I’m not an every-year Grammy watcher. I frequently watch most of the Grammys, but last night, I watched the entire 3 1/2-hour spectacle. It was Grammy’s 50th birthday, so they really poured it on. This is rather late in the day, now, but it’s the first I could get to posting it.
Highlights, lowlights here, all very rambling and free-form, I warn you!
All right. Some thoughts:
~ I loved how it was almost entirely a music show. Mini concerts springing up everywhere. The emphasis on passing out awards seemed blessedly minimal in comparison. Actually, a lot of awards had already been handed out with winner’s names scrolling across the screen. I liked that. The Grammys, as a show, can be so much better than the Oscars because of the music, the potential for a cool concert vibe. I mean, you get the nominated songs performed at the Oscars, but these are mostly songs that no one gives a rip about. Songs that no one owns or downloads or would even consider buying. They’re good for the specific purpose they fill — creating a mood in a movie — but mostly, who cares about, oh, that song from Disney’s The Rescuers or whatevs. These are not the songs that we live our lives to. The songs at the Grammys are those songs. And last night, THAT was the focus. The show was long, but quite literally pulsed with energy. Very few missteps.
~ First, there were some phenomenal set pieces, changed lightning fast from one to another. Each number seemed like its own individual concert. Each one with its own look and vibe. So impressive.
~ Is it me, or has Tom Hanks switched faces with Bill O’Reilly?? Totally weird. Was he drunk??
~ The Cirque du Soleil tribute to the Beatles. I have no idea, frankly, what it was all about, but it was gorgeous and hypnotic to watch. Meaning schmeaning.
~ That Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus is annoying. No context here. I just had to say it. Sorry, kiddos. Don’t tell Piper.
~ Miss Tina Turner. Day-um. That woman is 68 years old and she still ROCKS the house. Those crazy long legs of hers still strutting around the stage. She did a medley of … oh, memory here … What’s Love Got to Do With It and You’d Better Be Good to Me, I think …. and then Beyonce joined her — trying to keep up — for Proud Mary. I just wanted to shout for joy! Wow. Beyonce’s voice was a bit of a mismatch, I thought, with Tina Turner’s but the girl looks great, always, even though her hair is blonde-ish now — a look I generally don’t like on women of color. But it looks good on Beyonce because she’s so freakin’ beautiful. She wore a very short gold dress and I just love the little bit of meat on her legs. She’s a woman who lets herself be a woman. But it was all about Tina and she just ripped it up. Bravo.
~ Kanye West. Uhm, okay. I’m sorry. Just don’t like the guy. Too much ego. Too much hubris. Came out and sang — something, I don’t know his music — and then it morphed into a song about Mama mama mama. Now I know his mom just died, but I felt that was self-indulgent. Didn’t seem like the appropriate venue for that. The evening isn’t just about Kanye West. Save that kind of thing for one of your own concerts where it’s your stage and your evening exclusively. Or honor her in your acceptance speech, briefly. In that moment, instead of admiring or enjoying a performance, it turned into a moment where we’re reminded of his loss, of his pain. We feel awkward, almost, witnessing that for so long. Totally turned me off. Time and place, dude. Later, when he won whatever award it was that he won (uhm, clearly, if you’re looking for a list of the winners, you’ve come to the wrong place; that wasn’t my focus at ALL!), his speech was just … arrogant. Near the end of it, he talked about Mama. His speech had already been plenty long so the hurry-up music started playing and he groused, “Oh, are you really gonna play the music now?” He went on, talking about wanting to “keep making you proud, Mama” which I think is a fine sentiment, generally. There’s just something in his attitude. A sense of entitlement to everything, perhaps. I don’t know. This is a dozen hours now after the show and I can only replay it in my head here. He kept talking, music kept playing, and he said something like, “It would really show a lot of class to stop the music now.” And they did. Then he made promises to Mama about how great he was going to become. Something like, “I’m gonna be the number one artist in the WORLD.” You know, to a roomful of other wildly talented artists. Maybe a couple of even MORE talented artists, if such a thing is possible, Kanye! Never mind that he went way past his time, showboating, frankly. I guess I just felt like the whole thing wasn’t about Mama; it was about him and he manipulated those producers to make a longer moment. For him. I’m going on about this as a set up for a moment — a moment I LOVED — that comes later.
~ Oh, Carrie Underwood opened the show with “Before He Cheats.” Black jacket. Black hotpants. Sexy black boots. Very Shania Twain. I think I’ve seen that exact outfit on Shania, actually. She sounded GREAT. Really, she did. But I gotta say …. I still have a gripe I had with her during Idol. She’s a bit awkward onstage. Seems uncomfortable with moving her body. She did the whole strut down a centerstage staircase and watched her feet a little too much. Once out on the stage, she kinda halfheartedly did these small, easily executed dance moves. When I watch her sing — I don’t see emotion. She doesn’t use her eyes or face or seem to connect with the lyrics. And, uhm, let’s face it. “Before He Cheats” is a song filled with emotion. Rage, pretty much. With a little insane stalking on the side. I want to see her connect with her songs somehow … someday. She seems, still, like such a good girl. She’s Marie Osmond dressed like Shania Twain and she’s still not sure which she wants to be. And I’m not longing for her to turn into a big ole ho, but she needs acting classes or something. I just want to see her become the full package, you know? Her voice is amazing, really, but her performances always lack emotional conviction. She seems afraid to be sexy. Afraid to truly emote or connect. Okay. Enough. Listen to me: “Oh, Carrie Underwood. If you’d only listen to me, you just might be successful.”
