Why Herbie Hancock will win the Grammy for Album of the Year

First off, let me just assert that I don't get much of a jizz-spurt over complaining about the Grammys anymore. I haven't in years.

The question of their relevance has long been answered: ain't much. Every time I do get riled up and put something to cyber-paper, I feel more and more like a grizzled old coot standing on the corner of 12^th Street and Vine, rattling a saber festooned with tin cans, wheezing about how the end is coming as I've been doing for 40 years. Nobody takes the Grammys seriously except for Kanye West, who may have a point. Both Soy Bomb and Ol' Dirty Bastard have bum-rushed the Grammy stage because they knew its regality was vulnerable. Soundgarden openly confronted the Grammy audience about whether they were heavy metal or not. And don't get me started on Metallica v. Jethro Tull, or the hot throng of incompetency that is anybody who voted for Christopher Cross.

I only want to chime in about the Grammys when I may be able to educate da kidz on wiles of the music business, when the Grammy nominators make certain choices that are so peculiar that somebody needs to explain it. Not being a Grammy nominator myself, I'm in a better position to objectively explain these things away, like the head of the C.I.A. is depended upon to testify about tapes that were erased before he even took the job. That's just how it works around here.

Let's be honest: If I were picking the Grammy Awards, nobody would watch. I would nominate the works of friends I owe favors to, so all of them would be indebted to me and I could see them squabble backstage. If I were picking the Grammys on the condition that I not nominate friends, then Jens Lekman would be this year's Santana, the entire Pelican and Battles albums would be up for all the instrumental categories (including country), and Joe Meek, Moondog and Harry Nilsson would get Lifetime Achievement Awards. See what I mean? It would be fun, naturally, but not for anyone but myself and a couple of my more inebriated friends, who probably couldn't afford the trip to L.A. anyway so we'd have to hold the awards in Tacoma.

Which is just my way of saying everybody has their favorites. But occasionally, rising through the muck of communal discussion, consensus arrives in the Grammysphere. The minute Amy Winehouse released Back To Black in the U.S. it became certain Grammy bait. You could tell throughout the year that other artists were going to have more than average chances when December's nominations rolled around. Feist was an inevitability; so was Taylor Swift, Kanye West, Arcade Fire, and perennials like the White Stripes, John Mayer, Bruce Springsteen and the undisputed king of polka, Jimmy Sturr, who has almost as much hardware as Stevie Wonder.

But when Grammy takes a left turn, boy, do they take a U-ie. Paramore, Best New Artist? Lily Allen, Alternative? (And then not New Artist?) Why did Bruce Springsteen's Magic album lose what seemed like a shoo-in spot for Best Album? You're telling me Sony could blow their annual Holiday Farms budget on ensuring Celine Dion's album wins over Beck's Odelay, but they can't squeeze enough out of petty cash to get Bruce in there for his best album in 20 years? Man, those layoffs hurt.

And consequentially, how in the world did Herbie Hancock's album River: The Joni Letters – which flew in under the radar of most jazz critics, let alone the general musical realm, pick up the nod that many assumed would go straight to Springsteen?

These head-scratchers always seems to happen with Album of the Year. Since the album is still the principal unit of creative musical endeavors, the award is sorta like the Grammys' equivalent of Best Picture. It is supposedly the monolithic work that most stands out. Which means it's almost always the most frustrating award of the night.

Consider the above-mentioned Celine beatdown of Beck, or when Bruce Springsteen's Born In the U.S.A. and Prince's Purple Rain both lost out to Lionel Richie's Can't Slow Down, or when Eminem's The Marshall Mathers LP lost to Steely Dan's Two Against Nature. (Bonus track to the Pink Floyd cultists: The Wall lost out to Christopher Cross. It's just another brick, man!!)

When selecting the Grammy for Album of the Year, voters pay absolutely no heed to the likelihood of future legacy. They reject all projection and periphery. There is no interest in evaluating or surmising what works will stand the test of time. What's their motivation? Probably a favor, or industry alliances, making them eager to reward an album whose legacy will probably run out when the after-party kegs start spurting foam. The prom kings and queens rule the Album of the Year category; the socially awkward scientist who grows up to discover the cure for cancer does not.

And when time passes Christopher Cross by, when the cosmic importance of Toto IV begans to dim, they realize in horror that they've never given a Grammy Award to Bob Dylan, and promise to make up for it at the next available, reasonable moment.

Yet this year's different, because the spoiler in the Album Of the Year category is not quite the prom king, not quite the awkward scientist. It's Herbie Hancock, with an album of jazz interpretations of Joni Mitchell songs. (And how about Joni Mitchell? Should've won for Blue; instead won for Turbulent Indigo.) Hancock is most surprising because River: The Joni Letters has created almost nil buzz in any sector since its release back in summer. It's as if someone decided to award one of the top 5 spots in the National Chili Cook-Off to a chili that was primarily made out of bean curds – okay, technically it may be chili, but that ain't a jalepeno you just bit.

Well, you have two months to get used to the shock and prepare yourself, because Herbie Hancock is not just competing for Album Of The Year at the 50^th Grammmys. He's going to win the thing straight up.

It certainly could be worse. For one thing, at least Hancock's River is a good album.

