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I Don’t Get It : Grammy Awards Selection Show

12/03/2009

I am getting old.  I don’t go out much, and most of my nights are spent on my couch in front of the television set, scouring the guide for something entertaining to watch.  This is the part where douchebags would tell me to put on the game, but I actually have some respect for my girlfriend and thus do not subject her to seven nights of contests she doesn’t care about.  Feeling festive, we tuned into Christmas at Rockefeller Center, or whatever they call the lighting of that tree, which was a giant Zero.  Afterward, a married male friend of mine texted me about Michael Buble and the Grammy Award Selection Show that was coming on afterward.  I feigned excitement.  I tuned in.  I was greeted with LL Cool J and his velvet fedora, his velvet suit, and his velvet lip-licking that America came to respect the hell out of twenty years ago.  He did a clever, Billy Kristol-esque song and dance number, one in which he rapped about the year’s biggest artists and songs.  There were lots of flashing lights and even more of Uncle L’s trademark sexiness.  First, what fucking relevance does LL Cool J have to current music?  While I understand his contribution to music history as a hip-hop pioneer, Billboard.com reports that he hasn’t even charted since 2004.  One would think that a mainstream show, on a major network, in prime time would be able to land a bigger star.  If rap was what you wanted, why not get the ubiquitous Jay-Z or Lil’ Wayne?  If you wanted to do an opening musical number, why not get Jamie Foxx?  That dude  haaaates face time.  In any event, LL is probably more recognizable at this point for having a six pack and being in shitty movies – a musical icon he is not – certainly not now.

As jarring as LL’s involvement with the show proved to be, it’s the Black Eyed Peas that I can’t get away from.  Literally.  I watched a Saturday Night Live rerun the other night and they were the musical guest.  I watch football and I hear their songs coming in and out of commercial breaks.  I watch any sporting event and I am forced to hear their music.  I’ve got a feeling…guess what? I’ve got a feeling, too, and it’s that I don’t understand the appeal.  I am starting to feel that the only way we can put all of this to rest is actually quite simple.  You may remember Britney Spears presenting Michael Jackson with a phony Artist of the Millenium award at the VMAs circa 2001.  It was this big, clunky music note with a Busch League red ribbon tied around it.  Poor Michael took it as a great honor and gave a sincere acceptance speech.  It was awkward.  Anyway, this award needs to be awarded, albeit prematurely, to the Black Eyed Peas.  Best case scenario: they believe it, they accept it, they retire.  It is our only hope.

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