THE 35TH ANNUAL GRAMMY AWARDS : TV REVIEW : It Was a Grand Night for Singing Michael’s Praises : Eric Clapton’s evening is overshadowed by the orgy of ooze directed at the King of Pop.

It was a Wednesday night Grammy telecast on CBS in which Billy Ray Cyrus was an achy breaky bust, Eric Clapton sounded somehow contrite for winning so many times and Anthony Kiedis, lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, pulled the biggest upset by outpointing Michael Jackson 5-0 in groin touches.

Kiedis had an advantage. Despite advance billing to the contrary, Jackson didn’t perform.

It was also a telecast in which Janet Jackson said she was proud of Michael, and Michael said he was proud of Janet, and Michael thanked Janet, and Janet thanked Michael, and Michael thanked the children, and, when they had finally finished, you thanked God.

It was a telecast in which the 35th annual awarding of Grammys was, well, orderly--no major highs, no major lows, few major moments.

Because it’s so performance oriented, the Grammy show is better suited to television than any other world-class awards telecast. More so than the Emmys, the Oscars, the Tonys. Yet somehow the Grammys have been sucked into TV’s electronic vat and homogenized to the extent that this program is now almost generic, resembling a tepid extension of MTV.

The evening’s sweetest moments came during standing ovations inside Shrine Auditorium for six-Grammy winner Clapton, the last after he had earned record of the year honors for “Tears in Heaven,” a song that conveyed his sorrow following the accidental death of his 4-year-old son in 1991. Clapton thanked his son “for the love he gave me and the song he gave me.”

However, that moving sentiment was dwarfed by the orgy of ooze directed at that ongoing miniseries known as Michael Jackson. Michael left his seat in the audience beside Brooke Shields to accept the Grammy Legends Award from his sister, Janet, as part of a retrospective of his career that was excruciatingly indulgent. Beethoven doesn’t get this kind of adulation.

In a sort of sequel to his 90-minute interview with Oprah Winfrey, Michael revealed he was “unaware that the world thought I was so weird and bizarre. . . .” He said he had been “cleansing” himself the last two weeks. He said his childhood “was completely taken away from me.”

When Janet hugged Michael, the camera cut to that hussy Brooke, who, believe me, didn’t look any too happy about Janet horning in on her action.

And what was it with that other legend, Clapton? He gets one Grammy and says: “I don’t think I deserve this. There were better songs.” He gets another Grammy and says, “I think Vanessa Williams should have got it.” He gets another Grammy and says, “I was convinced this wasn’t worth releasing.” He gets a fourth Grammy and says, “I just feel incredibly guilty.”

Just stow it, Eric, and back the flatbed up to the door.

Meanwhile, the worst pairing of the night, surprisingly, was Tony Bennett and Natalie Cole collaborating on “The Lady Is a Tramp” with all the chemistry of two people separated by a plexiglass shield.

The musical highlight was a rocking, throbbing, gospel-style treatment of “Hallelujah” from Handel’s “Messiah,” which was one of the rare times when the hibernating telecast stirred.

Host Garry Shandling was wide awake, often snapping off one-liners (“Who can forget Brahms’ achy breaky Piano Concerto in B Flat?”) that were funnier even than non-winner Billy Ray Cyrus’ lyrics and choreography.

Mostly, though, the Grammys were a case of arrested development.