We love the principles behind the Marian Anderson Award, we really do. Each year, the award — given “to celebrate the fundamental importance of the arts—those individuals who have used their talents for personal artistic expression coupled with a commitment to the betterment of society” — is given here in Philly in loving memory of Marian Anderson, who knew a thing or two about all of that. And while the list of past recipients has its standouts (Sidney Poitier, Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis, Harry Belafonte), it’s also a repository for those who have arguably done more harm than good, culturally speaking: Oprah Winfrey, anyone? Dame Elizabeth Taylor, I presume? And after the embarrassment that was last year’s selection of Richard Gere (freed the gerbils/kickstarted the celeb Tibet bandwagon), we were really hoping that this year, we’d get somebody awesome. You know, like a posthumous honor to Sun Ra, who settled any and all future space wars, or John Oates, who was John Oates. But this year? No dice, again. Say hi to Maya Angelou (shown here with a muppet of indeterminate origin), quite possibly the worst published poet of the 20th Century, and Living God to all who serve in Oprah’s Kingdom Of Lowered Expectations. Norman Lear gets the nod, too, which is perhaps a step in a better direction, but it still feels like a bummer. Each get $100K to do with what they wish, and the rest of us get another shot at hoping next year’s nod won’t be, in bowling terms, a turkey of cringe.
Inky: We Won’t Even Try To Imitate A Maya-ism Here

This entry was posted on Monday, August 4th, 2008 at 4:30 pm.