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Under The Rock: Kanye West Threatened By The Kids These Days

Emma Renda — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:01:28 +0000

We all know what KanyeWest did at the VMAs and it looks like we’ll be talking about it until the Grammys. But shouldn’t we be prepared for this by now?

Kanye has based his career on the unlikely pairing. College student becomes iced-out rapper. Rapper wears sweater vests and horn-rimmed glasses. Prep-school rapper spits rhymes about Jesus and the politics of blood diamonds. Catholic hip-hopper samples Ray Charles for a song about women horny for money. Blues piano samples replaced with electro-house synthesizers and Auto-Tune.

Et cetera.

When he stormed the MTV VMA stage on Sunday, interrupting the sugary acceptance speech of tween country princess Taylor Swift, the event was actually more scripted than offensive. It wasn’t like the time Kanye accepted an MTV Europe award he didn’t win, or refused to accept an award he did win because he felt Outkast deserved it more.

No, it was more of a half-assed display of choreographed ego, just Kanye scoping out the most unlikely character to stand next to and making sure it happened before commercial break. Sure, Kany emay have been upset Beyonce’s video for “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)” lost out to Swift’s beige video for “You Belong with Me”.

But both Beyonce and Swift are making millions and will undoubtedly be remembered as this decade’s roster of leading ladies, so there is much more to Kanye’s outburst than being a sore loser.

Kanye was nominated for four VMAs this year, three for “Love Lockdown” and one for “Paranoid”, both off his late-2008 release 808s and Heartbreak. It’s safe to say no one expected him to win like they have in the past and considering the comebacks and break-throughs crowding this year’s nomination (Eminem and Lady GaGa, to name a few), Kanye hardly stood a chance.

Certainly four nominations is no small feat, and the genre-bending album isn’t one to shirk. But once 2009 arrived and Kanye’s techno treatments were duplicated and redubbed by nearly every pop act out there, both indie and mainstream, Kanye as a soloist drifted into the wings. It’s a trend that actually summarizes most of this year, as any hit out there has been remixed to a blurry, electronic hilt.

Kanye doesn’t like to share the spotlight, though. While he is content to invite Young Jeezy and Kid Cudi to guest on his album, he doesn’t seem to be taking well to his decreased visibility.

In the video for Jay-Z’s “Run This Town”, Kanye spends the first two minutes of the song bobbing uncomfortably next to Jay and Rihanna who undoubtedly steal the show. His verse is nearly forgotten by the time Rihanna’s last triumphant chorus closes out the song.

So what better time to get some attention on his own terms than the star-studded and media-hounded VMAs? Lady GaGa appeared in indecipherable-themed garb and Madonna somehow manipulated a Michael Jackson tribute into a retelling of her personal history, but Kanye will be the one everyone talks about this week.

Because who wouldn’t gape at the sight of Kanye ambushing the slight Taylor Swift, purer than the Jonas Brothers and most recently famous for gushing at the standing ovation she received when she walked on stage to her first Madison Square Garden headlining gig.

It’s natural to wince when a kitten is eaten by a lion, or when an antagonistic rapper in scary sunglasses brashly steals candy from a baby. But even more natural is this trick pulled from Kanye’s bottomless bag of them.

Kanye’s entire career is based on being looked at. He just spent a year very irrevocably in the spotlight.

The third installment to his career trilogy, Graduation, literally smashed the charts two years ago, dishing 50 Cent a large helping of crow following the challenge as to who would sell more records on opening day. (As if it weren’t enough, the albums hit shelves on Sept. 11, 2007.) Following the break-up with his fiancee, Kanye’s mother Donda, who he rapped about and brought to more events than credibility should allow, died in a plastic surgery snafu. Then his Glow in the Dark World Tour sold out nearly every venue.

He was very busy and very famous, even broaching notorious. 2009 has been noticeably slow for West in comparison. Sure, you can blame him for his cruel grasp at spicing things up. Or, you could try to understand.

He feels old, irrelevant and if you can believe it, threatened by the youth of America. Kanye is no spring chicken – at 32, he would have been introduced to the Internet shortly before college and now he is forced to compete with a generation born into it.

