There’s a joke about the Grammys in the Simpsons episode of “The Solfamidas.” And when The Simpsons suggests that the Grammys are the worst, it’s very likely that they are the worst. One can never say that I will not drink this water and that this priest is not my father. First of all, in this life you can only trust The Simpsons. If you felt a little old, a little out of place, and a little disgusted during the Latin Grammy Gala, know that you shared that feeling with half of Spain. It is an honor that a famous award is celebrated in our country, even if it is a side effect of an award that is already ridiculous.
Music was the least of this gala. As usual. The unstoppable trend of modern artists to turn their songs into events for social networks also contributed to this. Despite all her charm and talent, Rosalía decided to make her ex-boyfriend the star of the evening by dedicating to him – based on clues – a loose version of Se nos roto el amor (Manuel Alejandro’s song for Rocío Jurado). Some time ago, only Fernanda and Bernarda de Utrera emerged victorious from this incident. Shakira, whose only horizon in life seems to be attacking Piqué, threw some darts. Is there anything more pathetic than trying to screw over someone who left you for someone else? Yes. Do it at a gala seen by millions of people.
The Latin Grammy Gala surpassed the Goya Awards in impact. While no one leaves the Goya happy (except the winners), August’s Latin Grammys upset more people than there is room at Privilege in Ibiza. He didn’t like the fact that a singer was proud to be Spanish while he owed the state treasury three million euros – and apparently didn’t want to pay. I didn’t like the reporting. He didn’t like the set design in the style of a Serbian film. He didn’t like this red carpet full of idiots and defaulters. José Mercé complained. One complained about Andy and Lucas (particularly Lucas). A nephew of the jury complained. Monedero apparently liked it. Least important are the musical styles that many authors use (through articles and essays) to cling to a youth that has already vanished, no matter how much praise they may give Bad Bunny. Human comedy in the rhythm of a trap.
Now I understand how Carlos Boyero must feel when he sees an Apitchapong movie.
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