As you have probably heard by now, the Hempton Band didn't receive an award in last week's Grammy presentation. On behalf of the guys, I can say that we, as a band, are absolutely gutted. As I mentioned in my pre-Grammy blog, we weren't going to let our lack of a nomination in any category stop us hoping, nay expecting, to walk home big winners that night, but it seems that wasn't meant to be. And I refuse to let negativity and bitterness overtake me- that would mean the Grammys had really won.
So firstly, I'd like to thank God for us not winning a Grammy. He has watched over our continuing struggles and in His wisdom has seen fit to bestow on us this monumental failure. Without his guidance, I strongly believe there's no way we could have achieved so little.
Such complete disregard for our very existence on the part of the Grammy voters wouldn't have been possible without our friends and family. You've been there for us from the start; and it's great to have you here beside us for this latest in a seemingly endless series of devastating lows. I particularly want to mention my little nephew Scooter who's laid up in bed with Chicken Pox; I know he'll be reading- this loss is for you, buddy!
Obviously, losing in every category is taking some time to adjust to. A week on, and I'm still waking up laughing every morning; then I remember that whole Grammys thing. The category I was holding out most hope for was Best Improvised Jazz Solo. Chick Corea won this for a solo on a tune called "500 Miles High"; while I haven't listened to this (too soon), I have trouble believing that it was superior to a doozy I produced last August, while playing along with an Aebersold track of "I Got Rhythm," in my apartment. I told Art all about it the next day, and I assume word spread to the voters, but I guess my lyrical and chord/scale-accurate six choruses didn't fit in with their biased agenda. Did Chick Corea quote the theme from Woody Woodpecker in his "Best Improvised Jazz Solo"? I doubt it!
But like I said, I'm not going to be bitter about this. I'm mostly upset for the guys, and all the wasted preparation. We'd spent weeks rehearsing our acceptance speech, which we were going to sing in four-part harmony, barbershop quartet-style. Our mums had made us matching outfits, with aprons and boaters, and Marco had grown a "Luigi moustache" and waxed it to perfection. We'd practised the ceremony over and over, standing behind a makeshift podium I'd constructed out of cereal boxes, with the part of host LL Cool J being played by our friend Gareth (we called him LL Cool Gareth.)
But it's all water under the bridge now. Life is its own miniature-gramophone-shaped statuette. When life hands you accles, you make accolades. I've donated my Grammy suit to the local Thrift shop, and it warms my heart to see Rick Astley stop and look at it every day, before checking his pockets and moving on. I don't see the band much these days- they've all moved onto bigger and better things, but they've asked that I never mention them again. And as for Gareth, well someone had to take the fall for this debacle. I think it's the way old LL would have wanted to go.
On the bright side, the Oscars are this weekend! Fingers crossed!! Next week, a brush with Steven Seagal! Righto...

The following nonsense makes no mention of the passing of Whitney Houston. It was written before the news broke, and I'm left with the choice of scrapping it (not going to do that- it took me ages), or crowbarring her name in somewhere it doesn't belong (not going to do that either; cause of death hasn't been announced- what if it involved a crowbar?? That would just seem insensitive). So here it is: my positive and upbeat take on the Grammys, gracefully sidestepping the issue of the untimely death of the aforementioned icon.

It's Grammy time! The music industry's night of nights! The stars! The celebrities! The red carpet! The integrity! As of this writing, the big show is only hours away, and I couldn't be more excited! Not just for the amazing spectacle, the glamour, the sense of community, the recognition of artistic excellence; I'm excited because this year, I think the Hempton Band will take home the prize.
I realise it's a gutsy call, and some people will call me arrogant or delusional. Others will impatiently dismiss the claim, possibly citing our lack of a nomination. But I feel calm and confident, and it's precisely these kind of negative barbs (the worst kind) from nay-sayers (haters and negative-nancys, in the parlance of our times) that will make a Grammy statuette taste that much sweeter.
I will, however, address the perceived problem of a nomination, or absence thereof. If there's one thing the Grammys are about, it's innovation. The prize isn't being given to talentless pop-tarts shamelessly churning out vapid regurgitations of former chart hits. Industry recognition isn't going to aging rockers desperately trying to squeeze out one more hit in a sad attempt to hold onto the acceptance of a fickle and uncaring audience. The voters are not awarding trophies to attractive industry puppets, fronts for devious chart-hungry producers, using scientifically manipulative devices to tighten their grip on a passive, unthinking and addicted demographic. Not the Grammys I know. The Grammys I know reward creativity, originality and inspiration. The breaking down of barriers. The pushing of envelopes. Sure, this means some winners may not be well-known; some may not have sold many "units". Some may not be featured on the telecast purely to ensure a large audience of gullible consumers whose mindless obedience allows advertisers to pump tens of millions of dollars into the already-swollen coffers of the television network. And it's precisely the Grammy committee's encouragement of upstarts willing to think outside the box that will allow the Hempton Band to flout convention and come from behind, nomination-less, and carry home the gong!
So when you're sitting on the edge of your seat (or couch), rooting for Rihanna and giving a yell for Adele, don't forget about us. Because you might duck out to make a piece of toast or go to the toilet, and come back to find your pals Marco, Dan, Art, and Nick standing at that podium, thanking God. And though we won't say it, we'll be thanking you too. Well, not really thanking, exactly; and not you, specifically- just a sort of general "Cheerio!" So wish us luck- I'm off to write my speech!