Every year, the music industry gathers for its biggest night—the Grammys. Artists get dressed in their most extravagant outfits, cameras flash, speeches are rehearsed, and someone inevitably gets “snubbed.” For decades, the Grammys have been positioned as the pinnacle of musical achievement. But here’s the thing: they don’t really matter. At least not the way we think.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not one of those vocal Facebook warriors ranting about how the Grammys are a complete waste. In fact, I actually attended one year when my wife Meg Okura was nominated, and we had an amazing time. If you ever get the chance to go, you absolutely should. It’s an unforgettable experience—one for the scrapbook.
But my point is this: music is not about trophies, industry politics, or validation from a panel of voters. It’s about something far deeper—connection. That’s what keeps people coming back, not a gold-plated statue.
The Grammys is perceived as the ultimate authority on musical excellence. And for more commercial music, maybe it is. But for jazz, history tells a different story. Duke Ellington, one of America’s greatest composers, never won a competitive Grammy. John Coltrane, the architect of modern jazz saxophone, only won one—and it was posthumous. And we’ve all seen Grammy winners whose careers fade into obscurity just a few years later.
Whether or not you know this, the Grammy voting process is notoriously flawed. The awards are decided by industry insiders, many of whom have little understanding of non-commercial or independent music. It’s a system that rewards marketability and industry relationships over risk-taking and artistic substance. And let’s be real—geography plays a role, too.
Los Angeles isn’t just where the Grammys are held most years—it’s where the Recording Academy is headquartered, where major record labels are based, and, more importantly, where industry politics are strongest.
Musicians who live and work in L.A. have an undeniable advantage. They have more opportunities to network with Grammy voters, attend industry events, and get their music in front of the right people. Grammy campaigning is real—labels and management teams lobby for nominations through private listening sessions, marketing pushes, and behind-the-scenes deals. If you’re an artist working outside that system, you’re already at a disadvantage.
That doesn’t mean East Coast or international artists can’t win—many do. But the industry machinery favors those who are plugged into the L.A. ecosystem. The awards aren’t just about musical excellence—they’re about who’s connected and who plays the game.
So when did jazz musicians start caring about the Grammys?
For most of jazz history, the Grammys barely registered as a concern for serious musicians. Thelonious Monk, Charles Mingus, and Sun Ra weren’t waiting around for this kind of industry approval. They built their own paths, made their own music, and let time determine their legacy. The Grammys were an afterthought, at best—an event designed for pop stars, not artists who viewed music as an evolving conversation rather than a competition.
But in recent years, the Grammys have somehow become a career milestone for many jazz musicians, viewed as the pinnacle measure of success. Why? Because in an era where grants, festival bookings, and institutional recognition hold more weight than album sales, the phrase “Grammy-winning artist” opens doors. It’s a nice sound bite, a marketable credential that looks good on a press release.
But let’s be honest—winning a Grammy isn’t just about making great music. It’s about having the right people behind you, pulling the right strings. In all honesty, this is probably the case with most forms of recognition.
The ones who benefit most from the Grammys aren’t the indie musicians—it’s the consultants, publicists, and industry insiders who make a living lobbying Grammy voters on an artist’s behalf. Grammy lobbying is good business. Labels and management teams invest in Grammy campaigns, hiring specialists whose job is to ensure that the right people hear the right records at the right time.
Historically, independent artists were rarely part of that machine. But today, many jazz musicians have bought into the idea that the Grammys is the ultimate validation.
The problem with the Grammys is that it has become as race to determine who’s “the best.” But real music doesn’t work that way. When you listen to a Coltrane solo, a Monk composition, or a raw Robert Johnson recording from the Mississippi Delta, you’re not thinking about awards. You’re feeling something. That feeling—of connection, of recognition, of transcendence—is what makes music powerful.
A lack of a Grammy doesn’t make an artist irrelevant. What matters is the one's ability to move people—to stir something in the soul, to inspire, to challenge, to heal.
For all the hardworking folks who have won Grammys, congratulations. For those who haven’t—that’s okay too. I’m sure you have other sound bites you can use.
Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the trophy. It’s about the music. And no award can measure that.