He is still graciously steering the careers of most this year’s youngsters by way of trend-magnet Kid Cudi. But for the man who was hyped as one of the top MCs in the game just a few short years ago, Kanye has become the PR guy rather than the hype itself.

The shoe, so far, doesn’t seem to fit and even the most seasoned rock stars aren’t above a temper tantrum now and then.

Under The Rock: What Do You Get When You Cross – Bob Dylan, Nike, Weezer

Emma Renda — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 13:53:19 +0000

There’s little in the music world that excites me more than a good collaboration. Be the unlikely pairing of Eminem and Elton John, or inevitable power tracks from Jay-Z, Kanye and Rihanna (check out “Run This Town” if you haven’t already heard it.)

Recently, though, more than just musical minds have been getting together. So here’s the news.

It seems early to be looking forward to the holidays, but this year I actually have a reason to get excited. Bob Dylan is releasing a Christmas album, according to Pitchfork. No longer will I have to sit through the intolerable holiday stylings of Michael Buble, Destiny’s Child, or Jessica Simpson. At first I was hesitant, imagining his raspy, sarcastic attempts at “Santa Baby” or “Deck the Halls.”

But Dylan’s official website confirmed a more appropriate set list, including “Here Comes Santa Claus,” “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”, “Winter Wonderland”, “Little Drummer Boy”, and “Must Be Santa.” The album artwork for Christmas in the Heart is also pure class, and will surely stand out amongst the glittery fare normally on the shelves around the holiday time. The album is set for release on Oct. 13 – a little on the early side but knowing Dylan, it will be worth much more than just holiday cheer.

The next commercial collabo is even more unsuspecting than Bob Dylan and Santa Claus – Nike and Sub Pop Records. Nike is releasing a shoe designed for the Quickstrike SB Blazer Elite series, whatever that is, and has pasted the black-and-white SubPop label discretely on the tongue. Sub Pop, the record label home to everyone from Fleet Foxes and Wolf Parade to Nirvana and Sunny Day Real Estate, have not posted any information on their website about the shoe. But I’m sure some diehard will be willing to shell out $150 for the black-and-yellow sneaker this fall.

Pending the release of their latest album, Weezer was caught in the crossfire of some harsh words about their choice of title. Raditude made it on Spin’s “20 Worst Album Titles of 2009″ before it was even released, and topped Rolling Stone’s list of “Dictionary-Defying Album Titles” (a very fun list, for those with time to spare or a computer at work).

Anyway, back to the point. Weezer dodged the bullet by informing the furrowed brow of the public that Rainn Wilson (The Office’s Dwight and a recent comic darling) was responsible for the title.

“[Wilson] has a super-rock persona,” Rivers said, according to Pitchfork. “When it came time to find a title for the Weezer album, I asked him what he thought the ultimate album title would be, and he said ‘Raditude.’”

Naturally. The rest of the titles aren’t any more innovative – including singles “The Girl Got Hot” and “I’m Your Daddy.”

Weezer has never been one for album titles (see The Blue, Green and Red albums) or breaking boundaries, for that matter, considering they specialize in three-chord pop-punk about falling in love with Japanese teenagers. But for the group responsible for “My Name Is Jonas”, a cult-favourite and soundtrack to my youth, I hoped for something more. I won’t be able to weigh in until Raditude hits shelves Oct. 27, but expect disenchantment and some good puns. So far, all I have is “Baditude”.

Under The Rock: Ryan Gosling Makes Weird, Beautiful Music

Emma Renda — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 19:55:42 +0000

Just when I thought Ryan Gosling couldn’t get any sexier. Well, he’s in a band now. Not just any band – a duo with his best friend (and sister’s ex-boyfriend) Zach Shields called Dead Man’s Bones featuring, throughout the entire album, the Silverdale Conservatory Children’s Choir.

The result: songs with titles like “My Body is a Zombie for You” (the chorus of which is shouted by the aforementioned children), set to ominous piano-folk and the Roy Orbison-esque voice of Gosling. The mood is something like the Billy the Kid scene from I’m Not There, and if that reference is too obscure, let’s just call it Halloween. In the video for the band’s first single, “In the Room Where You Sleep”, the choir is outfitted in an array of costumes from skeleton to pirate to ghost.

