Running Diary: The 67th Annual Grammy Awards

I wrote about the Grammys, something I almost never do, and it ended up being somewhat historic.

I’m shocked that Trevor Noah has had enough staying power to host the Grammy’s, but then again, the Grammys are the bench players of award shows. The VMA’s have too many exceptional moments of pop stardom to deny that summer show; where the Grammy’s are often devoid of controversy, the VMA’s seem to invite a kind of chaos that electrifies discourse. The Oscars provide an opportunity for careers to be made, or an opportunity for the golden statue to be the coronation for a small actor’s work. The BET’s Awards are a hood carnival with dynamic outfits, and with impending beef in the air. The Emmy’s have shot up the list through the small screens achievements in the 21st century, despite my slight distrust of anyone who prefers television to movies.

However, the Grammys exist, for what reason exactly? Music is not something that needs to be crowned by the planet. It’s something that best exists in the imagination and whims of fans like you and I, fans that have an emotional relationship with the tunes we sing, hum, and dance to. Music is on the street when you walk to the subway if you don’t live in a white neighborhood; music is in your videos, your commercials, your daily experiences. No single artist has gotten bigger because they won a Grammy; they were already big. The people decide what music is good, not the industry.

Still, something inside of me wanted to write about the Grammys. Am I becoming soft? Is the bliss of being in a sweet, fruitful, warm relationship allowing me to take some of the edge away? Perhaps, it was just the fact that it is an interesting show because it is decidedly not for me this year. My taste is not represented much in the nominations. There aren't any big rappers, besides the little guy from Compton, that I care about enough to win for this. (I did enjoy the songs on the Sabrina Carpenter album, which is my choice for Album of the Year). For everyone who is just as surprised as I am that I am writing about this, here is a running diary of the Grammys.

8:00-8:05 — It’s unfortunate how unfunny Trevor Noah is. The jokes aren’t bad — it’s the template for a liberal comic — but he struggles with the timing, he struggles with charisma. He lacks refinement in many areas as a comedian. The Daily Show felt as if they were giving him the job to directly answer all of the diversity issues the show had on its staff, but he couldn’t quite do the job well, so they ended up giving it back to Stewart ten years later. Indeed, this could be a long night if Noah keeps being this boring.

Sidebar: With thirty minutes to go before the show started, I saw a headline that said that Kanye West and his wife Bianca Cesori were asked to leave because they didn’t have tickets to the show. It’s sad to write about, but this is officially what the Kanye West experience has come to. After all of his influence on hip-hop, how he demanded that pop music catch up to Black innovation, he’s now the old guy at the club that all the girls are creeped out by, and all the men can’t walk up to or the women will give us dirty looks. He’s an afterthought and he knows it, which is why he has to dress Bianca with a practically no-clothed outfit for our attention. It’s annoying. The guy who made masterful songs like “Touch the Sky” and “Hold My Liquor” is now a bitter, juvenile, clout demon. This is all his fault, too. He had all the fame, the money, the relative adoration. I understand he’s ill, I empathize with his pain — the white power structure does things to Black men (and women, but the tantalization of masculinity, and how racially unifying it can be makes the white power structure feel falsely at reach for many men) in this country — but the same inane behavior that plagues men who are running this country are the same stuff at plagues him. The narcissistic, “dragon energy” is what brought him here.

8:10 — There’s something that I can’t quite connect with when it comes to Billie Ellish. I admire the fact that she doesn’t want to dress in something overtly theatrical, or something incredibly straight and sterile, and she goes with looking like A.J. Soprano when he went out skateboarding with his friends in that Season Three episode in The Sopranos. Today, she is dressed like J. Holiday meets Don Cheadle in Rush Hour. It’s certainly something fresh in pop music, where Taylor Swift and her merely average fashion (although I did enjoy the red dress she had on tonight) are reigning supreme. However, her music has always been as dry as a towel rack. Her taste is dubious too, she cites Vince Staples, Childish Gambino, and Coldplay as influences for Hit Me Hard And Soft. She’s not my kind of thing.

