‘Soy Bomb’ Stage-Crashing Bob Dylan At The 1997 Grammys Gave Birth To Viral Award Show Moments

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The 40th annual Grammy Awards were shaping up to be a celebration not only of the best music of 1997, but an industry pat-on-the-back due to soaring album sales. Since the advent of the MTV’s VMAs in 1984, the Grammys took a backseat to the younger, hipper show. For Gen X, the Grammys were the music awards show for your parents — not your friends. The show’s image had been relatively bland for years, then it caught a ratings break. Hosted by Kelsey Grammar, the Feb. 25, 1998 event melded the overdue recognition of hip-hop on a mass level to its usual array of categories, and the improbable return of a rock legend.

Bob Dylan nearly died and subsequently made his best album in in nearly two decades.

Unlike the 1966 motorcycle accident that sidelined him for two years and shrouded his existence in mystery, Dylan faced a different type of ailment. In May 1997, Dylan landed in a New York-area hospital suffering from histoplasmosis, a potentially fatal infection which creates swelling in the sac which surrounds the heart. Unlike the incident that saw him hide in Upstate New York, the notoriously sharped-tongued singer quipped wryly that he “really thought [he’d] be seeing Elvis soon.” Instead, he was creatively reborn.

1997’s Time Out Of Mind was hailed as Dylan’s triumphant return; the album’s cryptic, yet honest take on mortality (coincidentally, the collection was recorded prior to his hospitalization), along with a hazy blend of bluesy, country rock was Dylan’s way of showing he wasn’t ready to fade into old age, death or even worse, obscurity, quite yet. The Grammys, naturally, took notice. Dylan’s 41st album scored four nominations, including Album of the Year. With these nods in mind, the notoriously private Dylan agreed to perform at the ceremony with his band.

Throughout his career, Dylan has been known for his unorthodox performing style. Whether it be battling audiences at the peak of his powers in 1966, rolling through a revue in the mid-‘70s or preaching Christianity at the end of that decade, Dylan was known to thrill and baffle audiences, often at the same time. So when it was announced that he’d be performing at the Grammys, fans were abuzz. It was un-Dylan like to acknowledge such a ceremony — nevertheless take part in the pomp and circumstance.

At the time of the 1998 Grammys, Dylan was deeply entrenched in his Never Ending Tour — which continues today. Dylan loyalists had their corner of the internet, and speculation was abuzz for what he would perform. The even money was on “Love Sick,” while “Cold Irons Bound” and the album’s other single, “Not Dark Yet,” which was debatably the album’s centerpiece, was the other favorite. But while Dylan fans clogged message boards ahead of his performance, debating what he’d song play, the night was already headed in an auspicious direction.

Earlier in the night, Puff Daddy’s No Way Out scored a victory in the Best Rap Album category, which earned scorn from Wu-Tang Clan, in particular, Ol’ Dirty Bastard. As Shawn Colvin was about to give her victory speech after winning Song of the Year, ODB crashed the stage and launched into his now iconic speech declaring “Wu-Tang for the children… Puffy is good, but Wu-Tang is the best.”

After taking home several less-heralded awards, in particular for Best Male Rock Performance for “Cold Irons Bound” and Best Contemporary Folk Album, Dylan hopped on the Radio City Music Hall stage to perform “Love Sick” as part of the cagey rock bard’s remarkable return to relevance. In front of a group of twenty-something background dancers, Dylan and company marauded through a fiery version of the album’s first song. Sporting a sparkling silver suit like a ghoulish lounge singer who would have been more at home in Beetlejuice.

Midway through the song, however, things took a sharp turn towards the unexpected. The dancers continued to bob their heads and wobble in the background like robotic zombies while Dylan led the stampede. But one dancer had another idea.

During the middle of the song, a man wiggled out from the background risers, spastically ripped his shirt off to reveal the phrase “Soy Bomb” and danced alongside the singer. He danced for an unimpeded 40 seconds before being ushered off-stage. Incredibly, outside of shooting a befuddled glance Soy Bomb’s way, Dylan was nonplussed, and continued without incident. Cameras were locked in on the mysterious dancer because of his proximity to the singer, and, well, it was too bizarre to miss.

