Fuck The Grammy Awards

As I commented to D last night, "I love the Grammy awards. They're an excellent reminder to me each year of how much I loathe and despise the state of the music industry."

Of all the live performances, there were really only two that I liked: Gnarls Barkley's rendition of Crazy, and the opening song by the Satan-Is-Now-Ice-Skating-To-Work Reunion of The Police.

Now, what clinched it for me -- what burned into my heart an absolute hatred for all things Grammy -- is the fact that they were only given a one-song set. Carrie Underwood? Three songs for her -- hell there was about fifteen minutes there where it stopped being an award show and just became a Carrie Underwood/Rascal Flatts concert night. Mind you that there's no evidence Ms. Underwood will have any kind of long-term staying power, she could be flash-in-the-pan gone in two years. Who knows?

Justin Timberlake? Yeah, he was on for three songs. I understand that the Boy Band Refugee is all the hip rage these days, but c'mon. Did we really need three songs by him?

Oh, and the clincher? "Whoever that random chick off the fucking street was"? Yeah, she got TWO fucking songs. Yeah, that's right. Some no-talent assclown off the fucking street got to do more songs than a reunion of The Police. What the fuck is that about? Some chick who - literally - the only people who know her name are her family gets more airtime than a band who literally defined music for part of a decade?

I wanted to walk away and go do something - anything - on the computer for hours, but I sat through hours of tripe hoping beyond hope that, well, since they're bringing performers back later in the evening (Justin and Mary J. Blige both did "repeat performances" hours after their original stint), that maybe they would close with some Police tunes or something. But, nope, no love for the Police.

So, that's it. I'm done. Next year, I'll just let D watch them on her own. Fuck 'em.