Grammy Acceptance Speech – 2/2

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This topic contains 22 replies, has 13 voices, and was last updated by  vormoradS 8 years, 8 months ago.

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  • #330268

    admin
    Participant
  • #532954

    admin
    Participant

    Your name is called: You’ve won the “Album of the Year” Grammy for your album, (fill in the blank). You step up to the podium to accept your award and, halfway through, the orchestra tries to play you off. You’ve worked too long and hard to allow this to happen, so you don’t–to the surprise of everyone. Write this scene.

    You can post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

  • #532955

    writing in oregon
    Participant

    A stream of sweat trickled down the center of my back. I felt my jaw clench and my guts tighten. I couldn’t believe I was sitting here at the Grammy awards with my entire 2nd grade class of 117. Furthermore, I was still reeling from the excitement of the past few months. 21st century technology was the force behind this change of events. For my entire career (20 + years) as a music teacher in a public elementary school, I had put together grade-level productions. They had always brought great turnout and community support. This year’s production found its way to both YouTube and Teacher Tube, thanks to some camera happy parents and staff. The number of hits our hour long musical received on both sites led to quick recognition. Before I knew what happened the principal had called me in to tell me that the Grammy’s had added a new category, “Elementary Album of the Year” and that I, along with the entire 2nd grade class, had been nominated. Since we were the only nominees (new category), we were a shoe-in!

    So that’s how it happened. With a lot of hard work and fund-raising I was able to bring the entire 2nd grade class on a field trip to the Grammy’s. You should see their eyes and faces as they first saw the huge theater, and recognized some people they had seen on TV. I was exhausted from the hard work, fundraising, and other preparations that I had gone through in order to get here, in addition to carrying on with my teaching duties. Fame sure was exhausting.

    Finally the time arrived. “And announcing, the winner of our newest category, Elementary Album of the Year”…Tim McGraw smiled at the crowd and accepted the envelope from his wife Faith. Pulling the slip from the envelope he flashed a special grin that I felt was just for me… “Mrs. Grady and the South Creek Kids!” The crowd erupted.

    I stood and nervously made my way to the end of the aisle and then down the red carpet and onto the stage. Tim and Faith waited there with a smile. After Tim handed me the Grammy I turned to the microphone. As a music teacher I was used to speaking to an audience. I had never been in front of one so grand. The smiling faces of my students in the back left of the theater gave me the strength that I needed. “I’d like to thank the association for adding this new category. I’d like to….” Suddenly the orchestra started to play VERY LOUDLY!! I waited for a minute, sure that there was some mistake in the timing of the program. I WAS WRONG! Someone was boycotting my “acceptance and thanks” speech!

    Like good little students most of mine had their eyes and ears on me, despite the loud music. I gave them the sign to exit the aisle and come up on the stage. Quickly and quietly, and with hands at their sides, they did so. 117 2nd graders stood in single file across the front of the massive stage. I counted… “a one and a two and a…” and they began to sing. They were halfway through the first song of our album when the orchestra finally ceased its interruption. Undaunted, the kids sang their hearts out and finished the song. As they brought it to a close and took a bow they were met with the most generous applause that any singer could ever hope for in a career. Surely if I have any career singers to-be in this class they have their torch lit now.

    I felt no need to finish my speech after that. As for Mrs. Grady and the South Creek Kids, well…we were all over the news for the rest of the week. I hear the Grammy clips on You Tube have gotten quite a few hits…. I’d better start planning for next year’s program.

  • #532956

    Sharkerella
    Participant

    I was a 17 yr old above average student when I confessed to my mother my interest in singing and Ricky Martin. She did get pissed off at the later choice but a week later she gave me a thousand dollars and threw me out of the house.

    I knew she wanted me to make it as a singer, I knew it because I saw her crying at the window sill. Also the ticket to L.A. at the gate was too big a clue to miss. So with no educational qualifications for a backup job nor any big contacts I head off to L.A with big dreams…

    About my singing, I never realized I had it until at a mall where I was with this Indian neighbor whom I had to show Ohio. So in the mall we had this small contest where he participates and comes out in the first round and when he shows me the bike as the 1st prize, I decide to test my baritone. Ofcourse I don’t win but I was the 2nd runner-up and not that but the fact that I could pull an otherwise self-obsessed shopaholics to listen to my song, I thought maybe this is it.

