I watched the Grammys Sunday — not that anyone cares.
But if you ask me, it was gauche. LL Cool J reminded us why he should stick to bodybuilding, or whatever makes him so muscular.
Taylor Swift reminded us why her exes probably would never ever want to get back together with her, either.
Chris Brown reminded us that you can beat the hell out of a woman and still get nominated for a Grammy four years later.
I don’t understand our culture’s morbid obsession with awful music. I don’t understand why we worship these stodgy, talentless clowns. I don’t understand how we listen to their disgusting lyrics and then rationally admire them, whether it’s by following them on Twitter or purchasing their songs on iTunes (or converting them from YouTube).
Sure, it isn’t all of them, but it’s most of them. Music is something that is subjective, and I understand that. In terms of taste, it differs from generation to generation, from society to society and even from race to race.
Like Obama’s view on gay marriage, it’s constantly evolving — which we can all be thankful for.
Soon, Fun. will disappear like the Jonas Brothers, Rihanna will be the next Whitney Houston and Drake will return to acting or high school, whichever comes first.
Without war, anti-war activists would have absolutely nothing to whine about, and I feel the same way about music: Without it, I would have nothing or nobody to make fun of.
Like I said earlier, music is relative, and therefore it’s impossible to define what objectively sounds the best.
For example, I could argue that Jimmy Page played the best guitar solo of all time in “Stairway to Heaven,” but somebody else may say that it was Jimi Hendrix’s solo in “All Along the Watchtower,” Eddie Van Halen’s in “Eruption” or neither of the three.
But if there is something that we can all agree is the best, it’s this: the content of the lyrics. No one can deny that Bob Dylan, according to Rolling Stone readers, was the best songwriters of all time. Meanwhile, everyone can admit that the rap industry is characterized by some of the most inarticulate and unintelligible lyricists who confuse clever wordplay and humorous puns for childish metaphors and lay-z innuendos.
I’ll be honest with you. I can’t stand rap. I believe that it is the most profligate and ignoble profession of all.
Rappers spew filth and objectify women. They glorify violence and promote drug use. Paradoxically, they are the most outspoken about the War in Iraq and women’s rights — and so are their listeners.
There’s nothing that I enjoy more than the feminist who bops her head to sexist lyrics or the lefty who listens to filthy, untalented thugs. These are the same people who criticized Todd Akin because he said “legitimate rape” and chided Mitt Romney because he mentioned “binders full of women.”
If only Romney had sang it, featuring rapper Akin, then he would have been a potential nominee Sunday night at the Grammys. And maybe he would be our president.
Their freedom to express themselves trumps the negative influence their songs have on teenagers and the college-aged.
If we have the power to tax carbon monoxide emissions or to socialize health care, then wouldn’t it make sense to regulate their morally repugnant verbiage by tacking on a surcharge every time they sing something obscene, or make some idiotic reference to the Illuminati — whatever that is.
I’m certainly joking, but imagine how many Planned Parenthood clinics would lose business if teenagers weren’t manipulated by disparaging, undereducated pigs who encouraged fans to sleep around, mistreat women and, uh, vote for the current president.
Does that make me out of touch?
Erik Skipper is an economics sophomore at UF. His column runs Wednesdays. You can contact him via firstname.lastname@example.org.