It's 13 months to the day of Broadcast singer Trish Keenan's passing...so I've been reminiscing again. I was so gutted for a while that it was hard for me to even read many of the tributes people had written about her. But now that time has passed, I finally have gotten around to reading some and am posting a couple of the better ones here. These really get to the crux of what made her special and why she is so missed. Unlike the ones who die through their own self-destructive behavior or from old age, Trish was plucked from us so randomly and so young, that it seemed a cruel hoax. One day she gets swine flu in Australia and the next thing you know, she dies from pneumonia. This first one is from a site called Quietus. Five of their writers contribute their own tributes to Trish. A Tribute To Trish Keenan The Quietus , January 17th, 2011 09:16 Quietus writers Abi Bliss, Christina McDermott, Frances Morgan, Jude Rogers and David Stubbs remember the late Broadcast singer. Last week, The Quietus was deeply saddened to hear that Broadcast singer Trish Keenan died from pneumonia after contracting the H1N1 virus in Australia. Broadcast released their first EP The Book Lovers in 1996, they went on to release four studio albums: 2000's The Noise Made By People, 2003's Haha Sound, 2005's Tender Buttons and their 2009 collaboration with The Focus Group, Broadcast and the Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age. Warps statement about the death of Trish Keenan can read here. Our thoughts are with all of Trish Keenan's friends and family, as well as everyone at Warp Records. Below, our writers recall their fondest memories of Broadcast - whether personal meetings, records or live appearances - as a tribute to Trish's memory. Jude Rogers: I remember exactly where I was when I first heard Trish Keenan sing. I remember the cold room, the worn curtains, the beige, threadbare carpet, everything transformed by this pure, clear voice beaming its way from the speakers, like a channel of light. I remember the song too, 'The Accidentals'. Cutting through the air like a sound from the future, but also, at the same time, a message from the past. Freezing me, stunning me, taking over me whole. To me, Trish Keenan's voice was like a folk voice – simple, unadorned, not about her, but about the song. It was like the voice of Shirley Collins sent to outer space, blessed of a stark, lucid truth that slowly crept through your bones. It was the voice that set me on my way to discover so much of the music I love – the ghostly loveliness of The Radiophonic Workshop, the innocence of library music, the beauty of The Ghost Box label, the psychedelic gentleness of one of her band's favourite groups, United States Of America, whose only album was released a few months before Trish was born. Now, her voice makes me imagine a little girl with long hair growing up in the suburbs of England in the 1970s, a country full of dread and unease, eerie children's literature and public information films. And then I remember that she is gone, and how the real memories of her, by those who knew her and loved her, are not mine to tread upon. So I go back to what I remember. I go back to that little student room in Oxford in 1999, that CD bought in Shifty Disco in Broad Street, its soft, red cover, my eyes opening wide. I go back to the little demo tape I made singing 'Come On Lets Go' for a boy who said I couldn't sing well enough to be in his band. I remember the time I took to fall in love with Tender Buttons,, before it owned me completely; I remember buying Haha Sound for my boyfriend, and how we both fell under its spell. I go back to the last times I saw her and James perform, in 2009 – firstly at the Shunt Vaults, deep under London Bridge, then at the Vortex in Dalston, playing the soundtrack they had made to a film by Julian House. Being frozen again, stunned right through, by what Trish could do, by the path she had set us on, the worlds she had made for us. Frances Morgan: Broadcast released their first seven-inch single in 1996 on small Midlands label, Wurlitzer Jukebox. The two songs, 'Accidentals' and 'We've Got Time', would reappear on their Work and Non-Work compilation, but I first encountered the band via this minimally packaged record, which I bought in Rough Trade soon after its release. As you do sometimes, I remember all the incidentals of the purchase – the bright Saturday; the walk to the shop through Powis Square, the location of Performance; what I was wearing – but I can't remember where I had heard about Broadcast, and what led me to buy their record. It was likely their connection with Stereolab that I'd read somewhere; but even entirely on spec, I can see why the cover appealed to me, because it still does. Stark black, with a series of abstract white lines cutting through like radio waves but organic, as if chopped by scissors in a school art class, it had the appearance of both imagination and functionality, a test pressing imprinted with the romance of a not-so-distant, warmer, weirder past. 'Accidentals' is a musical term for a note out of place, a rogue sharp or flat that isn't in the main key signature of a piece of music and whose appearance prompts a momentary change in colour. Broadcast's 'Accidentals' is full of such moments, although they're as textural as well as tonal. The song revolves around a jazzy, waltz-time pattern that lilts like a pendulum under a high, wavery keyboard line and the slow, low tones of Trish Keenan's voice. "And you will not see or try to believe when there's no guarantee," she sings, and there's a swell of hazy strings and some interference and everything bends out of tune for a second, like a warp or a wrinkle in time. The song morphs further, with a ghostly inversion of the main theme, a faint guitar, a key change, before settling back into its gently rocking self. There's very little vocal on 'Accidentals', yet it's Keenan's coolly delivered, hermetic verse that give the song its odd feeling of mediumship and time-slip. It is as if she – and we – have discovered the music at the same time and spun a personal narrative around it. At the time I preferred 'We've Got Time'. Again, the instrumentation follows a simple, pendulum-like pattern, monophonic synths chiming in one-handed mirror-riffs. It's organic and elegantly clunky, with an echoing vibra-slap somewhere in the mix and a martial snare drum towards the end. The focus of the