    So when I land in L.A. I go to a record company, sing a song I wrote in the flight, make a cd, make 10 copies and send it to some music guys, bands and expect a reply. 2 days passed by and no one replied and I lost all the money I had on food and living in a motel. I begin to lose my hope, lose faith in my destiny and head back. I walk to the airport where I realize I don’t even have the cash to buy a ticket to go home. With not even a single penny left to call my mom and ask to send some cash I stand on the street and gaze at the setting Sun and try realize the metaphor it has with my life. Then my eyes go on the small snack bar where a man is eating a giant burger. He takes a bite, finishes it and gives the waiter a hefty tip. Then I look at the streets

    The Sun had set but the streets of L.A. were lit with lights.

    So I begin to serve tables. I also sang on the streets to make some extra money but the fact that I made some extra money reignited in me back the confidence that I could sing. The Sun had risen. But this time I woke up early to see it rise, and I observe the sun rose gradually, slowly and steadily until all its beams took over L.A. streets.

    I start off again, wrote better songs, took some feedback. The crowd at the restaurant where I sang would stay longer than their food. Then a lady asked me to sing at her 4 yr old son’s birthday. I grabbed the opportunity, sang at the birthday party, not just there I also sang at the Christmas party, New Year’s Party and I rose. Then I got a call, it was an offer…

    The Sun had taken over the L.A. streets and my album was nominated for the Grammy, where I went and came back empty handed. It was my 3rd nomination that made me walk up the stage to catch hold of the prestigious trophy. I was walking towards the stage to collect the reason I had left my home. But as I walk I hear the orchestra play a familiar tune. Oh my God they are playing the ‘Go back’ music which they play when winners give really long speeches. But mine wasn’t even started. Maybe it’s a goof up or some silly prank. I collect the award but instead of handling me the mike, the presenter in the black gown thanked me, gave me air kisses and said

    ‘Thank you have your seat’ and she smiled back at the other losers who couldn’t make it. ‘But I haven’t even’ I try to argue when I hear the orchestra play the ‘Go Back’ tune again. I politely walk back but why the hell should I be polite so I shake my belly, dance with the music, and do all the Bollywood steps and walk back to the stage. The orchestra plays louder I shake my belly more grossly. They play even louder, I grab the rude presenter and do ball dance with her, she screams and I leave her hand causing her to lose her balance and fall off the stage. The crowd goes ‘Ooohh!!!’

    ‘Shut up ok, just shut up’ I yell ‘I’ve worked too hard for this’ I raise the award and look at the orchestra guys ‘How dare you? Hah! I’ve waited a lot for this, if I deserve this I also deserve to stand here and speak a few words . Words about myself, my hardwork, my dedication, my efforts’
    The air conditioner noise can be heard in the silent crowd. The orchestra head points behind at a manager. I walk to him, he goes back stage, I follow him. ‘How dare you?’ I ask. ‘We’re already late Sir’ he excused. ‘I don’t care, I worked hard for this. There are so many people to thank’ I explain.
    ‘I know Sir.’ ‘No you don’t, I had this speech ready’ I remove a big sheet of paper from my jacket ‘See I had to thank my boss who gave me my first job, the 4 yr old child…’

    He interrupts ‘I know, his mother, the boss’ mother, your mother but what do I do. I was late.’ My mother! I had completely forgotten about her, how she must be doing alone, she must’ve retired by now. She raised me and I don’t even know whether she was alive or

    He says ‘Look Sir try to understand my problem. And about this thank you speech’ I hide the sheet behind my back. He continues ‘There are other places to thank people, interviews, reality shows, twitter’

    He was right, there are other places to thank people but I just saw one place. I take the first flight to Ohio and run back to my apartment and the house which I had left 5 years ago. I look at the broken gate where mom had left the ticket to L.A. I walk to the door but can’t muster enough courage to knock the door and face my mother. I turn back to leave when I hear a noise. I put my ear on the door and hear the Grammy show. I can’t take it anymore, I knock the door loudly. The door is opened, I see my mother. I remove my goggles to wipe my tears ‘Ma!!!’

