2019 Grammy Awards

Times are tough. Weird at best. Our music reflects that.
We want to dance. We want to have fun. The music delivers.
Pop music has become as dense as ever. Rap is dominating. We like the beats. We like the hooks.
Let’s give awards to the music that moves us. That makes us feel.

 

Should Win

Will Win

 

Record of the Year:

• I Like It, Cardi B
• The Joke, Brandi Carlile
• This is America, Childish Gambino
• God’s Plan, Drake
• Shallow, Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper
• All the Stars, Kendrick Lamar & SZA
• The Middle, Zedd

Album of the Year:

• Invasion of Privacy, Cardi B
• By the Way, I Forgive You, Brandi Carlile
• Scorpion, Drake
• H.E.R., H.E.R.
• Beerbongs & Bentleys, Post Malone
• Dirty Computer, Janelle Monae
• Golden House, Kasey Musgraves
• Black Panther Soundtrack, Kendrick Lamar

This entire category is winners.

Song of the Year:

• All the Stars, K-Dot & SZA
• Boo’d Up, Ella Mai
• God’s Plan, Drake
• In My Blood, Shawn Mendes
• The Middle, Zedd & Maren Morris and Grey
• Shallow, Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper
• This is America, Childish Gambino

Cutie patootie Shawn Mendes could get it.

Best New Artist:

•  Chloe X Hal
• Luke Combs
• Greta Van Fleet
• H.E.R.
• Dua Lipa
• Margo Price
• Bebe Rexha
• Jorja Smith

Best Pop Album:

• Camila, Camila Cabello
• Meaning of Life, Kelly Clarkson
• Sweetener, Ariana Grande
• Shawn Mendes, Shawn Mendes
• Beautiful Trauma, P!nk
• Reputation, Taylor Swift

What’s the Meaning of Life, Kelly Clarkson? All other albums are monumental.

Presented by: Pete Davidson

 

Best Rock Performance:

•  Four Out of Five, Arctic Monkeys
• When Bad Does Good, Chris Cornell
• Made an America, The Fever 333
• Highway Tune, Greta Van Fleet
• Uncomfortable, Halestorm

Posthumous releases are Automatic Wins. It seems like there are more and more each year.

 

Best Rock Album:

• Rainier Fog, Alice in Chains
• M A N I A, Fall Out Boy
• Prequelle, Ghost
• From the Fire, Greta Van Fleet
• Pacific Daydream, Weezer

Rock is dead. If Ghost wins and summons Satan, then it can be saved.

 

Best Alternative Album:

• Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino, Arctic Monkeys
• Colors, Beck
• Utopia, Bjork
• American Utopia, David Byrne
• Masseducation, St. Vincent

What’s an Arctic Monkeys?

Give it to Bjork. She hasn’t won one yet.

 

 

Best R&B Album:

• Sex & Cigarettes, Toni Braxton
• Good Thing, Leon Bridges
• Honestly, Lalah Hathaway
• H.E.R., H.E.R.
• Gumbo UNPLUGGED (Live), PJ Morton

 

Honorable mentions in the genre:

Best Urban Contemporary:

• Chris Dave and the Drumhedz > The Carters

 

Best R&B Performance

• Best Part, H.E.R. & Daniel Caesar

(Shoutout to Keyboardist F Choc Smoov from New Jersey, who idolizes Daniel Caesar)

 

Best Rap Performance:

• Be Careful, Cardi B
• Nice For What, Drake
• King’s Dead, Kendrick Lamar & Jay Rock & Future & James Blake!
• Bubblin, Anderson .Paak
• Sicko Mode, Travis Scott & Drake & Big Sean & Swae Lee

AMAZING CATEGORY

 

Best Rap Album:

• Invasion of Privacy, Cardi B
• Swimming, Mac Miller
• Victory Lap, Nipsey Hussle
• Daytona, Pusha T
• Astroworld, Travis Scott

See: Best Rock Performance commentary re: posthumous releases

(Shoutout to My Neighbor, Jay, who painted a life-size portrait of Nipsey Hussle)

 

Best Country Solo Performance:

• Wouldn’t it be Great?, Loretta Lynn
• Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, Maren Morris
• Butterflies, Kasey Musgraves
• Millionaire, Chris Stapleton
• Parallel Line, Keith Urban

idc

 

Best Song Written for Visual Media:

• All the Stars, Kendrick Lamar & SZA: Black Panther
• Mystery of Love, Sufjan Stevens: Call Me By Your Name
• Remember Me, Miguel & Natalia Lafourcade: Coco
• Shallow, Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper: A Star is Born
• This is Me, Keala Settle: The Greatest Showman

I would take “Shallow” winning Record of the Year, to allow for other recognition in the film categories… but that would be fair and what do I know?

