Keith Urban
It’s that time again, time to talk about the CMA Awards!
You see, friends, about a decade ago I worked at the Country Music Hall of Fame here in beautiful Nashville, Tenn. I learned three things in that year I decided to quit college — 1. Young Merle Haggard was hot, 2. I was definitely going back to college, and 3. I do not like country music.
Country music, to me, is like a parallel universe. There are celebrities and money and millions of fans and it is, indeed, a very real thing, but it makes no sense at all. It’s like Canada or Bollywood, but right here in town! So without further whatever, here is my summary of the 48th Annual Country Music Awards, which aired on ABC from Bridgestone Arena (after the jump):
To start, we have Kenny Chesney, getting a bunch of hippies off a hippie bus. If the conservative world of country music loves anything, it’s nose drugs and raw-doggin’. Chesney is singing a song, meanwhile, a song I assume is titled “A Blue Jean Baby Born in the U.S.A.” It may be redundant to mention at a country music gala, but this is hella white.
Then Meghan Trainor sings her hit song about having a big smelly fat ass full of dingleberries and how hot that is. What does it have to do with country music? Nothing, but Miranda Lambert is there nonetheless.
Our hosts for tonight, and for infinity, are Carrie Underwood and Brad Paisley, a.k.a. Your New Step-mom and Your New Step-dad. They sing a song about George Strait. They make jokes about Underwood’s pregnancy. There is topical Ebola humor — “ Quarantine” set to the tune of “Jolene.” And there is a politics joke; this is literally the only show where a room full of people in the entertainment industry will cheer for a joke about Democrats losing the Senate. Taylor Swift jokes. Ariana Grande jokes. Renée Zellweger jokes (without biting that low-hanging Chesney fruit). Is this sexist? Eh, let’s just say yes. There is a parody of “Walk the Line” about having pictures “leaked online,” which is exactly what country music is all about.
Steven Tyler is there for some goddamn reason, dressed like the fanciest grandma at the casino. “I think country is the new rock and roll,” he panders. A verse of “Cryin’” is sung and it is awful. They announce the winner of Single of the Year and it is Miranda Lambert, "Automatic."
Then it’s a performance from America’s favorite romanticizers of the slavery-based plantation system, Lady Antebellum. They sing a song about, I dunno, owning people?
Then it’s a performance from America’s current favorite lowest-common denominator turd purveyors, Florida Georgia Line. They sing a song about, I dunno, not being afraid to roofie.
Keith Urban, forever holding tight to that Johnny Rzeznik hair, sings a song about, I dunno, many many many Cadillacs.
Darius Rucker, a man who I will always feel is somehow slumming, and Tim Tebow, a Jesus nerd who did sports for a second, present an award for Song of the Year and goes to Kacey Musgraves' "Follow Your Arrow" and I wonder how Tebow feels about those lyrics about kissing same-sex hot people. “Our genre was built on simple, good songs about real life,” Musgraves says from the podium; one can only assume she had “A Boy Named Sue” in mind just then.
The Band Perry. They do a song. It’s a shitty Glen Campbell tribute performance of “Gentle on My Mind.”
Kacey Musgraves does a Loretta Lynn song in front of a Grand Ole Opry set. Then Loretta Lynn comes out. Loretta Lynn’s ranch is near my hometown, and every year there was a Motocross tournament that brought a lot of people to the area. I worked at Sonic Drive-In when I was in high school, and always made a fat stack of cash the week those Motocross people were in town. Thanks, Loretta!
Then Lee Brice and Some Dude come out. I don’t know who this dude is but he looks like a guy I had a crush on circa 2001. That dude loved Korn and was named David and wore JNCO jeans and I was 16, give me a break. Anyway Brett Eldredge wins New Artist of the Year.
Jason Aldean, now. He sings a song and it sounds like it belongs on Madonna’s 1998 electronica album Ray of Light.
Little Big Town performs. They are dressed in LED suits and look like this baby. Ariana Grande joins LBT and they sing a little bit of “Bang Bang” — the first song I recognize.
Tim McGraw does a song. It’s called “Shotgun Rider” but I’m going to pretend it’s called “Mid-Tempo Nothingness.”
Brandy Clark, Brett Eldredge and Kip Moore are there, I forget the context. Oh yes, giving Duo of the Year to Florida Georgia Line. These guys. These clowns. I can’t even look at them. They’re like cousins. THOSE cousins. You know the kind.
Cole Swindell, a human man’s name and not some kind of crime from the Middle Ages, sings a song. Then he thanks a bunch of radio stations. Country radio is holding this entire thing together, man. Radio! RADIO. Nuts.
Then Dierks Bentley comes and sings a song. It’s called “Drunk on a Plane.” Here’s the video:
Connie Britton and some lady, I think Martinez McBriddle, present Album of the Year to Miranda Lambert for Platinum, a pretty presumptuous album title. It is brought to my attention during the course of her acceptance speech that Lambert and I are the same age. I am now jealous and feel like a failure. Fuck you, Miranda.
Brad Paisley (a.k.a. “Your New Dad”) performs. It’s a song called “Cops? Cops.”
Blake Shelton performs a song. It’s called “Are We Not Men?” Then some lady comes out. She also sings the song. This is called a “duet.” She has kind of a nasal voice, which theoretically means she should go far in the world of country music!
I have had several beers.
Carrie Underwood comes out and sings a song. It’s not “Let It Go,” but she’s dressed like it is.
Vocal Group of the Year is Little Big Town. That one lady in the band who seems, frankly, like quite a handful, has styled herself like a cartoon hooker. (I’m sure she’s lovely.)
Luke Bryan sings a song. It’s called “My Baby is a Vampire But I Staked Her Anyway.”
Miranda Lambert and Little Big Town perform. They sing a song called “So High Right Now.”
Vince Gill gets an award. The Irving Waugh Award for being a baller, I guess. It is at this point somebody informs me Gill “cries a lot,” which I totally relate to. The televisions says he has “a beautiful tenor voice” and I will take them at their word. I saw Vince Gill in person once, at the CMHoF, and that dude is massive. Head like a pumpkin. While giving his acceptance speech for the Evelyn Waugh award, Gill totally wins me over. Re: Irving Waugh, Gill says “Something a young gentleman can do is learn from an old gentleman,” and I LEGIT CHOKE UP because that is a lovely sentiment! Then he makes a joke about his big-ass head, and a joke about a funeral, and he is affable and self-deprecating, which is the only thing I ever ask of anyone. So now I have a crush on Vince Gill.
George Strait and Eric Church do a song. It’s called “Oh! What a Lovely Cowboy.” Trisha Yearwood gives the award for Male Vocalist of the Year to Blake Shelton.
Do we know for a fact Luke Bryan is not a dog in a human’s body? Anyway.
Thomas Rhett sings a song, or rather “sings” a “song.” There’s banjos and hott beatz.
Ohhhhh son and now it’s the the Doobie Brothers! And a bunch of other clowns. “Listen to the Music.” This song rules, Doobie Brothers rule, you suck. Learn to live with it.
Then it’s model Lily Aldridge and a fellow called “Sam Hunt.” They present Miranda Lambert with Female Vocalist of the Year. Haha oh Miranda, my peer, this is a joke recap and I’m totally NOT going to take over your life secretly and steal all of your fame and riches. Hahaha.
Hahaha.
Ha. Ha.
Ha.
Just Googled “Girth Brooks.” (Yes, a thing.)
Garth presents Entertainer of the Year to Luke Bryan. He gives a speech about God and the dead and record labels.
The end! Take it to the streets, Doobs!
