Jesus, the Grammys. Why do I do this to myself?
You know, sometimes I wonder about people who feel compelled to amputate their own legs or eat broken glass or tattoo their eyeballs. Only not so much when I force myself to watch things like the Grammys.
Who am I to judge, right?
But there are emerging archetypal dominants-- which is just a fancy way of saying "occult totems and icons" -- to glean, so here we all are.
Now, the boring old crap we've been used to seeing for the past decade-- the fusty old crypto-Masonic stuff and the dopey Satanist shit-- is over.
Sure, it might still still be bouncing around the lower rungs on the ladder of the spectacle industry (see above), but the needle moved forward because the next phase of the program has fired up.
So get your notebooks out, because there was quite a bit of it to be found Sunday night.
Let me say this: you all out there are getting in on the ground-floor with this new symbolism, which seems to be settling in much sooner than I anticipated. So strap in. The ride is going to be getting bumpy in the near future.
Let's start with Watson, the IBM AI that CBS is using to "explore" Grammy history. Whatever the hell that means. Besides "die, meat puppets, die," I mean.
This shitshow was MC'd by James Corden, whose fame just absolutely stultifies me. Especially since I can't decide who he looks more like; Chaz Bono or the guys I used to see in Artist Alley who specialized in softcore Disney Princess and Teen Titans pinups.
Maybe I should flip a coin.
Speaking of ephebophiles, here's noted cradle-robber Jerry Seinfeld playing along with one of Corden's usual lame gags. What a trouper.
Or maybe he's just laughing at the blatant Sirius reference.
Now, you know the Grammys sucked when only Lady Gaga and Childish Gambino's performances interrupted my telepathic pleas to the Vegas to please nuke us all from orbit now, I mean tonight, It's all over, the experiment failed, just wipe us all off the planet now.
Oddly enough, the formerly-funny Sarah Silverman agrees with me.
Though given the fact she was accompanied by a Victorious NFLim Giant at the time, she may be working off inside information.
That being said, I admired Gaga's act more than I liked it, having been raised by a professional singer/keyboardist. It's about the craft of it.
But I do keep wondering if Gaga isn't actually the genespliced progeny of Madonna and Freddie Mercury, since she has the latter's talent and the former's looks and desperate, grasping need for constant, unyielding attention. It's not like you'd have to work hard to get DNA samples from either of them back in the 80s.
Childish Gambino was a surprise for me, since I hadn't heard much of his work before. "Terrified" is very sleek and stylish old-school R&B, with traces of New Orleans voodoo-funk and postpunk atmospherics.
Kind of like if one of the Delfonics heard The Cure and Joy Division while he was up at some freaky witch-chick's apartment in late 1979 but was kind of high and couldn't really recall any of the tunes.
But he really felt like all that crazy-white-boy guitar jibed with his mellow and the freaky witch-sex, so he wrote it into a few songs for the other fellas to try out.
"An actual angel"
SZA was also kind of interesting, maybe not so much for her performance (with the weird Matrix graphics) but more so since I sense developing Fraserling tendencies in her music.
And I encourage them. We'll get to the angel stuff shortly.
But I really couldn't wait for October 1, 2044 to arrive after hearing tired old corn like DJ Khaled (Ricky Martin called, Khaled; he wants his 90s backing tracks back) or that incoherent hallucination by Lamar Kendrick, who was joined by Dave Chappelle (who looked like he'd be having a word with his agent after the show) and tax-pirates-slash-Bond villain arch-globalists Bono and the Edge, who seem intent on pulverizing the last micron of my happy teenage memories of listening to U2 and staring at the stars on the roof of my garage.
The absolute low-point for me was Miley Cyrus-- looking even more manic and molly'd up than usual-- crawling all over Elton John's baby grand. Much to his apparent chagrin, I should add.
Both of them sounded like they just got over the flu. Elton was looking- and sounding-- like he's been constipated for weeks and had canceled his irrigation-therapy appointment to duet with this lunatic.
I mean, "Tiny Dancer" has a beautiful melody (not that you'd know from this disaster) but let's face the facts; the song is popular now because it was featured in a movie about Led Zeppelin and their favorite 14 year-old girlfriends.
Now, I'm not going to talk about the show's "politics" for the same reason the adults don't talk about Uncle Joe's incessant farting at the dinner table.
Sure, it gives the kids a cheap thrill but it's embarrassing and Uncle Joe can't help it. There's something wrong with him.
But I should note that Hillary Clinton-- looking like she either had a Botox pick-me-up or her favorite underground plasma bank got in a fresh shipment of Guatemalan orphans-- appeared to be trying out a clumsy bit of witchery when she read a passage from Fire and the Fury about Trump's fear of being poisoned.
The crowd lapped it up like Huma after a week in Riyadh.
