In my time on staff at The Review, I’ve been lucky enough to experience a good deal of access. It’s one of my favorite perks of being an entertainment writer — flash a press badge, get backstage; drop your publication’s name and the red rope drops. So when I was told about press opportunities for the mtvU Woodie Awards, my access antenna sprung up.
An off-shoot channel of MTV, mtvU caters their content to college audiences. Their annual award show, the Woodie Awards, which aired Dec. 4 from the Roseland Ballroom, features the best artists as voted by college students. In Aug. 2006, MTVu purchased the parent company of College Publisher, which runs the Web sites of many college newspapers, including The Review. On Nov. 3, I received an e-mail from College Publisher saying they were giving two red carpet and show passes to each of their partner papers. Two weeks later, on Nov. 18, I’d be standing face-to-face with musicians ranging from Pete Wentz to Clipse and actors like Zoey Deschanel. But it took days and days of preparation to get there.
My first concern was wardrobe. Granted, a college themed award show probably requires a less formal dress code, but I wanted to do the red carpet right, which meant clean, classy style. I settled on a black velvet double-breasted vest and grey slacks from Express; maybe slightly overdressed, but by no means amateur status. My more-famous counterparts took some drastically different directions. Rapper Asher Roth sported a grey cardigan over top a replica Charlotte Hornets Larry Johnson jersey. It’s the kind of sports apparel he would have received over a decade ago and could have only pulled off at the mtvU awards. Roth opened last year’s show with what other song than, “I Love College,” making him the face for such an award show. Black Eyed Peas lead man Will.i.am looked like a flying squirrel in his grey fleece muu-muu, and singer Janelle Monae kept things different with her signature hair style and a black and white cape that floated across the red carpet along with her.
The artists on the red carpet (which was actually black) were as diverse as the outfits. Internet-made rockers were followed by Hip-hop veterans, and MTV personalities were paraded around just as famous Hollywood actors were. I was placed around a sharp-corner with other college journalists, well out of any camera shot. If I was lucky, a manager or agent would approach me with a slip of paper that detailed who exactly who acts like P.O.S. and Sparks the Rescue are. If I was interested in interviewing them, I’d wait patiently for the artist to make his/her way down the line of reporters until they reached the piece of paper taped on the floor that read “University of Delaware.” A few people shared memories of our oft-forgotten state. Fall Out Boy bassist Pete Wentz said he used to spend his Thanksgivings in Delaware, and To Write Love on Her Arms founder Jamie Tworkowski remembered a trip to the university fondly. Most of the celebrities were rushed past my end of the carpet, though. Opening act Matt and Kim had to rush into the venue to get ready for their set, while Asher Roth skipped the tail end of reporters almost completely. Other guests like Nick Cannon, Mary Louise-Parker and Jack White hurried past, granting no interviews at all. “Did you see Jack White just pass?” I asked the reporter from St. John’s College to my left. She hadn’t, she was looking down in that instant. I wasn’t though.
I was as attentive as I could possibly be, grabbing Cam’ron’s attention as he walked past, peeking my head around the corner to see who was coming. But only about a dozen acts showed up. Nominees Kings of Leon, Green Day, Drake, Wale and Kid Cudi weren’t present, which disappointed me and my new friend from St. John’s but truthfully, I expected it. This isn’t the VMAs we’re talking about, it’s the Woodies. The star power would be lesser, and attendance would be too. I wasn’t upset, but the realization that this was MTV’s “kiddie table” award show was all too clear once the show began.
The inside of the Roseland Ballroom was MTV’s version of a frat party. One sequence involved a flip-cup-type percussion section as P.O.S. performed a barely audible verse from the crowd. Beer pong was set up in one of the V.I.P. areas, while teenagers and twenty-something’s packed into the standing-room only main room. Making any type of effort to work towards the main stage would have resulted in lots of tight squeezing and being left stranded in a sea of sweaty co-eds. My photographer and I opted for seats outside of the main area, but well within sight of the action. We watched the show from the side of the stage, peering past heads and through bars.
But it wasn’t hard to know what was going on. Most of time we were waiting in between performances and presenters, but when there was action to see, it was usually chaotic. Judging by the general mood of the crowd, it seemed the audience was either too diverse or distracted to get on the same page. The crowd in front of the performer’s stage waved their hands up and down more because it’s what they were supposed to do, and when Roth took a drunken stage dive after presenting, he landed on the floor rather than on a bed of hands. He popped up immediately, but had left his drink at the podium. Everyone was drunk, Mary Louise-Parker went on to say as she introduced the Dead Weather, the night’s closing act. Parker herself seemed inhibited, looking into the camera with glassy eyes and dropping an F-bomb without hesitation. It was a night of celebration and music, not really awards. There were only eight wooden statuettes to give out and five performances. Matt and Kim, Passion Pit, Death Cab for Cutie, Clipse featuring Cam’ron and Rick Ross and the Dead Weather provided the night’s high points, taking focus off of the disorganization that marked the entire night.
It shouldn’t have mattered what happened though. I should have just been happy to be there. I didn’t come to this conclusion until the next day, as I was overcome with a desire to get into the after party. We asked some of the College Publisher staff to help us get invites, and even found out where it was being held. But access was denied. We stood outside of the Opera & Eden watching as artists snuck into one entrance and V.I.P.’s lined up for another. Getting into the after party would have been the perfect conclusion to an already eventful night, but as we walked away from the club, towards a midnight train home to suburban New York, my feelings of defeat transitioned into something else. I was lucky to have even been there. I was still just a 21-year-old college student itching to rub elbows with the celebrities I wanted to be. I wasn’t a reporter for “Rolling Stone,” or an MTV VJ or even a nameless V.I.P attendee. I was still on the outside, regardless of how fresh I looked, or how good my interview questions were. I may have been at my first-ever red carpet, but I haven’t arrived yet. I may have gotten a taste of the access, but I still have a long way to go before I can expect it.

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