    At dinner I asked her why did she not call me. She said she was busy with her work. She was obviously lying cause I hadn’t given her my number even after my 1st two songs got nominated for the Grammys. I never went to the stage to collect the Grammy. My mom went and collected 5 of them for me.

    If anyone reads this, please give a feedback. Thanks.

  • #532957

    maxOxitte
    Participant

    Dance Another Day
    The announcer’s voice echoed throughout the room “The Grammy for Album of the Year goes to…” I leaned forward in anticipation, “Angela Wolf, with her Album ‘Dance Another Day’!” The crowd erupted with screams, shouts, and applause. I jumped up, tears rolling down my face. I had just won a Grammy.
    “Thank you.” I smiled into the microphone, cameras flashed around me as I continued, “This is an amazing honor. I would like to thank…” The orchestra started to play louder, I smiled quickly as I continued, “I would like to thank…” The orchestra played louder again. The battle between me and the orchestra had gone on long enough, I had worked too long and too hard for this award, and I wasn’t going to let some garage band show me up. I walked over to the orchestra and flung one of the musician’s violins halfway across the stage.
    “Now if you don’t mind,” I said coldly, “I’d like to accept my Grammy.” The musician nodded in surprise.
    As I left the after party, hundreds of news-reporters crowded around me, “What really happened up there?” “Why did you react so suddenly?” and “Are you still accepting the Grammy?” was shouted around me like a hurricane of voices. I calmly stepped into the limo, “When you work that hard for something, you don’t give it up.”
    I zoned out as we rode to the hotel. My reaction was sudden, instantaneous, and unexpected, but it got the point across. I was never out staged again, and personally, I think my body-guards might be a little scared of me by now. I grabbed my guitar and sat down in my quiet hotel-room. It was time to start working on my next award-wining album.

    If you read this and have any comments please give me some feedback. Thank you so much for spending time to read my story! 😀

  • #532958

    maxOxitte
    Participant

    To bkmitchell:

    Great story! 🙂 It’s amazingly original!!! I Never would have thought to have a teacher be nominated! Please give me your comments on my post as well. Thanks!

  • #532959

    Buccundittigh
    Participant

    SOUNDS FROM THE UNDERGROUND

    I couldn’t stop craning my neck, looking around in amazement. We are sitting here, both of us in jet black tuxedos and slicked back hair. We seemed to be glowing, illuminating with pride at what we have accomplished in the past year and a half. This has grown way beyond our expectations. I never believed for a second that a passing thought on my way home from work would become a Grammy nominee for “Album of the Year.” The result of this didn’t matter. This has already been a big win for us.

    The theater turns into a thundering coliseum as Jay-Z and Beyonce glide to podium.
    Their smiles glisten from the stage lights. They bow and mouth an obligatory “Thank You” to the crowd and get down to business.

    Jay-Z rips open the envelope and says, “And the winner, for ‘Best Album of Year’ goes to….” He pauses. They look at each other. And then they look at me. “SOUNDS FROM THE UNDERGROUND!” they scream together.

    We can’t move. I see people standing and clapping around me. I feel the slaps of congratulations on my back. I look over at Steamboat and our collective fog begins to rise.
    We’ve just won album of the year!

    We get our sea legs back and make our way to the stage. My mouth is open and without words as Beyonce hands me the small golden phonograph. They glide back out the way the came, hand in hand again. I look over at Steamboat and nod. I remembered the promise. “If we win I do the ‘ceptance speech,” he said. That was fine with me.

    Steamboat moves to the center of podium and clears his throat. I know what he’s going to say. He will tell the story of how I got a bunch of musicians who scrape out nickels and dimes playing in the New York City Subway system together to make this. How there’s something for everyone on this album. Gospel from the Jefferson family. Blues from Steamboat and the Backwater Boys. Classic violin from Bianca Van Pelt. He’s going to let everyone know that because of their generosity and support, a lot of musicians and their families are able to eat every day. That this album is a testament not only to the power of music, but the positive, life-changing effects in can have on so many people.

    Steamboat smiles and thanks the audience as he waves his hands, trying to get some control over the crowd. I smile back, then notice some stirring in the shadows of the orchestra pit below me. The conductor is tapping the stand in front of him. I glare at him, but he doesn’t notice me. We must have taken too long to get to the stage. They can’t cut us off. We never dreamed of being here, but now that we are, Steamboat is going to have his moment in the sun.

