The TRUTH about the Taylor-Celine Grammys drama… the biggest on-stage snub… a repulsive red carpet tattoo… and most obnoxious acceptance speech: KENNEDY’s rave review of the best awards show she’s seen in years!
After the Awful Emmys, Crock of Choice Awards and Gruesome Globes, the Grammys swooped in to re-start the music.
Sheltered from a storm-soaked LA in the Crypto.com Arena, it was a welcome night of cathartic crescendo bliss, sizzling senoritas, bad hair and bombshell secret poetry clubs.
Heck, it was the best awards ceremony I’ve seen in years!
I was braced for tiresome Trevor Noah to suck the oxygen out the room with his pneumatic self-focus, but – first shock reveal of the night – he was actually an effortlessly hilarious host, breathing life into an event which surely started with one of the worst red carpets in history. (What WAS Doja Cat – in that nipple peekaboo, forehead tattoo monstrosity – thinking?)
Second shock reveal: Meryl Streep is musky Mark Ronson‘s mother-in-law… Who knew?!
Unlike the dismal torture of Jo Koy’s Globes catastrophe, Noah didn’t succumb to buttsuckery, roasting celebrity and sucker alike, even highlighting Queen Taylor’s late arrival (‘as she moves through the room, the local economy improves’) and lobbing a solid one at disaster-struck Boeing: ‘This show is live – anything could happen. It’s like flying in a Boeing airplane. One minute there’s a door there, the next you’re outside.’
After the Awful Emmys, Crock of Choice Awards and Gruesome Globes, the Grammys swooped in to re-start the music. Sheltered from a storm-sodden LA in the Crypto.com Arena, it was a welcome night of cathartic crescendo bliss, sizzling senoritas, bad hair and bombshell secret poetry clubs. (Pictured: Taylor Swift and Celine Dion backstage).
I was braced for tiresome Trevor Noah (pictured with Beyonce) to suck the oxygen out the room with his pneumatic self-focus, but – first shock reveal of the night – he was actually an effortlessly hilarious host.
What WAS Doja Cat – in that nipple peekaboo, forehead tattoo monstrosity – thinking?
A star-stuffed music medley kicked off with delicious Dua Lipa, dressed like a dominatrix Peloton instructor, dancing (yes, she finally can!) amid a bondagey jungle gym – a leather-clad appetizer for the even bigger night to come.
Then it was Mariah C’s turn to shake her assets, sauntering in to a standing O, out from the fashion faux-pas wilderness and awarding a shocked and veritably lioness-coiffed Miley Cyrus her Best Pop Solo Performance gong.
It was Miley’s first win (of two); first Swift snub (of two); and second outfit (of four!).
Did she ride to the event on the hood of her car? Perhaps Ed Sheeran rode shotgun; we were told he’d flown specially from Taiwan to make it – presumably there was no time to shower.
Talking of back from the wilderness, marching out from cancellation quietude was Lizzo – clearly, this gal’s too big to fail.
The first emotional zenith of the night – the musical equivalent of Elmo tweeting, ‘How is everyone doing?’ – was a spine-tingling ‘Fast Car’ duet.
At first all we saw was a hand strumming those familiar chords – but when the crowd realized it was Tracy Chapman herself next to Luke Combs, boy was it on.
If Tracy had been the only blast from icons past it would have been more than enough – but we were jampacked with Billy Joel, Annie ‘Ceasefire’ Lennox (more on her later), Stevie Wonder with holographic Tony Bennett from beyond the grave, Joni Mitchell, Celine Dion!
Headscarfed and pseudo-humble Billie Eilish bagged Song of the Year with foxy brother Finneas for their beautiful Barbie ditty ‘What Was I Made For’.
Finneas and Ferb more than deserved it, so why Billie felt the need to insist – now on her eighth Grammy – ‘I’m not supposed to be here’ came off a bit… plastic.
A star-stuffed music medley kicked off with delicious Dua Lipa, dressed like a dominatrix Peloton instructor, dancing (yes, she finally can!) amid a bondagey jungle gym – a leather-clad appetizer for the even bigger night to come.
Then it was Mariah C’s turn to shake her assets, sauntering in to a standing O, out of the fashion faux-pas wilderness and awarding a shocked and veritably lioness-coiffed Miley Cyrus her Best Pop Solo Performance gong.
I much preferred Best New Artist winner Victoria Monet’s speech, first thanking the real champions of the night: the champagne servers, who had apparently spent much of their time circling Taylor’s table (Was it an on-stage Celine snub? Was it the tequila?).
Despite the bubbles, Taylor – whose night was suitably historic – knew every lyric to every song and enjoyed a karaoke concert for one, even singing along to Olivia Rodrigo’s ‘Vampire’ which may or may not be about her – and who may or may not enjoy plundering Swift’s songbook.
Hey, what does Taylor care: she’s got her sights trained on a Super Bowl engagement, her new album and probably the White House.
Illness-struck Celine’s surprise appearance to hand Taylor her Album of The Year award was the lipstick cherry on the most sugary of cakes.
‘Those who have been blessed enough to be here at the Grammy Awards must never take it for granted,’ Celine said. ‘The tremendous love and joy that music brings to people all over the world.’
I’m not ugly crying – you are! Truly, we don’t deserve her.
It was a shame that Lennox chose to hijack the In Memoriam segment with her ‘Artists for Ceasefire, peace in the world’ pro-Palestine stunt.
Really though, we should expect nothing more dignified from this tired creeker.
Talking of back from the wilderness, marching out from cancellation quietude was Lizzo – clearly, this gal’s too big to fail.
Other shout-outs must go to:
Oprah, who put the ‘O’ in Ozempic and gave a touching tribute to Tina Turner – even if she couldn’t help reminding viewers that she regarded the late hit-maker as a ‘friend’.
And Chrissy Teigen’s cosmetic dermatologist. Was Chrissy enjoying the night or hating it? Impossible to know – but it was the perfect poker face for when Jay-Z won the GOAT award (Gross, Obnoxious And Truculent), taking a jab at the nominees (‘some of you don’t deserve to be in the category’) and attacking the recording academy for failing to give the wife he cheated on a 33rd Grammy.
We could all have done without Travis Scott’s needless chair smashing. And yes, at nearly four hours the night was half too long.
But, for all the terrible ups and tawdry downs we’ve had to suffer in politics and culture of late – and even though my couch didn’t come with Champagne servers – the Grammys was a refreshing shot of steaming star-power. Waiter, I want what Taylor’s having!