Gosling has clearly gotten into character yet again – he and Shields created their own label, Werewolf Heart, that will release the debut Never Let a Lack of Talent Get You Down this summer. (Werewolf Heart has also taken on upcoming releases from Ima Robot and The Goat.) And just this week, Dead Man’s Bones announced plans for a North American tour in October, with stops in Toronto, Montreal and Vancouver, and will include a local talent show before each performance.

Dead Man’s Bones has apparently been a work in progress for a few years, according to Gosling’s first ever interview for the band with Pitchfork.com. And the children’s choir have been there from the start.

“We’d rather see a high school play as opposed to a Broadway show any day,” Gosling told Pitchfork. “Not that Broadway shows aren’t great, but there’s just something about a high school play…you’re not distracted by the achievements, you get to watch the process, the will to make something.”

Incidentally, the Silverlake Conservatory is a Los Angeles-based institution co-founded by Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The choir joined Gosling, Shields and producer Tim Anderson (of Ima Robot) in the studio every Sunday afternoon for several months. On their own, Gosling and Shields followed a strict regime in an effort to maintain the rawest feel possible for the album. Besides a three-take limit and the outlaw of electric guitars, the duo tackle instruments for their first time, including piano, cello and drums.

The stripped-down approach comes in the wake of Gosling ’sand Shields’ past encounters with industry execs trying to tweak their incongruities and refine their production styles.

“There was always some kind of function on the computer, a filter that would assimilate the thing that you wanted, and we didn’t understand why you couldn’t just record the thing that you wanted,” Gosling told Pitchfork. “Like, why you had to do the computerized version of it, why can’t you just record it? It’s more fun that way anyway, because you have to design a way to get that sound. For instance, if you want something to sound like it was on a PA system after a wedding and there’s a few people dancing, why not just create that situation and record that?”

The songs so far available on their MySpace page maintain an untreated vibe, with snippets of children’s laughter, instrumental falters and lopsided clapping rounds. But there is an element of polish coming from a couple of guys who know what they want their music to do. “My Body is a Zombie For You” has a haunting hook the Arcade Fire could have been responsible for, and “In the Room Where You Sleep” evokes a meeting between Morrissey and Tom Waits.

It all sounds a little weird, and it is. But Half Nelson was weird and Gosling landed himself an Oscar nomination for that one.

Under The Rock: Black Eyed Peas Take Partying To New Heights

Emma Renda — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 15:46:25 +0000

If I could party with any celebrity, it would be The Black Eyed Peas. And I think that’s exactly what they are going for. After all, they have managed to make a living off it.

Their latest album, The E.N.D. is a self-proclaimed party soundtrack and has skyrocketed them to the top of the Billboard charts in a record-breaking leap. Between singles “Boom Boom Pow” and “I Gotta Feeling”, BEP clocked in 20 weeks up there, beating legends like Elvis Presley and The Beatles.

The record isn’t a new theme for the group who have made a name for themselves with songs like “Let’s Get Retarded” and “Pump It”. Not much has changed in the four years since their last release. Except the resurfacing of mainstream electro-house music, which the peas were exposed to on various world tours and quickly adapted to fit their hip-pop repertoire thanks to guest DJs like Mstrkrft and Crookers.

In an interview with Rolling Stone, Will.I.Am said he was inspired by some nights of clubbing in Australia during the filming of X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

“Every song on the record is for the clubs,” Will told Rolling Stone. “I want to own Vegas, Ibiza, St. Tropez, Dubai, London, France and Brazil. And for the college kids who just want to party in their dorm room, you should put this record on beginning to end. It’s already DJ’d for you.”

Mission accomplished.

Their latest single, “I Gotta Feeling” is not only climbing the ranks of songs of the summer 2009, the music video makes me want to party immediately. And it’s 10 a.m. on a Thursday.

Unlike a hoard of other drinking songs that appeared this year, such as “I Love College” by Asher Roth and “Just Dance” by Lady GaGa, this video makes partying look like innocent fun.