    I start to move towards the orchestra pit when a shadow moves towards the conductor. Jay-Z taps the Conductor on the shoulder. The Conductor turns and steps back, shocked from his surprise visitor. Jay-Z gently reached out and took the baton from the conductor’s hand. He folded his arms and nodded at me, smiling. Steamboat will have his moment.

  • #532960

    Buccundittigh
    Participant

    SOUNDS FROM THE UNDERGROUND

    I couldn’t stop craning my neck, looking around in amazement. We are sitting here, both of us in jet black tuxedos and slicked back hair. We seemed to be glowing, illuminating with pride at what we have accomplished in the past year and a half. This has grown way beyond our expectations. I never believed for a second that a passing thought on my way home from work would become a Grammy nominee for “Album of the Year.” The result of this didn’t matter. This has already been a big win for us.

    The theater turns into a thundering coliseum as Jay-Z and Beyonce glide to podium.
    Their smiles glisten from the stage lights. They bow and mouth an obligatory “Thank You” to the crowd and get down to business.

    Jay-Z rips open the envelope and says, “And the winner, for ‘Best Album of Year’ goes to….” He pauses. They look at each other. And then they look at me. “SOUNDS FROM THE UNDERGROUND!” they scream together.

    We can’t move. I see people standing and clapping around me. I feel the slaps of congratulations on my back. I look over at Steamboat and our collective fog begins to rise.
    We’ve just won album of the year!

    We get our sea legs back and make our way to the stage. My mouth is open and without words as Beyonce hands me the small golden phonograph. They glide back out the way the came, hand in hand again. I look over at Steamboat and nod. I remembered the promise. “If we win I do the ‘ceptance speech,” he said. That was fine with me.

    Steamboat moves to the center of podium and clears his throat. I know what he’s going to say. He will tell the story of how I got a bunch of musicians who scrape out nickels and dimes playing in the New York City Subway system together to make this. How there’s something for everyone on this album. Gospel from the Jefferson family. Blues from Steamboat and the Backwater Boys. Classic violin from Bianca Van Pelt. He’s going to let everyone know that because of their generosity and support, a lot of musicians and their families are able to eat every day. That this album is a testament not only to the power of music, but the positive, life-changing effects in can have on so many people.

    Steamboat smiles and thanks the audience as he waves his hands, trying to get some control over the crowd. I smile back, then notice some stirring in the shadows of the orchestra pit below me. The conductor is tapping the stand in front of him. I glare at him, but he doesn’t notice me. We must have taken too long to get to the stage. They can’t cut us off. We never dreamed of being here, but now that we are, Steamboat is going to have his moment in the sun.

    I start to move towards the orchestra pit when a shadow moves towards the conductor. Jay-Z taps the Conductor on the shoulder. The Conductor turns and steps back, shocked from his surprise visitor. Jay-Z gently reached out and took the baton from the conductor’s hand. He folded his arms and nodded at me, smiling. Steamboat will have his moment.

  • #532961

    dreamerofbooks
    Participant

    I’m sitting in a theater with a bunch of frauds. Businessmen who have reduced art to a dollar sign, a commodity to be bought and sold, not an expression of the human spirit. Makes me sick. Makes me sick to know why I’m here, because in a moment of weakness, I too became a creativity broker. Signed with the big record label, got the big tour, stayed in the nice hotels, everything. Yeah, I got a lot of nice stuff. And all I gave up was my soul, my artistic authority. I trusted the process and listened to a producer who knew what sells. That’s the goal, isn’t it? Make it big and they’ll love you.

    Another bathroom trip. My manager gave me that disappointed look, that fair-weather villain. That bastard set me off on this fast tract to success without any forewarning on how to prepare. This isn’t my game. I kept it simple, man. It was just me, doing my thing, back when it was my thing. Now it’s their thing, their cash cow. I don’t recognize the music on my multi-platinum, grammy-nominated debut album as my own. I don’t even recognize me as my own anymore. I take a line to connect the dots. The business has turned me into a caged animal, paraded around this town, or that town, or – whatever man, I just don’t care anymore. I thought I was gonna see the world. Instead I’m seeing a tour bus and hotel rooms. I need another line – there’s too many dots.

