Thursday, February 10, 2005

DO YOU THINK I GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A . . . : Sunday night marks the return of what recently has become absolute must-see tv: the Grammy Awards.

Don't laugh.

A few years ago, the Awards were in disarray. The 2000 awards, for example, was dominated by Steely Dan; the year before, Santana; the year before that saw Celine Dion and the misevaluation of Lauryn Hill. Lenny Kravitz won four straight Best Male Rock Vocal Performance awards, the musical equivalent of Juan Gonzalez's multiple MVP honors of the same era.

And then, faster than you can say "Soy Bomb", something changed.

No, the award choices didn't get much better, unless you believe that Norah Jones is the future of American music. But the show sure improved. Somehow, the producers realized what a music awards show could do that no other awards (save the Tonys) could: focus on live performances.

And so, both the 2003 and 2004 broadcasts decided to lower the number of awards presented on stage, and amplify the performance aspects.

Over the past two years, we've seen Paul and Artie reunite; an angry rendition of "London Calling" by Bruce Springsteen, Dave Grohl, Elvis Costello and Little Steven; Eminem and the Roots on "Lose Yourself"; that fantastic Prince/Beyonce medley to start last year's show; a touching tribute to Warren Zevon; and (and I'm quoting myself here, but I had it fine the first time) "a gloriously messy and exuberant funk segment with Big Boi, Earth Wind & Fire (featuring Verdine "Sexual Chocolate!" White on bass), Robert Randolph and P-Funk, the Mothership; and, finally, Andre 3000 bringing the house down with a wild, party-up, get-down, yeah-Native-Americans-are-going-to-be-pissed-but-it-was-fun performance of "Hey Ya", which was, like, wow."

Best yet: no lip-synching. At all.

So don't sweat the awarding -- pay no attention to the fact that they've again eliminated the Best Female Rock Vocal Performance category and folded Melissa Etheridge in with the men, and while it's good to hope that Kanye gets all the propers he deserves, his career might be better off without it. (Ask Lauryn.)

Just enjoy the performances, which will range from Franz Ferdinand to the Black Eyed Peas, Usher to U2 and Joss Stone to Gretchen Wilson. Because rock and roll isn't about the awards anyway. It's about the music . . . and the drugs . . . and the groupies.

(One final note: this is going to be one hell of a Necrology this year. Ray Charles, of course, takes the lead, but between Johnny Ramone, Laura Branigan, Rick James and the O.D.B., there's a lot of tears to go around.)

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