KRVS

Stephen Thompson

Haley Heynderickx's songs have a way of sneaking up on you: They start out spare, animated by a lone voice or a subtly snaky guitar line, only to billow out into something strange, beautiful, bracingly intense or some combination thereof.

The trajectory of the night said it all. The 60th Grammy Awards opened Sunday with the promise of an explosive performance by apparent frontrunner Kendrick Lamar, punctuated by superstar cameos (U2, Dave Chappelle) and a heady cocktail of grit and visual imagination. The show closed with the completion of the least exciting possible sweep, as Bruno Mars — a gamely appealing pop star whose funky but lightweight jams peppered radio playlists all year — won Album Of The Year (for 24K Magic), Record Of The Year (for "24K Magic") and Song Of The Year (for "That's What I Like").

The Grammy Awards have many roles to play in the cultural conversation. Above all, they're a music-industry showcase and infomercial, stuffed with three and a half hours of live performances meant to spark social-media conversation — and, by extension, sales, streams and TV ratings. But they also function as a way to crown what you might call ambassadors: marketable standard-bearers the industry sees as its faces and future. Each year, the Grammys provide a window into how the music business wishes to see itself, which in turn makes each telecast a surprisingly useful snapshot.

Every year around this time, many of us on the All Songs Considered team — including Bob Boilen, Robin Hilton and me — each dredge through nearly 2,000 MP3s by bands playing the SXSW Music Festival in Austin, Texas, in search of great new discoveries. And every year, we wind up missing something. In pursuit of music by thousands of acts, hundreds slip past our radar altogether.

Pages