One Hour Of The Grammys Or Pure Purgatory For The Musically Inclined
Remember when we wrote about how Bruno Mars might well be gay? Well, after his performance at the Grammy Awards Sunday night, if he isn't gay he certainly should try harder. Looking like a swishy Little Richard with that cool bouffant and steamily hot in a gold lame jacket, Mars was the only thing worth cheering about in the hour of hell known as the Grammy I squirmed through.
Everything except Bruno's performance as the Ricky Martin of modern pop, everything about the Grammys I suffered through was duff. Not good enough.
Opening act Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band were terrible, terrible. "We Take Care Of Our Own" is the pits and over singing and over playing it won't stop it from being a bad song. It waivers on self parody and Bruce can't save it. The exception? The "heys" at the end.
LL Cool J, our guide for the evening… LL Cool J? Whatever, starts the night with a prayer for Whitney Houston, doing the nearly impossible, overstating the loss. Always the bridesmaid, Etta James got overshadowed in death as well. Even Alicia Keys and Bonnie Raitt name drop Whitney before settling into a half great (guess which) half OK Etta cover.
Jason and Kelly gave a crap country crawl.
Rihanna was excellent (and man is she cute) and even saved Chris Martin, till she disappeared and Martin sang "Paradise" alone. Did I say alone? His back up band Coldplay were there as well, I think.
Were Foo Fighters the worst of all? Not really. Foo Fighters are too rock what Jack Black is to comedy: not funny and well past their expiration date.
Adele accepted the award for Best Pop Performance, for "Someone Like You" and Kanye and Sean carter won for the dire "Otis" and that was it for me.
Grade: C
