In keeping with my lifelong tradition of not watching the Grammys, I once again did not watch them this year. I dislike the habit some media conservatives have of watching the Super Bowl halftime show or the MTV Awards or the VMA Awards, and then gasping in shock and horror at the inevitable smut that has been a prime feature of these events since I was a child. We all know what these events are about. Watching them in order to feign anger about their decadence is just cultural voyeurism.
But these events are a good reminder that we should be discerning about which industries we patronize, and parents should think hard about which artists they allow to pipe their tunes for hours each day into the ears of their children. Who are the singers awarded by their peers in glitzy, pornified ceremonies for the latest Top 40 anthems they’ve inflicted on their willing audience? And should we allow them to spend so much time with our kids — or, for that matter, with us? Many find these sorts of questions irritating, and that is telling.
For this year’s Grammys, our cultural elites outdid themselves. Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, who didn’t have much of a chance with names like that, staged what closely resembled a live sex performance replete with stripper poles, backup dancers wearing only thongs and lingerie, and much flailing about with very little clothing. At one point, they twerked in bed together.
