HAVE FUN, FUCK SHIT UP

Youth is not wasted on teen punks Be Your Own Pet
By SCOTT T. STERLING

Wednesday, June 21, 2006 - 3:01 pm


The No. 1 enemy to any teenager in the world is boredom. Kids will do anything to avoid the B word, from wanton sex to trading prescription pharmaceuticals to forming a rock band (for the luckier parents out there). And despite what Chuck Klosterman may say in the June issue of Esquire, teenagers are alive and well in 2006. Exhibit A: new teen-punk heroes Be Your Own Pet, who are the polar opposite of boring.

These bona fide adolescents (all under 20), who formed BYOP at the progressive Nashville School of the Arts in 2002, seek to incite a white-hot riot of teen fury, their songs rushing by in a cacophonous flash (many clock in at 90 seconds), with the band — Nathan Vasquez (bass, afro), Jonas Stein (guitar) and Jamin Orrall (drums) — playing so fast they seem to race each other to the next tune (think Bad Brains beating the crap out of the Ramones). Much like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, to whom they’re most often compared, deep inside these seething whippets of nervy energy lies a real sense of tunefulness and song craft that belies their age, and apparent ADD. The band’s writing skills shine brightest on “October, First Account,” which could very easily play as BYOP’s “Maps” (to really beat the YYY comparison to death). Somewhere between Cat Power gone electric and the Blake Babies’ younger siblings, BYOP even have the audacity (and capability) to toss a disco-reggae break into the song like some sort of mutant Blondie 2.0 without breaking a sweat. In case you haven’t been paying attention, this lot can really play, which is not something one can say about many of their teen-punk contemporaries.

They’re also fronted by this year’s most reluctant indie sex symbol, Jemina Pearl, whose almost embarrassingly fine profile is an obvious point of contention (at one point in our interview she mentions the proliferation of “creepy older guys” at their shows). You’ll be hard pressed to find a photo of the band where she’s even looking up, unless you count their conspicuous presence on the latest cover of trendy fashion monthly Nylon.

“Yeah, we’re on the cover of that magazine,” Pearl deadpans about the splashy spread. “It’s cool, I don’t know. They dressed us up in all of these stupid-looking clothes. I look ridiculous, I think. All of us do, really. It doesn’t even look like us. Whatever.”

They’ve already got the U.K. eating out of their hands: When the band took the stage at a massive U.K. festival last summer and nerves forced Pearl to vomit into a towel, fans begged for it (ew). She obliged by throwing it into the crowd, watching incredulously as they fought over its rancid contents (double ew). They also melted what seemed like a million hearts at this year’s SXSW fest — the hysteria mostly generated from their MySpace page, which had only been set up six weeks prior. In sum, BYOP — who cribbed their moniker from a song by Infinity Cat band Art Circus — have quickly become a pop phenomenon of genuine note.

When I track down Pearl and the rest of the band, it’s over the phone from Detroit, on the much-heralded 6/6/06 — the same day their eponymous debut album on Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace! imprint hit American streets. Pearl is polite, but a young woman of few words. Or maybe I’m just boring.

“It’s no big deal,” she replies when asked if she’s seen the album on record-store shelves yet. “We were just down in Columbus, and a couple of stores had it out already. It was more exciting when it first came out in the U.K.,” she says nonchalantly — “but yeah, I’m excited that it’s out in America now too. It’s pretty cool.”

A far cry from the in-your-face exhibitionist that screams dogmatic teen slogans all over BYOP’s recordings (e.g., “I’m an independent motherfucker/And I’m here to take your money/I’m wicked rad/And I’m here to steal away your virginity” — “Bunk Trunk Skunk”) and whips audiences to hysteria at their notoriously short live shows. But she knows better. The members of BYOP were born into musical legacies. Pearl started singing in a church choir; her father is musician/artist Jimmy Abegg, while drummer Jamin’s father is noted songwriter Robert Ellis Orrall. These youngsters are wise in the ways of the industry, even one that’s heaped such hype on them it would be easy to crack (from profiles in Rolling Stone to a gushing review on Pitchfork).

Asked about her switch from the hymns to devil’s music, Pearl sneers, “Well, I’m not a Christian and don’t go to church, so it wouldn’t make sense for me to sing in a choir.” She adds, endearingly, “You don’t have to actually be good at singing to be in a rock band, you know?” But she can sing: Pearl’s clear vibrato and melodic fluency evoke a more operatic Debbie Harry.

“I love this band,” raves L.A. hipster guru Steve Aoki, an early BYOP fan. “Even at Coachella (this year), they only played a 15-minute set, sprayed shaving cream all over the place and jumped in the crowd. And it was just over. Awesome!”

“People don’t know us as well as they do overseas, so the shows aren’t, like, insane crazy,” Pearl surmises of their current American trek. “But having to win people over is part of the fun. We’re having a good time, and that’s all that really matters.”

You could say the medium is the message for these kids. Asked about the band’s manifesto, Pearl admits, “We’re not trying to put too much across. We’re just happy to be in a band, trying to have fun with it.” In other words, as young as BYOP may be, they’re aware of just how brilliant, beautiful and brief that time can be, and have chosen to honor it with loud, fast and vicious teen anthems. Sure beats the hell out of high school.

“We’ve gotten so many opportunities. So many bands don’t get the chance [to make records], which is unfortunate. But we’ve gotten that chance, so we’re trying to enjoy it.” She pauses, then adds, “Mostly, we’re just trying to find a way to buy beer.”