8:30 — Docheii wins for Best Rap Album, and tops that off with one of the best speeches you will see in any award show this year and in the future. I won’t forget the tears strolling down her face, the passion in her voice as she talked about only being the third Black woman to win this award. If I am being honest, the music isn’t quite my speed. Her music videos are unbelievable, but like most artists on TDE, including Kendrick Lamar, she is a bit more theatrical than what my taste in hip-hop usually is. However, she has earned this: good things should happen to good people; she’s a star, and I’m excited for her future. (Speaking of which, Cardi B presented the award to Doechii and she should honestly host the whole show next season. That woman has so much charisma that she can talk to a wall).

Some Time Later: Between talking to Mrs. Commas, who is also watching, and being surprisingly entertained at the show tonight, I have lost track of time. Trevor Noah keeps saying bad jokes. However, in the meantime, we have seen some great performances, especially for the people in the Best New Artists category. Doechii is a fantastic performer, and there isn’t a single moment of her show that I won’t want to replay. Dressed in a Thom Browne suit, she ripped it off, going full underweather and undershirt that looks like a sports bra, showing Bianca Censori what it means to be sensual. Sabrina Carpenter, who had my favorite white girl pop year, was chic too. There’s something so up-tempo, efficient, and radiant about her work. She’s more irreverent than what the genre is right now and the humor in the work shows. Her work is best enjoyed when imagining painful but harmless life moments, like when you are deciding to make a move after a first date, or when you run into your ex-girlfriend at the supermarket. It’s the sound of a young adult comedy that contains small moments. “Coincidence”, my favorite song on Short N’ Sweet, outlines this theory. Chappell Roan is a real one — shout out to her being one of the few artists brave enough to speak out on the genocide in Gaza (she would later make an excellent, class-conscious speech about demanding healthcare for up and coming artists from labels) — and I have much respect for her, but her performance, overall stardom, and story is extremely sincere, almost to the point it being a little inescapable. If Sabrina Carpenter is Degrassi, then Chappell is a prestige HBO show. She’s a better performer than Sabrina is, but the music itself is too clean, too perfect, too eager. I wish there was something more inherently chaotic about her music, thus her worldview. Instead, the music is heavily plotted with nods to her identity, and as much as she tries to avoid weaponizing that, she can’t help but make it such a heavy theme. It’s all major stories about understanding one's self; it is a welcome addition to listeners who struggle with being who they truly want to be, but it contains none of the minor details that make music mischievous. Sabrina’s music feels more — quite frankly — “blacker”, more irreverent, cheeky, and experimental, at a time where music is becoming segregated. (Please do not take this as me hating on Chappell. I have a deep respect for her and what she's done in 2024, and shout out to Dana Meyerson, a good buddy of mine who is her PR representative).

10:00 or so: Lady Gaga is doing what she does best: singing and looking cool. (Although, A Star Is Born told us that she is a great, great actress) In a dress made by Alessandro Michele, the new creative director for Valentino, the brand that Gaga has a partnership with (the refinement on the dress was classic Valentino), she was singing with Bruno Mars. I’m not a Bruno fan — 24K Magic winning Album of the Year over Lorde, and yes, even Kendrick was my villain story — but he can sing. They made for a solid duet. I worry about Gaga; but I wonder if she is rejecting traditional Hollywood success. Perhaps she is content with being someone who is a presence at award shows, and not a powerhouse and dynamic actress that I know that she can always be. Nevertheless, it was good to see Gaga wrecking havoc. Pop culture is better when Gaga is around being weird.

10:15 — Janelle Monaé is a better actress than they are a singer/performer, but anything goes on a Quincy Jones tribute. That man lived eight different lives in his entire lifetime. Seriously! One of the more interesting American lives of all-time. Why not honor him by doing a bad moonwalk and dancing on a table? Quincy probably did that before sleeping with Marlon Brando.

10:30 or so (Time is a flat circle for me at this point) — Kendrick just opened his mouth! Someone go get him a grammy right now! Kendrick just won Song of the Year and Record of the Year. Drake would slit his wrists if he wasn’t so wealthy.

