An astounding number of the hipsters I know and a great many whom I don’t (including, apparently, Kanye West [1]) are of the opinion that Sunday night’s Grammy win by Arcade Fire for The Suburbs is a watershed moment in music history. These people seem to believe that this unlikely win heralds the beginning of the end of the era of Britney, Gaga, Katy, Taylor Swift, and whoever or whatever Lady Antebellum is. The win is seen as portentous of a new era in which so-called “good music” is about to dominate. At the very least, they believe that this Grammy really means something. On all of these counts, they are mistaken.
First of all, the Grammys are a joke. This isn’t really a matter of opinion. If you don’t trust me, trust in The Simpsons: what used to be the cleverest television in America. A Grammy award isn’t even an expensive paperweight: it’s trash.
Historically, the Grammys have been woefully behind the times in what music junkies are actually listening to, they generally tend to dole out awards to two dozen or so very radio-friendly artists. Why? Because that’s good TV: you take the artists most recognizable to most Americans (which is the same as saying “they figure out the lowest common denominator, in terms of recognition of performance artists”), put them in a contest against each other, and people are riveted—they feel they have something at stake. And if their horse crosses the finish line first, they feel they’ve actually won something, even though they haven’t done a bloody thing. Sort of like the NFL playoffs and Super Bowl, but with incredibly inferior commercials. You didn’t do a fucking thing for the Green Bay Packers, but you can’t help feeling a bit magnanimous and triumphant that they kicked some ass. Similarly, though you had nothing to do with producing Coldplay’s album, you can’t help feeling like a champ when they win. “I downloaded that right when it came out,” you tell your friends. Ah, sweet validation.
The Grammys are the epitome of a “popularity contest”; they’ve nothing to do with artistic merit. If they did, the ballots would look exceptionally odd to most people (“Who or what the fuck is ‘Tune-Yards’ and why does everyone keep talking about grizzly bears?”) because most people haven’t heard the pop music with serious artistic merit—like any high art, it doesn’t have the world’s biggest natural audience because it’s elusive. Which is a nice way of saying it’s over most people’s heads. Which is a nice way of saying most people are too dumb to recognize artistically valuable pop music, as opposed to unchallenging fluff to which you can bob your head or shake your ass. That’s how art works: The DaVinci Code and whatever the hell Snooki wrote will top the New York Times bestseller list. That doesn’t mean they’ve got artistic merit, it means they’re popular. Even if I find them overrated, Arcade Fire has artistic merit. Hell, they’ve got more artistic worth in one song than all the other albums combined—though I will concede that Lady Gaga’s videos are wonderful on mute. She should quit music and go into fashion; she’s got a sense of style that makes Marilyn Manson, in his heyday, look like Charles Kuralt. And if I thought for one second that The Suburbs won Album of the Year for its artistic merit, I’d be tickled, thrilled. [2] But that’s not why Suburbs won. So, what the hell happened?
Despite the fact that the Grammys are a joke, people still watch. Generally, it’s older folks watching—on the high end of the 18-34 demographic, and beyond that. The younger folks, well, half of them couldn’t care less about the Grammys because they’re sure that nothing they listen to will ever win; the other half are out doing what normal people 18-26 do: trying to have sex. But every decade or so, the 34-year-olds turn 44, and the kids who were trying to have sex had sex, have a baby, and are now 34. They’re no longer gallivanting around town; they have to stay in. There they are, on their couches, remote control in hand. But many of them haven’t watched an awards show since, as children, their parents forced them to. How to reel them in? The answer? Convince them that the awards are relevant. Let’s take a look at some of the most recent nominees and winners. The winners are emboldened.
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With the exception of 2009′s nomination for Radiohead’s In Rainbows (which, incidentally, was released two years before that and, I’d argue, was nominated not because of its artistic brilliance, but because of its then-astoundingly bizarre method of release), I’d be open to hearing anyone’s defense of these albums being legitimate contenders for Best Album of the Year, that is to say Albums With the Most Artistic Merit. The defense cannot include citation of sales (the Everyone Loves Them argument). I’ll save you the trouble: Whatever it was you were about to say, it’s wrong. I’d love to say that I listen to all the “right” music. I don’t. Sometimes what I recognize as innovative I find grating, and I don’t listen—or, I listen once, give a golf clap of approval, then never listen again. But that doesn’t mean it’s not innovative. Look at the above list again. The Black Eyed Peas aren’t advancing pop music as an art form. And U2 hasn’t been musically relevant since, say, 1987.
It’s no secret that I think Arcade Fire are overrated. Really overrated. I mean seriously motherfucking overrated. I still own Funeral and Neon Bible, their first two LPs but, after five spins, I actually threw The Suburbs away. Both of their previous efforts were better and, truth be told, if one of them deserved an Album of the Year award, it was 2004′s Funeral. It was critically hailed, is considered one of the most important albums of the decade, and it advanced pop music as an art. (I still think it’s overrated.) Of course, the Grammys, being woefully behind the times, didn’t bother with them then. But that was seven years ago. The kids who loved that album now have squalling little bastards of their own. They sit on their couches, clickers in hand, and wonder, “What’s on TV?” How to reel them in? Convince them that the Grammys are relevant. Nominate an artist who is hugely significant to their generation. And hell, thanks to the fact that “indie rock” snobs like me are the only people who actually pay for music anymore—hate to tell you Gaga, but more people have stolen your album than have paid you a cent for it. See, we have to have it on vinyl so we can tell you, “I have it on vinyl.”