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, June 2006)

YOUNG / GIFTED / BEAUTIFUL / BLACK

L.A.’s Murs just wants to be your favorite rapper. Is that so wrong?
BY SCOTT T. STERLING


First things first: Murs is better than your favorite rapper, and he knows it. While the glory continues to fall on overamplified rap clichés like The Game (whose microphone I’d just bet goes to 11), Murs is L.A.’s truest representative in America’s hip-hop congress. Blessed with a husky, authoritative flow, he’s still a couple years shy of 30, but his conversational raps bleed with a wry wisdom well beyond his years. (“. . . You say I’m backpack ’cause I don’t have a gat/Man, I just love life and I’m dealing with the facts/I’m young, I’m gifted, I’m beautiful, I’m black.”)

Second: Murs has much cooler shoes than you or your favorite rapper. On a sun-soaked afternoon outside Sky’s Tacos on Pico — in the heart of Murs’ beloved Mid-City streets — he’s sporting an extra-fresh pair of U.K. import Adidas kicks emblazoned with graphics from the ’80s sci-fi classic Tron. His hair explodes in a mass of thick dreadlocks, and it’s a rare moment when he’s not wearing an ear-to-ear grin. Murs is a genuine L.A. native who can reference Venice skate legends like Jay Adams as quickly as he’ll mention old-school rap heroes Mystic Journeymen. He first discovered hip-hop on KDAY AM — “I knew I wanted to rap [from the time] I bought the Fat Boys’ Crushin’ on cassette in 1987” — and his immense hometown pride is never far from the surface.

“When I was growing up smoking weed back in ’90, ’91, people called me ‘white boy’ and ‘stoner,’” he laughs, recalling his early years in Mid-City, an area roughly bordered by avenues Western, Fairfax, Olympic and Jefferson. “But after Dr. Dre’s album The Chronic came out, those same people started buying weed from me. But I’ve always been like that. I try to be cool with everybody. I’m not one of these rappers that need all of the attention. I grew up with a great mom that showed me love. I don’t need a diamond chain to feel special.”

Sipping on sweet lemonade and picking at a shrimp burrito, he’s contemplative about how much — and how little — hip-hop has changed in the 15 years since then.

“Platinum rappers aren’t talking about anything anymore. I was listening to Ice Cube’s Death Certificate album the other day, and there’s all kind of knowledge on there for the people. Jay-Z might say something on one bar in one song. That’s not enough,” he stresses. “That’s why my next album is going to be message driven. All black kids are hearing on the radio is to go get a car, get some rims and a gun. That’s not good.”

Originally coming to prominence as part of L.A.’s Living Legends rap crew, Murs saw his profile rise upon the release of 2004’s Murs 3:16: The 9th Edition (Definitive Jux). Bucking the trend of working with numerous producers, Murs made 3:16 alone with DJ 9th Wonder (of North Carolina collective Little Brother), who was already respected in the hip-hop underground for his use of deep-rooted classic soul tracks.

The pair is back at it with ’06’s Murray’s Revenge (Record Collection), thick with superior hip-hop narratives that find common ground between Ice Cube and El-P. 9th Wonder is still mining rare R&B (including ’70s lover man William Bell) to produce tunes that thump with a timelessness rare in current rap — something closer in feel to ’60s Motown. Murs sounds as relaxed talking about a day at the barbershop as he does riffing on female race issues, which he does eloquently on “Dark Skinned White Girls.” (“Now she likes the Smiths, the Cure/Really into Morrissey/Heavy on the rock never fooled with the Jodeci . . ./Rejected by the black not accepted by the white world/And this is dedicated to them dark-skinned white girls.”)

But with all of the accolades, he still feels like something’s missing. “I don’t have Murs fans,” he says matter-of-factly. “I have a lot of Atmosphere, Aesop Rock and Sage Francis fans that also like what I do. I’m respected, but it’s not like I’m their main guy. I’m not cool with that anymore.”

He’s keenly aware of the role race plays in hip-hop, as in life, but doesn’t sweat the irony of his place in a predominantly white indie scene.

“People like to get into that,” he says grimly. “Maybe you should ask Beck what it’s like to play to mostly white audiences while naming his album after Cholo slang,” he jokes, referencing Mr. Hanson’s Guero. “I just want to reach as many people as possible. I really do just want to be your favorite rapper!

“I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m really good at performing,” he says, shrugging. “Mr. Lif might have a tighter technical show, but if the sound goes out, I can still rock the party. I can talk to the crowd and make them laugh. Nobody in rap is doing that, including people I admire, like Brother Ali.”

Still raw from a “shitty” tour in support of Murray’s Revenge that he cancelled in the middle (“I just lost interest,” he says), Murs is adamant that he’s hit a glass ceiling in the indie rap underground. And he’s prepared to drastically change his game to transcend the indie niche.

“People have always told me that the best way to sell records is to tour, which is a lie. Record companies don’t want to hear it, and a lot of people disagree with me, but until you hit the right market, you could tour until you’re blue in the face and it won’t make a difference.

“[Now] I’ll do Coachella and Rock the Bells, places where I can make some new fans. If I can win over a tent of 3,000 white people at Coachella, imagine what I could do in front of that many black people. I want to be respected as the best rapper in Los Angeles, period. Still, I’ll always be that strange kid with the weird hair that I was when I was 14 years old and riding Roller Blades past the crack spot.”

Murs isn’t just talking yang. He now shares management with the likes of Snoop Dogg and Tyrese Gibson, and gets props from L.A. power movers like Cypress Hill’s B-Real. To further prove his point, Murs is already working on the follow-up to the self-produced movie Walk Like a Man, a gritty drama about a young rapper trying to break into the rap game. He’s also planning his next album — which he terms “my definitive statement.” And he’s not concerned with indie cred now, if he ever was: “I want to do a song with Kid Rock [on my next album] so bad. He’s one of my favorite artists.” But Murs reserves his highest praise for perhaps the least likely of L.A. brethren. “I really want to work with [Black Eyed Peas leader] Will.i.am more than anybody,” he gushes. “He’s one of my idols. No one believes me, but that’s the realest dude in hip-hop. He grew up in the projects, and he’s still wearing the same thrift-store clothes that we was wearing back in 1991, freestyling outside of David Faustino’s club. He’s been L.A. hip-hop forever.