song, though, is Keenan's vocal, sharper and more fragile than the disassociated chanteuse on the flipside. Recorded almost untreated, no forgiving effects, she entreats in a slowly climbing, sombre melody, almost hymnal in the chorus: "We've got time to work it out. We've got what numbers cannot have." I hear the song now as a classic psychedelic love song, reminiscent in parts of the 1969 White Noise album, An Electric Storm, that Broadcast I'm sure had heard in '96, but I hadn't. In 1996, 'We've Got Time' just seemed the perfect soundtrack or even metaphor for the way I was moving through life, through the resonant new city I had moved to and the awful waiting-room of the late teens. There are various ways of navigating loneliness and isolation and mine was basically to assume a constant state of fiction and mystery. Every old film, abandoned building, strange sound or compelling pop song confirmed my suspicions that there was something else there, a story to search for and excavate. That it was all, at some point, going to happen for me, but that in another dimension it already had.. Broadcast's tales of ordinary magic picked at these enticing, sad layers of past and future, real and not-real. They made me feel a lot better. Often elegiac, almost always dealing on some level with the vagaries of memory – deeply personal or collective or some mixture or both – as a band they remained very much in the present tense, productive and committed, so I feel a bit strange presenting them as so much a part of my own memory-swamp; yet, while I have most of their albums to hand, it was 'Accidentals/We've Got Time' I reached for when I heard that Trish had died last Friday. The record still sounded good, after 15 years and many house-moves; ageing vinyl suits Broadcast well. I played 'We've Got Time' to my husband, who'd never heard it before, and found that I still couldn't really explain it, or them. "I remember buying this," I said, and that was about all I could say. David Stubbs: I only met Trish Keenan once, interviewing Broadcast a few years ago for one of the big monthly magazines when Broadcast were reduced to a duo. It wasn't going to be a large feature and Trish was conscious of this, chiding me in a good-humoured but heartfelt way, as the nearest representative of the music press to hand. The last time Broadcast had been interviewed by said magazine it was a 500 word job. Now it would be again. When, she asked me, were Broadcast going to make the leap to two page spread status, and then eventually become cover stars? It was never going to happen, sadly, not because Broadcast didn't merit that sort of coverage or celebration, but because we lived in decreasingly curious pop times. The coverage of Trish Keenan's tragic death at just 42 in the BBC web pages and broadsheets, reflected, between the lines, a comprehension gap, a distant and vague apprehension of just what this "art pop singer from Birmingham" was about. Despite the enormous esteem in which she was held by those who knew her, by those in the know, you felt that for some news outlets, the story was more about swine flu than it was her. This is surely doubly sad. Broadcast were denizens of a 21st century underworld, increasingly disregarded by the mainstream in a way that previous generations of rock and pop mavericks were not. I only met Trish Keenan once, didn't have the privilege to get to know her properly and can only envy those lucky enough to have done so. The Trish I knew was the "Theoretical Girl" who was the arresting focal point of Broadcast. For all their strength, however, as super-confidently self-conscious practitioners of linear, chic, pulsating, analogue, spectral neo-pop, rising to crests of neon throbbing Krautrock intensity it was with 2009's Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age, their collaboration with designer Julian House aka The Focus Group that for me they enjoyed their greatest success. It was an eggs-meets-bacon moment, a veritable Piper At The Gates Of Dusk. Trish Keenan had spoken in interviews about her interest in the paranormal, in a way that, as an increasingly ardent rationalist, makes me wince a little, as it generally does when my favourite groups wax in a similar "more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy" vein and the inner David Mitchell is compelled to retort, "No there aren't." But in the fantastic, waking dreamland realms of music, the paranormal isn't just permissible, it's a desideratum. Of course, the album's very title, suggests if not outright satire of the occult, a strong indication that it's conscious it's dealing in the stuff of the fictional. That said, this is an album whose sonic matter is a layered mulch of very real, if vanished things, "incidental" music in the strongest, most happening sense of the word, its aural aromas a Proustian spice of a world obliterated in an imaginary, Threads-style nuclear holocaust circa 1983. House's contribution is a backdrop of spliced library music, faded, monochrome detritus – the bleak cawing of crows on 'Let It Begin/Oh Joy', the frantic rattling of doorknobs and alarm clock on 'A Séance Song' - a meticulous pebbledash of distressed, grey-bleached details, intimating the lingering traces of a lost era of cathode transmissions, public information films, of MLR James ghost stories starring Michael Hordern. Crucial, however, was the pop structure imposed by Broadcast, amid all this fade-in and fade-out, this tidal back and forth of magnetic tape - refried, psychedelic swirling organs a la Rick Wright in early Pink Floyd on 'The Be Colony', moments of kinetic lucidity as on the swerving, bustling 'Ritual/Looking In'. Most significantly, it's the sound and spectacle of Keenan herself. There are intimations of the little black haired girl in Bagpuss grown up, of the distant, jet black haired ghost in The Innocents, but she transcends all such comparisons, rising in vertical, Doric splendour from the mix like a High Priestess of Hauntology, with a sort of mock (but not mocking) solemnity on 'Make My Sleep His Song', an apparition, almost holographic, not so much a pop presence as a pop past/presence. All of this is an attempt to describe the "unreal" or ethereal Trish Keenan, her pop self, a highly intelligent, consciously wrought construction. As for Trish herself, her death is cruel and untimely indeed – to have been snatched from this world so suddenly, so quickly, so