Latest Vista article about where emotional music goes to die...I was going to do something different for this and go track by track, but I don't think I have time...Sorry Lisa, but this will have to do.
Fall Out Boy’s “Infinity on High” a Flashy Flop
Get out your black hoodie, your super skinny jeans, and your black Chucks. Chicago pop-punk quartet Fall Out Boy is back with their fourth full-length album, “Infinity on High,” an album that will no doubt have high school kids moshing for joy, well those who have no real music taste that is. The album is chock full of over-produced rock songs with tacky lyrics and clumsily mixed metaphors.
After listening I had to venture back four years to remember why anyone should care about these guys. You see back in the day, I was a FOB fan, which earns me little credibility as a music critic, but I’m telling you, 2003’s “Take This To Your Grave” pre-dates and outshines most of the pop-riddled “punk” that bands have inflicted on the world. But alas, somehow Fall Out Boy lost me on their path to platinum.
The album opens with homage to the “diehard” fans who have been there since the beginning, ironic because most of those fans are long gone. Oh, and Jay-Z makes a guest appearance to dedicate the album to “anyone people said couldn't make it, to the fans that held us down till everybody came around.” Are you laughing yet? Well, just in case you are unaware of how epic this album is, Hova tells us, “Welcome. It’s here.” The music itself is pretty typical FOB, but loses the listener when bassist/songwriter Pete Wentz and singer Patrick Stump decline to accept the role of emo poster boys. Really? Pete, your street cred as a former member of the Chicago hardcore scene is hanging by a thread. You seem to have gladly accepted all the interviews and photo shoots.
“Infinity on High” takes the listener on a journey through the brain of an emo kid with sinking ship, car crash, trash, and failure imagery each repeated on multiple tracks. If you really examine the lyrics as you’re listening, you can’t help but feel that you’re stuck in a high school poetry class. Wentz throws out gems like “My words are my faith to hell with our good name / A remix of your guts—your insides X-rayed . . .We’re a bull, your ears are just a china shop.” This is actually one of the more stable lyric images; others just plain don’t make sense, “When the lives we lived are only golden-plated / And I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me / Though I carried karats for everyone to see.”
The first single, “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race,” will undoubtedly have fans pumping fists and worshipping the band for really understanding the emo mantra: nothing feels good. The repetitive chorus is enough to drive someone to drink themselves into a coma. Listening to this song is like banging your head against a brick wall; it feels good when you stop.
The album drips with classic FOB song titles as well. The band has traditionally named songs using clever pop culture references, and the band has created some of the longest song titles in rock history. Consider the absurdity of songs called “I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)” and the grammatically unsound “I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers.” Do the songs deal with the titles? No. Do the titles make sense? Not Really.
If it weren’t for Wentz’s makeup and boyish good looks, this band might have stayed out of the limelight, content to tour for fans and avoid the dark side of turning pop. Bottom line: don’t waste your money, and petition radio stations to stop blaring “This Ain’t a Scene.”
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
A glimpse of life at home
Following a Flobots show at the Gothic, before taking us to the Castle, Brad made a stop at Wendy's for sustinence paid for by David. Seeing a Black Eyed Pea (restaurant) across the street, Brad was inspired to give a performance...
Blissful Blizzard Version 2.0...
Blissful Blizzard Version 2.0...
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Headphone culture
In this week's Vista:
Headphone Culture: Tune In or Tune Out?
Remember when the kid who perpetually donned headphones was considered a loner or a misanthrope. They just couldn’t stand to listen to the world, so they tuned us all out? Now, how often does someone have to take out their earbuds to talk to you? Or worse yet, how many people talk to you with headphones in?
Back in the early 70s, fanatic audiophiles tuned out the rest of the world and plugged their bulky can shaped headphones in to whatever Procol Harum or Pink Floyd album they were listening to. By pulling their high fidelity Sennheisers over their ears, they let the world of the music coil completely around them and could immerse themselves completely in every solo and back beat.
The march toward mobile music took headphones along for the ride and received a boost in the late 70s with the commercialization of Sony’s Walkman. Each listener could plug headphones (albeit lo-fi factory issued ones) into a portable device and take music wherever they wanted. This technology evolved into Discmans and iPods. The hoi poloi no longer had to ride the subway in awkward silence; Devo could ride the train with them.
