While watching the Grammy Awards television show with my kids, I felt old like someone who grew up watching Lawrence Welk and dreamed of being one of the Lennon sisters if only she could sing and had thick, wavy hair.
But, I digress.
Most of the Grammy performing artists were unfamiliar to me except those honored for lifetime achievement awards, which doesn’t count much toward cool parent points when the award recipient is 85 years old.
Once, I was a teen listening to bubble-gum romance dedications on the radio. You know, kids, it’s the square box five times the size of your iPod.
Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen and The Eagles rounded out my album collection. OK, I owned an Olivia Newton-John record and, yes, I wore Olivia-inspired headbands and leggings because “Let’s get physical, physical” sounded better when I was properly attired.
But, I had The Boss, too, which should, in the equation of life, cancel out any unfortunate music indiscretions.
The thing is, tacky lyrics aside, I understood the music. The songs made sense while also making the listener, a skinny teenage girl glued to the radio, happy.
And if, on occasion, that same girl chose to wallow in self-indulged angst because the popular guy in high school didn’t notice self-indulged skinny teenage girls, music helped with that, too. One verse of “Hopelessly Devoted” and I was gone. It felt goooooood. Sure, it’s an Olivia song, but, come on! Grease was the word!
Back to the Grammys. I don’t get it. More specifically, I don’t get them. Namely, some of the performers nominated by their peers for exceptional musical talent. Lil’ Wayne, T Pain and M.I.A. rapped and ranted throughout the night to a screaming audience.
This is talent?
One of the debates for the ages remains what is and isn’t art. Fine enough. Let’s skip the debate and call these “musicians” what they are – offensive. I guess if you take away the masochistic language against women, the call for random acts of violence toward authority, and redundant shout-outs for greed, lust and narcissism, then, perhaps there’s a glimmer of musical merit. Um, no. I think not. Apparently, members of the Grammy Awards beg to differ.
Do parents listen to this stuff before their kids buy it? Because kids are buying it and, according to law enforcement officials, buying into it, personifying the full-on rapper/gangsta life.
Al Gore may encourage us to buy a better light bulb, but thank you, Tipper, for demanding placement of parental advisory labels warning potential album buyers of the vulgarity inside. Not that this proves to be much of a distraction. Rap and hip-hop lead the music industry in record sales. Let’s take the measure one step further. Make parents read aloud the lyrics before allowing a purchase. Any Lil Wayne song will do.
If we’re really serious, why not have Grammy presenters read a line from a T- Pain song before handing him the award?
Somewhere along the way we’ve replaced poetic with profane and the music is gone.