arbitrarily, leaves those who knew her not just grieving but angry, angry at life for being so fragile, so easily and pointlessly lost. We've been robbed of Broadcast's future, if not, thankfully, their past and presence. Past, present, future – Trish Keenan and James Cargill always understood the relationship between all three. They hark back to a halcyon pop era when "the future" was often represented in the form of outer space, glistening and unvisited apart from the odd, lonely Sputnik craft, waiting to be occupied. Today, a different sense of "outer space", and future musical travel into that space, obtains. It's no longer empty. It's chockfull of detritus, rusty, decommissioned hulks, cacophonic with the radio transmissions of over half a century of popular culture, travelling ever outward - all that has been Broadcast. This was the space through which Keenan and Cargill would have continued to swerve and negotiate, feed off, allow to inform and inflect their thrilling pop permutations. How sad that Trish can't travel that way any further but how grateful we are for what she's left behind. Christina McDermott: Back in 2000, when I was 17, a boyfriend who was significantly older and wiser than me handed me an album. 'Here,' he said. 'Stop listening to all of that bloody Belle and Sebastian crap, and listen to this. You'll like it. Honest'. He was right. I switched it on and was plunged into the kind of music that sounded like the lost theme to a pulpy television series from the 1960s. Big squelchy Moogs and icy atmospheric synths. The sound of an urban future, or at least someone's idea of it. And through it all, a lone female voice shimmering amidst the darkness, haunting and bold - a focal point in the gloom creating kaleidoscopes of colour in my teenage brain. The band were Broadcast, the album The Noise Made by People. I switched it on my stereo, and it never really left it again. For an entire year, I would listen to it religiously whilst travelling to sixth form college in Hulme, letting it provide the narrative to my days of studying for my A Levels in high rise grey buildings in one of the greyest areas of a grey city. I'd stick my headphones on whilst bouncing on the 86 down Oxford Road, and would pretend to myself that I was the heroine in a film noir, and this album was the soundtrack to my soon-to-be glamorous life. 'Come On Let's Go' the soundtrack to the scenes where I was mucking around with my boyfriend in his bedsit in Levenshulme, 'Papercuts' for his inevitable betrayal, the achingly beautiful 'Echoes Answer' for all the moments I'd hang out of my bedroom window smoking a illicit cigarette and dreaming of the glamorous, mysterious black clad woman I wanted to become, much like I imagined Broadcast's singer – Trish Keenan – to be like herself. Not the most original of ideas, I know, but then again, 17 year olds aren't renowned for being the most original of creatures. What I loved most about The Noise Made by People was all the different avenues it led me down in terms of my musical tastes. It led me to discovering the Gallic wonder of Stereolab, and François Hardy and the inspirational brilliance of Delia Derbyshire and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, and spending many happy Saturday afternoons in second hand record shops attempting to find records which contained abundant Moog solos. As time went on, the boyfriend who introduced me to Broadcast dumped me in the way that boyfriend's so often do, and numerous albums replaced The Noise Made by People on my stereo, although it was never totally brushed out of sight. Indeed, I remember having to replace it on more than one occasion after I lent my copy of it to more than one 'friend' who loved it so much that they decided to keep it for themselves. However, Trish Keenan's startling voice, and the influence her music held over me in my formative years remain with me to this day. I feel a certain sadness that I always meant to see Broadcast perform live and, for a number of different reasons (most of them due to my own incompetence), never got round to doing so. Now, I never will. RIP Trish Keenan. Thanks for the memories. Abi Bliss: I saw Broadcast play live three times. The first was in Cardiff in 1996 where, as a gauche fresher nervously anticipating my first reviewing assignment for the student paper, I arrived at the Stereolab gig at the time indicated on the ticket I was clutching. I hoped I wouldn't be too late to catch the support band, whose song 'The Book Lovers' had been whirling near-nightly through Mark Radcliffe's radio show like an underwater waltzer. An hour or so later, Broadcast came on and revealed themselves to be much more than just Stereolab's introverted younger siblings or the canny 60s pastiche artists that 'The Book Lovers' had suggested. The band's aesthetic was still raw, brittle and somewhat awkward and Trish Keenan was its focal point. Resembling the kind of heavy-fringed mannequins that stared balefully through dusty boutique windows in the town where I grew up, she was both a channel for the uncanny and deeply human, an ordinary girl making herself extraordinary with a secondhand dress and a cool, still voice that seemed like the only way she could imagine singing should sound. I saw Broadcast again in 2002, having noticed they were playing La Belle Angele on a night when I was staying in Edinburgh. Now a trio, what they had lost in band members they made up for with a quiet confidence. Trish was afloat on a rainbow sea of projections: science films and found footage, the colours dancing across her face as though she was externalising some inner synaesthesia. The venue burned down shortly afterwards and in my mind I always imagine that a stray fragment of that vivid, bejewelled pop was to blame. The third time was late in 2009 at Manchester's Deaf Institute, when the band, now a duo, had just released their supremely bewitching collaboration with The Focus Group, their longtime visual collaborator Julian House. Although Trish eventually stepped into the spotlight for a obliquely seductive 'Corporeal', she and James spent the first half of their set at opposite sides of the stage, deftly coaxing oscillators and drones into a hypnotic, gloriously malevolent soundtrack to the Op Art swirls and flickering tree branches of House's film Winter Sun Wavelengths. I couldn't wait to see what they'd do next. Live photos by Maria Jefferis of www.shot2bits.net.