~ The medley of Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, and John Fogerty was a lowlight. For me. Jerry Lee — God bless him! — isn’t up to it anymore; he’s too arthritic for the keyboard aerobics of “Great Balls of Fire.” And John Fogerty by himself is just kind of eh to me. Little Richard is Little Richard. Never any different — except his eyes are higher on his head every time I see him.
~ Brad Paisley and his “check you for ticks” song. The whole thing is deeply appalling to me. I think it’s supposed to be clever — and I guess that would really sweep some women off their tick-infested feet. Me, I prefer not to think about ticks ever. Or think about looking for ticks. Or someone looking for them on me. Like that’s our first date. And yes, I suppose it’s all metaphorical, but surely there are a lot better metaphors for that which don’t involve me being the scroungy little mutt of the scenario. I’ve heard the song on the radio — never the whole song, because of the hate — but watching it last night with the flashing neon ticks behind him was — literally — stomach-lurching to me.
~ Oh, the moment that came back on Kanye. Just a bit. Vince Gill won an award, that big huggy bear of country music. (And may I now confess my longtime girl crush on his wife, Amy Grant? I think she is adorable and I love her soft accent and I want to be her best friend. In a non-forced, non-felonious way, of course.) Gill’s award was presented by Ringo Starr (and someone else I … sorry, don’t remember) and when Gill accepted it, he turned to where Kanye was sitting in the audience and said, good-naturedly, not snottily, “I just got handed an award from a Beatle; have you had that happen to you yet, Kanye?” Hahahahahaha. To his credit, when the camera was on him, Kanye did laugh.
~ Two huge highlights for me. First one: Amy Winehouse. The girl is a trainwreck, but she is an original. When I first heard “Rehab,” I thought the singer was probably black. (Is that racist??) Oh, well. It’s that her voice and her face are a complete mismatch. The combo just takes you aback. Sheila’s talked about this. And saying “trainwreck” about her, I admit, is certainly not original. Everything I read about her uses that word. Last night, everyone was kept waiting, waiting, for the via satellite performance from Winehouse. When it finally came, late in the show, she did not disappoint. Totally worth the wait to me. She seems like a throwback to Motown. With her backup singers/dancers — a few very awesome black dudes. Loved them. But her face. You can’t look away. Sometimes she looks very Princess Diana deer-in-the-headlights and sometimes she just brazenly stares the audience down. It’s all very schizo. She’s got these bony bird legs and moves kind of awkwardly, as if someone’s holding a gun to her back, but it works. It totally works. And then there’s that voice, the whole sound. Retro with a knife. I don’t know how else to say it, really. And when she won — one of her many awards — they switched back over to the satellite feed and the look on her face. It was heartbreaking, almost. She looked genuinely surprised. No, incredulous. She looked like a little girl in that moment. Her mom came up, crushed her in a hug. She finally found her voice to say some thank you’s. My favorite bit of it went to “my Blake, incarcerated.” Her husband. She was weird and real and vulnerable and powerful, all at once.
~ Highlight No. 2, my favorite moment. “Rhapsody in Blue” with Herbie Hancock playing dueling grand pianos with an Asian fellow — a true virtuoso — whose name escapes me. (Someone help me out on that, please.) Herbie Hancock played with a grin on his face the whole time. The other fellow was more straight-faced, more showy. He worked that piano with great dramatic flourish and focus, but there was a bit of a “watch me play” vibe. He was tremendous, no doubt, but their approaches, such contrast …. like I was witnessing the joy of the artist and the ego of the artist played out in front of me, embodied in two totally different men. That’s just my gut response to what I saw. The solo clarinetist was a gem. A pure joy. His facial expressions — priceless! He acted. He emoted. He played those wonderful sinuous passages as if he were telling the audience a sly secret joke. I loved watching how much HE loved what he was doing. The conductor, too. Surrounded by sound, orchestra in front of him, pianists behind him, no baton — that I could see, at least — just his hands. He whirled about furiously, orchestra, pianists, back again, a crazy smile on his face. Halfway through the piece — which is one of my favorites — I had tears streaming down my cheeks. It was the music, yes, but beyond that, it was the JOY of Herbie Hancock, the clarinetist, the conductor. It was the selfless JOY of their art, their gifts, and the freedom to show it that just stuck in my throat. A truly transcendent moment. The audience was on its feet. I clapped too. I did. I literally applauded in my living room when it was done.
All right. Phew. Believe it or not, I really intended a few brief comments. Got away from me just a wee bit there.