However, the impact was a bit dulled when the Grammys booked Patti Lupone to yowl "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" from Evita, a musical about a woman who not only smuggled hundreds of exiled Nazi war-criminals into her country but a woman whose surname is an actual synonym for actual Fascism.
The crowd loved that too. Oh well, so much for Nazi-punching.
Of course, the ostensible theme of the night was "Time's up," meaning time's up for all the sexual predators who also happen to occupy wide swathes of the upper management and executive level of the music industry.
Yeah, good luck with that.
But maybe Gaga (or her handlers) were thinking more along the lines of what Sarah Silverman was saying; time's up for Earth.
Which I couldn't help but think of with this odd turn of phrase. Who exactly are "we?"
Because that expression has pretty much only one connotation in the public lexicon.
Especially since the Awards weren't quite the triumph the "Time's Up" crowd was hoping for. Hmm, I sense some subliminal messaging.
The Grammys weren't the coronation Jay-Z seemed to be expecting either. And he even went and dropped the All-Important 44 into his latest collection of trite rhymes and adenoidal, colorless rapping. Plus, all the sacrifices and blood oaths-- what was it all for?
But do I have to say, Lady BeyoncIsis looked ravishing.
And our top story tonight is Mars Attacked! It appears a more capable magician was involved in titling the Martian Bear's latest.
Let me break it down for you:
24K Magic--> 20--4--K Magic. --> 20--4 x K=11 Magic. --> 20--44 Magic.
The All-Important 2044. Tough break, Z.
The All-Important 2044 when Venus Occults Regulus and Apollyon and his Vegas are loosed from the Abyss.
Bonus factoid: Not only did NASA open its doors on the day of the coming Occultation, it did so the same year as the first Grammy Awards.
How about that, eh?
Oh, you thought this was an actual news story? C'mon, NASA was involved! Everything they do is ritual!
And what happens next? After the All-Important 2044?
Well, according to some, then the Pearly is bound to our souls.
I mean, you do realize that Lady Gaga is actually referring to a Fallen Angel with this stage set, right? I mean, look at it. It's as obvious as the nose on her face.
Plus, here. Still don't see it?
Try this. See if that helps.
But where is my sensitivity? This song is actually a tribute to Gaga's beloved aunt, who passed away at an early age.
It says so in the music video. I mean, losing an aunt who was only 19 must have been a tough break for Gaga.
How old was her father at the time?
Well, that means Gaga was, what, minus 12 at the time? Jeez, that's too early an age to lose a beloved aunt.
Luckily, Aunt Joanne stuck around as a familiar spirit.
Or maybe it's not Joanne after all. Maybe it's one of those serpent-faced Watchers we talked about recently.
You know, like Phylax. Just a thought.
Besides the serpent ring, Gaga was also wearing oooh-black diamond earrings.
Which are kind of related to all this junk we've been talking about here.
And the Angel theme was all over this year's Grammys, like with this getup Lana Del Rey paraded around in.
And the winning Country song.
And this tribute to the victims of the Vegas.
And SZA's outfit here, which also looks quite Pearly to me.
As does Elton's jacket here. Only those are real Pearly Dew-Drops.
Despite the 'Time's Up' theme, I didn't see any Pearly lapel pins at the Grammys, like the one Guy Bannister here is rocking. I guess that's more a movie thing. We'll follow up on that during the Oscars.
Well, that's all well and good, I hear you saying. But what does any of this crap have to do with Elizabeth Fraser? Get on with it!
Your wish is my command.
The Weeknd won a big Grammy for Starboy. Not sure if the star in question is Regulus.
Or more likely, Vega.
By the way, the video for the "Starboy" single has over a billion views on YouTube.
Yes, I said billion.
And what's the top entry in Complex's "10 Artists You Should Listen to if You Like the Weeknd?"
Oh, you peeked. Cheater.
And then there's this- The National's Sleep Well Beast won "Best Alternative Album," which I think they hand out at a Gray's Papaya on Ninth Avenue.
It's a 4AD release. I don't know if 4AD won a Grammy before. I'm thinking they haven't.
Not even for "Song to the Siren."
And I thought Sleep Well Beast's album cover looked familiar!
"4AD" and "Cocteau Twins" essentially being synonymous back in the day.
Sleep well indeed, dead-but-dreaming Beast: soon you shall be released from the Abyss, where you will make war with the Saints and have power over all the Nations.
So get some shut-eye.
There's more-- Shakira won for El Dorado, or as I like to call it, Ruby Star Dorado. Seventeen won Best International Act or whatever, Ke$ha showed up with giant Blue Roses embroidered into her outfit, Leonard "Hallelujah" Cohen won a posthumous Grammy for Best Rock Performance (?) or something. Other stuff I'm too tired to include.