“I’ve seen him do so much, and I’m so proud of him,” Murs says warmly. “It’s because of artists like him that I can never give up.”

If that’s not California Love, nothing is.

(Originally posted in the LA Weekly, June 2006)

Pigeon John Live at The Terrace Club, Pasadena (Preview)

Surprise! Pigeon John uses hip-hop to charm and disarm with a classic style and miles of savior faire, infusing his black everyman lyricism with a particular potency and power. His forthcoming album Pigeon John and The Summertime Pool Party (Quannum) is loaded with confessional couplets that connect through brutal honesty: “I used to have a white girl/Now I got a white wife/Kinda gettin’ used to hearing, ‘brother, that ain’t right.’” Paired with poppy upbeats and whimsical melodies, PJ’s light-hearted look at harsh realities is akin to fellow LA rap iconoclasts the Pharcyde at their freshest. With sly samples like the Pixies’ alterna-classic “Hey” driving the nice guy anthem “Money Back Guarantee,” even indie bed-heads can wave their hands in the air like they just don’t care. Now doesn’t that feel nice?
(originally published in the LA Weekly, June 2006)

THE STREETS, ACTUALLY

The U.K.’s notorious grime boy on his tour mate Lady Sov, doing crack with a pop star, and his cocky new LP

BY SCOTT T. STERLING

“Memories of Los Angeles? Um, let me think . . . ”

It takes Mike Skinner, the mastermind behind U.K. hip-hop act The Streets, a few beats to recall his own personal L.A. story. “It’s all pretty hazy, really. We did a really long press day once after being up all night, and I was able to do most of the interviews floating in the hotel pool. I really like the weather, but the people are a bit hard to work out sometimes.”

Yes, Skinner, wordsmith extraordinaire and the man who single-handedly elevated British hip-hop from punch-line status, is trading in easy clichés today. Which gives us license to trawl in a few of our own, like the one that says Brits can’t rap. Historically lousy with affected New York accents (and attitudes) — and lyrics about drive-bys and other subjects of which Brits know little, U.K. hip-hop has perpetually wallowed in a murky mire. That is, until the advent of Skinner’s band The Streets, which finally had the common sense to subscribe to hip-hop’s golden rule: Go with what you know. On his 2002 debut album Original Pirate Material (Vice), Skinner rapped in a thick cockney accent about what really happens during “the day in the life of a geezer,” which includes lots of weed and PlayStation and getting dissed by girls down the pub. His Ecstasy-enhanced emotions and chopped-sample beats appealed to indie kids and post-ravers equally, and the album was nominated for the vaunted Mercury Music Prize that year. With such a conspicuous launch, Skinner surged to become a bona fide pop star in his home country, while maintaining a respectable career stateside with ’04’s ambitious concept album A Grand Don’t Come For Free. All the while, Skinner maintained credibility in the underground, shining early light on new artists like Kano, who sprang from the so-called grime scene that gave Skinner his first break.

But it’s his star status in the U.K. that fuels the almost painfully confessional third Streets opus, The Hardest Way to Make an Easy Living (Vice), where he describes in detail the benefits and pitfalls of public acclaim. As he shifts through a myriad of bombastic hip-hop beats (and the occasional emo ballad), Skinner proves that beyond lyrics, his ear for sticky pop melodies is what gives his songs their strength.

“The album’s about living the dream, and the dream comes from my childhood,” he says, describing the record’s blunt emotional honesty — and the pastel-colored lens through which it’s filtered. Living the dream includes looking the part: His new image is pure Crockett & Tubbs; he admits, “When I was a kid, I watched Miami Vice and had posters of Ferraris on my wall.” And that Rolls-Royce featured on the album cover? That’s his, too. “Being a pop star is better than winning the lottery, because you get more respected,” Skinner theorizes. “Plus you can get away with a lot more.”

In his case, he’s gotten away with everything from a financially debilitating gambling habit to copious drug consumption. First single “When You Wasn’t Famous” describes an evening he spent smoking crack and having sex with an unnamed British pop star, then watching her ply her milk-fed image the next day on U.K. kiddie music show CD:UK. British tabloids have had a field day with the song, with claims that it’s about either former S Club 7 singer Rachel Stevens or Cheryl Tweedy, vocalist for equally sugary pop group Girls Aloud.

“I will say that the person that the tune is about didn’t mind it at all,” is his only comment on the subject. In the same song, he laments the advent of camera phones, since they hinder his ability to “do a line in front of complete strangers."

“I’ve chilled out considerably on that stuff this time out,” he admits. “It’s harder touring without it in some ways, but it’s also easier, since there’s a lot less of that roller-coaster effect mentally. Things are a lot more stable.” When asked to name his current drug of choice, he replies without a moment’s hesitation: “Caffeine.”

Skinner’s also taken a softer approach to women these days, despite the acidic “War of the Sexes,” which was inspired by Neil Strauss’ notorious tome on “scoring,” The Game. “Leo, one of the guys in my band, swears by the Chris Rock idea that men are only as faithful as their opportunities. Guys are flawed in that way. The book went around the tour bus really quickly. I’d love to meet Neil, actually. Think you could hook that up?” he adds with a wry giggle.

Currently on tour with much-hyped Brit-rapper Lady Sovereign, Skinner’s unfazed by her status, instead playing the role of wise older brother to the young up-and-comer.

