By Jeremy Hallock
By James Khubiar
By Observer Staff
By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
"Screw you. I'm not doing some effing awards show."
They threatened to fire me, and from then on, it was smooth sailing. Since that day, we've come far: assembled nominations, tabulated ballots and put together an awards show that promises to be--well, if not entertaining, then at least two hours long.
But that's not the whole story. What of the write-ins who don't win? What of the drama of catching cheaters? What of the voters whose ballots were humorous or, in some cases, downright offensive? That's what this story is about. This is the story behind the music awards.
A Dialogue With a Dear Reader
For those who disagree with the nominations--and it's no small group--the Observer gladly accepts write-in nominations. The idea, of course, is that an underdog could upset a nominee, although to my knowledge, that's never happened. The acts who received the most write-ins--like country singer Max Stalling or radio-friendly Jibe (see sidebar)--fell hundreds of votes short of toppling category winners. So in reality, what this blank space really provides is a forum for smart-asses to whine. To wit: "You are all so full of it. You latch on to crap bands and nominate trash. This is a joke," writes one voter. Last week, I e-mailed the guy, hoping to start a dialogue about the awards. I was genuinely curious, and, of course, I wanted to humiliate him in print. But he never wrote back, much like the lad who wrote, in the Best Latin/Tejano category, the bon mots: "were in america...arent we?" Nearly every category was cluttered with lame, adolescent retorts: "tejano is shit"; "country sucks balls"; "jass [sic] is dead." Some were vaguely humorous, like the girl who wrote that the Best Female Vocalist was "me--alone in my car" or the guy who voted for "DJ Poopshoot McGhee."
Curiously, the only category to receive no disparaging comments was Best Drummer, thus settling the question of which band member gets the most respect--or generates the least interest.
Brief Answers to Stupid Questions
Among the many gripes and swipes in this year's ballots were some important questions. OK, they were stupid, but let's take a moment to answer them anyway. Q: How much is Eisley paying you guys?
A: Sadly, not much. It's unfair, since Eisley paid my predecessor Zac Crain nearly $500 in Bibles and tuna casserole. This year, all I got was a lousy snapshot of the band with Chris Martin, on which someone scrawled, "Who loves ya, baby?" Burden Brothers, on the other hand, sent me a dozen frozen steaks and a lifetime supply of black nail polish. But the Polyphonic Spree gave me the best gift of all. That gift is hope.
Q: What's folk?
A: Traditionally, it is music passed down through generations--often with simple, pleasant melodies--but these days, it is more often applied to songs that have that earnest, stripped-down flavor.
Q: What's funk? What's reggae?
A: Oh, shut up.
Q: Who are these people?
A: Fine musicians all. Hardworking, talented people. A few assholes in the bunch, but overall, a stand-up crew.
Q: Who does your selection? Geez.
A: It's an intricate, time-tested method involving me and a bottle of Goldschlager. OK, it's an intricate, time-tested method including squirrels and a bottle of Goldschlager. OK, there's no Goldschlager. Just me and the squirrels pointing to pretty colors. Eenie, minie, Sorta. No, seriously: It's a panel of experts. Don't buy it? Didn't think so.
Q: Who cares?
A: Actually, many people. Thousands voted in these awards, and I dare say most of them skipped the last local election. Sheriff, shmeriff--who's the musician of the year?
Q: Is this a fucking joke?
A: Sheesh. Kiss your mother with that mouth?
Q: Are you serious?
A Short Consideration of Ballot Stuffing
We're not as dumb as we sound in print, OK? Sure, we make the occasional blunder--like, say, accidentally referring to Andre 3000's Speakerboxxx CD in our Prince concert preview when any monkey knows that Andre did The Love Below (hell, we never even listened to Speakerboxxx!), but we're not freaking imbeciles. When we receive 30 ballots with the same address label--our street name spelled wrong each and every time--we notice. And when each of those ballots is filled out the same way, with the same write-in for Best Guitarist, often in the same neat cursive script, we suspect things. And when we suspect things, we call the voters themselves. (We're not dumb, but we are, occasionally, bored.) And when every one of those ballots is attributed to a wrong number, do you know where those ballots go?
Those ballets go in the trash.
Ballot stuffing is inevitable at this time of year, like allergies and American Idol, but we try our best to keep this game honest. A few ground rules: We toss any ballot with only one category marked. Recently, we received a bundle at once--54 ballots!--with only one category marked. Like, duh! Did you actually waste 54 papers for this? The stands are clearly marked "one paper per person." Then, dozens of people voted twice online, using the same name...as if we wouldn't notice.