So the Grammys (aka Music’s Biggest Night™) happened on Sunday night, and I am reeling from the insanity of what they put all of us through.

Before you ask, this is not going to be a blog about Beyoncé getting snubbed yet again for Album of the Year—this time in favor of Harry Styles, who bewilderingly claimed that “this doesn’t happen to people like me very often” when, in fact, pop-rock white guys getting Grammys is the thing that happens more often than anything else, Harry, you idiot, you dope!—though, rest assured, I am steaming about that whole thing.

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No, the thing that initially sent me spiraling was a little video that the Grammys put together about, sigh, the healing power of music. That video began with possibly the worst example of liberal pop-culture bullshit about policing in America that we have seen since the Kendall Jenner Pepsi ad. I kind of can’t believe that, in 2023, our cultural elite is still pushing this nonsense, except that I can very much believe it.

Anyway, onto what actually took place. We opened with Recording Academy President Harvey Mason Jr. asking us to dream for a moment. And this was how the dream began.