Like Moby, the folks at MTV are in love with themselves, and they’re willing to bet you love them just as much. Why do so many of us tune into the Video Music Awards?
If you’re “not part of that crowd,” then you’re one of the lucky ones; I commend you. The funny thing is, I find the same people who said they didn’t watch the show actually quoting and reciting what happened.
I understand; I’ve done it, too. Wednesday nights I’d tune into “Beverly Hills 90210,” and the next day I’d claim I knew nothing about Brandon, Kelly, Dylan, David and Donna. As much as I’d like to tell everyone I avoid the VMAs, I can’t do it. Every year I find myself in the same position, glued to the television, watching the same thing from the same people. The night ends with a barrage of internal questions as I ask myself why I chose to waste valuable time watching a three-hour commercial for a station I barely like.
No matter how defiant I may be at show’s end, I’ll always end up watching the next year. They’ve got me right where they want me.
The VMAs have evolved from an exposé of groundbreaking artists and conceptually brilliant videos to the equivalent of a broken beer tap, occasionally spitting out some good material but for the most part just a lot of air and foam. Austin Powers would tell you that “It’s the bark, not the bite, baby,” and he’d be totally correct in a fictitious world.
This year’s awards were no different. Eminem proved himself to be nothing more than a new age Vanilla Ice fathered by Fred Durst, and Axl Rose struggled to catch his breath.
There was the usual slew of awards and performances by disposable teen heroes like Avril Lavigne, N’Sync and Pink, and then there were the “shocking moments” like Eminem’s tirade against Triumph The Insult Comic Dog and Moby. All are used as devices to keep you and I, the susceptible viewers, glued to the watered-down content of the show.
Lashing out against conservative lawmakers who have tried to censor his message of “I’ll say anything to make money,” Eminem performed “White America” in front of a mock senate. As aging white men conversed in the background, Em performed a faithful clip of his track that is supposed to be an angst-ridden message against censorship and people who can’t take the heat.
With his hypocritical antics, Em proved he was one of the only people in the house who couldn’t take a joke. Dressed in a suit and tie, he did his best to make his lyrics seem vicious, but truth be told, Em isn’t the new Marilyn Manson anymore. The culture has adjusted to him, and his effect is not the same.
His shtick is tricking a lot of people, though. Performing a shirtless clip of his track “Cleanin’ Out My Closet,” as part of his medley, Em swaggered his shirtless self across the stage like he was Ja Rule. Patrolling the stage in red sweat pants and giant white boxer shorts that were strategically lifted out of his pants, he looked as ridiculous as a Raven Symone rap video.
Unable to take the heat of the very free speech he fought for during his performance, Em refused to play along with Triumph The Comic Insult Dog from the Conan O’Brien show. Instead of being the big man he claims to be, he had to send Obie Trice and Proof to threaten the poor rubber dog.
When Mathers got to the stage to accept an award, he lashed out at Moby, “Keep booing, little girl, I will hit a man with glasses.” It’s your call whether his comments were part of a publicity stunt to boost album sales, but I don’t think it would shock anyone if that were the case. Mr. Mathers needs to lighten up. There are a lot of people who work a lot harder for a lot less money than this kid who screams “Detroit” but lives in a mansion in one of the ritziest suburbs in Metro Detroit, some distance from his beloved 8 Mile.
In a poorly-kept secret, the new version of Guns N’ Roses performed their own melody to close out the weakening awards show. Host Jimmy Fallon lept like a kid who just won a shopping spree at Toys ‘R Us as he announced the performance. A bloated Rose struggled to hit the same notes on “Welcome To The Jungle” after too many years of takeout Chinese food, while former Nine Inch Nails guitarist Robin Finck and mysterious ax player Buckethead looked plain odd. Rose did his best to resurrect the glory days of the Use Your Illusion era, but it was not to be. The new album Chinese Democracy has been re-recorded so many times you’d think Rose was stuck in a surreal time loop like Bill Murray in “Groundhog’s Day.” By the time Rose made one dash across the stage, he was out of breath. It was a disappointing, anti-climactic end to a show that needs more bite and less bark.
