In the wake of the L.A. fires, the show went on with the 2025 Grammys, which host Trevor Noah turned into a fundraising telethon much like the Fire Aid concert a few nights before. Noah prepared almost no material for this event, mostly riffing aimlessly and never getting around to telling any jokes while, for instance, Chappell Roan sat there during one interminable take looking uncomfortable.
Otherwise, this one might go down as a Grammys that didn’t suck, as the Academy did fairly reasonable work in capturing the predominantly pop-girl zeitgeist even while throwing in some head-scratchers like nominating Andre 3000’s flute-porn album for Album of the Year. Speaking of whodathunkits: Both the Beatles and the Stones won Grammys in 2025, believe it or not, but neither award was televised.
The show itself was a feast for the senses all night: Cardi B debuted a new accent while presenting Best Rap Album. Doechii wore a hoop skirt on both legs while becoming just the third woman to win Best Rap Album. Shakira’s sons stole hearts during their mom’s acceptance speech for Best Latin Pop Album. Sabrina Carpenter’s speech was not so short n’ sweet when accepting Best Pop Vocal Album, but Taylor Swift acted thrilled to lose to her anyway.
Taylor wore all red—Go Chiefs!—and she was sure to kick her leg out on the red carpet when presenting Best Country Album so everyone could see the little “T” dangling from her dress onto her thigh. T for Taylor, T for Travis, T for “ten yard penalty” which happens on defensive holding calls whenever Mahomes can’t convert a third down.
Taylor handed the Best Country Album award to Beyoncé, as the world’s two biggest pop stars met on stage, each moving opposite directions along the pop/country spectrum. Beyonce’s win caused an immediate stink in Nashville, which argues that one digital banjo and a “Jolene” cover does not a country album make. Lester Flatt would be so pissed. Cowboy Carter went on to win Album of the Year to no controversy since it’s a moment long overdue (although Billie Eilish looked completely crushed).
When Alicia Keys, wearing the largest earrings in Grammy history, accepted the Dr. Dre Global Impact Award, she rattled off the contributions of female record producers over the years while Dre beamed from the audience. Dee Barnes’ name did not come up. (In related news, Kanye West showed up uninvited to the red carpet with his naked hostage wife before reportedly being escorted off the premises before the show started.) Alicia also gave the night’s most explicit critique of the new war on diversity, saying, “DEI is not a threat. It’s a gift.”
The Grammys, however, provided the biggest, clearest response to MAGA whitewashing by awarding Black artists in four categories they were not expected to win. Beyoncé won Album of the Year and Best Country Album; Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us” won Song of the Year and Record of the Year, as well as Best Rap Performance, Best Rap Song, and Best Music Video, becoming the most-decorated rap song in Grammy history. (Has anyone done a wellness check on Drake?) Plus the night was hosted by a bi-racial South African; paid tribute to Black music legend Quincy Jones; had a Black icon, Diana Ross, deliver the night’s top award; and featured a speech from Harvey Mason, Jr., the Grammy’s first Black president, about diversifying the Grammy electorate. So put that in your White House Big Mac and eat it.
Chappell Roan, looking like Krusty the Clown and Sideshow Bob merged into a single person, read her acceptance speech for Best New Artist from a gilded book while lambasting record labels for not providing health support to their artists. Lady Gaga, by the way, wants her freak-shock pop-queen crown back from Chappell, going so far as to hijack the night with a frenetic, little-monster-revival five-minute video for her new single “Abracadabra” right in the middle of the broadcast.
Chris Martin had the In Memorium duties this year, singing “All My Love” alongside Grace Bowers on an SG. People always have beef with who got left out of the tribute, and mine this time are Great White vocalist Jack Russell and power-pop true believer Greg Kihn, whose most famous line is “Uh uh uh, uh uh uh uh uh.” They don’t write ‘em like that anymore.
And of course there were the nominees’ performances, a few of which paid tribute to California. Billie sang a thin-voiced “Birds of a Feather” in a Dodgers cap in front of a backdrop of the San Gabriel Mountains while Taylor danced with Margaret Qualley at their table out in the audience. Gaga and Bruno Mars, dressed like thrift-store George and Tammy, trying to outsing each other on the Mamas & the Papas’ “California Dreamin’” while Dawes’ Taylor Goldsmith fought back tears while watching from the crowd.
The evening also saw massive production numbers, including the Weeknd’s fog-drenched, boycott-ending performance of “Cry For Me” and “Timeless” from his new Hurry Up Tomorrow, assisted by Playboi Carti and 50 dancers in red green-screen suits, many of them coming up from below the stage like demons emerging from the depths of hell.
