Billie Eilish: Everything I Wanted

The last time a Black woman won Album of the Year was in 1999 (The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill). Billie Eilish was not yet born.
You could be forgiven if you thought the Grammys’ tribute to Beyoncé was going to add up to some kind of justice. I started to shift on my couch, excited to see the Academy follow through on its promises for change. I was more encouraged when H.E.R. took home the Song of the Year award for “I Can’t Breathe,” which was written in reaction to the death of George Floyd and the historic protests that followed. The Grammys gave enough indication that things are changing, and it felt like this could be the moment when the Academy would break its stubborn barriers.

Which made it all the more awkward when Billie Eilish had to shoulder the burden of this lengthy history and the disappointment when change doesn’t arrive. It’s not Eilish’s fault. It never was. She makes perfectly good pop songs — but in accepting Record of the Year for the second year in a row, she realized she was the symbol of the Academy’s stagnation. Even she did not want any part in being awarded by an institution that keeps failing Black artists. “I’m embarrassed,” she told the world, but the embarrassment was not hers to wear.

On the performance side, things are looking up. Ben Winston, who made his name producing Carpool Karaoke and The Late Late Show With James Corden, helmed a taut show with thrilling performances. It was the second time since 1979 that someone other than legendary producer Ken Ehrlich ran the show, and it was a welcome refresh.

The Grammys ceremony has a long and embarrassing history of attempting to force a Grammy Moment™ by pairing artists who make little sense together. I mean, why does Kendrick have to share the stage with Imagine Dragons? Pharrell and Hans Zimmer?? And I will never forgive the Academy for pairing Stevie Wonder with the Jonas Brothers. (Though I am forced to admit this gimmick has produced a gem on an occasion or two).



This year, artists were simply allowed to sing their own songs — and the result was pure entertainment. The performances showcased what the Grammys could be. The stretch featuring DaBaby, Bad Bunny, and Dua Lipa in succession served as a prototype for the show’s future.

It’s worth mentioning that the Grammys ceremony could not resist its long obsession of dousing hip-hop performances with a kind of forced elaborate musical arrangements that involve harps and strings. DaBaby and Roddy Ricch had one of the biggest songs of the year in “Rockstar,” and they could’ve just been handed the mic to do their thing. They didn’t need a choir. Let hip-hop be hip-hop.



Ehrlich once noted the Academy’s hip-hop problem: “When they don’t take home the big prize, the regard of the academy, and what the Grammys represent, continues to be less meaningful to the hip-hop community, which is sad.”

By contrast, the Winston era of the Grammys — if it indeed blossoms into an era — looks more promising. I never thought I’d watch a Grammys show where the camera didn’t feel the urge to find Bono in the audience once or twice. It is a significant improvement that the show looked similar to the top charts of 2020.