The veteran band’s victory for Best Album was an anticlimax that wrapped up an already intensely dull ceremony that had been predicted to be the most exciting in years. Many attendees may still have no idea if Steely Dan even made an acceptance speech, there were so many people fleeing early to get a jump on the best hors d’oeuvres at the ensuing Grammy parties.
There were no heckles from the audience, no ODB rushing the stage, no cries of “D’Angelo was robbed” (unless you count the ones in my head) as they read the nominee list for Best New Artist and Best Album. Just a politely interested audience fidgeting in their once-a-year dress-up clothes, and Macy Gray struggling with the cumbersome likes of a full-length, white fur jacket.
Defiantly old school and stubbornly out of touch, the Grammys once again rewarded the familiar and the irrelevant. Steely Dan won for Best Pop Album over Madonna. Veterans U2, a great band with a so-so album, won for best song and record over releases from the Material Girl, Macy Gray and Destiny’s Child, tracks that were actually played throughout 2000.
By the time Eminem and Elton John hit the stage for the Grammy’s most anticipated moment, it was clear that nothing at all unexpected was going to happen. All the hopes of controversy and unpredictable moments that were sure to set apart this year’s awards–Eminem vs. Elton! Madonna vs. Britney! The Recording Academy vs. Relevancy!–had already leaked out the venue’s side doors. Of course, these are the Grammys, your parents’ award show. Every year it’s almost guaranteed that older viewers can watch and still feel like they have a finger on the pulse of pop music. (“Steely Dan. I love them! See, I’m not as out of it as you kids think.”)
At least there were the parties to look forward to, or the protests to look back on.
Just before the ceremony’s 5 p.m. kickoff time, dozens of protesters from various gay-rights groups shouted across the street at a group of Eminem supporters who all looked like Slim Shady, talked like him, walked like him. (I was lucky enough to go live on MSNBC, sweating it out in the middle of the fray, explaining why Eminem was a deserving nominee while angry GLAAD members breathed down my back. Powder, please.) Nearby, Napster supporters openly mourned the legal decision that squelched their free music downloads and a cranky church lady shouted something about God being at the Grammys. The press waited for something juicy to happen, something we could say really summed up this unpredictable year in music. After all, both Dr. Dre and Britney topped the charts in 2000, the most popular rock came in the form of religious bands like Creed–and J. Lo split from Puffy (gasp!). Instead, all we got was a man with rainbow suspenders yelling something about how insecticide is killing bugs and that the madness must stop.
Despite all our hopes for something meaty to write about (where’s Soy Bomb when you need him?), there were warning signs of the encroaching blandness leading up to this year’s event. Take Clive Davis’s famous Grammy preparty held the previous evening at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Last year, Whitney Houston took the stage and sang while the music industry’s elite munched on fresh baby greens. But as I pulled up this year at the sprightly hour of 8 p.m., I spotted Kenny G leaving. If the king of elevator jazz found it tedious, I’d surely be slumped in a coma over salmon pate in a matter of minutes.
Plus, there was no need to go to Clive’s bash when the Dust Brothers’s party was just minutes away. There, the production team behind the sounds of Beck and Hanson were nowhere to be seen, but Kid Rock entered with an entourage that included David Spade, who looked more like a hanger-on than a fan magnet. But Rock went fairly unnoticed by the hip, electronic-music crowd, many of whom were more excited that the DJ spinning right next to them, Humpty Vission, would be the actual “Mr. DJ” on stage with Madonna the following night at the Grammys. Ignored, Kid Rock left, causing a pack of groupies who arrived 10 minutes later to scour the place like FBI agents for clues as to where he went.
The following day inside the Staples Center, the glamorous buzz that should precede an event like the Grammys was squelched by the sports arena’s less-than-glossy interior. Perhaps it was the numerous McDonald’s stands or the men in tuxedos snacking on Big Macs that quelled the feeling of fabulousness. Or it could have been the countless Bud stands, where ladies in sequined gowns lined up for a plastic cup of beer before the ceremony’s 5 p.m. kickoff time. (And even though it is a sports arena, Paul Simon needs to be informed that a baseball hat is not acceptable attire unless you’re a rapper under 30.)
Once the event began, there was at least a small glimmer of hope for an extraordinary evening. Madonna opened the show with a performance of “Music”–clearly the Grammy’s first and last exciting moment. But it didn’t take long for ‘N Sync’s lethargic ballad to slow the place (bathroom break), Steely Dan to win Best Pop Album over Madonna (acceptance speech = cell-phone break) and Christina Aguilera to stumble over Spanish lyrics and salsa dance steps (it’s just about then that every uncomfortable seam in that expensive dress looked like it began to irritate). There were saving graces in between, namely Moby and Jill Scott’s duo, which would have been the high point if not for the wacky interference of the Blue Man Group, and Dolly Parton’s amazing bluegrass ditty.
But ultimately, it was the ensuing Biltmore Hotel party that proved far more stimulating an event. Inside the downtown L.A. establishment–which hosted some of the city’s glitziest nightlife back in the 1930s–Grammy-goers shuffled through countless rooms, perusing free bars and sumptuous food spreads from some of the city’s hottest restaurants. Madonna’s “Music” seemed to play in the main hallway every five minutes or so (even though the Grammys showed her no love when it came to awards). Best Metal Performance winners The Deftones stood in line for drinks next to winners of the Native American album award. (Big-time stars such as Britney and U2 must have been celebrating–or commiserating–in an environment less populated with fans or common industry folk.) Panache Sanchez played to a salsaing audience in one of the many separate theme rooms. The “Grammy Underground” room featured DJ’s spinning house music in a room that was below street level. Then there was the large queue for the special Grammy party favor bag. Among other things, it contained a new Who CD, hair gel for that “funky spunky” look, and fuzzy slippers, which many of the women opted to wear after their painful heels had temporarily crippled them.
Last, there was the room full of sushi platters, clearly the winning spot of the party. Here, some of the most exciting decisions of the evening were made: “Extra wasabi? Sure!” Forget about Steely Dan or Eminem; this is where the Grammys’s most mind-blowing (not to mention sinus-clearing) moments occurred. And the winner is … the California roll.