    Settled back in my seat, I give my manager a big slap on the thigh. I‘m grinning ear to ear like a dumb little kid on his way to Disneyland. I read the mags, I follow the press – I know I’m a lock for the big award at the end. I don’t care about the rest now. I can go home and all my old friends can say, “oh, there’s the screw-up, the cokehead, left his girl, doesn’t call his family, completely sold out…” Yeah, I did sell out, I sold out the Hollywood Bowl, and now I’m gonna get a fancy paperweight for all my hard work. Nobody can just be happy for my success, they all gotta get in their two cents about how I’ve changed. Nobody says they love me. I got nobody. That’s life. Let’s do this.

    Some other pawn in this industry is reading a bunch of generic script off a teleprompter. I’m so caught up in the rage inside I can’t stop my thoughts to focus on the big show at hand. Man, the manager’s gotta be pissed with me right now. The envelope is opened, my name is read. Well, it’s not my name, it’s my working name, but whatever, it’s all the same in this town. I shoot up out of my seat, eager to move my restless limbs, and rush up to the stage. Man, I’m rushing. I just won a grammy. I just won an opportunity to speak on live television about this whole hellish charade. I just won a grammy; why am I caught up in the rage?

    My face is numb, I’m on fire. “Hey, y’all,” I start, in the southern drawl they all love but don’t realize is a carefully constructed ruse – it’ll sell, they said. “Can’t believe I’m up here, in front of you all, people I respect, who’ve been through the fire with me. Come from different backgrounds but you know the truth, we’re all a bunch of artists who sold out so these jerks in suits could make a bunch of money.” Audible gasp. Way to go, man, you really messed this one up. “So thanks,” my serpent tongue continues against my will, “for recognizing me as the one who gave up the most, allowed themselves to become the biggest charicature. Thanks for looking past the crap on my album and noticing the tortured soul behind it all. Yeah, thanks. Assholes.” I hear the music start up – the handlers don’t like it when we animals get out of line. “Yeah, I get it, back into the cage. Thanks for the gold, go to hell.” This last line dies as it leaves my lips, because my mic has already been cut. It’s their game, their rules, and I acquiesced my entire being to play here. This is what I get for it. A four pound gold gramophone, and a lifetime of emptiness.

  • #532962

    Jersey Jack
    Participant

    My name is called: I’ve won the “Album of the Year” Grammy for your album, “Unrelied Upon”! I step up to the podium to accept my award and, halfway through, the orchestra tries to play me off. I’ve worked too long and hard to allow this to happen, so I don’t hang my head and let myself be played off the stage. I wait a moment, allowing the microphone to screech, glaring in the general direction of the orchestra.

    I clear my throat and I say, simply, “I will not be upstaged on the happiest night of my life.” I continue my speech with a smile and walk off the stage again not giving a second thought to the interruption. The show continues and ends. The other artists and I make our exits with many congratulations and disappointments, but overall no violence presents itself. A producer approaches me. I smile down at the little man and say cheerfully, “Come to congratulate me too?”

    “Quite the contrary,” he says nervously, looking for cameras to duck and dodge. “Your speech stamped out a couple commercial breaks.”

    “Ah, well, I don’t see how that’s my problem,” I say, still beaming and waving at colleagues and fans alike. “I find it distasteful to chase off someone new to the business, now, don’t you.” I look down at him with a ghost of the smile I’ve been wearing all night, but my eyes bore into the timid man. “I won’t be bullied by bigshots like you,” I say quietly. I make my way off to cameras and interviewers, leaving the producer stuttering and stammering. I say my piece whether anyone likes it or not.

  • #532963

    mcred
    Participant

    “And the award for the album of the year goes to..” Beyonce bounces up on her toes in anticipation as she opened the envelope, her lovely eyes flutter open wide in surprise, “Tired Old Granny Gets Funky!!”

    Cheers erupt and tears pop out of my eye sockets as I rise to take the stage.

    Durn that Elvis Costello, he can’t move his feet outta my way fast enough! He apologizes as I use my cane to remove his feet from my path more rapidly.

    I love my thank you speech, it took me forever to get it right but I was confident that not one of the great new friends who made the album’s success possible was left out.

    And then the freakin band starts to play.

    “I’m so sorry!” Beyonce kindly whispers to me off camera. Such a nice girl.

