Even though it’s only February, we’ve already been treated to a couple of music awards. Within the space of forty eight hours, we’d seen our American chums dish out awards at The Grammys and back in more homely surrounds, London’s O2 arena was used to host The Brit Awards.
Asides from different hosts and performances, both ceremonies were roughly the same. E.g. winners, performers and happy cocaine dealers.
Nobody these days dares promote experimental sounds and the trophies picked up are usually by the same acts that’ll only use them as doorsteps. What we need is something where bands are rewarded based on the merit of their talents, not sales.
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Oprah Winfrey is big. We’re not talking physically big here. That’s a given.
We’re talking about an ego so freakin’ enormous that it operates like a gargantuan black hole, physically and spiritually swallowing up everything in sight – man, woman, child, baby back ribs, U.S. First Ladies – you name it.
Well, just when we thought that we understood the awesome light and matter-consuming force that is Oprah, she goes and does something completely uncharacteristic of someone whose personal fortune was not built on prattling on and on about Oprah. Turns out, Oprah has ushered in a brave new world where people other than Oprah are seen on the cover of Oprah’s magazine, O (for Oprah).
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