I’m watching the Grammy’s right now. Earlier, the band
called Fun won the award for “Best Song,” (the overplayed “We Are Young.”)
Before that, they performed a new song where they got really into it as rain fell
on them from above. They got totally soaked as they pranced around the stage in
their hipster outfits. It was very geeky and cliché and lame. I like these
guys.
To me, art is the thing you do after the bills are paid.
There is no doubt in my mind the guys from Fun would do what they do regardless
of the rich and famous and winning Grammy’s thing. Their music is obviously
their attempt at sharing their interpretation of life. I dig it.
And then along comes Justin Timberlake, the white falsetto
Godzilla. He storms onto the Grammy stage and we citizens of Earth do our best impression
of terrified Japanese people fleeing the city. Justin Timberlake was put on the
planet to entertain humans. All women freely confess their preferential love
for him. I had a friend once tell me Justin Timberlake is the only human he wouldn’t
trust his wife to be alone with for any amount of time, and he is dead on. If JT
had a live show where all he did was fart into an empty Sprite can, my wife
would max out our credit card with the hope that she would be selected from the
crowd to go onstage and hold the can.
For us men it has to be more subtle, though. What we can’t admit is that we all have a crush
on him, too. Remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine is dating Tony the “mimbo?”
Well, Timberlake is Tony and the rest of us are just a bunch of starry-eyed
Costanza’s, staring longingly at our man-crush and trying to copy his every
move. Screw you, Timberlake, I just can’t stay mad at you.
By the time Maroon 5 and Alicia Keys got to the stage, I had
to set fire to the piano in our home and smash my guitar against the burning
ivories. Musicians are so amazing; It is a travesty for me to even own those
instruments. It made me ashamed of everything I’ve ever done because there are
people out there that get it more than I ever could, express it better than I
could ever dream, and work at harder than I would ever be willing.
The Grammy’s should be our Reality TV. I am so tired of the
time, attention, money and resources we all spend on the nightly “I desperately
want to be famous” show. Catty women fighting each other for camera time and
the possibility of showing up on the cover of US Weekly should disgust us, not
be our favorite show.
(Sorry, I’m pausing right now from typing anything because
the Black Keys are using their awesomeness to force me into watching them
perform).
I’m back. Art is happening tonight. And the thing about real
art is, it touches us and inspires us and helps us remember a million moments
in our own lives that made a difference. Art is a shared experience privately
enjoyed. Art is not the Real Housewives of Phase 3 at Del Boca Vista fighting
over who has more shiny friends.
(Brilliant! Bruno Mars just brought Sting onstage to acknowledge
the fact that his new song ‘Locked Out of Heaven” is an intentionally Sting
sounding song. I love this song, by the way).
I guess we all have to pay the bills. I’m lucky; I love what
I do to make money. Others don’t, but I firmly believe they can. You may find yourself
among the 99% of the population who does not do what they love all day every
day for money. If you can’t do what you love, though, you can certainly love
what you do. You can find passion and nobility in your current job.
But loving what we do for work isn’t art.
Art is much more important than that. Successful artistic
expression is not measured by the zeros in your bank account, the number of US
Weekly covers you’ve made, or the hordes of screaming fans. Art is measured by demonstrations
of honesty and the truth as you see it. Art is what you do after the bills are
paid. And the truth is…my only artistic expression lately is in the sexy ways I
pose on the couch for my wife as we watch our shows.
George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, the
Beastie Boys. They all fought bravely for my right to party. And I’m just
sitting here.
What should I do?
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