February 13, 2005

How to Watch the Grammys Like a Pro

IX years ago, I was suddenly promoted from a guy who made weird faces behind a drum set to an eligible Grammy bachelor. "Closing Time," the big hit from my band, Semisonic, was nominated for best rock song. Though it had already faded from the charts, the moment was intoxicating: My family chatted avidly about the show, perhaps envisioning, as I did, a live cutaway shot of me and my two bandmates seated in our fashionable Grammy clothes. Female friends jokingly nominated themselves in the category of "Jake's Grammy Date," and I soon realized that they were only half-joking. A gossip columnist in Minneapolis, our hometown, inquired as to whom I was taking to the show.

But as I was plotting an impeccable getup and wondering whom to invite, my carriage turned back into a pumpkin. Technically, only Dan Wilson, my bandmate and the writer of the song, had been nominated. The show was sold out, and even if our bassist, John Munson, and I could find tickets, they would cost our record label, MCA Records, several hundred dollars apiece. Our manager eventually pried two loose, but neither of us could bring a date. As for the live cutaway shot, well, the award for best rock song would, I was told, likely be presented during the untelevised afternoon ceremonies.

Such adjustments to my grand expectations hinted at the Grammy experience that awaited me in Los Angeles a few weeks later. There I got to see amazing live performances but also the many minidramas that the television cameras miss. In that spirit, here are a few rituals you won't see as you watch the show tonight.

The Undercard

By the time what most people know as the Grammys begins, at least 95 of the 107 sealed envelopes will have been opened during an afternoon ceremony. (How the long list of awards is to be divided between the afternoon and evening ceremonies is not revealed until the day of the show.) Surely record of the year will make the main broadcast, and best album notes will not. This year's nominees form an impressive list, including the Princeton historian Sean Wilentz, nominated for "The Bootleg Series Vol. 6: Bob Dylan Live 1964 - Concert at Philharmonic Hall," and the countercultural journalist Paul Krassner, who wrote the notes for "Let the Buyer Beware," a boxed set of performances by Lenny Bruce. That award and almost 100 others, in categories from classical to Hawaiian, will be presented hours earlier.

In contrast to its prime-time counterpart, the afternoon ceremony proceeds at a brisk pace in front of a moderately attentive crowd of nominees who typically enter the room only as their category approaches. Many winners are absent. For example, if Alicia Keys wins the award for best female R&B vocal performance (which may be presented in the afternoon), who could blame her if she decides to skip the ceremony and save her energy for her performance on the evening show? When winners are announced, the M.C.'s scan the room quickly before moving down the list. So it's not unusual to hear a winner shout, "Wait, I'm here!" Losers applaud wistfully and then find their way to the bar in the lobby (as my bandmates and I did in 1999, shortly after Alanis Morissette won the best rock song award for "Uninvited"). Back in the auditorium, the absence of television cameras allows for lapses in decorum, such as when the Barenaked Ladies, seated several rows behind my band, shouted out in mock protest when they lost. "For crying out loud! Brian Setzer isn't even here!"

The Red Carpet

Think of the red carpet as the most glamorous trading pit in the world, where publicists and interviewers communicate with subtle gestures to buy and sell opportunities that can vanish in a split second. While an artist is being interviewed, the publicist will look ahead to the next reporter, hoping for a nod.

"There's no first come first serve," says Kymm Britton, an independent publicist who accompanied many artists, including my band, during her tenure at MCA Records. Lesser-known artists queue up for interviews, while superstars cut to the fronts of lines. Once on camera, a B-list interviewee may not notice that his interviewer is looking past him to the arriving limousine. If Madonna steps out, the interviewee will be cut off with an abrupt "Thank you."

The Performances

Though the live acts are the best part of the show, they cause a lot of behind-the-scenes consternation. For one thing, they can be expensive for the label: think of all the musicians, technical crews, dancers and stylists involved. J. Lo's hairdresser can't come cheap. U2 and its crew won't be slumming it at the Comfort Inn. Expenses can add up to several hundred thousand dollars, paid for by the record company but then deducted from the artist's future earnings.

The Grammy stage, packed with legendary artists, can make musicians sickeningly nervous. When they're not on stage tonight, Stevie Wonder, Brian Wilson, Billy Preston and Bonnie Raitt might be seated in the front rows, an intimidating sight for younger performers. "There is nothing quite like playing a bass part 10 feet in front of Sting, one of the greatest bass players," says Sheryl Crow, who performed on the 1999 telecast and has won numerous times. "The mind will tell you that you don't even know how to play the bass at all. Compound that with the presence of the red light atop the camera reminding you that this is live and there is no going back, no fixing, no starting over."

Tim Smith, who plays bass and guitar with Ms. Crow, has appeared on countless television shows but says that the 1999 Grammys filled him with an unusual terror. Afterward, "I spent the rest of the show lying on the floor backstage, unable to move or talk to anyone." Such was his state that the makeup person put ice packs on him, though Mr. Smith is still not sure why.

The Postgame

As soon as the closing credits roll, musicians and record moguls pour into the street, peering into the windows of the several hundred nearly identical black limousines outside. Cellphones flip open, and publicists field panicked calls from lost executives and musicians.

Once filled, the limousines fan out across the city to various after-parties, the most lavish of which are hosted by the major-label music groups. (Each comprises several individual labels.) Access to these affairs is tight. Other than the bosses who run the companies and the elite artists in their good graces, few have a chance of sipping Champagne on the record company's dime. Even Grammy-nominated artists may have to fight for invitations, and many past-year Grammy winners are snubbed.

Somehow my bandmates and I were included at the Universal Music Group's Grammy party in 1999. We mingled with just a few dozen people, including Smokey Robinson, Bono, Sting, Elvis Costello, Lionel Richie and Ms. Crow. (Mr. Smith remembers that Ms. Crow had to lobby the label to allow her band in as well; Ms. Crow says she can't remember the details.)

Over the years, record label purse strings have tightened around after-party invitation lists. Hans Haedelt, who signed Semisonic, started in MCA's artist and repertory department in 1993. "By the time I was a V.P. it was harder for me to get in to the party than when I was a lowly manager," he recalls. Though now retired, Mr. Haedelt remembers looking forward to the festivities. "I thought if I got invited to the after-party, I'd get to shake hands with the top dogs. But no, they're all roped off in their own section," he says, adding that the executives enjoy finer caviar and Champagne.

Meanwhile, the publicists are still hard at work, with one last mission: to get "The Photo," meaning the shot of the labels' top executives posing with major nominees or winners. One publicist, who declined to be named, tells of a year when an important executive went missing. Early the next morning, the canny publicist asked an assistant to cut the missing executive out of another photo and paste him into the picture. "It looked a bit ridiculous," she admits, but it was easy to choose between a cockeyed photo and the fury of an indignant record executive.

Jacob Slichter is the author of the memoir "So You Wanna Be a Rock & Roll Star."