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NEAR TRUTHS:
BLUSH OF FAME
We'll drink to that. (10/31a)
MEET THE AGENTS: BATCH #4
That's all she wrote. (10/30a)
UPDATE: THIS TOP 20 IS WIDELY RED
Columbia, the gem of the album chart. (10/30a)
HOLLY GLEASON SNAGS SIX NATIONAL A&E JOURNO NOMS
Oops, she did it again. (10/30a)
TYLER IS HEADED TO THE TOP
Unconventional move by unconventional dude is paying off. (10/30a)
THE GRAMMY SHORT LIST
Who's already a lock?
COUNTRY'S NEWEST DISRUPTOR
Three chords and some truth you may not be ready for.
AI IS ALREADY EATING YOUR LUNCH
The kids can tell the difference... for now.
ALL THE WAY LIVE
The players, the tours, the enormous beers.
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THE WAY I DO

By Karen Glauber

This was the first year I watched the Grammy Awards with my eight-year-old son. His takeaway was (a) I let him stay up past his bedtime (yay), and (b) Metallica really didn’t need Lady Gaga and backup dancers (eesh!) to prove they’re the greatest metal band of all time. Julian might have had some coaxing on “(b),” but only a minimal amount. My favorite performance was Beyoncé’s medley of “Love Drought” and “Sandcastles,” with its gorgeous, dream-like choreography, reminiscent of Pina Bausch’s work. Also, the sight of a pregnant woman, surrounded by other women, tends to make many men uncomfortable, perhaps because their status in the process, post-conception, is minimal to nonexistent. I may not have felt at the height of my “power” during my pregnancy, but I can’t hold a candle to Queen Bey, who ruled supreme on Grammy night…

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