Look at all that Jack White is able to accomplish in just a few short years. All the different bands and other people he produces. Meanwhile, the wait is still ongoing for Jimmy's new music that he's been talking about since It Might Get Loud.

So that's where Fred Durst has been...what a tool! Still, I've gotta say as much as I love Bon Iver, it's a little strange watching a guy win Best New Artist in 2012 when I've been buying his music since 2008.

Hahaha, seeing these pictures reminds me of that great Doonesbury gag..."TAN, RESTED AND READY: NIXON IN '88!" Good grief, is that really Ross with Jimmy in the top photo? He's CHANGED since I last saw him at the Red Hot Chili Peppers concert at the Forum a few years ago. And what is up with Jimmy's left arm...it looks bent.

Here you go, Deb...the earliest bootleg video I ever had of Prince was Houston 1981...couldn't find any clips with sound on YouTube but I did find Houston 1982. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH6wkmE18hU&feature=youtube_gdata_player Here's a clip from New York 1981...it's frustrating so many early clips don't have sound. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xaHWe6-LSE&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Who's Ted and when did he join Led Zeppelin? 2.14.75 Nassau County Coliseum EVSD's "St. Valentine's Day Massacre"

So predictable...so sadly predictable. There's a lot more of them out there broke that we don't know about yet.

Kobe IS the shooting guard! We don't need ARENASS, we need a Point Guard who can penetrate and dish and feed the post. Oh, I don't know...someone like CHRIS PAUL?!?! Thanks for nothing David Stern! Derek Fisher is 2 years past-retirement age. The Lakers have a roster built for the Triangle...but the Triangle is gone. No PG...no bench...no small forward...no chance. Jeremy Lin is best story to hit NBA in ages! Too bad Lakers don't have him.