“She’s more about America right now, which I think is the key to her potential success,” Skinner muses. “It’s all about her breaking stateside. And as much as I like America, I’ve never based my situation on making it there. It’s most important that my music speaks to British youth,” he says. And it does: British kids still hold him in high regard, even as he rises far beyond his working-class origins. “Those are my people, man!”

(Originally published in the LA Weekly, June 2006. The photo was hijacked from British GQ - Cheers!)

2005 FLASHBACK: Felt 2: A Tribute to Lisa Bonet

Hip-hop’s Employees of the Year earn their plaque with this powerful collaboration

(Rhymesayers) Back in the glory days of Marvel comics, the minds behind such legendary heroes as the X-Men and Luke Cage Hero For Hire came up with a quirky new concept: “What if?”

The idea was to let their writers and artists take on such hypothetical questions as “What if Spiderman joined the Fantastic Four?” and “What if the Incredible Hulk had David Banner’s brain?” In the equally obsessed-over world of indie hip-hop, the question “What if Slug, Murs and Ant made a record together?” has been answered with one of the best albums of boom-bap to mark 2005.

It’s common knowledge that Minneapolis’ Slug and LA’s Murs are among the hardest working dudes in hip-hop, always on the grind and practically living on the road. With Felt 2: A Tribute to Lisa Bonet (word to Denise Huxtable), it sounds like they went head to head, pushing one another to step it up and craft sharper rhymes. The results find them firing off a litany of lines back and forth like the Crocket and Tubbs of backpack rap. And yes, Murs is still better than your favorite rapper.

As the dynamic duo are spitting their girl-crazy game (they claim the project is all about “the long-term goal of having sex with b-level Hollywood actresses”), Minneapolis production wunderkind Ant steals the show with a dazzling array of street beats that thump with the ferocity of classic Boogie Down Productions laced with the soulful sheen of ’70s R&B. Veering from orchestrated Minneapolis funk interludes (“Reintroduction,” “Lisa”) to rich, dramatic strings worthy of the Love Unlimited Orchestra (“Your Mans and Them”) to even showing Kanye a thing or three about sped-up soul samples (“Dirty Girl”), this sonic tour de force effectively proves that Ant is among hip-hop’s production elite.

Packed with all sorts of inside jokes and jabs at the insular world of indie rap, Felt 2: A Tribute to Lisa Bonet even has a hilarious accompanying comic book, “True Tales of Underground Hip-Hop).” With new albums from both Atmosphere and Murs in the near future, 2005 is shaping up to be the year we might answer the question “What if Slug, Murs and Ant took over the world?”

(Originally published in Urb, Sept 05)

AUTOLUX: THREE THE HARD WAY

They’ve survived everything from also-ran bands to a shattered elbow to become one of the biggest (and most name-checked) bands in Los Angeles...


LA’s intimate (and by intimate, I mean about the size of the rec room in your parents’ basement) Silverlake Lounge is bursting at its’ tattered edges. There are hipsters of countless persuasions jockeying for position around the tiny makeshift stage at the end of the bar. It gets so thick that actor Giovanni Ribisi (tonight hanging with fellow thespian Tim Roth) gets busted by a bartender for hopping atop the bar in hopes of a better view in the cramped space.

On the stage, clumps of red Christmas lights hang precariously from the rafters, while behind the drum set glows an oversized origami star. When the house lights dim and three slight figures take the stage, the boisterous crowd grows hushed in anticipation. A warped wash of spacey guitars loop into a hypnotic blur, which eventually explodes in a rush of sound somewhere between mid-period Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless and 3am on the best college radio station ever. The Christmas lights twinkle in time with the music as the trio – bassist/ethereal voice Eugene Goresther, guitarist Greg Edwards and drummer Carla Azar – set about proving exactly why they’re one of the most hotly tipped bands in LA, fresh from a stint opening for Nine Inch Nails on their 2005-06 tour.

I meet up with the band a few weeks after the Silverlake Lounge show in Goreshter’s nearby loft apartment, where I find them frazzled at the tail end of a day spent entertaining a steady stream of journalists. They exude a collective cool most likely gleaned from each member having been on the verge of breakout status with previous outfits (Edwards in Failure, Goreshter in Maids of Gravity and Azur in Ednaswap, best known as the band that originally wrote and recorded “Torn,” the song infamously covered into a worldwide hit for former Aussie soap star/current make-up shill Natalie Imbruglia).

Autolux’s debut album Future/Perfect (DMZ/Sony), has already garnered reams of praise, and one spin bears out the accolades. A lyrically androgynous swirl of guitar melodies and Azur’s massive drum style (think a cross between John Bonham and Mo Tucker), theirs is a sound that’s completely unique, yet comfortably familiar. The legendary T-Bone Burnett (who co-owns the DMZ label with filmmaking siblings the Cohen Brothers) produced the album.

“T-Bone just created a relaxed environment so we could make the album we wanted,” recalls Goreshter. “He didn’t mess with the songs at all. The best way I can sum up the experience is by talking about ‘the buzz.’” The band all exchange knowing glances. “When we first got to the studio, there was this awful buzz that just wouldn’t go away, no matter what the engineers did. From the moment T-Bone walked into the studio, the buzzing stopped and never came back.”

The band is especially appreciative of their lofty position due to a freak accident that nearly cost Azur the ability to play drums. After opening for Elvis Costello at LA’s Kodak Theater, she was crouched at the edge of the stage talking to friends when the worst happened.

