I confess. I watched the Grammy Awards on CBS last night. I thought Sandra would like it. But of course she did not. We went to sleep about halfway through.
If there is any music worth listening to in today’s America, there was no sign of it in the Grammy Awards. If there is any creativity left in this worn-out culture, that was missing, too.
From the moment the idiot of a host tumbled down the fake stairs to the time the TV shut itself off to save power, all we saw was extravagance and pretentiousness, masquerading as showmanship.
Sorry Beyonce’ (picture above), you are no doubt a great talent. But that cloying stuff you served up last night was over the top.
In case any of my faithful readers missed it…
Beyonce’ was clad head-to-toe in gold, like some Egyptian deity. She even wore a crown! And a veil! Ghostly images of women and children danced around her and she cradled her pregnant body with reverence as she chanted inaudibly.
One critic raved that:
…she invoked images of both a goddess and the Virgin Mary.
Yes, as expected, the critics are agog this morning. But it was too much for me. I found the performance cringeworthy. (And I was put off by all those family members getting into the act… her mother, Tina Knowles, husband Jay Z and daughter Blue Ivy.)
No Beyonce’, if you wanted to eulogize motherhood, pregnant with twins as you are, you might’ve been better off singing “Mother Machree.”
What made last night’s Grammy Awards even more depressing for me was the fact that I had just watched the Pebble Beach Pro Am.
Yes, Jordan Spieth found his groove, so that was something to cheer about. But the tournament, which used to be Bing Crosby’s warm and folksy Clambake, showcased all that reeks in golf.
The last thing I want to see on a golf course is Bill Murray dressed up as Farmer John (at right). And the clumsy old men (sorry Ms. Rice, you were the exception) – the rich, clumsy old men – who hogged the cameras, belong in Donald Trump’s world, not mine.
As for the announcers’ treacly tributes to the folks who pay their way…. pardon me while I gag.
Everything that’s making golf unpopular in America was on display at that wretched tournament.
And, no, I don’t think the Monterey Peninsula looks beautiful in the rain and fog. I think it looks cold and damp.
Scenes like that are a dime a dozen back in Jamaica, where I grew up, anyway.