Just an honest to goodness house party - if a little glammed up considering it’s Hollywood Blvd. with special guests Kid Cudi and French DJ David Guetta (who produced the track) lurking in the background. Even when two girls are making out in the middle of the living room, something still feels right. It isn’t a crass video about going to college for the rest of your life, nor is it a story about the stupid shit you do when you get so sloppy you lose all your things and turn your shirt inside out.

It’s not a challenge or a boast, it’s just The Black Eyed Peas telling you have a good time, and giving you a soundtrack so hot it will be impossible not to.

Under The Rock: Once Upon a Passion Pit

Emma Renda — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:45:55 +0000

Passion Pit are a lesson in modern romance. Ever since I heard their backstory – lead singer Michael Angelakos crafted the EP Chunk of Change as a Valentine’s Day gift for his girlfriend – I knew they would be more to me than just a fling in my musical lifetime. But I never imagined my first close encounter with them would pan out like a fairy tale of its own.

The show was sold out when my companion (I’ll call her Merv) and I arrived at Zaphod Beeblebrox, Ottawa’s go-to live music club. It was shocking enough that a band this sought-after detoured so far into Canada, and even more surprising that the resident’s of Ottawa had enough forethought to buy advance tickets. Not about to give up on our night, Merv and I stuck it out in line until a lush pair of hipsters were escorted from the premises, freeing up some elbow room for the two of us.

The timing could hardly have been more perfect: Passion Pit hit the stage the moment Merv and I were safely inside. They played “Moth’s Wings” and “The Reeling”, and captured the layered essence of their recordings by cramming the stage with a drum kit, synthesizers and more than one stringed instrument. Angelakos sauntered about the clutter, exuding a sort of romantic sex appeal that comes only from a hairy-chested twenty-something singing love songs in falsetto. He hardly spoke a word to the crowd until he announced the last song, “Sleepyhead”, and yet the crowd was hanging on every pulse of the music.

During the beat-heavy intro, I was struck by a cold drop on the back of my neck. It wasn’t the warm sweat trickling from my hairline, nor the condensation from the beer bottle being waved above my head by the girl behind me. It was a drip from the ceiling, releasing its own blend of perspiration - the sort of moment John Hughes would have orchestrated.

On our way to the dingy bathrooms to clean up after the show, we bumped into Jeff (bass) and Ayad (synths/samplers) who informed us Nate (drums) was hosting an after party at a yet unknown venue downtown. In our individual stalls, Merv and I stressed how on earth we were going to find this mystery location. Because after seeing Passion Pit, the only thing you want is more. Then a voice floated under the door: “Cafe Dekcuf.” And I kid you not, when we emerged to the sinks, the bathroom was empty. Spooky.

Dekcuf yielded little more than one dedicated V-necked dancer, but the bar was lined with drenched showgoers desperately trying to rehydrate. Not much of a climax, just a welcome rest following the show. But the state of the audience certainly spoke to the calibre of Passion Pit’s stage presence – all sweat, smiles and perhaps a stumble here or there – it was one of the most successful dance shows I’ve ever attended.

And here I was doubting Passion Pit would mean anything to me in two weeks time. I’m not being facetious when I say there’s a happily ever after here.

Under The Rock: How To Stay On Top of One-Night Stands

Emma Renda — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 14:45:53 +0000

There used to be a new buzz band for every season. A soft humming surrounded their obscure name, or an aesthetically-abstract lead singer, or a new use for an autoharp. Gradually, the hype would build, and their album cover would soon begin to look as familiar as a Stop sign. By that point, their name and singer and music concoctions were so well-known they booked Late Night with Jay Leno and appeared on the cover of Spin. (Because Rolling Stone was too busy with American Idol.)

So anyway, the buzz has a cycle and I was getting used to it. Keeping up, even. But this summer I noticed how hopelessly out of the loop I am. The cycle has condensed, I think I have clocked it in at a maximum 14-day turnaround.