    I smile and wink at her and turn my attention back to the podium. As the music rises, I catch on to tune and begin to sing, using the rest of my speech as the lyrics to the standard “leave the stage or we’ll play you off” song.

    As I completed my speech I was excited to realize not only did I win “best album” but I got a once in a lifetime chance to perform with the orchestra at the Grammys the same time. It was nice because I finished it off with a dramatic high note and managed to hold it longer than the violins could.

    The “Granny Shows The Grammys” headlines in the papers the next morning were enjoyable as well.

  • #532964

    mcred
    Participant

    “And the award for the album of the year goes to..” Beyonce bounces up on her toes in anticipation as she opened the envelope, her lovely eyes flutter open wide in surprise, “Tired Old Granny Gets Funky!!”

    Cheers erupt and tears pop out of my eye sockets as I rise to take the stage.

    Durn that Elvis Costello, he can’t move his feet outta my way fast enough! He apologizes as I use my cane to remove his feet from my path more rapidly.

    I love my thank you speech, it took me forever to get it right but I was confident that not one of the great new friends who made the album’s success possible was left out.

    And then the freakin band starts to play.

    “I’m so sorry!” Beyonce kindly whispers to me off camera. Such a nice girl.

    I smile and wink at her and turn my attention back to the podium. As the music rises, I catch on to tune and begin to sing, using the rest of my speech as the lyrics to the standard “leave the stage or we’ll play you off” song.

    As I completed my speech I was excited to realize not only did I win “best album” but I got a once in a lifetime chance to perform with the orchestra at the Grammys the same time. It was nice because I finished it off with a dramatic high note and managed to hold it longer than the violins could.

    The “Granny Shows The Grammys” headlines in the papers the next morning were enjoyable as well.

  • #532965

    mcred
    Participant

    “Jane, stop this crazy thing!!!”

  • #532966

    mcred
    Participant

    “Jane, stop this crazy thing!!!”

  • #532967

    mcred
    Participant

    durn triple post
    bah!

    new fangled durn optical mouse with too many freakin buttons

  • #532968

    mcred
    Participant

    durn triple post
    bah!

    new fangled durn optical mouse with too many freakin buttons

  • #532969

    writing in oregon
    Participant

    Reply to Ashley14. Thanks for your kind words. I liked yours as well. When the grammy winner grabs the violin and wings it I am creating a great visual as well as audio image in my head of the piano screeching to a halt, the drums stopping, the clatter of the chucked instrument striking the stage, the look of horror on the musicians (not to mention the audiences) faces! Great job!

  • #532970

    Xan46
    Participant

    Since I’m a tone-deaf farmer from New Mexico, I’m not sure how I had won album of the year at the grammys. But I’d be damned if some two-bit orchestra was going to cut me off before I had a chance to thank my mom. The stench of their sweat and valve oil drifted around the stage as I knocked the podium over. It was the only thing I could think to do to regain the attention of the theater.

    Rasberries replaced the sounds of the orchestra as the musicians jerked their instruments away from their startled mouths. “I just had to thank my mom,” I said. “That’s all.” I scooped my grammy off the floor and headed for the curtains. “Play me off!” I yelled.

  • #532971

    gemini2125
    Participant

    The band exit music excited my legs and feet. Pins and needles ran up and down legs. Next, they practiced a few hops, some skips, and a jump. The they galloped in a small circle in the middle of the stage in front of the podium.

    The audience clapped wildly with every circle galloped. A security guard was seen stage left and the crowd shouted, “Song! Song! Song!”

    A microphone was handed to and my mind went blank as a white billboard. At last a tune gathered, lyrics swayed, and my voice sang, “Jingle Bells, Jingle.”

    Momentum caught and the song rose above the audience. So, I clicked my heels, and picked up the tempo. After the second verse I asked the audience to join in. Laughter was heard, and the band struck the chords for the third verse.

    Everyone in the auditorium joined in. Fog and snow was created, and immersed the stage. Glitter rained down on few reindeer dressed in velvet red coats with bells as they pranced through the misty air. Jingle Bells gave joy and insight to the Grammy’s.

    Now, they’ll never forget how much fun it is to sing from the heart.