I have Neon Bible on vinyl. And Funeral, too.
Regardless, if this year were to be the beginning of some New Age in music, it would be the dawn of days where “indie rock” tops the commercial sales charts. Arcade Fire and The Decemberists both, against all odds, had #1 albums this year. For a week a piece. Granted, the numbers they put up wouldn’t have put them in the Top 50 fifteen years ago, but what with all the torrents, 90,000 records actually sold is a huge fucking deal. The Decemberists made their name by composing things like “The Mariner’s Revenge Song”: an eight-minute tambourine- and accordion-only sea chanty which tells the story of a little boy whose widowed mother was infected with tuberculosis by a rake invited into her bed to help her pay the bills. The song begins and ends inside the mouth of a whale. Yeah. Really. And they had a #1 album this year.
Which I have on vinyl, if you’re curious.
So, it’s my primary contention that Arcade Fire’s win was a calculated play by those in charge of the awards show to ensure that they don’t miss out on a key demographic. Is The Suburbs a better record than the others? No doubt. But the fact that it was both nominated and won doesn’t mean shit aside from the fact that someone in the PR/marketing department had a bright idea. Shit usually takes the cake at the Grammys; with the occasional aberration, shit will continue to take the trophy home. For another week or two, Arcade Fire might just have the number one album in the country. And in another six weeks, Jay-Z and Kanye will drop their collaborative record and the public at large will say, “Arcade what“?
The idea that their Grammy win is indicative of an improvement in the American musical palate is phenomenally naïve. The palate remains unchanged. It will remain unchanged. Statistically speaking, the majority of people in America are closer to being functionally retarded than they are to being gifted. The palate will stay the same. Check it out, and remember: there are many pages of this. Keep reading until you’re physically ill with shame because you share most of your DNA with these fellow hominids.
Yeah, looks like America’s palate is just about sophisticated enough for the musical equivalent of fugu. Topping the charts will always be what’s unchallenging, but groovy: Madonna, Tony Bennet, Taylor Swift, R. Kelly. In the late ‘nineties, it was Britney. And now it’s Katy. In the words of Gary Numan, “A different face, but the words never change.” The Album of the Year statue that The Suburbs drew is meaningless. It’s an empty gesture. It’s the Grammys™ as Dr. Evil, shuffling towards the younger generation of Scott Evils. The Grammys™ say, “I’m with it, I’m hip.” And sadly, people fall for it every time. Next year, the Grammys will have a whole bunch of hipster “indie rock” snobs on their couches, despite the fact that 95% of the nominees will be as defensible as Justin Bieber for Best New Artist.
It’s actually a lot like every time the Catholic church does something to convince people it’s changed like, say, tell people that it’s no longer a sin for homosexuals to wear condoms and prevent the spread of AIDS. People sigh in relief, say “Finally, the church is starting to get it.” But really, they didn’t change a bit (condom use in such situations was deemed okay because the gays will burn in Hell anyways, and what the church is actually worried about is the chance that one of them might have a tryst with someone on the down low, who would in turn accidentally infect his pious wife), they just needed some good PR—what with all those pesky molestation and cover-up stories cropping up everywhere. And I’m sure Galileo appreciated the centuries-late “Oops, our bad.” But that empty gesture made the headlines; and people said, “Oh, good. The church is starting to get it.” And next week, I’ll bet all of the collection plates across America each had a couple of extra bucks.
Arcade Fire’s Grammy award is as empty a gesture as the dubbing the gay man’s condom Sin Free. And the Academy in question will get what they wanted, because next year, the ratings for the award show will be higher (thus the money will roll in), because not only will all the enraged folks who responded to the upset with “da fuk r rk fire? sum faggots i bet” be glued to their TVs, waiting for their the pendulum to swing their way again, but all the little hipsters will be watching too, waiting with bated breath for society to change. I hope their jeans aren’t uncomfortably skinny—it’ll be a while.
[1] Immediately after the win, Kanye West Tweeted, “#Arcade fire!!!!!!!!!! There is hope!!! I feel like we all won when something like this happens! FUCKING AWESOME!” And inexplicably, he deleted it within twenty-four hours. Flak from Eminem? Gaga? His record label? The man isn’t pushing the boundaries of art, but he is constantly innovating new ways to annoy me. If you’re a cunt, own it. If you’re excited for Arcade Fire, own it. [BACK]
[2] And as it is, despite the fact that I think the band is hyper-overrated, I congratulate Arcade Fire on toppling the Grammy Gods of Eminem, Gaga, Katy Perry, and Lady Antebellum. Yesterday, the worlds of sugarpop and shitty rap fans alike were turned upside down. Their days were ruined. That makes me happy. So, thanks, Arcade Fire. I will now play “My Body Is a Cage” in your honor. [BACK]