OK, Look, everyone knows where I stand on Mr. Lamar and his fanbase. I wrote, after “Not Like Us” came out: “Black cousins, Black aunties, Black women, Black workers, and more Black aunties are getting down to this song to forget about the “crackers” they have to work for… That symbolism — that the Black community is congregating in their spaces to dance to a song that disses him — is devastating to Drake, because he’s someone who has always depended on OG’s and micro-communities that have let Sandra’s son ride in the culture, despite the fact that, yes, he is a Black man.”

This still holds true. Drake’s relationship with hip-hop has always been complicated, from the time he showed up to Flex’s radio show rapping off of a blackberry to the time where embarrassingly introduced Rihanna at the VMA’s — and in recent years, it began to slip even more as he got more appetizing, wealthy, and self-important. He was always the outsider attempting to be on the inside, and when his rapping was eventful, charming, and relatably solipsistic, communities accepted him. (He also used to have Black women in his corner; it was smooth, sensual music for them). Then, his confessions started to feel like incellous — a new word that I am coming up with — boasts. All male rappers are misogynistic, the frustrated and complicated relationship with masculinity, money, the drive and hunger for it, and how it corrupts the soul, is part of what makes the artform so interesting and relatable, but Drake’s jumped into the hands of the right wing, or even centrist, streamer with dubious glee. It’s been disappointing to see because Drake’s music used to be about the minor details of life, the times where you fail to communicate with your partner, the awkward moments of fame, and the loneliness of ambition. It was always solipsistic, but the solipsism was concerned with how your dreams fracture your family, and your bonds with other people. (The best example of this is “HYFR”, a great song about wanting stardom so bad that it begins to affect simple interactions with past lovers). Now, he’s another rich prick that is paranoid to the point of exhaustion. He doesn’t belong to any community — he belongs to himself, despite the fact that I still find him to be a nimble, skillful rapper. All Toronto people are insane; there’s something about the bleak coldness of that city, and it’s impossible to describe the proximity everyone has to one another — dreamers in that city are constantly wishing for success and once they get it, they’ll do anything to keep it. If Drake is about the narcissism of a millennial, then Kendrick is about the anxiety of being one. What Mr. Lamar exposed that, despite all of his fame, riches, he will always be from a place that matters in hip-hop’s grand history. Mr. Lamar can go years without rapping because Compton is home to many men that will keep his words as a gesture for excellence. To Mr. Lamar, hip-hop is his birthright, not clothing he’s trying on.

Nevertheless, Mr. Lamar is starting to ski down a dangerous slope. Earlier in the night, John Lennon’s son, Sean Ono Lennon, said “one rule for you kids: don’t get in a rap beef with Kendrick Lamar.” This is a cute comment, and obviously it is good to see hip-hop acknowledged by people who would not normally care about it, but I worry about the direction that K-Dot is heading. His music has always been much more interesting when he isn’t nakedly wishing for white, prestige acceptance. (One of my favorite songs from him is still “Jealous”, with drill rap star Fredo Santana, a song that Sean Ono Lennon would not know, and even if he heard it, it would make him want to put on his father immediately after). On some level, everyone wants to be accredited. But, they are Black artists, and we’ll get to Mrs. Knowles-Carter soon, that care too deeply about these awards for my liking. It’s frustrating to see Black geniuses yearn for white people to give them their due, especially since they already have from the only people that matter. For all of Drake’s eye-rolling antics, for all of his ability to frustrate even his most feverish supporters, he has understood that the Grammy’s don’t matter. In fact, he has made streamer, lengthy, accessible level music that has purposefully ignored the prestige that Mr. Lamar has desired over the years. Somewhere along the line, between If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late and Scorpion, Drake stopped caring about awards and decided to make music for fun. I doubt Kendrick can stay the same. In his quest for black excellence, he’s further removed from the “Cartoons and Cereal” rapper that I listened to, the guy who had no problem pressing the power structure. The personal responsibility side of him — his beef against Drake contains conservative “family values” politics — has overridden his wish for justice. Once again, this is complicated: This country either makes us viciously fight against their traditions, or conform to them, in an excellent, but sometimes derivative way. To exist as a Black artist in this country is to constantly be underrated. However, one can bridge gaps while still maintaining a healthy and honest distrust of the industry’s awards and acknowledgments.

