Grammy Awards: Complete List of Nominees
Sophie SchillaciThe 2012 honorees, led by Kanye West, Adele, Foo Fighters and Bruno Mars, were announced during a live concert special broadcast on CBS.
For an image of the world to come, look to the children: Recently Justin Bieber, the Western world’s choirboy igni ferroque, released his first Christmas album, combining traditional carols—“Drummer Boy,” “Silent Night,” and the like, performed in his signature reedy contralto—with some festive canticles not previously loosed upon the Earth. (From one track: “I don’t want to miss out on the holiday/ But I can’t stop staring at your face.”) Bieber has said that his goal in recording this music, which has already hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts, was to “work with people who had great experiences with Christmas albums.” This may strike some listeners as a quixotic ambition. Christmas carols are, if anything, the visiting relatives of the musical world: They show up at the same time every year, stick around a little longer than one might prefer, and set the tone of virtually all family entertainment while they are in town. A December without them would be strange and slightly lonely, yet the prospect of their absence tends to be, by one week in, a reason in itself to look forward to the new year.
This week Fox premieres a new half-hour sitcom starring Jaime Pressly and Katie Finneran titled I Hate My Teenage Daughter. Early semiotic analysis indicates it’s about two women who hate their teenage daughters. As such, the premise is unlikely to surprise viewers of NBC’s 2 Broke Girls, which—spoiler alert—follows the lives of two broke girls. Indeed, the two shows are but the latest in a cavalcade of Hollywood products outfitted not with a title but a blunt abbreviation of a concept. Ads for these releases increasingly paper bus stops and billboards, resembling, in their flagrance, whacky American hits in crude translation: Tower Heist, Our Idiot Brother, Bridesmaids, Stepbrothers, Wedding Crashers, The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Snakes on a Plane, Cowboys vs. Aliens, Alien vs. Predator, The Social Network.
Imagine that, on Sept. 12, 2001, an outraged Angelina Jolie had pulled out a pad of paper and some drafting tools and, all on her own, designed a sophisticated new missile system to attack al-Qaida. Now imagine that the design proved so innovative that it transcended weapons technology, and sparked a revolution in communications technology over the next half-century.
You are reading this article because of Kermit the Frog. This is true in the conventional sense of its arriving on the occasion of The Muppets, the charming new movie in which he returns as the ringleader of Jim Henson's vaudeville menagerie. As ever, Kermit presents a study in balance: His innate humility counters his naked ambition, his earnest sentimentality complements the company's ironic capering, and the shy reediness of his singing voice strengthens the appeal of lyrics steeled with resolution.