“The stage lights went down for Elvis to start his show, and I didn’t realize my feet were tangled in cables. When I stood up, I tripped and fell from the stage onto the concrete floor ten feet below. I landed directly on my elbow.” Her elbow shattered, requiring nine metal pins and lengthy physical rehab to repair. She produces a wince-inducing x-ray. According to her band mates, she’s playing better than ever.

“She’s got something to prove,” laughs Edwards. “I was afraid she’d never be able to play again.” Azure gives him a pissed-off look.

“You never told me that,” she retorts. “Way to be supportive.”

As Goreshter jumps into to diffuse the situation, I take the internal tensions as my cue to hit the door. It sounds like the band is already working on the second album…



(Originally published in the Oct 04 issue of Urb Magazine).

LA MAY DAY 2006

Yesterday a good half-million people marched up Wilshire Blvd (and a mere three blocks from HQ) in protest of proposed immigration laws. This is what it looked like when they appeared on the horizon...

2005 FLASHBACK: ANNIE

It was only a year ago that this sassy Norwegian pop princess piped up with her fantastic album Anniemal.

I instantly fell in love with her sunny mix of classic Madonna hooks, indie sensibilities and an ear for the dance floor. Here's a feature I wrote after speaking with Annie over the phone during a press day in New York.

It's been kind of grey around LA (and in my head) lately, so a little sunshine is just what the doctor ordered...

__________________________________________________________
Summer is never complete without at least one perfect pop song. In 2004 (a year woefully short on good pop music), Puerto Rican teen wonder twins Nina Sky saved the day with their infectious and dance floor-igniting “Move Ya Body” on the back of the ‘Coolie Dance’ dancehall rhythm, while 2005 is currently ruled by Gwen Stefani and Pharrell Williams’ minimal cheerleader explosion “Hollaback Girl” (although in a truly perfect world, it would be M.I.A. and Diplo on the cover of this month’s Teen People instead of Britney and Kevin Spederline y’all). But Gwen and her ever-controversial Hirajuku girls could have some stiff competition in the form of Norway’s new pop sensation, Annie, and her shining debut album, Anniemal (Big Beat/Atlantic). Delivering plenty of fun and fizzy dance-pop effervescence, it’s an upbeat grab bag of ridiculously smiley tunes that deliver plenty of guilty pleasure goodness, only without the guilt, given her hipster-approved pedigree (Both Royksopp and Richard X provide production on the album). But make no mistakes: Annie’s music is far too fun to be “cool.” This is the sort of thing we can only dream our many fallen American pop princesses could even fathom recording. Not even the beloved Kylie Minogue has sounded this effervescent in years. Skipping across years of pop culture influence, Annie’s album invokes wide-ranging acts like the Tom Tom Club, Human League, Saint Etienne and most specifically Madonna on the “Everybody”-sampling “Greatest Hit.”

“I love New York. It’s definitely one of my favorite cities. I’m so happy to be here,” Annie gushes in clipped English from a suite in the snappy Tribeca Grand Hotel, in town for her first wave of American press. There are a couple of performances and even a DJ gig at the über-hip Misshapes dance party on her itinerary.

“I used to DJ a lot more,” she muses, “but I’ve been really concentrating on practicing the live show. I play quite eclectic sets. Lots of ’80s, New York disco, weird pop stuff and even some rock, basically everything that I’m into. I’m usually just playing records, but sometimes by accident I’ll make a mix,” she laughs.

“When I was very little, I was really into Madonna and all sorts of pop music back then,” she remembers of growing up and listening to music in Norway. “But I went through a lot of phases. I listened to a lot of hip-hop as well, like NWA and Public Enemy. Then I was into New York bands like Blondie and the Ramones. I’ve been into so much.”

By the time Annie turned 17, she was fronting her first band, Suitcase. “A really crap band,” she remembers. “We played one gig, which was awful. It was our first and last show. We were very ambitious, but not very good. As Annie, I haven’t been so ambitious, but all sorts of good things are happening, so go figure.”

She’s pensive when questioned about the universality of her music, which has topped the sales charts in Norway and far more critical ones in America, with her glorious live-action single “Heartbeat” coming in at #1 on the Pitchfork website’s best singles of 2004 chart (“I was completely shocked by that. It was amazing!”).

“I guess it’s a combination of catchy, melodic songs made with really great producers who are very interesting,” she says finally. “I was afraid that the songs would all sound very different with the different producers. But I think we’ve come up with a proper album, not just a collection of tracks. That’s what I’m most proud of.”

Despite the countless accolades and cool kid cache, there’s still the undeniable fact that Annie is coming to America at a time when pop is a dirtier word than it’s been in a long time, given the current climate for genre-crossing rock and all things hip-hop.

“Just the fact that I’m coming to America at all is really special and weird,” she counters evenly. “When I made the album, I never thought that it would be interesting to America at all. I thought they’d find it to European-sounding,” she adds. “I’m really surprised at how welcome I’ve been made to feel. On my website (www.anniemusic.co.uk) I have a forum, and I’ve been getting all sorts of responses from America and Canada.”

Which lends credence to the argument that the only reason pop is such a dirty word is that quality pop songs are difficult to come by. For every “Toxic” that Britney records, there’s an album full of awful songs that comes with it.

“I don’t see my album as pure pop, either,” she argues. “I’m so inspired by so much different music. I think I’ve put a lot of different things together. It’s not just pop.”

Granted, tunes like “Come Together” rides a classic disco rhythm reminiscent of Jamiroquoi’s Napolean Dynamite dance hit “Canned Heat,” while “No Easy Love” even goes for some R&B heat. Still, the pure pop-tastic splendor found in songs like the free love anthem “Chewing Gum” and the epic tale of fallen glory in “Me Plus One” cannot be denied.

