By Karen Glauber
This was the first year I watched the Grammy Awards with my eight-year-old son. His takeaway was (a) I let him stay up past his bedtime (yay), and (b) Metallica really didn’t need Lady Gaga and backup dancers (eesh!) to prove they’re the greatest metal band of all time. Julian might have had some coaxing on “(b),” but only a minimal amount. My favorite performance was Beyoncé’s medley of “Love Drought” and “Sandcastles,” with its gorgeous, dream-like choreography, reminiscent of Pina Bausch’s work. Also, the sight of a pregnant woman, surrounded by other women, tends to make many men uncomfortable, perhaps because their status in the process, post-conception, is minimal to nonexistent. I may not have felt at the height of my “power” during my pregnancy, but I can’t hold a candle to Queen Bey, who ruled supreme on Grammy night…
