It’s been a couple of weeks since the 2012 Grammy Awards have come and gone. I had an initially strong reaction to the show, but I was also just coming down from a euphoria induced by the combination of ice-fishing, New Glarus beer and the self-immolating thrill of the job hunt, so my gut instincts were not to be trusted. As if they ever are. Seriously, I tend to be pretty reactionary, especially when it comes to petty things. Every time Michelle starts to beat me at Settlers of Catan, I go off like George W. just got elected to a sixth term, and I’m still under investigation by the CIA for what happened right after I saw the ending of “The Village.”
So it’s no great surprise that the only thing more predictable than the actual outcome of the awards was the backlash it received in the press. Now, some of these arguments hold water, and most of them have to do with the Grammy Board (or the Illuminati, or that soccer octopus, or whoever decides this stuff) remaining hopelessly out of touch. Others, however, seem to be spouted by pundits who subsist on a diet of Fiji water and their own indignation. For your consideration:
You’ve Got a Point There: The Foo Fighters Win Best Hard Rock/Metal Performance
As a caveat, let me say that I have nothing against the Foo Fighters, at least not inherently, and certainly not against Dave Grohl. He’s one of the few men walking the earth who knows his way around both
a big-ass riff and a catchy hook. He drummed on Queens of the Stone Age’s “Songs for the Deaf” and masterminded the Probot album, which featured vocal spots by Lemmy (Motorhead), Cronos (Venom) and King freakin’ Diamond. By himself, he’s more metal than Metallica’s been in two decades.
But Foo Fighters are not a metal band, not by a long shot. And most of the other nominees — Megadeth, Sum 41, Dream Theater — are either even more not metal or are in the sad twilight of their careers. “Public Enemy #1,” Megadeth’s nominated song, sucked so hard that R. Lee Ermey is still screaming insults at it in a new deleted scene that magically appeared on every DVD copy of “Full Metal Jacket.” Dream Theater’s target demographic stops at music theory nerds, and calling Sum 41 metal is like calling a Nair commercial metal.
You who is a metal band? Mastodon.
But still — let’s forget that this was only their second nomination in their decade as a band, or that “Curl of the Burl” manages to be accessible without alienating a great deal of the fan base. Or that Brent Hinds and Bill Kelliher are rightfully drawing comparisons to some of the great twin-guitar attacks of all time. Or that Hinds smoked a joint right in front of me at a Floor concert.
No, the real losers here are the scores and scores of other metal bands who released thought-provoking, forward-thinking, genre-defying and yes, BRUTAL, albums this past year: Brutal Truth’s “End Time,” 40 Watt Sun’s “The Inside Room” (my personal No. 1), F***ed Up’s “David Comes to Life,” Gridlink’s “Orphan, Drugs of Faith’s Corroded,” and so many more. You sit down and listen to these albums, and you are, trust me, affected. Whereas listening to Megadeth’s latest will just get you infected… with, like, suckiness. I don’t know, it’s not a very pliant metaphor.
Just… Just Calm Down, Okay?: Adele and the Veracity of Patterns
Soon after the Grammys aired, an editorial appeared in the Arts section of the
New York Times, taking the committee to task for remaining anchored in the past and falling into old patterns. While the former might slightly fly, I’m a total mark for the Beach Boys, and you can’t not feel great and a little misty-eyed seeing Glen Campbell perform even as Alzheimer’s begins to slowly take over his mind. Those were great moments, and I have no problem with them.
It’s the latter remark I want to address, though, as it concerns the six wins nabbed by Adele and her monstrously successful “21.” Whatever you think of the album in and of itself — I think it’s quite impressive, if a bit unoriginal — is irrelevant in this case. The basis of the editorial was to trace the committee’s seeming tendency to heap awards on a breakthrough female singer-songwriter: this year it was Adele, while 2003 saw Norah Jones take home seven trophies. 1999 was the year of Lauryn Hill, who was nominated for 10 awards, winning five.
At best, it’s a tenuous connection to make; at worst, flailing for a gripe in a dark room. Never mind that those three albums are extraordinarily different: Lauryn Hill kicked the neo-soul doors off it’s hinges; Norah Jones saw the apex of her whispery piano-folk style; Adele’s got classic soul guts and a voice that could shear mountaintops. But most perplexing is that we’re talking about cherry-picking three instances out of 13 years, when the other recipients have run a pretty substantial gamut, regardless of what you think of the albums themselves: Santana, Green Day, Outkast, Steely Dan, the “O Brother Where Art Thou?” soundtrack and Herbie Hancock.
It’s a typical alarmist routine practiced by music and film critics after every major awards show. And in a sense, yes, there are issues of accessibility and politics involved. You’re never going to see Agoraphobic Nosebleed take home a Grammy, and “Bellflower” won’t make the Oscar shortlist. Even if they did, it would obliterate the underground pride fans tend to harbor when their favorite artist goes gleefully unrecognized. And then we, too, would feed on our own indignation.
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