Widespread headphone culture has developed most completely in the last half-decade however. In the 80s and 90s, Walkmans and Discmans were Sony’s largest selling product, but headphone quality was poor, and tapes and CDs were limited in portability. Music fans would have to cart bulky tape and CD cases around if they planned to listen to more than an hour’s worth of music.
In 2001, Apple introduced the first generation iPod, allowing users to load hundreds and soon thousands of songs onto a device which could fit in most purses and pockets, outshining every other mp3 player on the market. The shock of loading hours of music onto an iPod after years of scratched CDs and poor quality tapes was enough to send the audio junkies into a spending frenzy. The technology trickled down to the masses, and now those little white buds are as ubiquitous in American culture as the shoes on our feet.
Now it seems that people can’t go anywhere without taking their music with them. Headphones have become a common part of shopping, walking to class, and exercising. Musical mobility has reached new heights, and everyone is able to soundtrack their everyday activities. We can create playlists for every mood or flippant thought, and take these “albums” wherever we go.
Today, unlike in the past, the anti-social behavior exhibited by wearing headphones in public is widely accepted and marketed. How anti-social is the behavior though when these music lovers decide to share their music with the headphone free? Few invest in sound-isolating canal headphones, and so half the time, you are forced to listen to others musical choices if you decide to live a technologically free life.
Fanatic music fans may feel animosity toward the universality of portable music. Their private musical culture has been bastardized since Jane Doe can listen to Paris Hilton and the Pussycat Dolls and look the same as the hipster rocking to Pavement and the Jesus and Mary Chain.
So the next time you walk to class, the choice is yours. Listen to the world around you, or listen to your soundtrack about the world around you.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Damn straight Walt!
So I have been immersed in Whitman for the past three weeks thanks to Dr. Williams. As I went over his autobiography, I found that he had some great things to say about my home state:
"In due time we reach Denver, which city I fall in love with from the first, and have that feeling confirm'd the longer I stay there."
"The confronting of Platte cañon just at dawn, after a ten miles’ ride in early darkness on the rail from Denver . . . as we travel on, and get well in the gorge, all the wonders, beauty, savage power of the scene—the wild stream of water, from sources of snows, brawling continually in sight one side—the dazzling sun, and the morning lights on the rocks such turns and grades in the track, squirming around corners, or up and down hills—far glimpses of a hundred peaks, titanic necklaces stretching north and south—the huge rightly-named Dome-rock—and as we dash along, others similar, simple, monolithic, elephantine."
"Through the canon we fly—mountains not only each side, but seemingly, till we get near, right in front of us—every rood a new view flashing, and each flash defying description—on the almost perpendicular sides, clinging pines, cedars, spruces, crimson sumach bushes, spots of wild grass—but dominating all, those towering rocks, rocks, rocks, bathed in delicate vari-colors with the clear sky of autumn overhead. New senses, new joys."
"Talk, I say again, of going to
"'I have lived in or visited all the great cities on the Atlantic third of the republic . . . but, newcomer to Denver as I am, and threading its streets, breathing its air, warm'd by its sunshine, and having what there is of its human as well as aerial ozone flash'd upon me now for only three or four days, I am very much like a man feels sometimes toward certain people he meets with, and warms to, and hardly knows why. I, too, can hardly tell why, but as I enter'd the city in the slight haze of a late September afternoon, and have breath'd its air, and slept well o' nights, and have roam'd or rode leisurely . . . andd absorb'd the climatic magnetism of this curiously attractive region, there has steadily grown upon me a feeling of affection for the spot, which, sudden as it is has become so definite and strong that I must put it on record.' So much for my feeling toward the Queen city of the plains and peaks, where she sits in her delicious rare atmosphere, over 5,000 feet above sea-level, irrigated by mountain streams, one way looking east over the prairies for a thousand miles, and having the other, westwasd, in constant view by day, draped in their violet haze, mountain tops innumerable."
If you made it through all of those, congrats.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Another one bites the dust...
There goes speaker #2...Ryan Adams was fading in and out this morning as I got back from practice, and now, silence.
To the store!
To the store!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Coachella 2006 Remembered...
