The 56th Annual Grammy Awards is a big ass show that features hugely rich and/or popular musicians. It's tonight on CBS and today I've been wondering why the hell I should care. The results, just like the results of the Golden Globes or the American Music Awards or even The Voice or Dancing With the Stars having exactly zero bearing on how I will live my life or what will happen to me tomorrow. The Grammy nominees have worked very hard in their jobs of bringing their music to the masses to enrich the lives of the masses, get fans who will continue to look for that music, and keep them from having to teach music or work in machine shops or be dance teachers or travel agents or administrative assistants. Their hard work and perserverance has paid off and their record companies probably appreciate it. (Macklemore and Ryan Lewis produced and distributed their own album which shows that it can be done if you're talented and one of you is a marketing genius.) Now they reward their own. And why the hell should I care?
I guess it's like the Super Bowl or the Stanley Cup finals or the Oscars. There isn't a reason in the world that I should care but I kind of do. I look forward to seeing what tricks are up the sleeves of the producers. I want to see Ringo Starr and Sir Paul McCartney sing together. I like Pink, Pharrell Williams, the aforementioned Messrs. Macklemore and Lewis, Daft Punk, and Bruno Mars. I like them so much that I actually acquired their CDs -- buying one with my own money and not getting it as a gift or from the library. Justin Timberlake and Tony Bennett are some kind of wonderful. The notion of 82 categories boggles my mind. We've been whipped into a frenzy by the media and anticipation is high and I'm as frothed as the next person who also seems to care. To paraphrase Samuel Beckett, I refuse to care; I do care.
So today I pay homage to just one of the nominated categories, in this case Song of the Year. I feature Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and "Same Love." Love is love, y'all.