The Grammy Award for Best New Artist was a weapon used for terminating the careers of young artists who, for whatever reason, had vexed or irritated the psychopharmacology industry.
The weapon of revenge was used most successfully in the late 1970s and early 1980s, when the burgeoning industry took out a "hit," in effect, on middle-of-the-road and soft-pop artists, whose soothing songs were cutting into the sales and consumption of prescription medication. Grammy voters at the time, who were particularly fond of cocaine (see Exhibit 10), were only too happy in their hyperactive states to weed out the likes of Starland Vocal Band, A Taste Of Honey, Christopher Cross and Debby Boone. By seemingly "rewarding" these artists with the apparent praise of the Best New Artist Grammy, voters were virtually ensuring that the artists would never be heard from again in any widespread capacity.
Christopher Cross's 1981 Grammy triumph – in which he swept all four "big" categories of Record, Song, Album and Best New Artist of the Year – was a particularly vicious act of retribution on the part of the psychopharmacology industry. Dr. Vincent B. "Vinny Valium" Boccacini, was adamant that Cross's career be rubbed out with utmost verification, as exhibited in audio tapes from FBI surveillance of Boccacini's clinic in a Trenton, NJ strip mall:
"Chris Cross my fat ass. I wanna see that fuckface done with. I want that yacht-lovin' pastel cream-eatin' fuckface cryin' in his wheat germ. I wanna see this fuckfaces's sailin' ass in the Bermuda fuckin' triangle. I want Jimmy Buffett to tank this fuckface up on margaritas and float him over to Rio with a big sign stickin' out of his fuckin' ass sayin' 'Sailors Board Me Now.' Christopher Cross, you've sedated your last housewife. You have calmed your last Tupperware party. You have soothed your last receptionist. You have numbed your last dental patient. Chris Cross, my fuckin' ass. Fuckface."
As the psychopharmacology industry fell victim to RICOH prosecutions in the late '80s, their grip over the Best New Artist Grammy loosened, and eventually fell apart. Determined to restore the validity and prestige of the award, in December 1989 the Grammy's then-president C. Michael Greene declared:
"All right, fuckfaces. From this moment forward, the Best New Artist Grammy will only go to the most deserving, talented, important and worthy musical artists in the industry. Starting now! No more getting back at the Swingle Singers because they stiffed your dad at poker one night. No more giving Marvin Hamlisch the kiss of death just because he didn't come to your opening. No more squishing on Jody Watley because she's prettier than you. And let's not even talk about what happened to poor old Robert Goulet, you bastards. All the bakesales in the world will not give this man his instep back. From now on we use the Best New Artist Grammy as it was intended -- to reward bold new artistic genius. I mean it. Enjoy your watercress salads."
Grammy voters applauded Greene's resolve, and helped Greene keep his promise by giving the 1990 Best New Artist award to Milli Vanilli.
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