She feels no particular kinship to any contemporary artists but to producers, offering that she’s been compared vocally to St. Etienne’s Sarah Cracknell (of which she’s a fan) and “The singer of the Twin Peaks song,” Julee Cruise. Annie has also dabbled in a bit of remixing, having retooled tunes by the likes of the Electric Six and Polyphonic Spree (“It’s a lot of fun!” she enthuses.).

While Norway doesn’t have much of a pop music scene, the nation is enthralled with Pop Idol, the Norwegian version of American Idol.

“I’ve met some of the contestants, and they’ve been so sweet,” Annie relates. “They tell me how much they look up to me, which I find very funny, since I can’t stand any of that stuff.” <

(Orginally published in Urb magazine, July.Aug 2005)

FREE THE PEOPLES!

DILATED PEOPLES
20/20
(CAPITOL)

BY SCOTT STERLING

Wednesday, March 8, 2006 - 4:00 pm

Dilated Peoples are the J. Geils Band of indie hip-hop: They’ve earned their position the old-fashioned way — through years of relentless touring, honing an act that commands rabid crowds of hip-hop heads from here to Albany. The trouble is, much like Philly’s the Roots, they’ve mainly attracted the kind of fans who will line up all day to see them perform, then drag their feet when it comes to buying an album.

That’s partly why Dilated Peoples’ last album, 2004’s Neighborhood Watch (Capitol), wasn’t the industry breakout so many had predicted. Led by the top-shelf Kanye West production “This Way,” the fantastic album that was supposed to elevate the band into higher tax brackets stalled at the checkout counter. It didn’t help that the band’s hardcore constituency are among the savviest on the Internet, used to scoring copies often months before official release.

Ultimately, though, all these factors paled in comparison to the underground uproar around Dilated Peoples’ fast association with Kanye. Like any genre, hip-hop — particularly that murky domain known as “indie” hip-hop — is rife with purists. The way artists roll can be as important as the tracks they release. To hardcore rap fans, a staunchly underground L.A. crew cavorting with such a relatively mainstream star seemed like a crass attempt to cash in and, worse, sell out.

Of course, all such claims are ridiculous. Until Rakaa busts out in a pair of Mickey Mouse gloves, or Evidence starts trading verses with half-naked white girls, it’s safe to say they’re at least keeping it in the realm of “real”-ness. Still, for Dilated Peoples, the relative flop of Neighborhood Watch had to hurt, and proved the kids weren’t all right with how the band was rolling.

Which is why 20/20 stings like a slap in the face to anyone who cried sellout simply because a superstar like Kanye recognized their value. Setting the confrontational tone with “Kindness for Weakness,” rappers Rakaa and Evidence shred haters with their customary panache, featuring an apt guest verse from Talib Kweli, another rapper who knows something about the fickle nature of the indie hip-hop head. Evidence doesn’t hesitate to go for the throat in the ominous “Rapid Transit”: “Cats got weak/Come at me with a better line/I don’t respect rappers/I respect Kevin Federline.” After the similarly morose “Olde English,” incendiary reggae star Capleton almost overwhelms the dancehall-flavored “Firepower (The Tables Have to Turn)” with his immense vocal presence.

From there, the album runs like an Olympic skater hitting required marks. “The One and Only” gives it up for the DP DJ, allowing Babu to flex on the decks. They shout out their fierce weed-smoking contingency with goofy interludes from the pot-dealing “Dr. Greenthumb,” who sounds suspiciously like Cypress Hill’s B-Real. “The Eyes Have It” gives the conscious kids something to ponder. Sonically, 20/20 is a no-frills affair, with straightforward beats laying the groundwork for more histrionic lyrics.

Altogether, 20/20 plays like the consummate anti-sellout album, purposefully avoiding anything too radio-friendly (given the current state of “urban” radio, that’s a very good thing) and playing directly to the heart of the indie hip-hop nation. Therein, however, lies the rub. While 20/20 does everything “right,” it loses a certain something in the dogged determination to avoid mistakes, and to make sure the kids realize ain’t a damn thing changed. Then again, that’s kind of the album’s point. Consider it a palate-cleanser, a reaffirmation of the many reasons why Dilated Peoples are familiar with the heights of the underground hip-hop hierarchy. Maybe now they can kick back, blaze through a field of designer chronic and really take some chances next time. You know there’s more to the Dilated Peoples universe than they’re letting on to — for now.

(Originally published in the LA Weekly)

ART BRUT: NO MONKEY BUSINESS

OH, YOU BRUT!

In a world of blog hysteria and terminal hipsterism, Art Brut kick ass, take names and get naked. (About time.)
BY SCOTT T. STERLING


Friday, February 10, 2006 - 5:13 pm

God, I am so glad I don’t have to write about the Arctic Monkeys right now. The last thing any of us need is another jaunty British band with an ocean’s worth of breathless hype to distract us from matters at hand. You know what I’m talking about: Place indie band in crock pot; throw in one Steve Aoki–approved Tuesday-night gig at Cinespace and a couple of online handjobs; simmer for approximately six weeks. Gag me with a pitchfork.

Art Brut is a different story entirely. Yes, indie Web mag Pitchfork gave ’em a good review, and, yes, lead singer Eddie Argos proudly aspires to be a superstar. But somehow Art Brut just don’t have that same cleverly concealed, trend-hopping blood lust in their eyes for American fame, fortune and ultimately acceptance that seems to ooze from the new Monkeys. (Those guys are just too obvious, too Bloc-Party-plays-nice -with-Franz-Ferdinand-and-cranks -it-up-a-dozen-BPMs. Arctic Monkeys should just stand on Cahuenga Boulevard holding a sign that says “WILL WORK FOR CAMEO ON THE OC.”)

