Jam Shtik To Do For Gigs
February 14, 2005
7 Comments

Let's Get it Started in Here!

or, Why Buy the .750 L Bottle of Cheap-Ass Australian Table Wine When There's a 1.5 L Size?

Yeah, so, we watched some of the Grammys last night, but only after getting "it started" on a big bottle of wine. I'm fairly certain that, in music critic circles, the Grammys stopped meaning anything a quarter-century ago, but it was only last night that I realized just how culturally irrelevant they really are. There were three things that put the nail in the coffin for me:

  • The medley. I'm guessing that the medley was some musical visionary's attempt at creating a live "mash-up," but really? It sounded like a medley. And unless you're Ann-Margaret, you probably shouldn't be doing medleys. Especially when the medley in question only serves to drive home the fact that Gwen Stefani, Eve, the Black-Eyed Peas, Franz Ferdinand, Maroon 5, and those Mexican Guys I Didn't Recognize are all singing the same goddamned song when it comes right down to it. Also, something else along these lines I'd like to know: Where is the pre-Colombian ritual pot that I need to find and smash in order to send the Black-Eyed Peas back through the Hellmouth they came out of?

  • Green Day as introduced by Quentin Tarantino. Hello. It's not sad enough that they won best rock album--"Rock and roll can be dangerous and fun at the same time," Billy Joe? This from the guy who self-censored his performance? Dangerous and fun!?!--but apparently the only person more clueless than the lead singer was QT, who said, and I quote: "In the '90s, three punks from the Bay area popped into our lives in a big, loud way. Instead of fading away, they've grown up, releasing a concept album with a very novel concept: All the songs are good. They're making punk rock history with a real sense of purpose." To paraphrase Ben Kingsley's character in Sexy Beast, NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Hey, I've taken the post-mortem temperature of punk's liver, and I can tell you for certain: Punk rock didn't die until he said that. So yes, officially: Punk is dead.

  • Finally, Maroon 5. Best new artist?!? Didn't anyone on the Grammy panel notice that they're actually the Spin Doctors?

Posted by Dana at 09:30 AM

Comments

Did not watch it, but knew it had to be bad when I was greeted by the Too-Perky CoWorker Older Than Me this morning: "I love that Maroon 5! They are really growing on me!"

Posted by: tizzie at February 14, 2005 11:25 AM

I feel your pain. There is not enough booze in this world (or any other) to get me to watch that festival of lameness. For once I was actually almost sorta happy to be working on a Sunday night.

Posted by: bmarkey at February 14, 2005 01:40 PM

I just saw an AP story that said the network "seamlessly" censored Green Day, FWIW.

Posted by: tizzie at February 14, 2005 02:04 PM

Hm, maybe the earlier Reuters piece I read was wrong.

Posted by: dana at February 14, 2005 02:27 PM

I, for one, am glad Maroon 5 won.

If only because winning "Best New Artist" pretty much equals winning "Most Likely To Vanish Without A Trace in Six Months' Time."

My only regret was that they were the only ones to win.

Posted by: arto at February 14, 2005 05:13 PM

I grudgingly admit, I actually do like the American Idiot CD - but - BUT! I don't consider it punk rock by any means. Power pop maybe, but not punk.

As to the time of death, I think when Ralph Lauren showed tartan cargo pants in his fall collection (along with black linen napkins embroidered with skulls for the home collection)is right about when punk jammed the gun in its mouth and painted the wall with brains, although it had been severely depressed since the mid 80's. It's a wonder it made it this far.

Posted by: Miss Lis at February 15, 2005 04:11 PM

Maroon 5 winning *anything* besides a high school talent show runner-up ribbon while Yellowcard is in country only serves to shine a big doctor's light on the fumey boil of popular music. As for Green Day, they officially became dismissable upon the release of "Hope You Had The Time Of Your Life" or whatever that p.o.s. is entitled. Punk's been dead longer than hair metal. Shooting electricity through it's dessicated corpse to try and somehow frottage off some some of punk's past glory is like standing behind a mummy at the museum, moving it's arms around Weekend-At-Bernie's style and declaring yourself pharoah.

Posted by: Fes at February 18, 2005 09:43 AM