The 7 Things I Love about “Nothing Breaks Like a Heart”

It’s the perfect song for Miley to The Climb to the top.

 

Mark Ronson was obviously diddling “Jolene” on his guitar, wishing for a drum machine.

 

Smiley has won us back by chilling the hell out over the last few years. Ditching dredlock-wigs and joint-dildo-unicorns or whatever was a great start. She wanted us to forget about her Disney Channel roots. Taken a little too far, but mission accomplished.

Bangerz gave us bangers. Younger Now (Yawner Now) was tame. Miley Cyrus Can’t Be Tamed! But you get too weird, Miley!

 

Being a judge on The Voice, etc. is proving to be part of the gig for staying relevant nowadays. At least the judges can scope out their competition before they get Kelly Clarkson-ed.

 

Collaborating with Mark Ronson seems like a healthier relationship than with The Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne. Make friends your own age, Wayne! You too, Mark! If you made Amy Winehouse a star, you must be on to your second act!

“Nothing Breaks Like a Heart” sounds like a track Hannah Montana would make in 2018. It is the same sound that Taylor Swift would have ended up with if she continued in country music. Taylor’s Reputation seems to be doing fine for the moment, but “Nothing Breaks” could have been hers.

Hannah, eh hem, Miley, eh hem, Mark Ronson saw that vacancy for neo-country-pop, and selected Miley Cyrus to be his vessel. He had similar foresight into neo-funk-pop in 2015, with “Uptown Funk.”

 

The Game of Pop Thrones continues to unfold as we begin our departure from the 2010s. Will our hindsight be 2020? Will Smiley Smilerus make more strides as America’s darling?

 

Plus now that Nicki Minaj has been dethroned this year by Cardi B, there is no one to say otherwise. What’s good, Miley? </3

 

The Midnight Mission

Today, I saw some of the most extreme cases of homelessness. I wanted to say that it was the most extreme case of poverty I had ever seen, however, in the jungles outside of Xi’an Province where I studied abroad in China, there are isolated villages of people who have nothing and no resources to better themselves.

In Downtown LA, at the Midnight Mission, I volunteered at a soup kitchen. The Midnight Mission is a resource center for rehabilitating the homeless on 6^th Street, past Pershing Square. Sarah Furie, Sarah, my sister’s friend’s younger sister, is the head of a Rotary Club out here. She invited me to volunteer with her group. I figured I was due for a mitzvah.

Past Pershing Square, the streets become increasingly filthy. A farmer’s market seemed so out of place. If only for one block, the stench of wet trash and smog was masked by fresh flowers and handmade soaps.

This certainly was temporary. Immediately, sidewalks became covered in tents. Milk crates were stacked to support a wooden tabletop. This station was positioned at the top of every block of 6^th Street. It served as a commissary market, selling single cigarettes, lighters, snacks and bottles of water. What a strange facet of entrepreneurship.

The density of Tent City overpoured into the street. Cars and buses had to detour. Meanwhile Sarah and I walked fast and carefully, with a cell phone out to guide us. The Midnight Mission is the epicenter of homeless Los Angeles. Hundreds of people, almost all black, were congregated inside and out of the building’s gates. Some were sleeping on the concrete. Some played music. Many were smoking.

There were about 20 people in the kitchen. It was hard to determine who was a resident of Tent City and who was a volunteer. I had never seen such equipment in a kitchen. Chicken was being deep-fried in an industrial tank of canola oil. Shelves were filled with donated loaves of bread and bagels. All donated rice was mixed and poured into barrels. This process was the same for pasta. The walk-in fridge was a warehouse with produce and poultry.

The Rotoracts and I were tasked with dicing tomatoes. But before I could begin, I had to pick out any tomatoes with mold or rot. I threw away probably 1/5 in my bushel. It seemed wasteful. I asked if I should cut off the mold and use the rest of the fruit. Thankfully, the answer was to discard it entirely. Backed by my New Jersey Foodhandler certification, it is worth noting that if there is contamination or rot on one perishable item, all other touching items should also be discarded. THAT is wasteful. The tomatoes did not end up being used this evening.

Next to us, a man (employee) was blending chopped pineapples, grapes and apples in a 150-gallon vat. I helped pour this fruit puree into 300 tiny cups. It wouldn’t be enough for the expected dinner crowd.

