Thanks to a Big Daddy Roth of a stomach virus - Rat Fink bulging eyes, colors not found in nature, everything ensconced in flame - last Sunday found me doing some serious couch riding, missing the love filled resonant acoustic show at Normal's with Sea Couch and Her Fantastic Cats.
One thing led to another, including viewing a filmic charmer named "The Black Death" that would make a great double feature with the original "Wicker Man" with its tale of a small pagan town living peacefully without the plague until Christian Crusaders invade and next thing I knew Kim Jong Ev had me watching The Grammy Awards for the first time since maybe High School when The Andrews Sisters were battling it out with Leslie Gore and Cee Lo Green was still nothing but a protoplasm being stirred up in an ice cave on some far away planet.
Either it was the absence of a stomach lining putting a drain on my brain or perhaps the cobwebs of age itself, but I was pleasantly surprised. Not by the winners since I didn't like any of the nominees (other than an appreciation for Arcade Fire, of course, although the singer is still sporting that Nazi Youth hairdo and naming an album after a concept - the suburbs -that is long dead and already dealt with handily by '80s New Wave), but by the entertainment.
Either it was the absence of a stomach lining putting a drain on my brain or perhaps the cobwebs of age itself, but I was pleasantly surprised. Not by the winners since I didn't like any of the nominees (other than an appreciation for Arcade Fire, of course, although the singer is still sporting that Nazi Youth hairdo and naming an album after a concept - the suburbs -that is long dead and already dealt with handily by '80s New Wave), but by the entertainment.
Loved crazy Old Man Bob stretching his pretzel legs with the new kids on "Maggie's Farm". He got quite a bit of dramatic effect out of minimal movements and gesturing with his harmonica mic. His fifteen seconds of harmonica playing at the end though was a bit of a tease. And I want to enter whatever world Cee Lo Green is on. What the what! Muppets, '70s funk, Gwyneth and Big Bird and somehow it all works. Love that guy.
And fucking Mick Jagger. Always kind of put up with him so I could love the Rolling Stones great early music, but of course truly only loved Keith, but sweet Jesus, the guy is a stage natural. Where the hell is he coming off like that at his age???? I guess being filthy rich for four decades and being able to spend your whole life exercising, swimming on tropical islands, fornicating with models and eatng only the finest foods and drugs pays off.
It also always warms my heart to see soulful Kris Kristofferson on stage in all his raw warmth, even if it is just to introduce Dame Babs Streisand. Was it just me or were all the black superstars filmed during Babs sequence hating on her? Man, some real sour expressions.
Of course right off the bat at the beginning during the red carpet sequence there was Lady Gaga supposedly being carried in an egg and spoken of as if she was Christ carrying a cross. What, what is her mysterious attraction? A 21st Century female Liberace? Performance art that is so campy and put to robotic beats that even the masses can spoon it up? The thin extended pointy shoulder blade was a nice touch, but sweetest of all was picturing her under the giant hat as all the awards passed her by.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment