Don’t Worry, I’m Not Gonna Do What You All Think I’m Gonna Do…
…which is, you know, FLIP OUT! because the Arcade Fire won a Grammy award for the best album of the year. Much like the majority of the world, I could give a shit about the Grammy’s. The machine giving the award to the machine. I have no interest in propagating that bullshit. I just think it’s hilarious how fans of “independent” music (Merge + ADA + Universal = “indie”?) are illogically declaring this a victory for the underground. The Grammys have been a joke for decades, and especially younger generations of music fans will agree with that sentiment. And yet, somehow, now because the Arcade Fire — the eunuchs of rock music — have won a Grammy suddenly it’s important? Suddenly it’s not a joke?
It’s not like you or I or Arcade Fire fans cast a vote to decide who wins these awards. The industry votes. And because they chose to award this flaccid band a trophy it’s a victory for the little guy? Sorry, I don’t buy that. This isn’t a case of the cream rising to the top, it’s actually the top plummeting to the non-dairy creamer.
People, clearly, have very short attention spans. In the past ten years, Grammy awards for best album of the year have been awarded to Herbie Hancock’s River: The Joni Letters, Outkast’s Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, a Steely Dan record and the soundtrack for a Coen Brothers movie. You know that old expression about judging someone based on the company they keep? How about you just compare the Arcade Fire to the company they kept this year — the other nominees: Eminem, Lady Antebellum, Lady Gaga, Katy Perry. I’d say it’s not so much an achievement to beat those acts as it is an indictment for being unoffensive and having yuppie scum accessibility. Kudos for that, I guess.
I’ve already wasted enough breath on these fops and their old-timey costumes. I’ve got more important things to do, like interview my friend Nate about how he met Gail Simmons this weekend. If you follow me on Twitter you know that, had I not gone to work on Sunday, I could have had lunch with Gail. Fucking. Simmons. And to make matters worse, Nate kept texting me pictures of him with his arm around Gail, and telling me about how he’s “already touched her” so he’s well on his way to stealing her from me. I’ve been inconsolable ever since. I need to talk to him about it. I think we all want to hear what Gail’s like in person. More importantly, I think we need to find out whether or not she knows I exist. Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow…an interview with Nate about Gail Simmons.
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