  • #532972

    Charles Pappas
    Participant

    Gloria was never cooler. She glittered like a rhinestone piñata as she approached the podium. She fumbled at the envelope and winced – a paper cut? She opened the slip. She screamed.

    “The Album of the Year is ‘KEEPIN’ DA BEAT GOIN’, CHARLIE ‘BONGOBRO’ EDWARDS! Way to go, Bongobro!” The house band tried to create the loudest rock fanfare in history. To me it sounded like a head-on collision between an ambulance and a truckload of scrap metal, but it kept the audience from hearing my gasp—much less my knocking knees—as I tripped over a electrical connector before reaching the stage.

    “I want to thank you all for this incredible honor. It’s hard to believe that I’m now in the same company as Poncho Sanchez and Gloria—“ Just then, a series of grunts, groans and moos filled the air, as if a cattle truck had crashed off stage. “—uhh, Gloria Estefan. Not bad for a former talk show host who’s as Latin as a box of cornflakes.”

    Not to be upstaged, someone in the band yelled out, “And you’re just as corny! I never could stand those conga players!” Next came a discordant chord from the keyboard man.

    “I also want to thank all those people who helped make it possible for me to be here tonight.”

    “Yeah, your mom, your dad, and half the people in recorded history, ya big dawg!” The dude was finding notes that were neither on the black nor the white keys, but somewhere in the cracks in between.

    Dammit, you’re not going to ruin my night! I kicked at one of the cords that ran into the podium—and the sonic bomb that was exploding through the hall was defused. I grabbed the cord and yanked it out of the socket.

    “I think the boys in the band are just a little jealous. You—with the Strat? Hey, Wayne! You never COULD stand conga players. You couldn’t stand it because you weren’t getting as much attention as me when I played with you in the Casuals in the late ‘90s.

    A voice chimed in from behind the drum kit. “Yeah, Dad, you told me often that you wished you could torch his congas. I miss jammin’ with him on all those rock tunes.”

    “Mike?” For a moment I felt tears in my eyes. “I miss ya too, bro’.”

    “Yeah, but I told him either you went OR he went. You really think I was gonna fire my own son?”

    Wayne’s reply dried my eyes instantly. “As I was saying, it took a lot of people who made it possible—Wayne, on guitar, Mike on drum kit, Craig on keyboards—”

    “Chazwick!”

    “Craig, what’s the group called today?”

    “It isn’t any more.”

    “You actually have another name?”

    “No,” Craig sighed, “it broke up after you left, remember?”

    “We never were a group, man. First we were ‘Kwantum Fyzze,’ then ‘Six-Pack of Red,’ then ‘Ellen’s Degenerates.’ We seemed to change names every six weeks.”

    “And you left us right before our big gig—“

    “Yeah, because I didn’t feel right playing for that pro-abortion group.” There was a spattering of applause from one side of the hall, and a squawk or two from the other. “All of you guys helped me become the Bongobro, and I wanted to thank you. But you insisted on drowning me out before I could tell you how much you meant to me.”

    I held the electric cord in my hand. “The reason I won the ‘Album of the Year’ award is simple. I won it with three congas, a pair of bongos, and my own two hands.” Wayne, you play a classic Stratocaster … Mike, I’ve heard great things about those electronic drums … and Craig, you wouldn’t be anywhere without that multi-voice keyboard.” I shook the cord; the prongs sparkled in the spotlights.. “But when you’re unplugged, you’re all unplugged. Which reminds me….”

    I read the tag on the power cord, looked down, and inserted the plug into one of the outlets in the podium. Sparks flew from the guitar, the drum set and the keyboard as they exploded on stage. “Love you all! Good night EVERYBODY!”

  • #532973

    PrFdut
    Participant

    I slowly approached the stage praying I would not trip or perform any other unflattering acts. The spot lights blinded me as I faced the dark abyss that was the audience, but some damage to my cornea was worth it. I had worked for years compiling different works from around the world, while giving them an opera and reggae twist. I called it “Songs from Abroad with Influences from the Caribbean and Classical Cultures”. It was very hard to fit all that on the CD case. So as I began my speech thanking everyone I have ever known that has had some sort of impact on my life (like my chorus teacher that put me as far away from the microphone as possible at concerts or my sister who took the bus instead of riding in the car with me during my jam sessions). Suddenly the orchestra had the nerve to belt out some hideous crap that wasn’t even my music! So I grabbed the microphone and started talking louder, but those jerks cranked up their volume too! Finally the host came on stage and snatched the microphone away. It was on! I dove at them and proceeded to try and remove their head from their body. Before I could finish the damage a security guard grabbed me and yelled “They didn’t even call your name!”. An awkward silence ensued. Well…..my bad.

