FYI, the Backsteet Boys Were Once Nominated for a Grammy Album of the Year

The Who never was.

Led Zeppelin never was.

Joe Satriani was. 15 times. But he never won.

Katy Perry? 0 for 13 (which is alright by me).

Bob Dylan was, but not for Highway 61 Revisited or Blood on the Tracks.

The Captain and Tennille were nominated for Song of the Year. Really.

Neil Diamond–Neil fucking Diamond–was nominated for Song Sung Blue. which might be the only song he wrote that was worse than Sweet Caroline (and at least Song Sung Blue doesn’t ruin every single eighth inning at Fenway Park). Or maybe his worst song was I Am I Said. No, I think it was Play Me. . .

Beyonce didn’t get her Grammy for racial reasons? It may be true, partially. But I don’t think that her skin color or her questioning of the system is the necessary and sufficient element in denying her  a meaningless trophy. My proof? I got none. I have no idea what goes on in the heads of those morons. If we really want to give an Album of the Year award, we should probably have a five-year waiting period. Sometimes the Grammys get it right  (or close enough), like with Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.  Other times, they just get it completely wrong, like with Billy Joel’s 52nd Street (let the arrows start to fly, Piano Man lovers).

And in the end,  I really don’t get why anyone cares. We give stupid awards ceremonies more weight when we say they matter. The Meta-Bug staff, to a person, hasn’t watched an awards ceremony in years. Apparently, the unintentional boycott has not affected the viability of the institutions.




Comeuppance, or just another Turn of the Screw?


Oh, how the proud have been humbled and made to lick the dust that covers home plate! They shall sit in stadia not full, cover themselves with greasy ashes from the grilling of sausages, and drink their overpriced yet watered down intoxicants in the loneliness and solitude! The millionaires of summer will cry out in the wilderness, yet no one will be there to offer succor.

Let’s face it: There’s more than a little amount of schadenfreude going around today. The Red Sox and their overpriced, crumbling venue has finally reached a point where the fans have said “Enough!”.  A king’s ransom to take to the family to the ball park, plus $8.50 for Bud Light (Bud Light, mind you) can’t go on forevah. The owners thought it could, but let’s hope that this year more people will decide to go watch local Little League games instead, no matter how good this season’s crop of mercenaries plays “for the fans.”

Aram Boghosian for the Boston Globe
Aram Boghosian for the Boston Globe

Then again, they may show up in droves tomorrow.

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