As always I am centuries late with the Grammies review. From the strange opening to the weird ending, it was a bit of a drag (queen). The tribute to Aretha Franklin featuring five ‘princesses’ of soul (minus, hair-raisingly, Mary J Blige and Fantasia, ego-bruised) was uneven with Christina Aguilera wavering between breathtaking and narcissistic, FlorenceWelch surprisingly flawless and fabulous-looking Jennifer Hudson effortlessly killing all of the above off, bang bang. (Did a strange female voice introduce them while they sang? Yes, it did!)
For some critics the whole ceremony was a torture and it certainly was for me especially when so much attention was given to a person named Bieber. So if that is how the Academy is treating me, it’s exactly how I will treat the show – be a vicious bitch and tell everyone where to go:
Gwyneth Paltrow, clad in a lackluster unitard, accompanied by roosterly Cee-Lo Green, needs to eat something. (Why do people write songs with cool lyrics like I wish you the best with a fuck you and I got the kind of pussy that will keep you off the streets, just to substitute them with ‘forget’ and ‘loving’ is beyond me.) Beyonce, who looks like Gwyneth’s twin, needs to ditch the Blonde locks. Esperanza Spalding, totally humble and beautiful, who spoiled the fun of a billion little biebers (since Gaga’s are little monsters) who edited her wiki page, needs to kick some ass (it never transpired to me that Justin’s fans would have manners). Eminem needs to stop looking nervous (Mariah isn’t lurking round the corner). The ever insecure and intellectual Gaga (she is so smart her brains are spilling out her forehead and cheekbones) needs to continue ‘performance art’ by all means: spending days in an egg has a salubrious effect on her abs which she can lend me any time; but she’s gotta ditch the unsexy outfits and ridiculous choreography, and focus on the vocals, like her and my idol, Whitney Houston.
Katy Perry, glittering from head to toe, including sparks of vulnerability in her attractive voice, should smile more. Rihanna, pure eye-candy on the red carpet in Jean-Paul Gaultier, (spit)fire from head to toe with Eminem and pussy popping with Drake, should get a whipping (can I watch?). My favourite cartoon character Nicki Minaj should keep popping her fake-eyelashed eyes like that, it’s very becoming. And J Lo should stop wearing heels in the company of Mark Anthony and looking like a beaver (no reference to beiber). Will and Jada should continue cheering for their adorable offspring and hope against hope they won't regret it later like Miley’s Daddy. Usher, channelling Michael Jackson (who else?) should note that Jay Z proclaimed autotune dead a while ago.
And now about music:
The only thing I agree with is that the best Best Rap/Sung Collaboration should go to Jay Z and Alicia Keys Yoooouuu-Yaaaaaaa, my daughter’s favorite song.
The only decent music number for me was predictably the totally delicious B.o.B. with retro-rendered Bruno Mars and the unique, gorgeous, unpretentiously clever, brazenly talented and down-to-earth Janelle Monae. Her, as well as her cinematically panoramic alter ego Cindi Mayweather, whom I love dearly, and whose bridges, intros and outros BETWEEN the songs are more substantive than most ALBUMS out there, should have taken everything she was nominated for that night, and more. But maybe this is good, I tell myself, leaving her to strive for more and not take the ‘genius’ and ‘visionary’ labels too seriously which is never helpful.
Peace.
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