What better way to prepare for this year's desert misadventure than to look back at last year's two day experiences? I could show you all my pictures from the shows and talk about how great the bands were, but I'd rather post Matt's memories. Matt (of the Coffey variety) flew out to San Diego Indio
Unfortunately, sometime during the Go! Team's set, Matt's camera mysteriously disappeared from his pocket. So he reconstructed his memories in sketches. And here they are (with his captions, so the I is Matt, not me...ok?):
"Being that my documentation of Coachella was lost, I’ve decided to re-enact the weekend through a most accurate comic strip."
"The heat was hot and so before going to the show I chose to hydrate with two gallons of water. I completed the foolhardy and near impossible task within ten minutes."
"Upon entrance I tossed some sunscreen to Christie, for I needed not the protection from the sun. My skin was already finely toned and shielded."
"One of the first acts I witnessed was Wolfmother. They’re a band from Australia, which I immediately connected with since every now and then I could pinpoint the continent in a children’s atlas."
"I was invited on stage to play the drums, and performed so well that I was kicked off. They didn’t want me to steal their foreign charm."
"After seeing a few more bands, Christie became tired and preferred to sit. With my insurmountable energy I chose to cartwheel towards the food emporium and consume three hearty meals."
"So with a semi-full stomach, we headed out to see the last of the bands, and were suddenly surprised with a surprise guest, who surprisingly turned out to be The Strokes. They came on stage through lightning bolts and invoked the power of joy into everyone; even those who just kind of liked them."
"After a three hour performance from The Strokes it was time to return from whence we came and get ready for the next day."
"The second day proved to be hotter, but with some rapidly paced shortcuts and unheard of speed, we managed to escape the hot San Diegan sun rays. Unfortunately our velocity allowed us to time travel one hour ahead into the future causing us to miss some shows."
"Although we did get to see Wolf Parade, during their prep work the sound crew suddenly grew stupid or impotent, and had troubles setting up everything. So I decided to pitch in with my knowledge-filled noggin, and chose to borrow/steal the sound system from Kanye West’s stage. Not many people missed it."
"Since the troubles with the prep work delayed the previous show I had missed out on a prime spot for Bloc Party. So instead of burrowing my way through a sweaty crowd, I scaled an immense sculpture for an old-fashioned captain viewing."
"As the performance grew to an end, I made a triumphant dive into the crowd, which erotically turned into crowd surfing."
"As successful as the day/night was, while heading back to the car I was stabbed by an attacker thrice times and lost my camera to the brigand."
"Under no sorts of pain I chased the bastard down with the help of Seu Jorge (Life Aquatic’s David Bowie singer)."
"We cornered him in a concealed corner and Seu Jorge unloaded with his guitar shotgun, blowing apart the muggers knees, but alas my camera had been caught in the crossfire."
"The next day I helped Christie set up for the Common/Jurassic 5 show."
Unfortunately, sometime during the Go! Team's set, Matt's camera mysteriously disappeared from his pocket. So he reconstructed his memories in sketches. And here they are (with his captions, so the I is Matt, not me...ok?):
"Being that my documentation of Coachella was lost, I’ve decided to re-enact the weekend through a most accurate comic strip."
"The heat was hot and so before going to the show I chose to hydrate with two gallons of water. I completed the foolhardy and near impossible task within ten minutes."
"Upon entrance I tossed some sunscreen to Christie, for I needed not the protection from the sun. My skin was already finely toned and shielded."
"One of the first acts I witnessed was Wolfmother. They’re a band from Australia, which I immediately connected with since every now and then I could pinpoint the continent in a children’s atlas."
"I was invited on stage to play the drums, and performed so well that I was kicked off. They didn’t want me to steal their foreign charm."
"After seeing a few more bands, Christie became tired and preferred to sit. With my insurmountable energy I chose to cartwheel towards the food emporium and consume three hearty meals."
"So with a semi-full stomach, we headed out to see the last of the bands, and were suddenly surprised with a surprise guest, who surprisingly turned out to be The Strokes. They came on stage through lightning bolts and invoked the power of joy into everyone; even those who just kind of liked them."
"After a three hour performance from The Strokes it was time to return from whence we came and get ready for the next day."
"The second day proved to be hotter, but with some rapidly paced shortcuts and unheard of speed, we managed to escape the hot San Diegan sun rays. Unfortunately our velocity allowed us to time travel one hour ahead into the future causing us to miss some shows."
