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The Granny Awards

Out of curiosity (okay, I wanted to see if Burt Bacharach and Doris Day might appear to pick up their Lifetime Achievement awards), I tuned into the Grammy Awards last night. Boy, what a strange show. Just hand me some Geritol ’cause I feel so elderly now! It’s bad enough that I’ve never heard of three quarters of the nominees, but isn’t it strange that the awards themselves are an afterthought on the telecast? Somewhere along the line the Grammy producers decided the telecast should feel less like a traditional awards show and more like a long concert filled with nothing but the brightest stars in music — but the live performances don’t come across all that well since they have all the spontaneity of a Bush Town Hall meeting. It’s superficial beyond belief and the pacing seems too rushed. Between all this puffery, a few major awards get a perfunctory handing-out — while the zillions of lesser award winners are flashed onscreen in nearly illegible type (seriously, I want to strangle the designer who picked a blocky all-caps, microscopic font for the award categories). Still, it’s worth it for the occasional moments of weirdness — like Kid Rock duetting with Keely Smith (who looks like she could be my mom’s older sister). And it seems like they always have to trot Aretha Franklin out like some friggin’ Macy’s parade balloon.

I never put much stock in the Grammys anyhow. They’ve got way too many categories and they tend to shower awards upon artists who are 10-20 years past their prime. Besides, they’ll never get over that Christopher Cross thing.

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