I don't know how it ended, but when I fell asleep it was Nora Jones 48, Oakland 21.
I do know how it began: With Simon and Garfunkel, just two balding guys and one guitar, singing Sounds of Silence. They sounded great; maybe a little wavery, but, hey, it's been a while. While I was still enjoying that moment, out came a band that had many instruments, AND smoke, AND people coming down from the ceiling on ropes, AND a singer who had obviously put in many grueling hours thinking about her hair. I was prepared to dislike their music, but when they started playing, I realized that the song they had chosen was really, really ugly.
I know, I know. I'm old.