Oh, wow. I can’t believe—[struggling to be heard over rapturous applause]—everybody, everybody—chill. [laughter; camera cuts to Bon Iver, stone-faced, or at least not smiling; the rest of his face is obscured by beard, what a cool sensitive guy] You know, I was really gonna prepare something for this—but then I got high! Shit, you guys know that song? Me and my buddies, used to know every word in college. But yo, seriously—I remember the summer of ‘09. “A time of musical experimentation nearly without parallel, bringing to mind Seattle in the early ’90s, and a little band called Nirvana,” is I think what you said, Sir Grohl, in your sick as fuck introduction. Me, I remember that summer a little differently—partly ‘cause I only spent about two hours of it not tripping balls, partly because—[orchestra begins to play him off; Grammy president Neil Portnow grabs a violin and starts indiscriminately beating piano players and saxophonists with it, screams “goddammit let the man speak!” then “go on, please god, go on.”] Basically I was just gonna say people were real mean. Said chillwave was a joke, a fad. I was so sad, man, when they said that. Sometimes when I’m sad I rub ice cubes on my body, for the chill, and I was doin’ that a lot. People were concerned, said “Ernesto, my man, leave some for the iced tea!” But I ask you, Grammy bros: Who’s chillin’ now? [applause] WHO’S CHILLIN’ NOW!! [insane applause; Bon Iver might be smiling, is more likely asleep] Everybody now: chill-WAVE!! chill-WAVE!! chill-WAVE!!
This is basically the shit.