Could V.D. Kill You?

Another Valentine's Day has come and gone. I resent this day more every year, whether or not I have a "valentine". If I have someone special in my life, I get nervous that the day will be a disappointment or an outright disaster (and it has often been; some of the most hideous arguments I have ever been a part of came on this day), AND I feel bad for all the lonely people. When I'm single, Valentine's Day just seems like a flat-out cruel joke with its relentless advertising, special restaurant menus and pervasive displays of provocative lingerie. I just keep my head down and plow through it. Can anyone explain this paradox to me: why is there this ubiquitous sentiment these days that it's okay to be single, a solitary person, modernly mateless at the moment-backed up by statistics claiming that currently more than half of all households are inhabited by unmarried singular human units-yet there continues a deeply cultivated aura of judgement in our culture that unless you are part of a couple, you are somehow sad, incomplete or downright odd? I fear that it is a conspiracy concocted by the married perpetually miserables to cover their collective suffering. I mean, how many marrieds wish they were not any more? Based on my informal observations, at LEAST 50 percent. How many unmarrieds wish that they were? Many, yes, but these days certainly not 50 per cent or more. Which brings me to a better point: If only we could get off this treadmill of always wanting what we don't have, then getting it, then not wanting it any more. We're like Sneetches going through the Star On and Star Off machines in our perpetual desire to acquire and to shed; star on, star off, star on, star off... I wish Sylvester McMonkey McBean would pack up his machines and go home.

Letter To Grammy

Thank God the Grammy awards show has upped their game. I thought perhaps last year was a fluke, but last night was again pretty watchable, overall. It seems that NARAS is finally starting to catch up with music fans in their nominations of truly popular, relevant or ground-breaking acts and matching artists with the proper nomination categories. Not all the way there yet, but making progress. (Can anyone forget Jethro Tull as the inaugural winnner in the Best Hard Rock/Heavy Metal category? Hilarious.) The key to lifting this traditionally monotonous and staid program out of the dross of embarrassingly dated awards ceremonies is the live performances. Some of the teamings of seemingly disparate artists were pretty clever, although many were hampered by a criminally bad sound mix. (That seems kind of important, and I notice the Grammys continually suffer from this. Duh.) Last night's highlights in the Let's Stop Underestimating Audience Intelligence category include: Justin Timberlake, Keith Urban and Boyz II Men joining Al Green for an inspired version of "Let's Stay Together"; Nine months preganant goofball M.I.A. crazily waddling and leaping about with Jay-Z, T.I., Lil' Wayne, and Kanye (dig his '80's retro Lionel Richie hairdo); she was (adorably? trippily?) dressed like a Dr. Seuss character and shoulda got to sing more; Buddy Guy, Keith Urban and John Mayer all sitting down with B.B. King in a tasteful yet enthralling and sorely deserved tribute to my departed friend Bo Diddley; and the sole remaining living original Four Top Abdul 'Duke' Fakir singing and dancing with Jamie Foxx, Ne-Yo and a deer-in-the-headlights-overly- Botoxed Smokey Robinson. Smokey sang angelically, but the treat for me was how purely and sweetly soulful Jamie and Ne-Yo both sang. They were very cool. If Amy Winehouse's backup singing and dancing dudes had joined them it would have been total nirvana. But the main reason I tuned in was to see Foo Fighter's Dave Grohl (yummy!) drumming with Paul McCartney on "I Saw Her Standing There" and it was awesome. This was the sole performance that didn't seen to suffer from a poor sound mix- the drums were mic'ed perfectly and McCartney's vocals were up front just right. And he really sounded good- youthful, vigourous, and he hit all the high notes, unlike Al Green. Also, he is such a skilled and nimble bass player, I almost forgot! The best part, though, was watching the obviously ecstatic grin Dave wore throughout the performance. A few more observations: Neil Diamond is a dork. Great songwriter, but what a smarmy geek performance of "Sweet Caroline" he gave. Uggghh. Bono REMOVED HIS GLASSES and we saw his eyes! Nice guylined peepers. Good God, that Sugarland girl can SING. Just one more example of how the 'country' music category has gotten so confusing and dangerously marginalizing: she gave the best soul performance of the night, not Smokey or Justin or Robin Thicke or Stevie Wonder. Although T.I. was a close second with his emotional performance of "Dead and Gone" as he prepares to go off to jail on federal weapons charges. Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift's duet was, I'm going to say it, good. Yes, they are both middling singers at this point, but the sheer vulnerable articulation of teenage girl angst was moving and brave and earnest. Not overly earnest- just right. They just seemed so naked. It gave me a lump in my throat. The Jonas Brothers, however, were out of their league with Stevie Wonder. They were buzzing around him like gnats. It seemed like Stevie was going to start swatting them away, but he restrained himself admirably. Oh, and Joe Jonas is definitely getting laid. Rock and roll has cast its magic spell upon him. Sorry, but a guy who's never had sex just doesn't move like that. Hey, is Whitney Houston okay or not?? Yesterday morning they were talking about her amazing comeback, but last night she seemed still wigged out on drugs. She's so crazy. Kid Rock has one of the best bands in pop music. They are tight. Chris Brown and Rihanna couldn't make it to the show- they were busy fighting. But the worst combined event of the evening was the alternately awkward and snore-inducing ramblings of Robert Plant and T-Bone Burnett (Burnett, by far the largest man in the world, comes off as someone too weird even for a David Lynch film; did you see his HANDS?), Robert and Alison Krauss winning Album Of The Year, and the decidedly underwhelmed audience response to their win. Uncomfortable and wrong. Lastly, who the hell was that shredding fireball lady guitar player in Carrie Underwod's band? How did she squeak under the radar seemingly unnoticed? Were people too transfixed by those shiny hyper-bronzed stilts Carrie tried to pass off as legs?


And... dear Denis Leary and Jon Stewart: Please call me!
Love,
Notorious