Once the food was served, I was pulled out into the cafeteria to help clear trays. In my prepping for the job, I was told that I have to be strict with the diners. The regular volunteers warned me that I would be taken advantage of. People would want seconds. They don’t want to wait in line. No vegetables, more chicken. I maintained that I am just clearing trays after they are no longer being used. “Tell someone in a yellow vest,” was my response to demands. I was constantly running the perimeter of dining tables, looking for abandoned food scraps that were not being picked over by others. Again, it seemed wasteful to throw away untouched salad or rolls. We at least set aside the packaged cookies and whoopee pies.

I was asked by several men and women if I had cigarettes. I think someone asked if I had weed. Truthfully, I couldn’t understand much of the casual conversation I was included in. Not many people looked at me when speaking at me. “Thank you” was a rarity. Not that I needed to be thanked, but acknowledgement of my presence made me feel human. Talk about a lesson in empathy. Though I am not sure that if our encounters had been on the street, in other circumstances, that I wouldn’t have ignored these men and women sitting on concrete and asking for spare change.

When cleaning afterward, I emptied trashcans with one of the men in a yellow vest. He told me about some of the programs offered at The Midnight Mission. A Black History Month movie marathon recently took place. An extremely supportive weekly seminar is held as part of a reintroduction to society. They help with job placement, emotional counseling and general education. Four times a day, 365 days of the year, there are drug and alcohol rehabilitation meetings. My new friend in the yellow vest tries to attend all four each day. He says it helps that the meetings are in the basement where he can get a meal, rest and work on his 12 Steps all in the same building. It seemed like his story was rehearsed and he was proud to tell it. He spent 20 years not thinking that his drug use was a problem. He still had his family and was making money. That wasn’t the sacrifice. What he lost were memories with his family and any fulfillment in his career, because he lived his life numbed for so long.

March 18, 2018

Life After

I am not sure how it happened, but I died. Here I am, soul intact, body reformed, but no longer on Earth. It is hard to say exactly where I am now. Everything is familiar, though I have obviously not been dead before. Neighborhoods are efficient and intuitive. I walk these new streets comfortably, as though I have been on them my whole life.

I am falling into the routine of life after death. Wake up whenever you want. Have breakfast of whatever you want. And for the rest of the day, you are free to do anything you can think of. Activities are planned. Travel is encouraged. I have been mostly attending classes offered at the community center.

An idol of mine, John Waters, shows his films to a packed theatre Wednesdays at midnight. We have discussions beforehand. I am really enjoying the nuances of his grotesque cinema. There is no beauty in his films, which makes them beautiful.

I try to run as often as I can. It is pretty easy to eat right here. I’m finally ready to take my diet and exercise seriously. They tell us all the time how our health is most important. It really is!

A great service we all appreciate here is the connection to our former lives. I keep tabs on my survivors. My mom and sister grieved hard after my passing. They have been doing a lot better lately. And my ailing grandmother, who will be with me soon, is ready for her time. I cannot wait to bring her to Gene Krupa’s drum seminars, second Saturday of each month. She always loved when I played the tom solo of “Sing, Sing, Sing” for her.

My dad has been doing really well in his life after. He has been here since I was a teenager. This was a fresh start for him. He’s not smoking cigarettes anymore. No one does, really. He’s been staying sober, too. Dad leads a Beowulf book discussion. I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet.

Elise was my girlfriend. She was my: soulmate, best friend, teacher, student, psychic, psychiatrist, business partner, lover, guide, audience, inspiration. She was my deity. It is hard being away from her. I feel I am living now more than when I was actually living. I cannot wait for her to come here. We can pick up where we left off. In love. Absorbing each other. Breathing in ourselves.

It has been especially hard for Elise to keep living without me. I see how devastated she is. Lost. It breaks my heart. She is stronger than she thinks. There is more life for her to live. She deserves a family. Deserves growing old. I am not certain of the logistics of aging here, but I bet it’s a little different. Dad looks the same as I remember from when I was young. I wonder at what age Grandma will choose to be.

Every now and then, I see Elise at her loneliest. Her most reclusive. She and I bonded over our history with depression. We survived years of dark thoughts and anger and helplessness and self-harm. Since I left, I see her slip. Let loneliness get the best of her.

I cannot watch. I have to intervene. I dull a blade to make it slide off skin. I blow breezes to extinguish enticing flames. I pull the bathtub stopper to drain water. I hope my interventions are enough.