At the beginning of July, as I anxiously awaited Ottawa’s annual Bluesfest, all I heard was THE DEAD WEATHER. Jack White’s latest endeavour with Alison Mosshart (The Kills), Dean Fertita (Queens of the Stone Age) and Jack Lawrence(Raconteurs, The Greenhornes). I was ready, I was the one telling people Jack White – yes, the man, the myth and the legend-in-the-making – was going to be in town. I stood stage-side, enraptured during their smoky and bone-chilling set at the festival and afterward I vowed, as I wiped the drool from my chin, to purchase their album and make them my new favourite band.

This was when I noticed the cycle reach warp speed. Just the next day, I was swept into a whole new mode of anticipation: Guelph’s annual Hillside Festival (a.k.a. my reason to live.) I managed to delve briefly into the repertoire of The Dead Weather but was overcome by Hillside’s performer roster.

There was Timber Timbre, Toronto’s latest creep-folk. Then Woodhands, another Toronto export of lively electro-rock. And even though I had all year to get familiar, I was hastily catching up on The Arkells. It was a busy July.

Not two weeks have passed and I had a difficult time crafting the above paragraph, as the bands that just days ago dominated my iPod have escaped my vocabulary in lieu of this week’s flavour. (Briefly: Discovery, Passion Pit, jj.)

Don’t get me wrong, I love the buzz. I love being able complain to DJs that they don’t have “Orange Shirt” and when you hear it at said club next weekend, you can scoff at it being old news. I suppose I just have a problem with longevity. When the old cycle existed – when Born Ruffians and Arcade Fire endured more than a fortnight on my playlist – I had time to get comfortable, time to fall in love with the music. These days, I’ve become hurriedly embroiled in a series of one-night stands.

Which brings me to my point: I’m going to see Passion Pit tonight, a romantically-inclined DJ outfit from Boston that I know you’ve heard of. It’s a big commitment – I mean $12 and a Wednesday night is no small price - but I guess I just want to make the most of our two weeks together.

Tune in later this week to see if it was worth it.

Three For One: Albums Of The Summer So Far

Emma Renda — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 21:02:53 +0000

It’s been a long time since I’ve purchased a brand new album on a whim. As a student, I have little disposable income so you had better believe I expect purchases such as this to pay off.

Well, my friends, I may have hit the proverbial jackpot. In the last two weeks or so, I’ve been carelessly shelling out my rent money for records, yet the return turned out to mean more to me than a roof over my head.

My purchases?

Regina Spektor’s Far. Manchester Orchestra’s Everything to Nothing. Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest.

It wasn’t planned in advance, I didn’t wait in line outside the doors of HMV the day Grizzly Bear’s third album was released, and I actually didn’t even know Regina had been in the studio. As for Manchester Orchestra, it was more peer pressure that led me to buy it. Peer pressure and a steal of a deal at Sonic Boom.

The moral of the story, though, is the pleasant surprise that quickly followed the first few listens of each.

In a bold move, I declare Far my album of 2009. It is everything Regina Spektor has made herself – quirky, mouthy, melodramatic – but with the solemn edge that briefly reared its head on “Begin To Hope”, now fully-formed and reckoned with. “Laughing With” is an interesting choice for a single – a friend of mine has tried to call it her “What If God Was One of Us” – yet the lyrics miss soppy altogether. Its Regina’s artistic accuracy that take her piano pop to a different stratosphere than the Vanessa Carlton’s of the world. Like Ben Folds, this generation’s piano man, Regina has lip and a throat to back it up.

But before this blog turns to an album review, or an all-out love fest for my favourite Soviet songstress, let’s move on.

To the next big thing in scene-rock, a genre from which I had distanced myself after The Format broke up and phrase band names came in vogue. Listening to Manchester Orchestra, though, I was reminded of all the reasons I became a scenester in the first place.

Not only is this record positively drenched with angst, vocalist Andy Hull gets the point across without shredding his vocal chords. His pleading wail gives them an indie tinge, reminiscent of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, probably due in part to producer Brad Fisher who has been in the studio with ambient rockers The Shins and My Morning Jacket.

The album flits between dance-rock and epic ballads, all the time grungy but delicately so. (See “I Can Feel a Hot One”, almost a capella complete with an obo’s mourn drifting behind the sluggish tempo.)

