Editor, Ceres Courier,

The Grammy awards this year revealed a lot more than quivering flesh and costly lighting. It showed that we are fully intent on fiddling while America burns this summer.

The music industry not only took off masks, but also pared down sense, taste and vocabulary. It doesn’t take much no more.  

Russia is coming to a cyberspace near you, the bug will be back before Chris Stapleton’s beard gets an inch longer, and the next coup attempt will come quicker than a John Batiste dance move, but no one in that Vegas ballroom gave a tinker’s dam. 

Only Volodymyr Zelenskyy brought the scene to a semblance of reality, but only for a moment. The show was a triumph of form over substance, breasts over benevolence, emotion over reason, lust over lyric, dexterity over discipline. 

The sheer weight of the metallic vision of this party surely alerted economists about overemployment in the designer industry. 

Kimball Shinkoskey

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