No, I didn’t watch the Grammy’s. Why would I? From what I’m hearing, the spectacle was little more than Adele blubbering, Nicki Minaj wearing a silly outfit, good guy Dave Grohl maybe sticking it to that chump Skrillex, and then Paul McCartney strutting out the obligatory closer as subtle nod to this year’s dead pop icon, which happened to be Whitney Houston. Also, apparently LL Cool J hosted the thing.
Maybe if I knew more about any of these people, aside Grohl, that scenario would’ve made a lot more sense, or possibly even been entertaining to have sat and watched for four hours. But really, from what little I know of awards show culture, if that’s at all accurate to how the night panned out can someone please tell me why the hell the Grammy’s are still a thing?
Sorry. Not that I had any time to sit and watch the depraved act, to begin with. But as the night wore on I had far more important things to tend to, mainly keeping a hazed vigil into the wee hours to mark the birth of metal. I’m talking about offering up fruits to Black Sabbath’s Black Sabbath, people, the seminal slab of groove-sludge released 42 years ago today. Hail.
Read the rest at Motherboard.