Jasper
1-30-05, 05:29 PM
Pump up the volume! Turn that beat back! Hip-hop hooray! America's most watched, most exhilarating, most splendiferous music-awards show airs live from Los Angeles on February 13!
Yawn.
Okay, sorry. We don't mean to be disrespectful. We know the Grammys mean a lot—to Kenny Rogers and Céline Dion. Or to that cute little piano moppet Norah Jones, who's still unpacking the 34,000 Grammys she won a couple of years ago. (Yeah, Norah rocks!)
See, that's your problem, Grammy. You're about as edgy as a Saturn full of Creed fans. Judging Amy is cooler than you. It's even worse when you try to act cool—it's like watching our mom and dad try to dance to Chingy's "Holidae In."
We have to admit you've gotten better lately. This year you gave Kanye West ten nominations. But something tells us that if Santana had put out a record this year, Kanye would be sitting at home on February 13, ordering Kanye some Domino's. And what's up with the Sting fetish? Sting could fart in a Ziploc and you guys would give it five nominations.
Face it, Grammy: You've got a lame track record. You gave a heavy-metal Grammy to Jethro Tull over Metallica. You nominated Fountains of Wayne for Best New Artist—after they'd been performing for eight years. Milli Vanilli. And here's just a brief list of the nobodies who've never received one of your chintzy trophies: Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Neil Young, Guns N' Roses, and that raunchy little indie band from England, Led Zeppelin.
But every year it's the same thing: We say we're not going to watch, but we end up watching anyway. So in the hope of a semi-interesting show, we have a couple suggestions.
1. EASY ON THE DEAD-GUY LOVE. There's nothing you like more than an artist who's six feet under. Johnny Cash, Warren Zevon—the deader, the better. This year Ray Charles is up for seven awards. Guess what, Grammy: Ray doesn't care. He's dead. Same with Brian Wilson. Oh, wait: Someone here says Brian is alive. But still.
2. STOP THE "IF YOU PLAY IT, YOU WIN!" POLICY. It's practically a Grammy rule: If you play your song, two seconds later you'll win a Grammy. Come on. Even Paris Hilton doesn't return the favor that fast, guys.
3. COURT MORE DISASTERS. The best Grammy moments are always the ones you guys have nothing to do with. Like when that guy with soy bomb painted on his chest interrupted Bob Dylan's performance. Like when Ol' Dirty Bastard—may he rest in peace—stormed the stage and interrupted Shawn Colvin's acceptance speech to bitch about losing to Puff Daddy. Invite these people back and encourage their misbehavior. You'll like ODB. He's dead.
4. GIVE DYLAN A GRAMMY EVERY YEAR. Worth it just to hear the insanely random magnetic-poetry-style speech. If we recall correctly, a couple of years ago he thanked Woody Guthrie, Allen Ginsberg, his handheld vacuum cleaner, and the letter Q. Priceless.
5. PLEASE, FINALLY EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SONG OF THE YEAR AND RECORD OF THE YEAR. But remember, no matter what you say, it still seems retarded.
Thanks for reading, Grammy. Have fun in Los Angeles.
As always, make sure Chuck Mangione gets a nice seat. And remind Ashlee Simpson's drummer to press the right song.
Sincerely,
GQ
P.S. If Sting farted into a Ziploc, would it get Song of the Year or Record of the Year?
Yawn.
Okay, sorry. We don't mean to be disrespectful. We know the Grammys mean a lot—to Kenny Rogers and Céline Dion. Or to that cute little piano moppet Norah Jones, who's still unpacking the 34,000 Grammys she won a couple of years ago. (Yeah, Norah rocks!)
See, that's your problem, Grammy. You're about as edgy as a Saturn full of Creed fans. Judging Amy is cooler than you. It's even worse when you try to act cool—it's like watching our mom and dad try to dance to Chingy's "Holidae In."
We have to admit you've gotten better lately. This year you gave Kanye West ten nominations. But something tells us that if Santana had put out a record this year, Kanye would be sitting at home on February 13, ordering Kanye some Domino's. And what's up with the Sting fetish? Sting could fart in a Ziploc and you guys would give it five nominations.
Face it, Grammy: You've got a lame track record. You gave a heavy-metal Grammy to Jethro Tull over Metallica. You nominated Fountains of Wayne for Best New Artist—after they'd been performing for eight years. Milli Vanilli. And here's just a brief list of the nobodies who've never received one of your chintzy trophies: Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Neil Young, Guns N' Roses, and that raunchy little indie band from England, Led Zeppelin.
But every year it's the same thing: We say we're not going to watch, but we end up watching anyway. So in the hope of a semi-interesting show, we have a couple suggestions.
1. EASY ON THE DEAD-GUY LOVE. There's nothing you like more than an artist who's six feet under. Johnny Cash, Warren Zevon—the deader, the better. This year Ray Charles is up for seven awards. Guess what, Grammy: Ray doesn't care. He's dead. Same with Brian Wilson. Oh, wait: Someone here says Brian is alive. But still.
2. STOP THE "IF YOU PLAY IT, YOU WIN!" POLICY. It's practically a Grammy rule: If you play your song, two seconds later you'll win a Grammy. Come on. Even Paris Hilton doesn't return the favor that fast, guys.
3. COURT MORE DISASTERS. The best Grammy moments are always the ones you guys have nothing to do with. Like when that guy with soy bomb painted on his chest interrupted Bob Dylan's performance. Like when Ol' Dirty Bastard—may he rest in peace—stormed the stage and interrupted Shawn Colvin's acceptance speech to bitch about losing to Puff Daddy. Invite these people back and encourage their misbehavior. You'll like ODB. He's dead.
4. GIVE DYLAN A GRAMMY EVERY YEAR. Worth it just to hear the insanely random magnetic-poetry-style speech. If we recall correctly, a couple of years ago he thanked Woody Guthrie, Allen Ginsberg, his handheld vacuum cleaner, and the letter Q. Priceless.
5. PLEASE, FINALLY EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SONG OF THE YEAR AND RECORD OF THE YEAR. But remember, no matter what you say, it still seems retarded.
Thanks for reading, Grammy. Have fun in Los Angeles.
As always, make sure Chuck Mangione gets a nice seat. And remind Ashlee Simpson's drummer to press the right song.
Sincerely,
GQ
P.S. If Sting farted into a Ziploc, would it get Song of the Year or Record of the Year?