Instead, Art Brut seem content to play the knowing opportunists, cool enough to casually find their way onto this year’s Coachella bill without any of the tub-thumping that surrounds their imperialist compatriots. But that’s Art Brut’s secret weapon: While their clever, guitar-driven tunes can stop-start with the best of the current post-punk posse, they maintain a classic sensibility absent from most. The band traverses a landscape of musical reference points (everything from the Creations’ “Cool Jerk” to the best of Johnny Thunders to the Smiths) that at least attempts to exude a similar timelessness. And, for the most part, their long-playing debut, Bang Bang Rock & Roll does just that, tearing through 12 taut, well-written tunes in under 33 minutes. (Holy Lemonheads, Batman, have we stumbled across the new It’s a Shame About Ray, U.K.-edition?).

While the band (guitarist Ian Catskilkin, drummer Mikey B, Jasper Future on more guitars and cute mod girlie Freddy Feedback holding down the bass) bash behind him, Argos narrates the six-string-saturated wall of sound with an urgent yelp that often finds him simply talking over the music. But it works, thanks to Argos’ matter-of-fact lyricism and roguish charm. The record kicks off with “Formed a Band,” a crunchy hard-rock anthem detailing a straightforward play-by-play of the band’s inauspicious beginnings (“Look at us/We formed a band!”). Many an emo kid will relate to the defiant “Emily Kane,” where Argos unabashedly pines for his teenage girlfriend more than a decade after the fact. I’m partial to “Bad Weekend,” which pokes at journo hype (“Haven’t read the NME in so long/Don’t know which genre we belong”), concluding with the glorious refrain (and my new personal ethos) “Popular culture/no longer applies to me.” From the shame of bedroom failures (“Rusted Guns of Milan”) to a twisted mix of pride and sibling rivalry in “My Little Brother,” indie rock hasn’t been this literal since Jonathan Richman sang “Government Center.”

Not surprisingly, “Fight” extols the joys of a good-old-fashioned punch-up, something Argos knows about firsthand: A cheeky war of words in the British press with Bloc Party lead singer Kele Okereke came to blows last year when the two crossed paths at a London club and Argos decked his foe. Argos eventually laughed off the incident, going so far as to tell Spin that Okereke “wasn’t very good at hitting.” (How can you not love this guy?)

He’s equally energetic and enthusiastic over the phone from London, speaking in slurred bursts of brogue that I’m proud to be able to decipher (well, mostly). And, given the roars of laughter and sounds of clinking glass behind him, I feel like I’m missing out on a really fun party. “Nah, I’m just having coffee with some friends,” he explains over the din. “This is just what restaurants are like in England, all boisterous and noisy. We’re a country of hooligans!”

Argos’ cockney appeal brings to mind Pulp singer Jarvis Cocker, though Argos is far more human: Think of a paunchy Bryan Ferry doing his best Dudley Moore on a lot of whiskey and half an E. Argos easily captivated a capacity crowd at the Echo last November during a brief stateside tour, joking with the rapturous audience, many of whom knew the lyrics already. (Art Brut don’t have an American deal yet, but the album’s doing brisk business on iTunes and other online music stores.) As Argos repeatedly stumbled from the Echo stage into the crowd, women at the front of the stage began groping and stroking his protruding white belly, one even unbuckling his belt and going for the zipper before he finally knocked her hand away. The band rocked with the faithful precision of a well-lubed bar band weaned on the Dolls and the Smiths, setting the stage for Argos’ baiting antics. All told, it was among the most genuinely fun and entertaining shows I’ve seen for a minute now, particularly by a British act (although I should take this opportunity to big-up Maximo Park, another great new Brit band that can beat the bejesus outta the Arctic Monkeys).

“America was fantastic, and I was sad to leave,” rhapsodizes Argos. “It completely defied expectations. People told me, ‘Oh, America is hard, and they never dance.’ At every single one of our shows, people knew the words and some even knew the daft hand movements I make onstage,” he laughs. “And the dancing! At our L.A. show at the Echo, it was like Glastonbury — everyone was trying to get onstage and kiss me. It was brilliant. I can’t wait to get back.”

So maybe Argos wasn’t really joking on “Moving to L.A.,” an almost comically British take on mid-’70s SoCal mellow-rock, where he describes dreams of “drinking Henessey/With Morrissey/On a beach/Out of reach/Somewhere very far away.”

“I come from a really wet, cold city [Bournemouth], and when I was writing that song I just thought about where I really wanted to be and what I really wanted to be doing, which was running down Sunset with my shirt off,” Argos explains. “Which, by the way, was the first thing I did when I got there. Seriously. I made them drive me to Sunset Boulevard, where I stripped off to the waist and took off running down the street. With the song, I just guessed at what life would be like in L.A. and it seems that I got it right.”

(the cool live shot of eddie argos in new york was kindly borrowed from brooklynvegan.com - thanks y'all).

THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGER MOUSE

Danger Mouse’s sprawling loft ensconced deep in downtown Los Angeles is hardly the kind of crib that’s expected of the modern music-production wunderkind. Instead of housing an ostentatious display of production gadgetry and whiz-bang technophile toys, it’s the sort of open, generous space that’s more post-collegiate crash pad, a spot that most 20-something Angelenos would kill for, the only sign of excess being a gorgeous full-size jukebox that’s currently cranking out classic progressive rock.

“When it first came available, the landlord was like, ‘Oh, you’ll want it for sure,’” recalls Brian Burton, Danger Mouse’s genteel alter ego with a big grin forming underneath a formidable kinky afro that’s somewhere between Einstein and Roots drummer Amir “Questlove” Thompson. “As soon as I saw the place, I could understand why he was so confident.”

Most are already familiar with Danger Mouse as the mastermind behind 2004’s inspired blend of the Beatles’ White Album with Jay-Z’s The Black Album, appropriately titled The Grey Album. It was the kind of eureka moment that won not only a landslide of critical accolades and attention but also jump-started the “mash-up” trend that rages on to this very day.

But it’s his second act, producing Demon Days (Virgin), the sophomore full-length from animated band the Gorillaz, with Blur front man Damon Albarn, that’s exceeded all expectations, crushing any speculation that Burton was a one-trick pony in the process. The album opened at No. 6 on the U.S. Billboard charts, debuting top 5 in countries from Argentina to Denmark to Japan. It also spawned the De La Soul–inflected hit “Feel Good Inc.,” now ubiquitous thanks to the animation of band co-creator Jamie Hewlett (Tank Girl) and the Apple TV campaign. The album is a dense, genre-defying amalgamation of the past 30 years in international beat culture — and among the best releases of 2005. Encapsulating Burton and Albarn’s kaleidoscopic palette of influences (from post-punk and dub to hip-hop and indie rock) and featuring an inspired cast of characters, Demon Days plays like the Clash’s Sandinista! for the iPod generation.

Expanding his sonic universe, Burton has since teamed with metal-faced underground rap legend MF Doom, creating DangerDoom and the album The Mouse & The Mask (Epitaph), a hip-hop polyglot made in collaboration with the Cartoon Network’s progressive Adult Swim team, with the animated members of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force like Meatwad and Master Shake rocking the mic alongside Doom and guests Ghostface Killa. Space Ghost even shows up to drop a particularly blistering battle rap. The remarkable results rank among the most fun and creative hip-hop concept albums since De La Soul Is Dead.

Just days before he was scheduled to leave for Manchester, England, to take in two of the five wildly successful live presentations of Demon Days at the Opera House (complete with choirs and guest vocalists ranging from Shaun Ryder to Dennis Hopper), Burton is affable and relaxed while looking back at this year of living dangerously.

He plays me a batch of songs from various projects he has on deck for 2006, like Gnarles Barkley (including an awesome new wave cover song — I’m sworn to secrecy) and an enviable lineup of delightfully unexpected collaborators I can’t mention (yet) but who are sure to throw the music world for a serious loop when they arrive. The sounds cover an even wider range of Burton’s countless influences, and are refreshingly free of expected beat clichés. This time next year, expect a lazy (or astute — you decide) journalist to dub Danger Mouse the black Jon Brion. Oh wait...


L.A. WEEKLY: What was happening as 2005 began?
BRIAN BURTON: The Gorillaz album was basically finished, and I was still working on the DangerDoom record. I’d just started vocal demos for the Gnarles Barkley project [a collaboration with Shortlist-nominated rapper Cee-Lo Green]. I had no idea that the Gorillaz album was going to take off the way it did. These are all projects that had been in some working order for a couple of years.


LA: You really didn’t think Demon Days was going to be a hit?
It was weird, because I thought it was this really out-there record. I didn’t think that many people were going to get it. Given the way radio formats are set up in the States, I didn’t see any one song that could really fit in anywhere, and that always hurts a major label release. But that’s without taking into account the various X factors, like videos and Internet. I’m happy and surprised that so many people are into it.


LA: The momentum the iPod commercial gave “Feel Good Inc.” must’ve helped too.
Absolutely. I don’t know much about how major labels work, but back when the album was first coming out in May, they were telling us that “Feel Good Inc.” wasn’t going to peak until August. We were like, what? The iPod commercial had already been out for a month. To me, it was already done. But there is a lot more to Demon Days. We spent a lot of time and crammed so much into it.


LA: I think that’s the strength of the album. The darker, dub parts are as good as the pop songs.
The best thing with Damon [Albarn] is he finds a way to channel his influences into himself, and it works. It’s not forced — he waits for it to come. I was there to help him do that in whatever was the best and most natural way possible. So when you hear songs like “Kids With Guns” and “Last Living Souls,” that’s really him — it’s not him trying to do a style. He has a great melodic sense.


LA: What was it like working with him?
We talked a lot. We never had any arguments. We even have that finish-each-other’s-sentences thing happening. There are a lot of the same influences between us, like Ennio Morricone and psychedelic pop-rock, but he has 10 years on me, so I have some catching up to do. Where he can school me on new wave and punk of the late ’70s/early ’80s, I can school him on a lot of hip-hop. We’re very competitive and pushed each other.


LA: Why aren’t you participating in the live Gorillaz shows in Manchester?
I’m not a live musician. I play stuff, and I’m getting better at certain things, but not on the level of performing in front of people.


LA: Do you ever see that happening?
I think so. I’m not made for the stage, but I do like it when I’m done. The whole process of waiting to get onstage is not my forte. I’m a nervous wreck.


LA: What about the DJ thing?
Being a DJ for me has always been more [about] a party, fun atmosphere, where I’m just playing records and not really in the room. I’m there, but I’m not the focal point. Being a featured DJ detracts from it for me. I don’t want people to just stand there and look at me — I want them to get drunk, have fun and get laid.


(Originally published by the LA Weekly)

2005 REDUX: BLOC PARTY + M.I.A.

BAND OF THE YEAR 2005: BLOC PARTY

WORDS BY SCOTT T STERLING

BLOC PARTY: CONTINUED...

2005 ARTIST OF THE YEAR: M.I.A

Words by Scott T Sterling

BEST OF 05: M.I.A. & BLOC PARTY

Here is the cover for the 2005 year-end wrap-up issue of urb magazine. the cover story on artists of the year M.I.A. and BLOC PARTY were both penned by moi. And how hot is Maya in the cover photo? Fire Fire indeed. Damn that Diplo! Lucky bastard...