Cher gave you and I a little time detour this week.

In case you missed…

…the tits and tatts fest that was the 2026 Grammy Awards, allow me to enlighten you. But first, full disclosure…

I’m writing this Phylosophy after a ridiculously long day so my filter has gone to bed together with any inclination I may have to go easy on the clowns masquerading as musical artists these days.

Let’s begin.

After a red carpet riddled with flashes of flesh that made Cher’s diaphanous Oscar fashions look like an Amish convention, the ceremony was underway. And the brief? Leave your undies at home, folks. Bieber warbled in his boxers. Bras were burnt in favour of prosthetic nipple piercings. It was one eyewatering look after another.

But I get it. To revisit the days of more class than crass, you’d need a time machine.

Still, at least Lauryn Hill and her gifted pals blessed the evening and took us all to church with her stunning tribute to giants, D’Angelo, Angie Stone and Roberta Flack.

Now, let’s get back to the iconic time turner that is, Cher – and her infamous faux pas when she announced the late, great Luther Vandross as the winner of Record of the Year. By the way, she actually said, ‘Grandross’. But I digress…

So, yes fine. It was Kendrick Lamar’s award, but Luther’s golden vocals fuelled the hit and stole the show, no bare boobs and f-bombs required – just an ageless legend who was the first woman to show her bellybutton on TV once upon a time.