I didn’t watch the Grammy Awards, won’t watch the Academy Awards, chose not to watch the People’s Choice Awards, will not watch the Emmy’s or any of the other events where some mystic panel or fawning public chooses Who’s Best at What. It’s not that my principles are so high or that I am so disdainful of this world’s frivolities; it probably has more to do with a short attention span and an increasingly acute awareness that I am almost totally out of touch with contemporary culture.
Based on the headlines and quick charts, I didn’t recognize a single group or individual whose musical talents are apparently self-evident. I say “self-evident” because the quick clips of their performance failed to persuade me that there was any sublime talent on display. Such is the case with each generation, I suppose.
I’m relatively sure that my parents saw nothing admirable in Steppenwolf or Led Zeppelin, nothing to hoot about with CCR or TDN. By definition, popular culture secedes to the next group of consumers and then to the next. I shudder, and refuse to even try to imagine, what will make the current fans of hip-hop and rap shudder when their grandkids crank up whatever device blasts their preferences into the fractured ears of their elders.
Apart from that bit of poetic justice, there is one thing I like about all the fuss about all the stuff of this sort: it bears out very clearly our culture’s obsession with and exaggeration of the importance of its entertainments.
Not the entire collection of all those shiny little golden globes will be even slightly as precious one day as hearing the simple phrase, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”