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SHINE ON, HARVEST HITS LIST
An equinox to remember (9/24a)
CARLESS TO DRIVE WARNER A&R
Steve-O takes the wheel. (9/24a)
GRAMMY CHEW: AOTY WILD CARDS
Going deep like Tom Brady (9/24a)
NEAR TRUTHS:
THE LUCIAN DECADE
A history lesson from I.B. Bad (9/23a)
SIR LUCIAN TURNS IT UP
As UMG goes solo, Grainge discusses leading the band. (9/20a)
HITS' 35TH ANNIVERSARY
A chronicle of the inexplicable.
GRAMMY: ALBUM OF THE YEAR
We make yet more predictions, which you are free to ignore.
2022 TOURS
May we all be vaxxed by then.
ROCK'S NEW CHAPTER
Power pop, global glam and the return of the loud.
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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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