"Shit Happens."

It was perhaps the most prevailing statement surrounding the 58th annual Grammy Awards, spoken by the ceremony's patron saint Adele via Twitter. It was a humorous outpour, if nothing else, that stemmed from a surprisingly ordinary performance of 'All I Ask' that was marred by technical glitches and lackadaisical execution; rarities in the world of Adele live television performances. "Because of it though ... I'm treating myself to an In 'n Out. So maybe it was worth it," she also said.

Leading up to the February 15th broadcast, CBS had been promoting the event with its "Witness Greatness" promo campaign, punctuated by the 27-year-old London singer returning to the Grammy stage, as if she's been missing for a decade and not, in fact, sweeping the award ceremony just a few years earlier with her universally acclaimed album 21. Reading into a highly-focused marketing campaign for a widely viewed television event would generally prove to be a nonsensical endeavor regarding its merit. Its purpose is to just attract the biggest audience possible. However, that campaign ended up being more telling than one would suspect - or even hope.

Recently, a shift of the award ceremony became slightly more noticeable. Legacy acts like the posthumous Ray Charles and Herbie Hancock ceased to be the victors of the night's most vaunted Album Of The Year award. Newness became, rightfully, celebrated, by an industry that struggled to grasp its importance. Instead of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss winning major awards, beloved pop stars in their primes like Taylor Swift and Adele began sweeping the stage. And even through the cracks, major indie music favorites like Arcade Fire and Beck actually became recognized for their craft. Of course, no award show is perfect, and The Grammys are perhaps the most egregious in this regard, but the trajectory over the last few years, at least, gleamed into a positive direction. On Sunday, again, viewers were reminded that The Grammys didn't fix itself. It just replaced past issues with new ones.

No artist came into the night with a greater degree of promise than Kendrick Lamar, 2015's most prophetic and praised artist, courtesy of the masterful To Pimp A Butterfly. Named album of the year by an impossibly lengthy collection of publications, including ourselves, TPAB aimed to be the first rap act to win Album Of The Year since OutKast in 2003 for Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. The album's poignant and powerful 'Alright' similarly celebrated as one of the out-and-out best songs of 2015, was also in the running for Song Of The Year. Yet despite winning Best Rap Album (which Lamar famously lost in 2013 in favor of Macklemore's The Heist), Lamar was nowhere near the main stage of the major awards. This wasn't surprising given how the award show has previously celebrated rap musicians, but the fact that it wasn't surprising should be the most aggressively frustrating afterthought. This is, of course, also considering that Kendrick Lamar had arguably the best performance of the night in a ceremony littered with fervid disappointing ones.

The winners of the night's biggest awards belonged to Taylor Swift, taking Album Of The Year for the sweeping pop promise of 1989, Ed Sheeran for his preciously thin love ballad 'Thinking Out Loud' was gifted Song Of The Year, and the oppressively ordinary Meghan Trainor for Best New Artist, who's gifts to the world have been a sportingly milquetoast album and a guest spot on one of the worst songs in recent memory. The resounding collage of the winners, in hindsight, seems so unmistakably obvious that it makes the Oscars look positively edgy in comparison.

The big news of the aftermath seemed to rest on Adele and Swift, again, due to the former's explanation of the unremarkable performance and the latter for taking a rightful stab at the increasingly loud Kanye West during her acceptance speech.

And while Swift's timely jab at the erratic and at times aggressively frustrating rapper proved meaningful, its weight swept away the victory over To Pimp A Butterfly. That isn't to say 1989 doesn't deserve praise - it's a jubilant, accessibly produced pop album perfectly resonant of one of the world's biggest music stars. It's just, righteously, like if My Best Friend's Wedding managed to nab Best Picture.

The remaining portions of the night struggled to take the sting of sameness out, frequented by clunky In Memoriam ceremony after ceremony, topped by Lady Gaga's anticipated tribute to the late David Bowie. The result of which seemed more like if Bette Midler was forced to do it last second and only had Elvis costumes. Even worse, the entire spectacle was followed by a lengthy presentation from Intel, which helped create the routine, making it reek of self-promotion more than actual love. The night was topped by Pitbull and Robin Thicke, which, doesn't deserve for than one sentence.

If there was a change in the trajectory of the show at the end of the 2000s, it has firmly planted itself as a solidified safety net for those in the industry who are already safe in success. "Witness Greatness", the promotional campaign mentioned earlier, was unsurprisingly prophetic, but the definition for greatness here is as vague as ever. Is it artists who have maintained massive exposure and relevance? And if it is, which it seems to be, who is the target audience? Celebrating the biggest pop stars in the world is perfectly fine, except when the veil of objectivity is supposedly the most important part of the process. And if it is a question of popularity and exposure, is Kendrick Lamar not popular? Are the standards of excellence only held by a tiny handful of artists that string together billions of YouTube views?

In the end, the languid disdain of the night was mostly met by apathy. What did anyone expect? That a rap album centered around the lives of minorities and systemic oppression would beat music by massive radio stars? That Courtney Barnett, one 2015's most celebrated songwriters, would actually beat the woman behind 'All About That Bass'?

If there was hope for a tiny shift, well, "shit happens."