Okay, so I did get a bit choked up when I watched Herbie Hancock get “Album of the Year” last night, but I gotta say, watching Amy Winehouse twitch her way through two songs while doing her best to move that gangly, booze and dope ravaged body of hers to find the rhythm that her voice seemed born to lock onto, followed by her genuine shock and dismay at having to gather up a handful of words for a live acknowledgement was the highlight of my Grammy evening at home. They say she’s “troubled”. I sit here trying to imagine what they’d say if half the studied and hyper-rehearsed pop stars of our insanely polished entertainment industry were suddenly replaced by the careening mayhem that littered the celebrity landscape of the United States a mere 50 years ago when the Grammies were born.
Women like Judy Garland and men like Errol Flynn and Peter O’Toole, ricocheting wildly through lives that could probably teach Ms. Winehouse a thing or two about pacing a bender for maximum buzz while keeping only one foot in detox for the most part.
“Kids these days,” they’d say, in reference to all the celebrity meltdowns of late. “No stamina for the good stuff of life.”
Of course, AOL’s clever take on Amy’s victories last night suggests a decidedly different viewpoint that is widespread in an industry accused of being completely out of control. One that reflects just how stodgy this nation of decadence has actually become.
‘Rehab’ Works for Winehouse
Troubled Singer, Hancock Win Big
Yes, I do realize that this headline is in reference to her song, but after checking out her YouTube video of ‘Rehab’ and reading the dozens of comments left there this morning by every ‘healthy’ person who saw fit to lend their ‘advice’ to this woman - who cleaned up last night as an artist – to clean up to their standard of clean, I came away with the impression that her lifestyle really IS the business of everyone that listens to her art, in spite of how ridiculous that statement actually sounds when you try to push it past your lips.
I guess you can’t be a successful artist unless you allow the co-dependent mothers and fathers of America to take control of the influence you might have on their little princes and princesses as you make your way through the only life you’ll ever have on this planet. Then again, pop stars have no one but themselves to blame for that. Under the strict administration of PR firms, corporate handlers, and advertising endorsement contracts, these poor souls can’t sweat through a white, linen button-down without taking a financial haymaker to finish off their 15 minutes of “Damn, that seemed like 15 seconds”. To keep that brief moment alive, they workout like boxers, eat like models, live like Quakers, and praise the living Jesus to the point of sending a tent revival preachers to woodshedding their chops for fear of eternal damnation through a lack of conviction. Short of kissing babies, these cursed bastards are stranded in a perpetual hell of running for small town mayor until it all finally crashes around them for good.
‘You only live once, and the way I live, once is enough.’ – Frank Sinatra
I try to imagine young folks back 50 years ago condemning Frank Sinatra for smoking and drinking onstage. Or suggesting that Dean Martin need an intervention over that kinda-drunk persona he nursed for decades – even as a beloved, and widely influential, TV variety show icon during the 60s. Hell, even Dick Van Dyke made a beeline for the bottle as soon as he picked himself up from that ottoman pratfall he took every week on our televisions. What executive didn’t have a cocktail hour to help relax for dinner? Now days, you’re an alcoholic if you need that belt to take the edge off before your transition to house and home can take affect.
If you think that, in the quote above, Sinatra was referring to his habit of going all out to experience the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat each day, as he pushed himself to be the very best he could be – physically, intellectually and spiritually – then you don’t know much about the man. He also once said, “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” - although some sources attribute that one to his running buddy Deano. Still, it says a lot about what he meant by “once is enough“. Frank wouldn’t have wasted his life surviving the rigors of stardom in this society we have here today. Not a chance. Not when the only time he ever thought to evoke the name of the risen Christ was when he stubbed his toe in the dark. I mean, what kind of celebrity would he have been? Think of the children. Will someone please think of the children?
So, I was happy to see Amy Winehouse get all disoriented when her name was called for the “Best Song” Grammy. Drug induced or not, it was still refreshing to see. I didn’t get to see her reaction to the other 4 that she won, but that moment of honest bewilderment, followed by her sudden realization that she’d have to say a few words, followed by her excruciating ”What do I do now?” moment with her pal before reluctantly stepping to the microphone, followed by her slow start – building inanely to a manic shout out to her husband in jail before being yanked from the mic, was – for me – a delightful shift from the canned “Who? Me?” moments that we’ve all come to expect from our uber-professional award-winning celebrities and their handler teams.
I’ve come to accept the fact that in this country no one comes from nowhere to be someone. When I learned recently that Nora Jones is the daughter of Ravi Shankar (imagine that one if you can), it only surprised me that it was a connection that was as far removed from her career trajectory as it was. Then again, employing the degrees-of-separation principle, with Ravi’s Beatles connection, how far was he ever from where she ended up? I’ve also come to accept the fact that corporate sponsorship rules our entertainment world in ways that it never did in the past, and for better or worse, what PepsiCo wants to be to our kids, PepsiCo wants Justin Timberlake to be to our kids. Now, as far as what Justin Timberlake wants to be as an artist – or as a human being – well, he’ll have to consult his attorney, and see if there are any stipulations concerning said in the deep ends of the contract he signed. I’ve come to accept this as 21st century America, but that doesn’t mean that I have to approve of it.
As for me, last night I reveled in the brief ascension of a star that will never show up in a Pepsi commercial, and who won’t miss a damn thing as a result. It just made me feel good to see a seriously flawed artist get a nod from someone other than a circuit court judge for a change. Don’t expect to see Amy thanking the Lord for her achievements, and try to get over it if she doesn’t. She’ll probably go on to be the same basket case that she’d been all along, and that’s something that you’ll have to try and get over as well. She’s a singer, and that’s all she is. She’s not a role model for your kids, or for anyone else’s kids. If you want a role model for your kids, try being that role model yourself, and leave the arts and entertainment to artists and entertainers.
Singers, dancers, actors and athletes are singers, dancers, actors and athletes. They are what they are, and they do what they do. They are also people who deserve to have lives – just like you – that reflect who they are as real people. They don’t belong to you, and they don’t owe you anything. They have no responsibility to help you the raise your children, and you have no right to demand it of them. Or of anyone else.
I enjoyed last night’s Grammy Awards show for that one brief moment, and could’ve done without the rest of it. Well, except for that last bit there, when Herbie Hancock got the gold for a jazz album. That felt good too. It’s been longer than I’ve noticed that a jazz album took the top honors, and he just looked like the cutest little poindexter guy up there with that trophy. Good for him, and I hope it turns some folks on to his music as a result.
Me, I’m not a jazz fan, or an Amy Winehouse fan. I’m not really a fan of anyone out there, even though I do appreciate the Foo Fighters a lot. That doesn’t prevent me from taking sides though. In an election, you’re allowed to vote FOR someone, and you’re also allowed to vote AGAINST someone. Last night I emotionally voted against everyone except Herbie and Amy, and my candidates won. Today’s a good day, and I’m going to enjoy that victory. Lord knows it’ll be short-lived, and then it’ll be back to the cultural barricades again as the plugged asses of this society sweep through like Huns, killing off whatever it is that they don’t appreciate or don’t understand about life. Sure, they’ll win in the end, but folks like me can sing and raise our flags today, because last night we won one.
Well…two actually. I mean, really. A jazz album? Album of the Year? That’s getting right there next to heresy. You can almost hear the Baby Jesus cry.
Viva la Dissidence!!