I am always watching her. It is so moving to see her dance. She is sexy when she writes. She is sexy at other times, too. Maybe she knows I am seeing her in those intimate moments.

When she finds someone new, perhaps I will stop watching. I will want to see her as a mother. But not as a lover of anyone else. If she grows old with them, maybe she and I will not be together in our life after. Lives after. We can be cordial. Classmates in Kerouac appreciation clubs. But she will want to watch who she leaves behind. And I can navigate the streets I’ve been walking my whole afterlife.

 

tUnE-yArDs – I Can Feel You Creep Into My Private Life

I was a sophomore in High School when the coolest song I ever heard was “Hatari” by tUne-yArDs. The song opens with layered vocal fry. A cosmic yodeling, of Native American and African influence. A riff from a fuzz guitar sounds like Indian raga. The final piece comes with a fat beat of looped floor tom and snare, adding arrhythmic hip-hop to this melting-pot track.

I was proud to play it loudly in the halls. I would then impress everyone (no one) by sharing that it was all created by just one person. And not only was it created by just one person, but she is a white woman from Connecticut.

Merrill Garbus has grown up since her BiRd-BrAiNs days, recording loops on cassette decks. She has even dropped stylizing every-other capital letter (which I appreciate as I write this).

Tune-Yards has recruited new collaborators and touring members. The effect has bridged bizarre indie and mainstream music by means of synthesizers. On her own, Garbus is established among modern classical composers; she is a friend and collaborator of Pulitzer Prize winner Caroline Shaw.

I Can Feel You Creep Into My Private Life is both the most experimental and most accessible album from the band. Most tracks are party boppers. “Look At Your Hands” is a contender for the socially conscious hipster dance anthem.

Themes of social consciousness and self-awareness have become ubiquitous in Garbus’s writing. Over chip-tune electronic beats, Garbus is poignant on her platform. In “Colonizer”, she intonates “I use my white woman’s voice to tell stories of travels with African men.” These are the same compelling stories we have always heard from Tune-Yards.

Quincy Jones irreverent interviews should just be filtered as “Old-Man-Talk”

Quincy Jones is a month shy of 85. Young people may know him as the composer of the theme song for Austin Powers, or the theme song for Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. He is also responsible for 60 years of jazz arranging, conducting, film scoring, producing some the biggest records of all time, and has earned almost 30 Grammy Awards and nearly 80 nominations.

Jones has been unfiltered about his long-spanning career in recent publicity rounds, promoting an upcoming Netflix documentary and CBS Special about his life.

In an interview with David Marchese of Vulture, Q has said:

• He knows who killed JFK- a Chicago mobster, Sam Giancana.
• The Beatles are the worst musicians in the world. “No-playing mother*ckers.”
• He used to date Ivanka Trump, despite hating her father.
• Cyndi Lauper and her loud bracelets ruined “We Are the World.”

Jones spoke at length about his relationship with Michael Jackson. The two collaborated to produce Thriller, Bad and Off the Wall. Although quick to share something provocative, many answers ended with an, “I can’t talk about that publicly.”

He cited Jackson’s real problem as Propofol, though addressed his obsession with plastic surgery, reconstructing his childhood, ripping-off other artists and not paying proper royalties to collaborators.

Jones also bragged about his own wealth and legacy in music. His royalty checks are coming in just fine.

KESHA – RAINBOW

Don’t get me wrong. I love Kesha. #FreeKesha. She has such a great voice. #KeshaIsQueen. She deserves only success and respect.

But, in being objective, Rainbow, Kesha’s comeback/F U album is just okay.

As it should have been the case, Kesha’s new management, producers and label allowed her complete creative control over the album. I’m sure she dabbled on the mixing board for maybe the first time to earn production credit. I would bet nobody wanted to edit the profound and personal lyrics that she wrote to chronicle her tumultuous past few years.

Perhaps this unrefined system, where no one vetoed or challenged Kesha, left her intentions as cheap-raw. She accomplishes this cheap-rawness with her overt use of vulgarity. This is immediately set in the opening track, “Bastards,” with the inspiring refrain: “Don’t let the assholes get you down.”

The album features many “motherfuckers” and a “suck my dick,” sung on “Let ‘Em Talk,” a powerpop duet with the Eagles of Death Metal. EoDM also benefit from this easily politicized album release. Rainbow serves as their reemergence after the band’s Paris concert bombings in 2015. Singer Jesse Hughes appears twice on the album, as a playful complement to Kesha.