He’s a great, great rapper. I marvel at the catchiness, delivery, lyrical menace, pop instincts, and beat selection that is on “Not Like Us”, and GNX in general. However, I relate to him less than I ever have. His outfit was great, his beard is in the right places, and while everyone was singing “Not Like Us”, it was Taylor Swift — the woman with the longest back in the world — who sang it the loudest.

11:00: That Jeremy Strong, Ben Affleck, and Casey Affleck commercial is excellent. Dunkin’ Donuts is incredible. One of the best things about having a New England woman as a girlfriend is how much Dunkin’ we get. I have become Dunkin’ Donuts pilled. It’s like when I was Muslim for a year: I can’t stop talking about it!

11:30 or so: Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter has always deserved Album of the Year. It was laughable when the self-titled lost to a Beck album that nobody listened to, and will never listen to. (I don’t care how many instruments Beck played. All of you cowards care too much about things like that. Did Beck make “Partition”? No, he did not). Lemonade lost to Adele and it was so stupid that even Adele apologized for it in her speech. Renaissance lost to Harry Styles’s Harry House and I cannot remember a single song from that record. It’s been embarrassing to see Beyoncé lose to people not as innovative as her.

Still, who cares? She is Beyoncé. She matters more than the Grammys do. I wanted her to win the Grammy for Album of the Year, but I wanted her to not show up even more. Do you know how cool that is? If on “music’s biggest night” – pop culture critics always make fun of this slogan because it’s inherently ridiculous — Beyoncé didn’t show up to an award that she won. Make Blue Ivy make a speech about her mother’s accomplishments for Black women and how their stories of familial abuse, sexuality, style, and perservance is bigger than this award. Someone like Lil’ Kim is still waiting for her credit. Of course, it is not that easy, as the Grammy’s has been built up as the singular award for music, but as I outlined in my lede, I disagree with the entire premise of the Grammys being important. More specifically, if Cowboy Carter is a record that puts Black women like Linda Martell front and center in the history of country music, then that’s astonishing. We longed for credit in making country music such a rich, wonderful, genre. (An unrelated tangent: country music and rap music are similar: both are music for working class and poor people, both feature the South heavily. Country music is about fights outside the tavern; rap is about fights outside of the strip or dance club).

However, if she did Cowboy Carter, to finally reach the mountaintop, then that’s less astonishing, and more regrettable, because she doesn’t need this show for any coronation. Some of the songs on the record are great, because she’s so technically sound, can combine different sounds so well, and she’s Beyoncé. But, there’s not much of a challenge on the record. The telecast of the Grammys themselves had a “pick me” nakedness to them, too: the shock on her face felt jaded, too, as if she was trying to show her shock, even though her much maligned husband had already expressed dissatisfaction at their Grammy’s for their lack of respect for Beyoncé’s work. (I thought it was obvious that she was going to win). What could the Grammy’s possibly do for Beyoncé? Is there a person that she hasn’t been able to reach? My cousin Amber was obsessed with her when people weren’t listening to B’Day enough. Yes, genre is something that they give to artists to put us in the place; so do Grammy’s, though, and her institutional want for them makes me wonder if the magic of her winning has eroded.

FINAL THOUGHTS: All in all, it was a solid telecast, better than what it was last year. On another note, and something I forgot to write about in the diary. Los Angeles is a city full of working class people of color who deserve their flowers. What has happened to people’s homes is distressing to watch, let alone have to deal with personally. This Grammys functions as a love letter to Los Angeles and everyone was allowed to show genuine kindness to people, people that are less fortunate to them. The only time I cared about what Trevor Noah was saying was when he said that the telecast had raised and donated 7 million dollars to the relief fund. A welcome addition to the Grammys, is that this recording academy, and CBS, could understand the devastation of Los Angeles so well that they felt the need to empathize with, and highlight it.