The evolution of music is an impressive and unstoppable force which generations to come should only embrace. We tried to subdue rock n’ roll, disco, hip-hop, and rap from happening – and we failed? All of them are glorious, vibrant and stunning works of art in their own right, and all of them were able to spark some kind of revolution within the masses.
Of course, something as big as beginning the new wave of sound for a generation to march to should be applauded and awarded, which is (obviously) the purpose of awards like ‘Best New Artist’ and ‘Album of the Year.’ But the music that this generation, and many before it, has been marching to is being drowned out by the vapid, fatuous swill that’s widely regarded as “popular music.”
Unfortunately, now-a-days if it’s catchy and has a good beat, it’s considered good music. What’s even more unfortunate is that this “good music” finds itself quickly rising to the top of the charts. And that is exactly the problem with the Grammy’s: they’ve become a popularity contest, based on record sales and publicity.
So instead of the winning album being one that speaks out against the social and racial inequalities within an unjust system, it was one that was essentially a compilation of childish, albeit catchy, songs about love and recreating yourself after a break-up. Instead of the award for ‘Best New Artist’ going to someone who not only has great musical talents, but is also influential, it went to someone who sings to her future husband, telling him that she’ll be “buying groceries, buy-buying what you need.”
Not only are the winning tracks diminishing in quality as the years pass, but the artists themselves have taken on the role of bickering adolescents playing dress up for a night. Acceptance speeches are no longer filled with thanks for those who helped create work of art, but rather with disses hurled at one another like bullets, each side with a seemingly endless supply of ammunition. It’s childish, really. There are insults and ‘shade’ disguised as feminist prose. There are impressive ‘mic-drop’ moments that are only filled with air, like the minds that conjured up what to say the moment their accompanying hands grasped the golden phonographs.
There have been great tributes and performances, which the critics and audiences alike have used as their chew toys. Tributes which, had they been performed by the original artist, would have been praised. Original performances have been slayed, cut down like a lone warrior fighting against his oppressors.
The Grammy’s have become a joke because if the academy really cared about the preservation of the tradition of music, while still incorporating the newest ideas, then they would choose victors who embodied the same ideal. 
The Grammy’s have become a joke, and the punchline expired long ago.