I Don't Care About the Grammys

I just don't get worked up over the Grammys. With everyone else buzzing about the yearly awards show, anticipating the big wins and fawning over the production, it feels like the world is shouting at me: "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CARE ABOUT THIS." But I don't.

There are some obvious reasons why I should enjoy them. For one, I like music. Duh—I write about it on a weekly basis for an arts and culture magazine. If that doesn’t convince you, check out one of my 50+ playlists on Spotify, or ask someone who received a mix during my insufferable burning–CDs–for–people phase in high school.

Not only do I like music, I unabashedly enjoy pop music. I blast Top 40 radio and dance around while I brush my teeth in the morning (yes, I listen to the radio); I pump Pop Workout playlists to keep me moving on the treadmill. It’s fun, lighthearted and always there when you need it. Pop music is the friend that drags you out for margs on Friday night and then hauls you to the gym Saturday morning—even though that friend isn’t the one you call over at 11:37 p.m. on a Tuesday to brood about the interminable amount of homework you have, the national political climate, the inevitability of death, etc.

I also like pop culture. I like those moments that connect us all to each other; I find respite from my day–to–day in the diversions of A–listers. To be clear, I find no pleasure in the exploitative, the twisted or the invasive, and there is little value to me in blind idolatry. But you can bet a shit ton of bitcoins that I audibly gasped when Twitter (seriously, thanks Twitter) sent me a push notification informing me of Beyonce’s pregnancy.

All this being said, one would arrive at the logical conclusion that I would like the Grammys. So why don’t I?

At the most basic level, I hate commercials. Seriously, I don’t watch live TV ever because I hate them so much. And if I do, I compulsively switch between channels, pressing that “LAST” button like it’s my religion. Awards shows tend to be contrived, and—let’s face it—boring. If I had to name a perfume after programs such as the Grammys, the Oscars, and the Emmys, it would be Estée Self–Laudatory. The speeches are repetitious, the winners predictable and the sentiment fabricated. I’ll take the highlight reel on Twitter, thanks.

I’m not alone in deeming the Grammy’s unworthy of my time: J. Biebs, Kanye West, Drake and Frank Ocean all won’t be in attendance at the program on February 12th. Frank Ocean, who arguably released one of the best albums of the year with the long anticipated Blonde, didn't submit his work for consideration because of the institution’s failure to recognize “young, black artists.” Chance the Rapper, one of the biggest names in the hip–hop game, came to fame as an independent artist. He made Grammy history by becoming the first artist nominated for streaming–only music this year. He leveraged his success and acclaim to win this battle, however. The internet, with services like SoundCloud and BandCamp, offers more to independent artists and listeners alike, and the Grammys are becoming less relevant in declaring the diverse tastes and numerous categories of success of artists.

In truth, then, the reason I don’t care about the Grammys is because they fail to encapsulate what I love about music. Music, to me, is a way to connect and learn from diverse people and places. With an institutional standard, the Grammys are about who is most successful within the constraints of a society that privileges white artists over others. Historically, white artists and culturally appropriative works are favored. Music can be as spectacular as it is sobering: it can be a powerful tool to rebel against institutions and battle the constraints of oppression.

I’ll dance and belt to my bubblegum pop. But I want the contemplative, the divisive and the boundary–pushers on the same playlist.

Photo credit: Obra Derivada / Wikimedia Commons