You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
The Country Music Awards, AKA the CMA’s.
To some it’s the honky tonk holy grail. To others it’s just another awards show. Like slide guitar gumballs in a machine, after a while they all look and sound the same. There’s the AMA’s and the MTV video awards and the Grammy’s and well, it’s all alphabet soup of self indulgence.
I tried to watch the CMA’S Wednesday night, but at times it felt like work, like reading a book in a sandstorm.
I respect the craft and the artists who live in Music City. But if you don’t love country music, sometimes the show is a grind on the nervous system.
If I hear that Sugarland song “stuck like Glue” one more time, I’m gonna come unglued, I’m going to find me a clock tower and go postal.
Lady Antebellum is another act that makes me hit the fast forward button and start looking for the ant-acid.
Listening to Lady-A makes me dream about a world where AC/DC blasts into the arena on a jet engine of sound and washes the country music act of the day into oblivion.
In my perfect world, without missing a beat – Angus begins ripping Whole Lotta Rosie – and the country crowd erupts into a mosh pit of adrenalized insanity.
Crazy!
Here in Nashville, the CMA’s are the Academy Awards with more boots and cowboy hats.
To be honest, the nationally televised program does show case a cool city that prides itself on creativity. To its credit, the event is a 20 minute limo ride for most of the stars who live here, who are approachable and genuinely appreciate the fans who helped pave the way for their success.
While the show tends to grind on, like fingers on a chalk board, there are moments that made me perk up. Like when ESPN siren, Erin Andrews, came sauntering down the stairs, it was a show stopper.
“Damn that girl is scorching.” I hear someone inside my head say.
But then Little Jimmy Dickens stumbled onto the stage, drunk or just delusional, who knows.
BAM
The CMA’s are a memory and I am channel surfing. I find myself mezmorized by the amazing drama that is the Joe Paterno firing and PSU revolt. Talk about reality tv.
I tune back about the time album of the year honors go to Jason Aldean.
I don’t really know who he is. He’s kind of a strange looking dude with a scruffy face and a cowboy hat. Either way, congrats man.
And many are shocked when Taylor Swift wins entertainer of the year. I don’t care what you say, Taylor Swift’s voice is weak. It’s a rusty screen porch slamming on a cat’s tail. It’s as pleasant to me as chewing glass. The girl sings about teenage angst, and quite honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about teenage angst. Give me Reba or that hard core chick, Gretchen Wilson, who gargles with wiskey and parties with Kid Rock. Now that’s country music.
All in all, Nashville shined and the awards show did big numbers and brought in lots of cash for local honkey tonks.
As Pink Floyd once sang: Shine on you crazy diamond.
And that is crazy.