For many years — if not 68 of them — the Grammy Awards has been staged inside a bubble of money, glitz and good manners. For the American record industry, it’s a televised trophy show that prevents inconvenient American realities from leaking in.
We feel it each year with the prize snubs alone. The omissions can be glaring enough to make us wonder if the Recording Academy bothers listening to what they’re selling us. As for politics, they’re often treated like radioactive material on Grammy night — divisive complications that the healing power of pop can neutralize. And so we’ve come to understand music’s biggest night as an escape, a retreat, a diversion, a disconnection from the hum of reality.
But at the 68th annual Grammy Awards on Sunday, something had changed. The world outside had finally become too loud to ignore. ICE had been terrorizing communities in Minnesota and elsewhere for weeks. Witnesses in the streets of Minneapolis had been shot dead, later labeled “domestic terrorists” by the Trump administration. Journalists covering ICE’s aggressions had been arrested and jailed. Things were falling apart out there. Instead of a magic bubble, the Crypto.com Arena in downtown Los Angeles had become more like a bunker.
At least that’s how it looked on television, the silent glint of worry in people’s eyes somehow louder than whatever Bruno Mars happened to be singing. And if those assembled needed a hero, Bad Bunny was it, winning album of the year for “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” the first album sung entirely in Spanish to take said prize. It’s also an album the Puerto Rican superstar has forsworn touring behind on the U.S. mainland to protect his fans from ICE harassment.
Next weekend, he’ll make up for it by singing for a broadcast audience of many, many millions during halftime at the Super Bowl, all while hoping to eclipse the blunt force intensity of his acceptance speech for best música urbana album at Sunday’s Grammys: “Before I say thanks to God, I’m going to say: ICE out. We’re not savages, we’re not animals, we’re not aliens. We are humans. And we are Americans.”
Before his audience could consecrate these declarations with roaring approval, Bad Bunny’s words had already asserted their own musicality. Deliberate, steadying, energizing, necessary. Finally. Moments as potent as this one should be the rule at the Grammys, not the exception. To the “shut up and sing” crowd, I’ll ask one last time: Sing about what? Music is humanity transposed into sound. And as the Trump administration has reminded us so relentlessly in recent weeks, our humanity is increasingly under threat.
Bad Bunny’s voice wasn’t alone in this mix. “We’re not governed by the government,” SZA said after winning record of the year for “Luther,” her duet with Kendrick Lamar. “We’re governed by God.” Earlier, while accepting the prize for song of the year for “Wildflower” alongside her brother Finneas O’Connell, Billie Eilish spoke truth to power with the composure you’d expect from a 10-time Grammy winner. “No one is illegal on stolen land,” Eilish said from the dais. “We just need to keep fighting, and speaking up, and protesting, and our voices really do matter. The people matter.” Her parting blow, delivered matter-of-factly, was censored by CBS: “F— ICE is all I want to say.”
The only thing shocking about that was how unshocking it felt. Especially when juxtaposed against the autopilot comedy of host Trevor Noah, who kept reminding us where the old guardrails stood, class-clowning harmlessly about “the news.”
Even the night’s more sweepy performances — Lauryn Hill leading an all-hands-on-deck tribute to D’Angelo and Roberta Flack; the best new artist nominees flexing their TikTok bona fides in a rapid-fire medley — ended up feeling secondary to the oratory. As for the show’s intimate numbers, their interiority felt strange: A resurgent Justin Bieber sang “Yukon” into a mirror in his underwear while a costumed Lady Gaga belted “Abracadabra” while valiantly trying to fight her way out of a large wicker lampshade. Missed opportunities, both.
And in the end, both singers lost album of the year to Bad Bunny, who appeared to be seated at the ceremony alone. When his name was called from the final envelope of the night, he remained in his chair with his hand covering his eyes, then took slow strides onto the stage where he thanked his mother, his collaborators, his God, and the whole of Puerto Rico. Why wasn’t anyone up there with him? Was it a statement? Or a precaution? Let’s hope this night brought us closer to an America where we won’t have to wonder.
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