Will Grammy Awards "celebration" of music's past cause a break in the current stranglehold of motonony? I'm not holding my breath

At the end of 1974 my parents, or rather my mother, decided we needed to prepare for the coming Apocalypse by moving out to the country to a very modest farm property. It was the middle of the school year, and for someone as introverted as I was, it was an unwelcome change from the supportive environment of a Catholic school where I interacted with the same two-dozen classmates for eight years, to a public school of one thousand students, none of whom I ever met before. Although my Catholic school years were ones of mixed memories, in leaving that environment I was also leaving behind all of the positive memories of my youth behind; they were all negative ones after that.

1974 also happened to be my favorite year for music; I doubt that there was a year more eclectic before or since. There were times when I could listen to the American Top 40 countdown and like every song I heard. Those were the days when a “rock” version of “The Lord’s Prayer” fit in right beside the funk of “Jungle Boogie,” the smooth sensuality of “Sexy Mama,” story songs like “Dark Lady,” instrumentals like “Love’s Theme,” the Spanish language “Eres Tu,” the slightly subversive “Smokin’ in the Boys Room,” Dickie Goodman’s goofy novelty “The Energy Crisis,” and the political editorial set to music, “Americans.” Of course, these days you can only hear music even mildly this varied on “oldies” and “classic rock” stations; contemporary music stations play the same mind-numbing sound over and over again. I’m sure the older formats would drive contemporary listeners as “crazy” as the new stuff drives me.

And so there was yesterday’s Grammy Awards ceremony, which just made me cringe. It was supposed to be part “celebration” of music of the past, with Paul McCartney on hand to mark the 50^th anniversary of the Beatles’ leading the British Invasion of America. Of course Madonna had to be there, in a Cowboy get-up speaking in her phony British accent. Talk about delusional; frankly, I don’t understand why the British press doesn’t crucify this fraud whose whole career is based on illusion. 

Another alleged “theme” of the ceremony was recognizing how music “changed” the world. Well, it did, long ago, for positive reasons, like social change, peace, love and even staging concerts to raise money for disasters here and abroad.  I ask myself” What do these new “artists” know about the past, let alone have a true appreciation of the “music” side of music? What kind of “change” does the current brand of “music” foster? All I can see (or hear) is narcissism and demands for “respect.” In the past, music wanted to stop wars, not start them. The “roll call” of murdered rappers—Wikipedia lists 27 and counting—testifies to the fact of how “gangsta” culture and attitudes have undermined the positive energy that music used to instill in the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies. And not just in rap or hip-hop, but other genres as well; every time I hear another self-weepy number by Adele, I try to escape as far away as possible. 

This year, Daft Punk won an award for something, wearing Star Wars storm trooper outfits, which I suppose is apt given the  racist “Mexican monkey” controversy that Grammy voters apparently didn’t take into consideration (even with Nile Rodgers’ participation). Macklemore and his producer Ryan Lewis also were big winners, taking four Grammy awards. I’ll give them “credit” for writing politically correct songs about being gay in this society and something about being so poor you have to shop at a thrift store. But there are no “positive” messages or energy here. Nothing like McFadden and Whitehead’s “Ain’t No Stopping Us Now” or William DeVaughan’s “Be Thankful For What You Got”—a prescient critique of the “gangsta” lifestyle 20 years before it went mainstream. The only “message” is a call for people to look at their lives as wretched and seek scapegoats, sometimes violently. 

I also give Lewis “credit” for employing musical instruments to the extent that you can actually perceive them. Synthesizers occasionally break the mind-numbing monotony typical of rap “songs” in “Thrift Store,” while a piano drifts in and out of “Same Love.” However, the latter’s aimless riff testifies to the fact of how the current variety of artist has either no sense of, or is incapable of, writing a melodic line or hook that makes a song “memorable.” Songs like last year’s Grammy winner “We Are Young” almost seems like the rare “hit” in an ocean of misses. Of course in the past a string section often masked a weak melody, but at least it maintained the link between the musical past and (then) present, between music’s classical heritage and the musical pretensions of later generations. In the 1980s, heavy use of synthesizers performed the same function. But today,  all you hear is spoken lines that seem like a record is on “repeat” after the first ten seconds, or “singing” that is purposely garish to make up for the lack of melody to propel one’s voice forward. 

I wonder if the American music scene will ever move beyond the “street” that has hijacked it, back to recognizing what music has been about since ancient times. Every time I turn on the radio, I tend to doubt it in my lifetime.