^^^Yummmm...way to go Andy!

^^^Err, actually it was I that was asking if you were still around, finches. I was quoting bluecongo to thank him for bumping the thread up. I missed it the first time around.

Hate-sex is the best. Don't worry, LZF77, I've got plenty of chocolate...

Judging from his latest album, he's the next Rod Stewart.

Wow, MM, thrice-married?!? You do realize you don't have to get married to have sex these days?

Last year it was the "Tiger Mom"...I guess this will be the year of "Facebook Father". Nothing like airing your family's dirty laundry in public. Look, I'm all for tough love and all that...and kids today do seem more entitled and spoiled by all their gadgets. But I can't imagine putting this up for the whole world to see. Two wrongs don't make a right. Imagine the ridicule this girl will now be subjected to at school. The teasing and taunting. The father is supposed to be the rational adult, yet he comes off as childish and churlish. According to the follow-up, everything seems hunky-dory, and if so, that's good. But I wouldn't be surprised if there isn't some deep-seated resentment towards the dad, and daughter goes out and gets a tattoo and knocked up first chance she gets. Somewhere, a tv executive is sitting there thinking how to turn this into a "reality-show".

Thanks, guys, for the report...you didn't by chance happen to notice any filming or recording going on?

Thanks for bumping this thread up, bluecongo, or I would have missed the Tom Sanderson tip. Thanks, finches, if you're still here.

Too many nutjobs looking for hidden satanic messages perhaps?

At least he didn't shoot HER!

Post #9: Tom Petty at the Whisky! Date: Saturday, February 12, 1977 Since my friend and I were going to the March 12 and 13 Led Zeppelin shows for sure, those concerts were now exactly a month away. I was still looking at the upcoming concert calendar to decide which concerts to trade some of my extra Zeppelin tix for...The Kinks at the Santa Monica Civic and Boston at Long Beach Arena were a couple I could go to for sure, as they were on a weekend. As mentioned above in an earlier post, I had given thought to going to the Foghat show Feb. 12 at the Swing Auditorium in San Bernadino(just north of Riverside), colloquially known as San Berdu. It was relatively cheaper and closer than going to Long Beach for their show the previous night of Feb. 11. But two things nipped that idea in the bud. One was that I still only had $5 or so on hand...not quite enough for a Foghat ticket. Second was my friend calling up and asking if I wanted to go see Tom Petty at the Whisky that Saturday night; his brother was going and we could get a ride with him. "Hell YEAH!!!" said I. I had only just recently gotten the debut Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers album. It was released in November 1976, and there was a write-up about it in the LA Times in December, but it wasn't until I heard "Breakdown" and "American Girl" on the radio(Jim Ladd of KMET was a BIG BOOSTER of the album) that I decided to buy the album. It immediately became one of my favourite albums of the year...and I thought it was a better debut than Boston's first album. How could you not like a song such as "American Girl", with those incredible lines: "God it's so painful when something that's so close Is still so far out of reach" Besides the radio songs, it was "The Wild One, Forever" that sealed the deal for me...such a great and underplayed song. And THAT album cover...with the Flying V straight thru the heart...one of the great band logos of all-time! I had seen an ad for the Whisky shows...he was opening for Blondie(had no clue about them yet) for four nights Feb. 9-12...but I didn't think I would have any way to get to and from the Whisky. My friend appeared to have only a lukewarm interest in Tom Petty...he didn't really think the album was all that great; he loved the Boston album instead. But apparently his older brother did like Tom Petty...and liked him enough to want to see him at the Whisky, too. My $5 was enough for the Whisky cover charge, too. So fortune or good luck shone down again, and I was able to see my FIRST Tom Petty concert(and first Blondie concert, for that matter) in a small club. It wasn't even close to being sold out. In fact, I think it was less crowded than the Van Halen show the previous month. I thought it was weird that Tom Petty was opening...he had an album out and was played on the radio, while I had no idea who or what Blondie was, and they certainly didn't play them on KMET or KLOS("Heart of Glass" was still a year or so away). But in a way, that was cool, as that meant I didn't have to wait long for them to take the stage. I can't remember the setlist in detail...I'm pretty sure they played mostly the first album and maybe a new one or two. What I do recall is how great the songs SOUNDED live...this was a GREAT BAND. This wasn't just Tom Petty and a bunch of schlubs, but Tom Petty & the HEARTBREAKERS: Mike Campbell, Benmont Tench, Stan Lynch, Ron Blair all could really play, and they had a chemistry on stage. In concert, those songs from the album came alive and were punchier, raunchier, more rocking! Best of all, there was no fat to the set...no long drum solos or self-indulgent wanking. Tom Petty himself cut a rather unique figure onstage...he was so thin and gangly, his face like a hawk, with those sharp lines of his nose and jaw. The girls seemed to find him appealing, that's for sure. In a flash, his set was over...at least it seemed his set was over too soon. We decided to stick around for at least a couple songs of Blondie and if we didn't like what we heard, we would leave. Well, as soon as Blondie came on, I think we all forgot about that, as all I can remember is being struck by how HOT Blondie(or to be more specific, Debbie Harry) looked! I think it was even a few songs before I even started paying attention to the music, hehehe. Of the New York CBGB's scene bands, Blondie was the second one I had now seen; The Ramones were the first(saw them at the Roxy summer of 1976) and I also had bought the first Ramones album. In my early opinion, Blondie were no Ramones. Like the Ramones, though, they seemed to have a "look"...but more European and "upscale" than the Ramones' jeans and leather jackets motif. But they didn't have any songs....at least no songs stood out at that Whisky show to me; not in the way that the Ramones had instantly catchy songs that stuck in your head for days. Or the way Tom Petty's songs did. In fact, Tom Petty reminded me of another guy who I had recently discovered in 1976 thanks to Robert Hilburn's championing of him: Dwight Twilley. Sadly, Dwight Twilley had some of the worst luck in music biz history and his career never took off the way Petty's did.

