Grammy Boycott



Quickly, before I get to it, you simply must check out a Monkey Barn post from last Friday. (Unless you are my father. My father is BANNED from doing so.) I asked a question, a rather, shall we say, saucy question, and there has been quite a few interesting answers. Check out: Sleeping Arrangements.



[from my blog...]

I was supposed to write about Carrie Underwood today, part 2 of my Grammy Music Lyrics analysis. However, on general principles I am boycotting the column. At least for now.

The Grammys suck.

I didn't watch them. I never watch them. Leave it to the Grammys to make the Emmy and Oscar voters look in-touch. How can they have both a Record (which is just one song) and a Song of the year? C'mon!!!!! They just want to give away more Grammys. Let's face it: they're scared Kanye will say they don't like black people.

Just now someone on TV explained that Record of the year goes to the singer and producer, while Song of the year goes to the writer, which could be a different person. [Rolls eyes.]

Fine, whatever. But riddle me this: In the Jazz category they have:

Best Contemporary Jazz Album
Best Jazz Vocal Album
Best Jazz Instrumental Solo
Best Jazz Instrumental Album, Individual or Group
Best Large Jazz Ensemble Album
Best Latin Jazz Album


But even that doesn't compare to Gospel, which features:

Best Gospel Performance
Best Gospel Song (I guess it's not "performed"??)
Best Rock or Rap Gospel Album
Best Pop/Contemporary Gospel Album
Best Southern, Country or Bluegrass Gospel Album
Best Traditional Gospel Album
Best Contemporary R&B Gospel Album


Are you kidding me?

(has there ever been a bigger disconnect between sexy voice and the actual person?)


I only turned it on twice, very briefly. The first time I heard Amy Winehouse butcher her song that I used to really like. Kaida told me that in London they are calling her "the defining voice of her generation." Oh please. In a world with Ashley Simpson AND Li'l Bow-Wow, How Dare They!

Her 15 Minutes have to be over soon, right?

The second time I flipped over, Stevie Wonder was wearing a long-sleeve leopard shirt with a bullet-proof vest.

THAT'S MEAN!

Funny, but mean.

(so, she can do destroy property with a baseball bat and that's okay, but if I steal her panties out of her gym locker, I'm the criminal? The world has gone mad.)


Anyway, in case I never write the column (remember the boycott?), my general premise was going to be that if you reversed the gender in "Before He Cheats," by Carrie Underwood, people would go ballistic. Actually, it was written for a man, but that's another story. The column was good, but I'm just too mad.

No comments: