When the Recording Academy announced last spring that it was reducing the number of Grammy Award categories by almost a third, the first thought that came to mind was "it’s about time," followed rapidly by, "was it enough?"

This year’s 78 categories — down from 109 in 2010 — still represent a helluvalot of awards to sift through, and I don’t know of any other awards organization that comes close to that number, unless you count the Creative Arts Emmys, which don’t command the public attention the Grammys do.

It was the regional and ethnic music categories suffered the most, while the top-selling artists were left largely unscathed; kind of like the nation’s top one-percent earners still being granted the largest number of loopholes despite the country’s massive deficit.

And it’s those top-heavy categories that are the real head-scratchers (and don’t get me started about who SHOULD HAVE BEEN nominated). For example, you have Rock Performance and Rock Song: what’s the difference? OK, somebody wrote the song (or more often than not, a platoon). But if it wasn’t written, how could it be performed? These chicken-vs-the-egg distinctions basically make the Foo Fighters eligible for three different rock categories, NOT including Album of the Year, for which they were also nominated.

And what is Best Pop Vocal Album, versus Album of the Year, other than an opportunity to have multiple nominations for Adele, Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars and Rihanna? Does anybody really think that Adele would have gotten a single nomination for reasons other than her voice?

"Record of the Year" vs "Song of the Year" begs the same question: What’s the diff? (OK, one goes to producers and one goes to songwriters, but in the case of "Rolling in the Deep," it’s the same people who benefit. At the very least we might suggest calling the song category "Best Pop Lyrics of the Year" or some such thing.)

Even the Recording Academy’s reduced jazz categories are open to scrutiny, even given my own sympathy for a genre whose album market share (roughly 3%) stands way out of proportion to its cultural significance. We now have four categories, with "best improvised jazz solo" as a separate entry. But isn’t all jazz, by definition, largely improvised? As a result you have Chick Corea, Sonny Rollins and Fred Hersch double-nominated for essentially the same work.

Sure, Grammy might be sporting a svelte figure compared to years past, but there’s quite a bit of fat that could be trimmed from those bones.

Just some thoughts on the geniuses in the Academy's music branch who felt only two entries deserved to be nominated in the music category. Our resident movie music expert Jon Burlingame had something in today’s paper about the same thing. I can’t say there’s a song out there that I’m passionate about, although I did hear the Elton John/Lady Gaga song when publicist Jeff Sanderson sent a link and thought it was one of the best things Elton has done in decades.

But in my opinion, the biggest Oscar music oversight of recent times was Eddie Vedder’s music for “Into the Wild,” either because the Academy eliminated the “song score” category or didn’t feel the music advanced the drama enough. In fact, the soundtrack was better than the movie, which was maybe part of the problem.

I think the Academy should simply vote for the best use of music period – whether it’s adapted from other sources or not – i.e. Carter Burwell’s use of traditional music in “True Grit,” Clint Mansell’s Tchaikovsky-inspired score for “Black Swan” or Howard Shore’s Wagneresque score for “A Dangerous Method.” In all three cases, the composers beautifully underscore the drama with unique orchestrations and tonalities that only they could pull off.

Was the soundtrack for “West Side Story” the best of its year? Absolutely! Did it win an Oscar? Deservedly yes. Would it win today? No, because it wasn’t “original.”      

Sure to be buried by all the empty hoopla of the Oscar nominations on Tuesday, Jan. 24 will be the re-issue of the Doors’ 1971 album "L.A. Woman," as strong a swan song as has ever been recorded in rock history. Part of that has to do with Jim Morrison having been in his prime as a singer, no matter how dissolute and undisciplined at the time, with the recording sessions having occurred just months before his death in Paris.

Witness the startlingly poignant baritone on "Hyacinth House," with its hint of disillusionment by the wild-card frontman and his impending departure from L.A.’s rat race. "I need a brand new friend who doesn’t trouble me."

But the beauty of "L.A. Woman" upon re-examination is the loose, relaxed quality of the Doors’ most bluesy album. "Fuck the errors," recalled drummer John Densmore about the making of the album to the L.A. Weekly recently. "Let’s be passionate and quick. Back to the garage and blues and our roots."

And that enthusiasm and inspiration is evident throughout both the album and the bonus material on the Rhino release. "I hate to spook anybody but this is my favorite number; play your ass off," Morrison says in the studio before the band launches into "The Changeling" on the bonus disc. The rough-and-tumble track was the band’s choice as its first single off the album, but Elektra Records chief Jac Holzman begged to differ.

The record would end up being as deep in singles as any band would desire in this day and age of single-oriented pop: "Love Her Madly," "Riders on the Storm" and "L.A. Woman," the rollicking, locomotive, epic poem to the city of which the group is inextricably linked.

The alternate track of that latter signature tune — the definitive anthem for the City of Lost Angels — reveals the dynamic interplay between Ray Manzarek’s propulsive organ and Robby Krieger’s sinewy guitar lines. The composition cannot be improved upon, which points to another marvel of the record, which was largely recorded live with very little sweetening in the studio.

The addition of Elvis Presley’s bass player Jerry Scheff and rhythm guitarist Marc Benno helped the proceedings considerably. As good, and unmistakably unique stylists, Manzarek, Kreiger and Densmore are, they’ve been freed up to do what they do best: play with the awareness and imagination of seasoned jazz musicians, but with the energy and snarl of kick-out-the-jams rockers.

The variations from the originally released tracks, as iconic as they’ve become, is a welcome departure from every note and lick that Doors fans have come to memorize. "Do you love her madly?" exists on the alternate track here versus the established "Don’t you love her madly?" — a subtle yet significant distinction, pointing to the power and sound of a single word. Morrison revered language and poetry, and the reveries of "L.A. Woman" have as much to do with language as anything else. "Motel money murder madness" indeed.

The much-discussed recently discovered track, "She Smells So Nice," sounds like something tossed off in the studio as a warm-up. You can sense Morrison’s loose, limber — even if more than a tad lazy and hazy — mind at work.

This 40th Anniversary edition of "L.A. Woman" might not contain the riches of the re-issued Stones classic "Exile on Main Street," coming as it did with a slew of previously undiscovered tunes, but for Doors completists, it’s a must addition to their collection.