More Grammy jottings from my laptop - and thoughts on how to come correct to the event:
What me, available? Courtesy of Fashion Wire Daily.
- Leave the bimbos and himbos at home, sort of. Pained-looking Best Pop Vocal Album winner John Mayer was Jessica Simpson-free. He stayed far, far away from the media suite. Practice your Japanese elsewhere, man. And Timberlake merely locked eyes with alleged squeeze Scarlet Johansson, on stage, doing her worst dumb blonde impersonation beside Don Henley who asked, “I heard you’re working on your first album.” “Do you have any advice?” she asked like a robotic starlet. “No,” he replied flatly in a kind of failed send-up of his reputation as a jerk.
Getting back to the himbos, etc.: who died and made Mayer and Timberlake America's foxiest? Ick - what a selection. I want to fast-forward to the next generation, Hotties 2.0.
- Have your own “Grammy Moment.” Translation: the revelation that comes when the plastic pop crap falls from the eyes and you realize...[insert epiphany here]. Mine arrived when I found Red Hot Chili Peppers aren’t so awful after all - despite their dull, cheesy performance at the Oakland Arena last year. Next to all the predigested pop of the former Disney shills and American Idol contestants, the Chili Peppers came off as icons of authenticity, a real band that got together for reasons other than commerce or celebrity, who were willing to riff beyond the carefully controlled parameters of Grandpa Grammys.
Drummer Chad Smith’s response to their Best Rock Album win: “Get out there and start a rock bands, kids. We need more rock bands!”
Later backstage, the band offered scatter-shot explanations with a nattily suited John Frusciante opining that rock has grown stale next to electronic music’s experimentation. Of the Dixie Chicks, Anthony Kiedis deadpanned, “I’m shocked they didn’t get the Best Rap Record.”