Before the rapper Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest shouted “Resist! Resist! Resist!” at the top of his lungs at the Grammy Awards;
before Busta Rhymes called Donald J. Trump “President Agent Orange” and
referenced his “unsuccessful attempt at the Muslim ban”; before Tribe
and Anderson .Paak kicked their way through an oversize wall and brought
dozens of people of a wide range of nationalities onstage (along with a
dance troupe that recalled Public Enemy’s quasi-military S1Ws), Q-Tip
introduced his group’s performance with some words of encouragement and
defiance:
“We’d
like to say to all of those people around the world, all of those
people who are pushing people who are in power to represent them:
Tonight, we represent you.”
These
were words for the disenfranchised from a stage that has long connoted
power and influence. In the current political moment, in which
membership in the American experiment is subject to greater and greater
obstacles, this performance was a loud statement of pushback.
That is especially true given that the Grammys find themselves in the throes of similar friction over belonging. Simply put, the Grammys, like America, have an inclusion problem
— or more to the point, an exclusion problem. The 59th annual
installment of the ceremony, at the Staples Center in Los Angeles on
Sunday night, was as noteworthy for who won as who didn’t, for who
attended as for who opted to sit out. It was a show about borders — who
is allowed to cross, who isn’t and who doesn’t even bother trying.
Adele won all five Grammys
she was nominated for, including album of the year (for “25”), record
of the year and song of the year (for “Hello”), besting Beyoncé in all
three categories. “25” is Adele’s least impressive album, but its
pomp-and-circumstance soul belting is the sort of classicism likely to
appeal to the Recording Academy voting members, who tend to skew older
and more traditional. Beyoncé’s album “Lemonade”
(and the song “Formation,” nominated in the other two categories) is
musically provocative and wide ranging, and rife with commentary about
the meaning of blackness in the United States.
At
the end of the night, when Adele won album of the year, she deferred to
Beyoncé: “The way that you make me and my friends feel, the way you
make my black friends feel, is empowering,” Adele told her from the
stage, while behind her, a huge gaggle of predominantly white male
songwriters and producers clapped enthusiastically.
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In
that moment, just a few feet separated Adele and Beyoncé, but the chasm
between their treatment by the Grammys was huge, and potentially
unbridgeable. It was #GrammysSoWhite come to life. For years, Kanye West
has complained about how black artists — himself, but also others — are
mistreated in the main Grammy categories. This year, Frank Ocean,
fatigued with the Grammys’ handling of black music, opted to not even submit his music for consideration. (The other big all-genre category, best new artist, was won by a black artist, Chance the Rapper.)
The Grammys’ race problem is so pernicious that some white winners have chosen contrition over exuberance — Adele’s embrace of Beyoncé, Macklemore’s apology to Kendrick Lamar in 2014 (Macklemore reportedly
did not submit his most recent album for consideration this year) —
demonstrating a greater understanding of the fundamental imbalance of
the Grammys system than the Grammys themselves.
Despite
minor rule changes and lip service to the idea of better
representation, the Grammys remain on the defensive. In the days leading
up to this year’s telecast, the show’s longtime producer, Ken Ehrlich,
deflected Mr. Ocean’s criticisms in an interview with Rolling Stone, earning a rebuke from Mr. Ocean on Tumblr:
“Use the old gramophone to actually listen bro, I’m one of the best
alive. And if you’re up for a discussion about the cultural bias and
general nerve damage the show you produce suffers from then I’m all for
it.”
The
Grammys’ consistent celebration of tradition-minded white acts feels
like single-party rule in an evenly divided nation, while the royalty
from the other side — Beyoncé and Jay Z, Jennifer Lopez, Rihanna — looks
on politely from the front rows. (Or, in the case of Mr. West and Mr.
Ocean, who did not attend the Grammys, not even looking on.) There was
also frisson in the ceremony’s lumpy attempts to bridge the age gap:
When the show tried to highlight the work of Neil Diamond, via a
clumsily executed version of James Corden’s “Carpool Karaoke” routine,
it was clear that most of the assembled stars didn’t know the words to
“Sweet Caroline.” And in a country in which around 15 percent of the
population — more than 50 million people — speaks Spanish, there were no
Spanish-language, or even bilingual, performances. The language was
heard only during the in-memoriam segment, and in a Johnnie Walker ad
that featured a pointed bilingual cover of “This Land Is Your Land” by
the Los Angeles band Chicano Batman.
Again,
strictly controlled borders. It’s in these moments that the Grammys’
lack of imagination and tolerance contrasts with the general progressive
political stances of the artists it celebrates. During the show, Ms.
Lopez quoted Toni Morrison on the role of art in fraught political
times. Katy Perry performed “Chained to the Rhythm,” her new
anti-political-apathy single, with an armband that read “PERSIST” — a
reference to Elizabeth Warren’s recent Senate silencing — and concluded in front of an image of the Constitution.
Beyoncé
performed in a gold crown that suggested a futuristic Lady Liberty, and
during her acceptance speech for best urban contemporary album,
preached about the power of inclusion: “It’s important to me to show
images to my children that reflect their beauty, so they can grow up in a
world where they look in the mirror, first through their own families —
as well as the news, the Super Bowl, the Olympics, the White House and
the Grammys — and see themselves, and have no doubt that they’re
beautiful, intelligent and capable.”
Honoring
Beyoncé in categories devoted to black music goes part of the way to
fulfilling that vision, but it’s where she’s not honored that feels more
pointed: She has won 22 times,
but only four of those awards have been in all-genre categories. (She
has lost album of the year three times, to Beck, Taylor Swift and
Adele.)
So
long as the Grammys continue to strike a blow for the values of
yesteryear over the energy of today, they will remain an agent of the
status quo, not resistance or evolution. But when an institution stands
still while its citizens are pressing for change, how long can the
borders hold before everyone outside is let in, or everyone inside
decides it’s not worth staying, and leaves?
SOURCE: NEWYORKTIMES.COM