^^^YOU banned? I couldn't think of such a thing! I liked the first two Whitney Houston albums...even went to see her in concert. There was no question about her voice and her talent. If only she (or Clive) could have picked better material for her. By the time of The Bodyguard, when she destroyed Dolly Parton's song with her overwrought performance...paving the way for Mariah and her melismatic clones...ihad pretty much moved on, as her material became more robotic and soulless. By the way, I realized my earlier post may have come across as rude to the people here who still watch the Grammys. I have no problem with anyone watching the Grammys...it's fun to people-watch and take note of the fashions and there even may be a great performance or two. One of the best Grammy moments of recent times was when the Foos, Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen joined forces for a Joe Strummer/Clash tribute. Their "London Calling" was SAVAGE! But don't take the Grammys as validation for your favourite band...if you're a Foo Fighters fan and they lose tonight, it doesn't invalidate them or mean the end of the world. Think of it this way...the Clash, Cramps and Replacements won zero Grammys, while the Starland Vocal Band, Debby Boone and the Captain & Tennille did.

THIS plus a million!

Whitney was supposed to sing at Clive's pre-Grammy bash last night. She caused a stir at the Beverly Hilton Hotel Thursday with her disheveled appearance and loopy behavior. Same old Whitney. None of my friends here in LA even watch the Grammys anymore...we all gave up on them years ago. It was bad enough when Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Queen were ignored in the 70s. The final straw was Jethro Bore winning over Metallica for Best Metal Album in 1988. It's nothing but a Clive Davis orgy.

Judging from this post, your knowledge is seriously lacking and misguided, making any judgments you have on how the band should have "honoured John" or what they should have done post-Bonham flawed and not a little off-base. If you'd been paying attention, you'd know that Robert and John Paul Jones especially, have not been wasting their talents.

I won't be watching as I have a Filmforum event to attend. I might catch some highlights on YouTube...I hear Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are performing. Since the Big Man's death, I was somewhat surprised Bruce decided to carry on. But really, with Whitney Houston's death, nobody is going to remember the winners...her death will overshadow the Grammys.

Sad, yes. But not so sudden if you've seen the toll her addiction took on her. Once you start doing crack, you might as well start digging your grave. Other than crystal meth, no other drug ravages the body, mind and soul like crack. I would venture to say that crack has ruined more lives than heroin...and I've heard of more people successfully rehabbing from heroin than crack. I really feel for her daughter and her family. I hope they keep Bobby Brown away from the daughter. What was that book years ago? "Smart women, foolish choices". When Whitney hooked up with Bobby Brown, that was the red flag that something was wrong. Whatever demons Whitney had, Bobby Brown was not a supportive husband or helpmate. In fact, he exacerbated her problems. He ruined her...and he'll do the same to her daughter if he gets a chance. Well, better dead and at peace than living life as a crackhead...for that AIN'T living. R.I.P.