Actually more than that: For something with its concept, it's quite strong. It's legitimate jazz, not the tarted-up fusion you'd expect to get this kind of notice from Grammy people. His reworking of "Both Sides Now" is great – it takes the arches and turns you'd hope Bill Evans would have taken with the chestnut. And Tina Turner's singing "Edith and the Kingpin" is one of the most revelatory songs of her career, hinting at a kind of depth and richness she's not shown before in quite this way. Hancock shows a lot of wisdom in making the unusual pairing of Turner with one of Joni's most overlooked, late-era gems. The truth is River does a whole lot of good for everyone involved with it, and that's a whole lotta folks. Leonard Cohen's even on it – ain't nobody gonna begrudge him anything, especially me. He'd meditate me to death.

So when Hancock wins it may feel a bit funny, but it won't be totally depressing. And he will win. Allow me to explain why.

(1) When they can manage it, Album of the Year serves as more of a career achievement award, rather than a straight-up assessment of merit. Steely Dan acknowledged this when they beat out Eminem. That's why Quincy Jones, Tony Bennett, Eric Clapton and, yes, Bob Dylan won the award for albums a bit short of their best work. It's usually 20 years too late, but at least it's consistent.

Who's going to deny Hancock? His name is never whispered with the same reverence as his mentor Miles Davis, or even his comrade Wayne Shorter, but he's charted a restless path his entire career. And done so without cheating his muse, even if he was criticized (quite unfairly) for dabbling in the realm of the beatbox with "Rockit." Seeing him perform "Maiden Voyage" with Julian Priester a couple years ago in Seattle (funny enough, at an event for the Northwest chapter of the Grammys) was one of the highlights of my professional life.

In a way, Hancock's inevitable AOTY win might be the least offensive incorrect Grammy Award of the last half-century. He never hogged the spotlight; he followed a true artist's path. If he didn't blaze trails, at least he generated enough light to see where he was going next. And the attention showered upon Hancock in the last week almost guarantees that he's going to be remembered when people have to cast their ballots in a couple of weeks.

(2) Album of the Year almost always goes to the album that has the least noticeable subplot of all the nominees. Nothing sucks the life out of extra-curricular drama than getting nominated for Album of the Year, because the drama will positively end once the envelope's opened.

Everyone knows about Amy Winehouse's subplot, even if she made an unquestionably great album. That's why her descent is sad and appalling, whereas Britney Spears' downfall is like a Jeff Foxworthy routine gone far too long: Amy's fucking good. Britney just knows how to choose producers.

Kanye West's subplot should be obvious if you've watched any music awards show he's been involved with in the last two years. Foo Fighters' only real subplot is that Dave Grohl is the nicest guy in alt-rock, and by far its best comedian. But Grohl's last band certainly had a few.

Nope. Shove 'em all off. Hancock has no baggage, no encumbrances, except his long legacy and professionalism. Everyone will feel better voting for him. If Hancock doesn't win, don't be surprised if the equally tranquil Vince Gill wins the award for his four-disc set These Days. Unruffled feathers plus ambition? Get out of town! Or, rather, please exit the city limits with as small of a ruckus as you can manage, if you can, thanks.

(2.a) Subplots involving death, however, always win (John Lennon, Ray Charles). Which makes Amy-watching that more impactful over the next couple months. Well, make that weeks; voting ends in about three.

(3) There is no time like now for the Grammys to correct their uneasy relationship with modern jazz. They've screwed it over for half a century. Giving a major award to a jazz album will, at least in their minds, make up for missing the boat on every Miles Davis album released during the first ten years of the Grammys' existence. Coltrane's Love Supreme will not have vanished in vain. It'll just have taken 40 years.

(4) I don't care what they say about the Grammy voting pool getting younger – I don't think it's ever happened. This show is still driven by the senior circuit. I doubt that people less than 50 years old can even be bothered to vote for the Grammys unless they're actually nominated for one.

When Neil Portnow gets his nominating committees together, that's when the Grammy people make their pitch to youth. But when it comes down to voting for the big one, the only folks interested in rewarding merit are likely to mete out awards to veterans who need to get reassurance that they really did deserve to get noticed. And they tend to be long-timers who know the history. That's my guess.

(4.a) Yeah, I know Paul McCartney keeps losing this award. (Some would say he also got robbed by Hancock this year.) But last time he went up against U2, who are angelic figures. Any year you go up against a cherub, you have already lost to Divine Right. Sorry, Mac.

So that's why it's going to Herbie, whereas something more, I don't know, recognizable will get a boutique award. They concede awards to rock, rap, metal, alternative, polka, blues, folk, and all the other specific genres so that if all else failed, those musicians could get their own little citizenship awards. Nobody will remember they won.

In my opinion, if they were following an ecosystem with proper standards, the Grammys would consist of nothing but those types of smaller awards. All-encompassing Album, Song, Record of the Year awards wouldn't exist. But they just can't have that. There's got to be a Big One, something that represents the Central Idea, the big severed head they put on a stake at the end of the night. Or else all those publicity agents will have gone for naught. It's the giant thud. Entertainment is nothing without thuds.

As it is, Herbie Hancock's Grammy win will be a muffled thud, but it will also be a decisive thud. Last week's shock at his nomination will end in the anticlimax of his victory. Will that be what the music of 2007 most symbolized, represented, or will contribute to the annals of future history? No. It won't. But it won't suck. I have to console myself when Album of the Year doesn't go to Amy or Kanye that deserving people like Herbie Hancock should really be winning more Grammys. He's only got nine.