The spastic dancer’s ejection at first confused, then energized both the band and background audience. Soon, they were grooving and clapping along to Dylan’s moody riffs, and a fiery, faster tempo.

While that — and his motivations — were unknown after his ouster from the stage, what isn’t is that the moment almost ushered in a new era cultural relevance for the Grammys. Social media in those early internet years was confined to message boards. AOL music chat rooms lit up after the incident wondering what happened, and collective WTFs were exchanged on instant messenger. Was this part of the show, and Dylan didn’t acknowledge it, some wondered. Others thought it was a political statement or a wanna-be trying to give his fledgling music outfit some much-needed PR.

The incident was nearly inescapable. Soy Bomb was broadcasted on local news, MTV and radio, not to mention the topic of discussion around water coolers and high school cafeterias the next day. In particular, I remember walking into my school’s cafeteria and hearing people who I knew weren’t aware of Dylan’s existence commenting on the amazing awkwardness of what happened the night before. It was the rare tentpole event that united my diverse school. Some pretended to be Dylan fans, others commented on how something so crazy could happen unplanned on live TV. And, if you didn’t happen to see the incident or know what happened, you were outside of this cultural event.

Days after the show, The New York Post identified the dancer as performing artist Michael Portnoy. There, he explained that “Soy Bomb” was a poem, which made as little sense as it did trying to interrupt Dylan’s performance. The 26-year-old was discovered to be nothing more than a wanna-be visual artist. “Bob Dylan is the past, and I’m the future of music,” Portnoy laughably told The New York Daily News in the wake of the incident. A week after his stunt, Portnoy was chased off-stage during a New York City performance by angry Dylan acolytes (don’t underestimate pissed off Boomers) proving that stage crashing a rock legend was a punishable cultural event.

Nearly 15 years after he thrusted his way into pop culture lexicon, Portnoy never fully made sense of his convoluted motivations. In an interview, Portnoy explained, ”Soy represents dense nutritional life,” he explained. “Bomb is, obviously, an explosive destructive force. So, ‘soy bomb’ is what I think art should be: Dense, transformational, explosive life!”

If this occurred 2018 instead of 1998, there’s no doubt Soy Bomb would have been the top trending topic on Twitter, while your parents would have posted confused reactions on Facebook. The shocking interruption dominated conversations that night (in particular I remember my dad, a die hard Dylan fan muttering “What the hell was that…”). In a sense, not only would have Portnoy been fingered as the stage crasher in 2018, his life story would have been tweeted out by friends within an hour. The Soy Bomb incident was one of the earliest modern viral moments.

Oh, by the way, Time Out Of Mind was the big winner that night. Dylan took home three Grammys, including for Album of the Year. Instead of it being known as the night Dylan’s completed an incredible comeback, the Grammys were hijacked and immortalized by the Soy Bomb incident.

Rather than capitalizing on the spontaneity and thinking of a clever way to market the show to a younger, intrigued audience, Soy Bomb was the last time that the Grammys were organically thrusted into a larger pop culture conversation. Instead of by its own self-inflicted wounds — either manufactured or due to its shockingly poor record of picking the right winners. Sure, you can point to snafus like the Lady Gaga/Metallica mic fail in 2017 as a moment, but it is mostly forgotten. Even interruptions — like Kanye West hopping on stage when Beck collected his Album of the Year award in 2016 — were done before, and a much-hyped Beach Boys reunion was a dud.

Before the new millennium, the biz faced a number of self-inflicted crises, most notably its failure to adapt to the exploding downloading culture and later on, streaming. Napster and other missteps sunk the Grammys to lows that make those ‘90s shows — this one in particular — seem like halcyon days.

Now, mega-releases or surprise album drops are now more significant than the proclaimed Biggest Night in Music. It’s often the least-watched of the major awards show and continues to the least culture cache as compared to the Oscars and Emmys (and even the Golden Globes).

After that February night, Dylan continued to chug along, releasing two more widely-lauded albums in with 2001’s Love & Theft and Modern Times in 2006. As for Portnoy, he continued on as a visual artist, but obviously hasn’t had the degree of notoriety on the level of his infamous stunt. Whether Dylan likes or it not — or in all likelihood, doesn’t care — his big Grammys victory will be forever intertwined with Portnoy, and the birth of the modern viral award moment.

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