"Although we did get to see Wolf Parade, during their prep work the sound crew suddenly grew stupid or impotent, and had troubles setting up everything. So I decided to pitch in with my knowledge-filled noggin, and chose to borrow/steal the sound system from Kanye West’s stage. Not many people missed it."
"Since the troubles with the prep work delayed the previous show I had missed out on a prime spot for Bloc Party. So instead of burrowing my way through a sweaty crowd, I scaled an immense sculpture for an old-fashioned captain viewing."
"As the performance grew to an end, I made a triumphant dive into the crowd, which erotically turned into crowd surfing."
"As successful as the day/night was, while heading back to the car I was stabbed by an attacker thrice times and lost my camera to the brigand."
"Under no sorts of pain I chased the bastard down with the help of Seu Jorge (Life Aquatic’s David Bowie singer)."
"We cornered him in a concealed corner and Seu Jorge unloaded with his guitar shotgun, blowing apart the muggers knees, but alas my camera had been caught in the crossfire."
"With no winning attempts at putting the camera together, I said screw it and safely drove back into town while napping, because I’m cool like that."
"The next day I helped Christie set up for the Common/Jurassic 5 show."
And there you have it folks. The validity of said statements has not been confirmed. Seu Jorge, Wolfmother, and the Strokes declined to comment.
Friday, February 16, 2007
You have served me well...
Today one of my computer speakers either committed electronic suicide or passed out from exhaustion. True, my factory issued Altec Lansing towers were not made to serve someone like me. I forced the latest and greatest albums as well as perennial favorites through them for about 18 hours a day...for three and a half years.
Tomorrow I will set out to replace them with a new set, so I don't hear half of every album. I'll miss you speakers, and I feel that I should bury you next to Blackbeard or Luna as another victim of life in Manchester. You may not have been an anorexic snake or a beta that doubled as a therapist, but you guys have provided me with countless hours of musical comfort and discovery.
It was through you that I first encountered M. Ward and Death Cab. You listened patiently as I played "My Favourite Chords" 800 times. You came with me on trips and showed just as much love to my iPod as my iTunes. You didn't judge me as I danced spastically to "Down on the Corner" and "Let the Poison Spill from Your Throat," and you never questioned my flippant musical nights where I couldn't seem to listen to a song all the way through.
You played Sigur Ros as I stayed up to ungodly hours studying for biochem tests. You let Damien Jurado and Nick Drake's voices resonate through my room as I slept blissfully. You helped me drown out the sound of the batting cages or the landscapers.
I will miss your crisp sound, and although I probably will forget you years down the road, we'll always have our hours together.
R.I.P.
Tomorrow I will set out to replace them with a new set, so I don't hear half of every album. I'll miss you speakers, and I feel that I should bury you next to Blackbeard or Luna as another victim of life in Manchester. You may not have been an anorexic snake or a beta that doubled as a therapist, but you guys have provided me with countless hours of musical comfort and discovery.
It was through you that I first encountered M. Ward and Death Cab. You listened patiently as I played "My Favourite Chords" 800 times. You came with me on trips and showed just as much love to my iPod as my iTunes. You didn't judge me as I danced spastically to "Down on the Corner" and "Let the Poison Spill from Your Throat," and you never questioned my flippant musical nights where I couldn't seem to listen to a song all the way through.
You played Sigur Ros as I stayed up to ungodly hours studying for biochem tests. You let Damien Jurado and Nick Drake's voices resonate through my room as I slept blissfully. You helped me drown out the sound of the batting cages or the landscapers.
I will miss your crisp sound, and although I probably will forget you years down the road, we'll always have our hours together.
R.I.P.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Oh it's just a half...
Last Sunday, my phone sang the theme from Chariots of Fire to me at 6:30. I turned off the alarm and crawled out of bed wondering how in the world I ever let Erin convince me to get up this early to pay $35 to run 13.1 miles. I donned my best rainy day running clothes, made my Apples and Cinnamon oatmeal, and took off for the Ranch to compete in my first ever half marathon.
Rancho Santa Fe (or "The Ranch" to any runner in the know) has been the site of some great Sunday morning long runs (Erin: "Wait, wait, wait. I saw a nickel back there I had to pick up.") and remains one of my favorite and least favorite loops of all time. Favorite--it's not out and back. Least favorite--hills and wood chips, murder on my ankles.
