56th Grammy Awards Part 1: The Pregame

#OMGrammys 56th Grammy Awards Part 2: The Big Event

56th Grammy Awards Part 1: The Pregame

The challenge of summarizing our weekend at the 56th Annual Grammy Awards, which I won in an essay contest sponsored by the Hilton Hotels a year ago, feels a little like swallowing a watermelon whole and then spitting back ten perfect seeds. I could do four complete blog posts alone on Beverly Hills, home of 75 year-old men with longish pitch-black hair squiring around 45 year old women who wear leather sweatpants, a magical land where none of the crosswalk buttons work because who on earth walks and would think of reporting them?

So I’m going to count on the fact that you either watched the Grammys or read someone else’s recap by now, and focus on what we got to see that people watching on TV wouldn’t have – the juicy stuff. And we saw some juicy stuff. Because while Hilton could have given this little prizewinner a basement double near the ice machine and seats in the nosebleed section for the show, they instead treated us like celebrities all weekend, with special access and perks. From here on out, I will seriously cut Hyatt if it comes to a gang fight. Don’t test me, bro.

Today I’ll talk about some highlights of the weekend, pre-show, and the next post will be about show itself. Watch yourselves, ptuh, ptuh, ptuh, here come some seeds.

Backstage Tour

We met in the lobby of the Beverly Hilton on Friday for a backstage tour of the Staples Center, which is when we met Carrie and Steven, aka Grammy Besties. This couple bid on the same prize package I won, as part of a charity auction, and were paired with us for the rest of the weekend, whether they liked it or not. Off we went in limos to meet our tour guide Mimi for our private tour of the nooks and crannies of what is essentially a bustling mid-size temporary city (minus the politicians and the One City, One Book campaign) underneath the stage. Some of my favorite moments:

The red carpet sheathed in plastic and the warning signs meant to keep it clean until show time. All along the red carpet, stalls were set up, each a little set onto which the stars could step up and be interviewed.

The microphone manager, a young man who leapt to the opportunity to describe to us the technical aspects of how hundreds of wireless mics are managed, with a passion and intensity normally associated with tween girls reacting to a Hunter Hayes video.

When Mimi said, “Do you guys mind if we meet up with the team from Gucci for the rest of the tour?” and this trio of leather-clad Glamazons from Eastern Europe along with various other Gucci-clad people joined us. If you’re looking for a way to immediately feel short, provincial, and dowdy: boom.

Walking past wheeled dollies loaded with instruments for each act, each marked with humble masking tape and sharpie.

My husband suddenly stage whispering, “HOCKEY NETS!” and going rogue from the tour so he could have a meaningful moment with the Los Angeles Kings’ nets. His ensuing search for Lakers’ hoops was unsuccessful.

The winner’s walk – when the award winners walk offstage, the producers give them twelve minutes to run the press gamut and get back to their seats. And the distance they have to cover is substantial. They must run like Secret Service agents keeping time with a presidential motorcade to get through it all in time.
And finally, those awards presented at the mic? Fake. The real awards come in the mail a month later.

Then it was back into the limo for 24 hours of unstructured time. We spent most of ours raiding the Beverly Hills Rite Aid for cold and flu medicine, because why would anyone in our family NOT catch whatever is going around this winter, especially if it’s a bad time to be sick?

Americana’s Pre-Grammy Salute and Tribute to the Everly Brothers

Back at the hotel the Saturday before the Grammys, the big buzz was “Clive’s Party.” Legendary record producer Clive Davis throws an annual pre-Grammy bash at the Beverly Hilton, and all day Saturday we could hear people like Lionel Richie and Miley Cyrus rehearsing, while another red carpet was rolled out and a stage went up underneath our balcony to display a Hyundai. (No offense to the Hyundai people but I only saw one Hyundai when I was in the BH, and it was sitting on your stage. They’re more of a Bentley/Rolls/Porsche crowd.)

The Everly Brothers tribute to which we had tickets was a decidedly less fancy affair, an industry gathering of people in the Americana/Blues/Roots/Bluegrass music world at the Troubadour in West Hollywood. We managed to squeeze in dinner before the show at Dan Tana’s next door, which seems to have been lifted in its entirety from a Soprano’s episode, hanging Chianti bottles and all. The food was good but what was better was watching a woman who may have been Tawny Kitaen (I’m not saying it was her for sure, because all the women go to the same plastic surgeon to look like her, to the point where I’m not sure how the 75 year old men even know which 45 year old woman is driving them home in the Bentley at the end of the evening,) fall off her barstool, get up, brush herself off, and order another drink.

When Bonnie Raitt walked past our table to sit down for dinner, we figured it was time to head into the show and stake our spot. Highlights of the night:

The cigarette-stained voice of the 70-something lady in line behind us loudly explaining to her friend: “Well I know her because I was dating a guy in the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and SHE was dating someone in the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Then, when I was sleeping with Gram Parsons, he took us to lunch because he was sleeping with her too and he wanted her to be more like me.” Yes, I turned around to stare. I think that was her point.
Grammy nominee (and the next day, winner) Steve Martin sitting patiently in the balcony waiting for the show to start, and Jack Black hanging out nearby.
Crowd composition: Half old white dudes, half young hipsters in 19th century facial hair. One very young guy was dressed exactly like the Lukas Haas character in Witness. Of course he ended up being on the bill.
A letter sent by Don Everly to be read to the crowd, and each act acknowledging Phil’s widow Patty in the audience.
One memorable performance after the next, by Grammy nominees singing two or three songs apiece. Bonnie Raitt singing with Joe Henry was gorgeous. But I also loved Sarah Jarosz, the Milk Carton Kids, Dawes, Jamestown Revival, and Grammy Bluegrass category competitors Della Mae and James King joining forces for one song. Hands down best performance, pretty much of the whole weekend? The lovely Rhiannon Giddens of the Carolina Chocolate Drops.

Then it was back to the Beverly Hilton in time to see the paparazzi scrum awaiting the stars’ departure from Clive’s party; the lobby was full of fans hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous. We spied a wizened Larry King and his much younger wife (of course) leaving as we ducked and wove our way to the elevators, eager to hit the Robitussin and the hay before the next day’s big event.

Next post: What you didn’t see at the Grammys, including what my husband has characterized as his “moment” with Paris Hilton.