A Freaking Joke

So I watched part of the Grammys last night. Award shows tend to be vapid, annoying orgies of self-congratulating nonsense. Last night's were no exception.

First of all: MIA doing pelvic thrusts while 8 months pregnant and wearing a body-stocking? Am I the only one who vomited at that one? It was so repulsive that I barely noticed Katy Perry's fruit dress (which after her merry-go-round garb looked fairly normal) or Kanye's ridiculous pompadour.

Two very deserving artists got ripped off: David Gilmour for Best Rock Instrumental and Metallica for Best Rock Album. 

Remember the days when rock was supposed to grab you by the throat and bash your teeth in? That's pretty much the exact opposite of Coldplay. Don't get me wrong, I like Coldplay and I respect their art--but I don't think for a second that going toe-to-toe with Metallica they are better rock. Even putting them in the same category is insulting to both bands--you have mellow coffeeshop music on one hand and pure go-for-the-jugular metal on the other. I was quite pleased that Metallica won Best Metal Performance and Rick Rubin picked up Best Producer, but they deserved Rock Album.

And all respect to Steve Vai, but David Gilmour is better. Period.

I was very happy to see Robert Plant and Allison Krauss win Album of the Year over Lil' Wayne. Turns out that having comprehensible vocals and playing real instruments still matters.

I'm sorry, but I don't see Lil' Wayne's talent. From the bizarre noises he makes in his choruses (weird giggles mixed with random shouts of "Young Money" and "Carter") to the fact that he's apparently incapable of making a song not about money and hos, everything about him annoys me. And "A Milli" as Best Rap Song? It's a repetitive irritating beat with a constant distorted repetition of the title and syllables slurred and compressed to force rhymes that really shouldn't be there. Granted, the standards for rap artistry seem to be fairly low (see Exhibit A, the career of Soulja Boy Tell'em), but I don't see the lyrical genius in "I make it snow/I make it flurry/I make it all back tomorrow don't worry." Just once, please, write about something other than how much money you've made and how many women you've had sex with. Then I can take you seriously (well, pulling your pants up would be a step in the right direction there too).

When the most popular artist of the moment makes Slipknot seem cultured, there's a serious problem.