I actually watched the Grammy show last night. Sort of. Mostly with the sound off until somebody remotely tolerable was on. Which wasn't often.
Jazz artists and classical artists totally ignored. Anyone even mention who won the Grammy for best comedy album? Do they still do one for album notes?? The "obit" section wasn't bad. But they went by a lot of people real fast. They could've at least played four notes of the Perry Mason theme to honor Fred Steiner. Who also wrote the snappy theme for "The Bullwinkle Show."
Saw the usual C&W moron with the fat face and a giant hat. The giant hat obscured most of his fat face. The important thing is for the C&W moron to signal everyone, "OK, it's time to hear that same ballad Garth Brooks always sang, so it's time for the fridge and bathroom break." Which most people do at the same time, eating what they grabbed from the bridge while squatting on the pot.
Rap morons and their R&B divas wearing the extravagant and moronic outfits that made this show so uncool for 70's music fans. Now it's back to "look at my expensive clothes." I don't see much difference between a jerk like Bruno Mars and Robert Goulet.
Macca actually did a nice job on his faux 40's ballad, and gave the crowd a goodnight blast by going from the the peculiar and raspy "Golden Slumbers" into some Abbey Road rock that ended with some assembled guitar heroes taking turns with the "let's all watch each other do guitar riffs" thing. This included grimacing Joe Walsh, and "The Boss" himself with his six-strings sounding like egg-beaters trick, and others trying to outdo each other in look-at-my-dick symbolism.
Nice that the crowd still enjoys, after 30 years, the utter cliche of Brooooose opening a show with a sound-alike anthem, standing up there and grinding his guitar at his knee, like he's the common man diggin' a ditch. With that little soul patch under his lip. And that increasingly fat and ugly Corporal Klinger sidekick running over to swap spit into Brooooose's microphone with him. That never gets old.
I would not be surprised if, 30 years from now, it's revealed that Broooooose and Little Steven were actually lovers all those years, like J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson.
Adele is interesting. She sings like she lives in a palace and talks like she lives in a garbage can. What terrible part of England is she from? Her speaking voice could rip the skin off a dead fish. At least she's honest about who she is.
Lady Gaga wore some kind of net over her face, as if she isn't beyond toxic already.
Everyone loved the constant "Whitney, we will always love you" ad-libs. Mostly used to get the audience to start applauding. "Are we having fun? Isn't tonight about the music???" It's worth mentioning that abuse of prescription drugs now causes more deaths than car accidents. But we'll return to car accidents in a moment.
Wendy Williams was sniffing and sobbing this morning, just devastated by the loss of an artist who nobody paid any attention to for nearly a decade. Who was the subject of fecal impacting jokes on "Saturday Night Live" instead. Remember that? Maya Rudolph doing her Whitney impression, talking about how "real love" was sitting on the toilet while Bobby Brown helped pull what was stuck in her bottom? This is no time to be a realist, and she was a beauty and a talent, but up until the other day, if you had any old vinyl or a CD on Houston, it couldn't get a dollar on eBay. That's part of what being a pop star of the 80's is all about. The price for true immortality is often your life.
Wendy holds up an 8x10 of Whitney Houston attached to a tongue depressor, and...asks for a moment of silence. Flash to the ENTIRE AUDIENCE holding up the same 8x10 on a wooden stick, like it's a church and everyone's holding a crucifix. At least some people do remember Jesus once a year. As long as they get gifts.
Last but not least, lost amid this morning's tributes to the Grammy show and Whitney, here's some news about the odd-named actress Zina Bethune, who briefly was in the fan mags when she starred in "The Nurses" several generations ago. She suffered from various ailments, worked to educate people, was a force in charity, had her name attached to many beneficial causes. While we continue with the Whitney commercial ("you're soaking in it!") we continue without Zina Bethune.
She saw an injured animal in Griffith Park, got out of her car to get across the road and see if she could help it, and she was clipped by a hit and run driver and mowed down by a second. Dead at 67.
Too bad she wasn't playing the radio in her car, and the Whitney song "I yee-iii-yeee-i" wasn't playing in tribute. The car alarm song might've slowed down traffic and saved her life.
