoustic guitar. After the meat dress it's hard to know what she could do to really surprise people, short of setting fire to Mariah Carey, which I highly recommend.
Justin Bieber and Usher were highly creepy. The way the presenter introduced them made it sound like they were dating, and the strange chemistry between them didn't help. I just don't think that America is ready for televised musical interracial pedophilia.
The worst part of the evening hands down was when (1) Katy Perry sang a ballad and (2) they showed clips of her wedding to Russell Brand while she was singing. If that isn't outlawed by the Geneva Convention, I must abandon all faith in international law.
I sort of dug the Cee-Lo bit because it reminded me of how I used to get a contact high from watching H.R. Puffnstuff, but then one of the puppets turned into Gwyneth Paltrow and it was all over for me. The first time she sang it was cute. By the fourth time she's just a skinny bitch with pink feathered earrings and Cate Blanchett's Oscar.
