REACHING FOR THOSE high notes

Before the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences worked out a deal with the striking Writers Guild, the Grammy Awards sat in a really interesting limbo. More intriguing than a looming picket line was the chance that the annual schmoozefest, minus longtime producer Ken Ehrlich and writer David Wild (both WGA members), would drift toward improvisation. With no script and no slick staging, this classic pseudo-event might have been forced to get real.

But any “American Idol” watcher knows that in pop, as in all things, the nature of reality is currently up for grabs. The powerhouses slotted to perform in tonight’s 8 p.m. ceremony at Staples Center -- among them Aretha Franklin, Tina Turner, Beyonce and Mary J. Blige -- are obviously in a different league than the “Idol” hopefuls.

But given one song to nail, as in a singing contest or an awards show, they all do basically the same thing. They reach for the high notes, show off their lung capacity and bleed the drama from whatever lyric they’re interpreting.

The parade of amateurs mimicking greatness on “Idol” and other contests can numb a viewer to genuinely stellar performances. And then there’s the endless array of benefit concerts, tributes to legends, soundstage sets, Web broadcasts and talk-show spots that bring live music to our screens, plus all those three-initial award shows, the VMAs, the CMTs, the BETs and so forth.

Seal, once a Grammy breakthrough artist, recently lent his supple tenor to “Seal on Ice,” a skating extravaganza televised on NBC. Kelly Clarkson spent her summer singing at televised NASCAR rallies. “One-time-only” musical events occur so often that gala tramps such as Beyonce have made second careers out of attending them.

Not so long ago, award shows offered a rare chance to see celebrities loosen their fancy coifs a bit, playing a fun role -- themselves -- on the red carpet and onstage. But our common culture has become so celebrity-soaked that even the most elusive stars can hardly raise a thrill.

Stars’ desire to be seen and fans’ hunger for access have intertwined in a horrible cycle of codependence; staged appearances can’t satisfy once everyone’s become hooked on paparazzo shots of bared body parts and frayed emotions.

Consider Amy Winehouse. The most talked-about of this year’s nominees was a rising art-house star, not unlike her fellow best new artist nominee Feist, before drug use and deep insecurity turned her into a notorious disaster.

A lucid Grammy appearance would be great for her. But the scandal machine would be just as sated -- more so -- if she were to stumble to the podium and pass out.

Winehouse’s broken-ingenue saga can accommodate either outcome, because it has very little to do with music. Accounts of her downfall dutifully mention her talent, but the songs that earned her six nominations have been reduced to candlesticks in a game of Clue.

What went wrong with Winehouse is really no mystery: She has a serious problem with drugs and alcohol. That’s not what makes her music interesting. All of its pain and darkness would just be a muddle if not for her wit and vocal artfulness, not to mention Mark Ronson’s clever production. And though her story is sad, Winehouse’s music isn’t the stuff of legend yet. She’s a gifted young woman who made a striking breakthrough album that should initiate, not define, a powerful career.

Unfortunately, Winehouse doesn’t have the luxury of time. Her music has been sacrificed to the news cycle. She’ll self-destruct, or she’ll get better; either way, she’ll have lost her footing by the time she makes another album.

This is tragic, and not only for Winehouse. When the gossip that surrounds pop becomes more important than the music itself, everyone suffers. Sinking into cynicism, we risk losing the ability to really believe in a song or a sound. And without that ability to shift into innocence, we can’t really be moved.

Thanks for the memories

If the academy and Ehrlich are smart, they’ll use this year’s ceremony to reassert the pleasure of believing music can be magical. The Grammy Awards are 50 this year, and organizers have dubbed this a celebration of “Grammy moments.” Highlights from past shows will frame the evening. Grammy history is full of moments that defy cynicism -- big, sentimental ones that critics tend to hate. But that spirit might be just what the show needs now.

Some of the best Grammy moments have had a political tone. Singing the fierce protest song “You Haven’t Done Nothin’ ” in 1975, Stevie Wonder embodied black pride and indignation. Annie Lennox broke the confines of sequined-gown femininity by appearing in drag as Elvis in 1984. Elton John made a case for tolerance when he collaborated with reformed homophobe Eminem in 2001.

Often, though, Grammy’s best moments have simply celebrated stardom itself, from its thrilling beginnings (Ricky Martin, bursting out of the box in 1999), through its peak (virtually any Whitney Houston show-stopper) and into its dignified twilight (Marvin Gaye, butter-smooth in 1983). Naysayers dismiss such glitzy numbers as empty showbiz, but they’re the building blocks of pop mythology.

Finally, there’s the occasional act of heroism, in which an artist transcends even her own standards. My favorite example is Aretha Franklin’s stepping in for an ailing Luciano Pavarotti in 1998. Singing the aria “Nessun Dorma,” Franklin broke all the rules. Here was a soul shouter making opera her own, demolishing the lines between classical music and pop, and proving that an over-50 diva can still hit those high notes.

As long as fame is linked to the self-immolation of “celebreality,” it seems unlikely that many artists will be able to cultivate the inner strength such bravery requires. There is, however, one young musician who seems up to the task -- and he happens to be the most nominated Grammy artist this year. People make fun of his ego, but it’s his secret weapon. Kanye West, it’s your time to shine. Get up there and sing an aria.

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ann.powers@latimes.com