In the latest installment of our animated outrage, we conjure the arcane rites of the Grammy Secret Nominating Committee—depicted here as lying somewhere between H.P. Lovecraft and Rube Goldberg—and the eternal braying of Lyor, who arrives to spoil the fun. Any resemblance to committees earthly or celestial is purely coinicidental.
GRAMMY CHEW: THE FUTURE OF GRAMMY IS (MOSTLY) FEMALE
There's no glass ceiling in pop. (10/4a)
ERLICH TO EXIT SPOTIFY FOR TBA VENTURE
One of the good guys is changing lanes. (10/2a)
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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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