Shakira, who looks amazing, did it all during her medley—the crazy belly waves, the hair whipping, the serpentine circles, the pelvic tucks. And if there was some lip syncing as she made her way through the crowd, her hips, for their part, did not lie. Charli XCX started with a prerecorded sequence of some steamy parking-garage strutting during “Von Dutch” before she materialized in her power-blue (the color of the night) bra and underwear for a wild pantie-rave rendition of “Guess.” I kept waiting for the camera to cut to Bob Weir in the audience.
Some of coolest acts came during the Best New Artist nominees, who performed all in order, including Khruangbin, who murmured their “May Ninth” in one of the haziest, chill-pill indie-rock moments ever put on a Grammy stage; while singing “Beautiful Things,” champion tumbler Benson Boone, whose tux was torn away by Heidi Klum and Nikki Glaser at their table, revealing a blue jumpsuit that Elvis would’ve worn had he maintained his 1954 weight; he later apologized for “so aggressively” adjusting his package on stage; and Raye, who made the most of her two minutes, going full, classic-jazz chanteuse, complete with a string section, a swing-era horns orchestra, a back-up choir, and perfect cleavage.
But here now I’ll give you my Top Five Performances from the 2025 Grammys. These were the most memorable, most inventive, or most smile-inducing for me:
Dawes. It's quite a showcase to open the Grammys, so how great that the Grammys gave it to Dawes after the band’s Taylor and Griffin Goldsmith both lost their homes in the L.A. fires. Apart from this tragedy, they deserve to be on this stage as one of the great American bands of the century, and lead singer Taylor proved it on his winsome reading of Randy Newman’s “I Love L.A.,” even if the director didn’t know which guitarist was soloing. Joining Dawes were the motley crew of John Legend on piano, Sheryl Crow on bass, Brad Paisley and Brittany Howard on guitars, and St. Vincent on keys. We love it! Let’s take this thing on the road.
Sabrina Carpenter. Sabrina turned “Espresso” and “Please Please Please” into an old-school ‘70s-variety-show dance-comedy routine, complete with slapstick physical bits, backup dancer hijinks, Hee Haw-style naked-behind-the-hedge gags, and set-design mishaps. Sabrina didn’t hide from pop-girl sex appeal in her blue bustier corset, but it was like Madonna paying tribute to Carol Burnett in a Busby Berkely parody. It was a fun-cute, trend-defying showpiece from a girl whose give-a-fucks are on vacation.
Chappell Roan, the Pride of Willard MO, appeared sitting atop a giant pink pony wearing a leather western-textured chest-plate bodice, as her “Pink Pony Club” turned out to be a cast of cavorting, weeble-wobbling, bandana-swinging rodeo clowns. It was a funhouse phantasm with the night’s best choreography and costuming and a vocal dervish from Chappell that proved why she was last year’s most combustible pop star. H-O-T. Go Tigers.
Doecci. Dressed like a US Postal Worker until she was stripped down to her Underoos, Doecci proved that she’s a super-bendy yogi and an ace at throwback singsongy rap on “Catfish,” cavorting amid cool, expressionistic choreography with a jazz-breakdance troupe punctuated by big-band horns. Word, a star, etc., are born.
The Quincy Jones Tribute. Okay, this was a mixed bag actually. Let’s start with the bad: Will Smith. How did he get to lead this thing? Hoping we’ve forgotten his award-show assault of Chris Rock, Smith acted like everyone still loves him and like he was unembarrassed that his son showed up with a castle on his head. Of course, Smith did his best to make the Quincy tribute all about himself although if he really wanted to make news, he should have cracked a joke about Cynthia Erivo’s bald head. The other clunker was Lainey Wilson; whoever selected her for the Ray Charles bit should have their Academy card revoked. Erivo, looking shockingly thin, sang a classy vocal on “Fly Me to the Moon” to Herbie Hancock’s elegant accompaniment and appeared at one point to be on the verge of clawing him to ribbons.
And then Stevie Wonder showed up, sitting on Herbie’s piano bench, honking on his Hohner to “Bluesette,” a song Quincy recorded in 1975. And who expected to ever hear Stevie sing “We Are the World” again? I wish Springsteen would have materialized to recreate their famous duet on the song, but it was a heartwarming moment, which Stevie also used to insist that he never said that Ethiopians spoke Swahili. Waylon Jennings, who died in 2002, was unavailable for comment.
Then, the showstopper: Janelle Monae channeled Michael Jackson on “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.” The Off the Wall tux, the high waters, the spangly socks, the loafers, the crotch grabs, the moonwalk—she nailed it, ending it by tossing her jacket into the crowd. Who caught it? Taylor, of course, who wore it the rest of the night. T for Touchdown.
This made me really sad I missed it. Great review!!