I parked, signed up, and met Erin and Brent to head down the hill to the start. Brent ran the 5k as an unwilling participant, but neverthless ended up 14th overall. Erin and I ran into a friend at the start, and he mentioned he was worried about us beating him. I told him not to be concerned because the longest run I had done since November was 9ish the Sunday prior.
Erin (coming off her 3:27 marathon a month before) asked what my goal was and I told her I wanted to finish, preferrably in under 2 hours. I knew the course would be hilly, and well, I freaking HATE hills. She said if we ran together and talked she was going to aim for 1:45ish which is 8:00 pace. I told her I wasn't sure, but if she dropped me it would be ok.
The gun went off, and we took off downhill on the partially out and back course. After the race I realized that you can tell exactly which miles were uphill, which were downhill, and which were flat just by looking at my mile splits. So here's a mile-by-mile rundown of my race (thoughts, quotes, memories, splits, etc.):
1: Take it out nice and easy....chatting with Erin about Divas matters (i.e. Valentines and boys)...7:07
2: Oh crap. We went out really fast, I'm going to hit the wall really early. "Beer on the right! Water on the left!" Oh hell no, this high school girl is not going to beat me in a half marathon...the woman dressed as Queen Elizabeth at the 5k turnaround...7:22
3: Turned and started to head straight uphill....Erin, where are you going? Are you leaving me? Already?...Dammit, still 10 miles...I hate myself for doing this...8:23
4: Back downhill...passing a bunch of middle aged dudes...targeting women in front of me...I just might be ok...7:29
5: This mile feels really long..."Have we passed the 5th mile marker yet?" me: "No" (look at watch, split reads 11:20) "Yeah I suppose we have...~7:40
6: Back uphill, first drink of water...meet Amy who asked about the mile marker...she's training for Boston...~8:06
7: Uphill, then the course flattened out...come on, you should be able to beat these guys, they're twice your age!...At the turnaround realized that Erin was not as far ahead of me as I thought...started to run with Amy again and chat...8:15
8: FLAT, kept talking to Amy...mentally drained...5 more miles?!?!...people who race with iPods on don't deserve to be there...7:54
9: Turned downhill...me: "I suck at hills" Amy: "Did you play soccer?"...Rain picked up and felt great, but the road was slippery...stupid rich people in their BMW's can't follow detours, and they feel entitled to nearly run us over...7:31
10: ANOTHER hill...just about died...Amy: "Christie! Get up here!"...family of ducks attempting to cross the road...8:30
11: Straight downhill...photographer was there so I tried to minimize the Oz look of agony...then the runner's high kicked in...7:00
12: Flat...knew exactly where I was and exactly how much longer I had to go...daunting thought because normally we're just doing a Sunday long run, and pace isn't all that important...realizing I will go under 1:45
13: "Beer on the left! Water on the right!"...the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album, the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album, the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album...too. much. lactic. acid...death by slight incline...8:30
.1: Just get me to the finish. Heard Erin and Brent screaming...I did it!!!!...:52
Total time: 1:42:21, 248th overall, 36th female finisher, 4th 18-24 yr old female
Erin ran in the 1:39s and got 2nd in our division. We put on our medals, dry shirts, and crawled up the hill to the expo for food and results. We decided not to wait around for the awards because we were a bit cold, and so I treated E and B to brunch at the Caf. My legs didn't really function by the end of the day, and my foot is still sore, but the race was FANTASTIC, and I realized that I could totally run a 5k on the track if I really wanted to.
I'm addicted now. La Jolla Half here I come!
Rancho Santa Fe (or "The Ranch" to any runner in the know) has been the site of some great Sunday morning long runs (Erin: "Wait, wait, wait. I saw a nickel back there I had to pick up.") and remains one of my favorite and least favorite loops of all time. Favorite--it's not out and back. Least favorite--hills and wood chips, murder on my ankles.
I parked, signed up, and met Erin and Brent to head down the hill to the start. Brent ran the 5k as an unwilling participant, but neverthless ended up 14th overall. Erin and I ran into a friend at the start, and he mentioned he was worried about us beating him. I told him not to be concerned because the longest run I had done since November was 9ish the Sunday prior.