Don’t get me wrong. #KeshaIsQueen. And what a great voice!

Kesha truly delivers her talent as a singer/songwriter in standouts that are sure to be number 1 hits. The lead single, “Praying” is absolutely stunning. It WILL become a memorial ballad.

In her triumph, Kesha runs powerhouse vocals over a choir all to drive home the fact that she is here to stay, coming for the role of Pop Goddess she deserved all along. Her maturity wanes by addressing “haters” in even the most sincere settings, although #WeLoveKesha, and #ThatsOurKesha.

LCD SOUNDSYSTEM POST-CONCERT UPDATE

I have had an entire week and Christmas holiday to come back to Earth after seeing LCD Soundsystem at the Brooklyn Steel. It was magical. Truly transcendent. I have also needed that amount of time for the ringing in my ear to stop.

As expected, it was Party of the Year. The Musical Event of My Twenties. Looking back, it felt like such an intimate performance. This is mostly because I went with my girlfriend, who purchased the tickets. We were in the front row, lined up against the security barrier.

As are most adventures in love, the concert seemed like a private serendade during our fairytale December evening in New York City. Alyssa and I rode trains from New Jersey, and successfully navigated the subway. The late-night return train also applied a comfortable pressure.

 

When Alyssa shared that she got me the tickets spontaneously, I could not believe it. I have looked into seeing LCD Soundsystem. The performances have typically been festival headlines and New York residencies lasting several weeks. The shows sell out instantly. They are infamous for fast sale. James Murphy has addressed this. No doubt, these are popular shows, an exciting opportunity from LCD being recently reunited. The demand is not the only source of popularity. Online ticketsellers and scalpers immediately snatch tickets in bulk and sell them for at least double the retail price.

 

A year ago, during their initial reunion, tickets were well in the range of $300 on StubHub. Murphy has taken measures to eradicate this, on top of his crude remarks directed toward online scalpers. LCD shows and the shows of their record label are sold exclusively on AXS. They are sold in limited burst releases. All ticket information is released only hours prior to the concert.

While waiting for the performance to begin at the Brooklyn Steel, concertgoers said they were on the phone with their ticketsellers hours before the show. Some were unaware of the delayed release. Some had genuine errors.

A mother who brought her son from Staten Island received their ticket confirmation while on the ferry.

 

While getting excited looking at set lists and concert advice on Reddit, I was surprised to see many users posting about needing tickets. Alyssa said she didn’t have a problem buying them one week prior. This coincided with other Reddit users posting James Murphy’s warnings against buying fake tickets from StubHub, Craig’s List and eBay. Are concertgoers supposed to be worried about buying fake tickets? What is a fake ticket anyway?

They accepted Alyssa’s money. That wasn’t fake. She won’t tell me how much she spent. I saw listings around $120 each. Compare this to the face value of tickets at $60. We both agree that it was worth it. Alyssa’s money well-spent. It was a priceless adventure for us to have. One of our last for a while.

In the New Year, I will be moving to Los Angeles. This places even more meaning when our host for the evening, James Murphy, sang “New York I Love You, But You’re Bringing Me Down.”

LCD Soundsystem @ NYC 12/23/17

I have never been as excited for anything as I am to see LCD Soundsystem live at Brooklyn Steel this Saturday. A Chanukah gift from my girlfriend.

I remember having felt giddy to see Bob Dylan play during the summer that I turned 11.

I am fortunate to have been able to attend many concerts of artists who I admire and some who I have become a fan after seeing them.

Listening to LCD Soundsystem is a collective experience. The music is meant to be pumped out of club speakers. James Murphy’s wailing is supposed to be shared. In a sad discotheque, we dance and cry for electronic catharses.

Stepmom

A stepmom just started coming each week to my Tuesday Playspace. She is quick to refer to herself as the stepmom. Her stepdaughter, Liliana, is a gorgeous two-year-old, with dark Italian skin.

Stepmom talks way too much and annoys all of the young nannies who come to the same Playspace hour. She seems to always have an issue with the music. She almost threw a fit her first time here, aggressively telling me she’d “love it if the volume could be lower.”

Today, the last week of the semester, six days before Christmas, I raced to create a playlist from Alvin and the Chipmunk’s holiday album. I was out of the room, talking to my boss, when Stepmom and Liliana came in. When I got back, Stepmom just happened to be mentioning to nearby parents how annoying the Chipmunk’s voices are. Under my breath, I called her the Grinch. Elizabeth’s dad laughed.

December 18, 2017