  • #532974

    vormoradS
    Participant

    Finally.

    My time had come. After years of grueling neo-bassoon work, years of cultivating my look (going nude but for strategically-placed sections of James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man isn’t easy, you know), and a whole decade of studying the beauty of the duck call, my time had truly come. I was standing at the podium, accepting my well-deserved Grammy for my album of the year, entitled simply and beautifully, QUACk.

    An avante-garde such as myself could not abide by the traditional acceptance speech. It seems so trite. No, I chose to perform my acceptance speech through the art of the neo-bassoon duck call, peppered with Latin references. Miley Cyrus, the young Grammy presenter, seemed in awe. Certainly, her spontaneous vomiting was a sign of true deference. Many in the audience also vomited in appreciation. But, what was this?

    The orchestra was playing me off. I whipped my head up from my bassoon in surprise and anger. Then I saw her, grinning nefariously from behind her veil of crystallized unicorn fetuses. My arch-nemesis. The bane of my extremely talented existence. The one that I loathe. Lady Gaga. In the beginning, we were partners. She was my creative equal. You may not believe it, but I was the one who suggested that she give up pants and human hair! We would often stay up all night, laughing and experimenting with spray-on clothing. In the summer of 2004, we made a pact to eat nothing but glitter. Those were the best of times. But she eventually shunned the bassoon, and therefore shunned my very soul.

    Gaga orchestrated this, well, orchestra. She was jealous of my success. But what Gaga did not know was that I had been experimenting with a new, sonic-boom style neo-bassoon duck call. I was planning on saving its appearance, but I knew that I had to act fast. I snapped my fingers, and my trusty steed Ann Coulter appeared. He whinnied as he handed me the instrument case and galloped off. I pulled the instrument out, and played a concert to end all concerts.

    Literally. It made everyone in metropolitan Los Angeles go deaf. But, it was well worth it. No one will forget MY acceptance speech, especially Gaga. What was that? WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!

  • #532975

    vormoradS
    Participant

    Finally.

    My time had come. After years of grueling neo-bassoon work, years of cultivating my look (going nude but for strategically-placed sections of James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man isn’t easy, you know), and a whole decade of studying the beauty of the duck call, my time had truly come. I was standing at the podium, accepting my well-deserved Grammy for my album of the year, entitled simply and beautifully, QUACk.

    An avante-garde such as myself could not abide by the traditional acceptance speech. It seems so trite. No, I chose to perform my acceptance speech through the art of the neo-bassoon duck call, peppered with Latin references. Miley Cyrus, the young Grammy presenter, seemed in awe. Certainly, her spontaneous vomiting was a sign of true deference. Many in the audience also vomited in appreciation. But, what was this?

    The orchestra was playing me off. I whipped my head up from my bassoon in surprise and anger. Then I saw her, grinning nefariously from behind her veil of crystallized unicorn fetuses. My arch-nemesis. The bane of my extremely talented existence. The one that I loathe. Lady Gaga. In the beginning, we were partners. She was my creative equal. You may not believe it, but I was the one who suggested that she give up pants and human hair! We would often stay up all night, laughing and experimenting with spray-on clothing. In the summer of 2004, we made a pact to eat nothing but glitter. Those were the best of times. But she eventually shunned the bassoon, and therefore shunned my very soul.

    Gaga orchestrated this, well, orchestra. She was jealous of my success. But what Gaga did not know was that I had been experimenting with a new, sonic-boom style neo-bassoon duck call. I was planning on saving its appearance, but I knew that I had to act fast. I snapped my fingers, and my trusty steed Ann Coulter appeared. He whinnied as he handed me the instrument case and galloped off. I pulled the instrument out, and played a concert to end all concerts.

    Literally. It made everyone in metropolitan Los Angeles go deaf. But, it was well worth it. No one will forget MY acceptance speech, especially Gaga. What was that? WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!

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