Erin (coming off her 3:27 marathon a month before) asked what my goal was and I told her I wanted to finish, preferrably in under 2 hours. I knew the course would be hilly, and well, I freaking HATE hills. She said if we ran together and talked she was going to aim for 1:45ish which is 8:00 pace. I told her I wasn't sure, but if she dropped me it would be ok.
The gun went off, and we took off downhill on the partially out and back course. After the race I realized that you can tell exactly which miles were uphill, which were downhill, and which were flat just by looking at my mile splits. So here's a mile-by-mile rundown of my race (thoughts, quotes, memories, splits, etc.):
1: Take it out nice and easy....chatting with Erin about Divas matters (i.e. Valentines and boys)...7:07
2: Oh crap. We went out really fast, I'm going to hit the wall really early. "Beer on the right! Water on the left!" Oh hell no, this high school girl is not going to beat me in a half marathon...the woman dressed as Queen Elizabeth at the 5k turnaround...7:22
3: Turned and started to head straight uphill....Erin, where are you going? Are you leaving me? Already?...Dammit, still 10 miles...I hate myself for doing this...8:23
4: Back downhill...passing a bunch of middle aged dudes...targeting women in front of me...I just might be ok...7:29
5: This mile feels really long..."Have we passed the 5th mile marker yet?" me: "No" (look at watch, split reads 11:20) "Yeah I suppose we have...~7:40
6: Back uphill, first drink of water...meet Amy who asked about the mile marker...she's training for Boston...~8:06
7: Uphill, then the course flattened out...come on, you should be able to beat these guys, they're twice your age!...At the turnaround realized that Erin was not as far ahead of me as I thought...started to run with Amy again and chat...8:15
8: FLAT, kept talking to Amy...mentally drained...5 more miles?!?!...people who race with iPods on don't deserve to be there...7:54
9: Turned downhill...me: "I suck at hills" Amy: "Did you play soccer?"...Rain picked up and felt great, but the road was slippery...stupid rich people in their BMW's can't follow detours, and they feel entitled to nearly run us over...7:31
10: ANOTHER hill...just about died...Amy: "Christie! Get up here!"...family of ducks attempting to cross the road...8:30
11: Straight downhill...photographer was there so I tried to minimize the Oz look of agony...then the runner's high kicked in...7:00
12: Flat...knew exactly where I was and exactly how much longer I had to go...daunting thought because normally we're just doing a Sunday long run, and pace isn't all that important...realizing I will go under 1:45
13: "Beer on the left! Water on the right!"...the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album, the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album, the Wall is just another Pink Floyd album...too. much. lactic. acid...death by slight incline...8:30
.1: Just get me to the finish. Heard Erin and Brent screaming...I did it!!!!...:52
Total time: 1:42:21, 248th overall, 36th female finisher, 4th 18-24 yr old female
Erin ran in the 1:39s and got 2nd in our division. We put on our medals, dry shirts, and crawled up the hill to the expo for food and results. We decided not to wait around for the awards because we were a bit cold, and so I treated E and B to brunch at the Caf. My legs didn't really function by the end of the day, and my foot is still sore, but the race was FANTASTIC, and I realized that I could totally run a 5k on the track if I really wanted to.
I'm addicted now. La Jolla Half here I come!
Grammy Awards Shmammy Awards
This I wrote for this week's Vista. It wasn't printed this way though. Keep in mind, I'm a member of the Recording Academy. They just don't let me vote...
Recording Academy
And the
Mary J. Blige finally won, and Best Rap Album went to
Rick Rubin produced every album released last year, and Tony Bennett thanked Target in his acceptance speech. The Doors, Joan Baez, and the Greatful Dead were actually recognized with Lifetime Achievement Awards after four decades of snubs. “My Humps” beat out actual music for Best Pop performance, and the Academy failed to have a James Brown tribute. Come now, he was the Godfather of Soul.
Granted, the target audience is the marginal music fan, and the voting members of the
Also, the Grammy’s have traditionally provided a stage for innovative collaborations. Eminem and Elton John, Melissa Etheridge and Joss Stone belting Janis, James Brown and Usher, Paul McCartney and Jay-Z; all exhibited partnerships of extreme talent and creativity. The Grammy stage is ripe for creative acts of a caliber that can’t be achieved anywhere else in the world, and they missed the boat. The 49th will be known for lackluster performances, zero creativity, and well, its profoundly soporific effects.
If the
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