It’s a rounded listen, addictive from front to back with lulls in all the right places.

And there is Grizzly Bear, almost all lull but a captivating kind of quiet. I hadn’t heard of this band until reviews for their latest album speckled every inch of my computer screen and magazines. When it was finally released, I was drawn like a moth to the beautiful flame of the album cover. Of course, I had heard “Two Weeks” and was totally enraptured by the percussive hook, which is incidentally the best example of the band’s penchant for genius rhythm, even if it’s not always danceable.

Now, I can’t say I actually love this album. It has its moments, “Two Weeks” is undoubtedly my song of the summer. And sure, there are other single potentials, but I prefer to listen to it in one sitting, allowing my imagination and attention to wander through its hazy soundscape. It’s the kind of album you would enjoy on a rooftop patio in mid-afternoon, possibly sitting next to a four-hosed hookah pipe and weaving a hemp bracelet. And while I can’t say that opportunity has yet presented itself, I’ve been enjoying Veckatimest all the same.

Obviously these albums are worlds apart from one another, but they share a common thread of roundedness – from front to back they flow, unwavering in each of their respective traits.

Maybe I’m only getting this impression because it’s the summer and I have the time to sit around and appreciate whole albums at a time. But I think even if it were the dead of winter and the very real potential of sleeping in the snowy streets of Ottawa lay before me, I would still have handed over my hard-earned pennies for all three of these albums.

Under The Rock: The Long Way ‘Round To Lady GaGa

Emma Renda — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 02:56:02 +0000

They say if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I don’t know who “they” are but I’m going to assume they were talking about Lady GaGa. After all, it seems the entire musical universe is clamouring for a piece of her instant stardom.

It started with Kanye, Common and Kid Cudi, or at least that’s where I first caught on. They roughed up her acoustic version of “Poker Face” to the point of making it tolerable, even enjoyable. (I’m not even going to touch the fact that she has gone acoustic, except to say that watching the video is possibly more painful than the hangover of the drugs she has to be on.)

Despite the very obvious gibes at GaGa’s not-so-double entendres, “I Poke Her Face” is actually an incredible step up from anything the songstress has released on her own.

“Just Dance” was nearly my demise last summer as it somehow circulated more frequently than Sarah McLachlan on the soft rock radio station I listened to at my 9-5 desk job. So I made it my mission to publicly rally against her budding career for the rest of 2008, hoping she would have drifted off the airwaves come December. But now it’s June, and she has three more singles revving up for a summer of heavy rotation.

I could feel my protest deteriorating as 2009 wore on. I found myself joylessly bashing the ridiculous rhyming in “Disco Stick” while flinging my hair around to its beat at the club. Just the other day, someone asked me if I’d heard “Paparazzi”.

“Never!!!” I nearly shouted. Little do they know, I had listened to it on MySpace earlier that day. And now here I was, humming the chorus to a song called “I Poke Her Face.”

It was about this time I officially gave up the ghost. Perhaps not all angles of Lady GaGa are quite as horrible as originally perceived, and there commenced the hunt for more gems. And more. And more. Because my god, it seems that everyone and their dog has taken it upon themselves to spin their own take on GaGa. There are mash-ups and electro-house remixes and syncs with just about every Britney Spears song in recent memory.

It was one day when I wasn’t hunting, though, rather glibly perusing the Interweb for some new gym music, that I came across my old pal Skratch Bastid. I caught him opening for Buck 65 last year and was impressed to the point of paying $10 for his burned CD of remixes. It served me well for a month or so before Mstrkrft and Girl Talk caught my eye. (Sorry, Bastid.)

But the man is back, and guess who he’s back with? GaGa. Yep, right there on his brand new website at the top of the page he has posted a remix of “Chillin” by Wale ft. Lady GaGa. I should have known, but I guess I was in denial that such a stand-up Canadian would stoop to the low of our Southern neighbor’s tasteless ways.

In the name of research, I played the song. And in the name of all things holy, I loved it. This was my first brush with Wale, who also seems to have spread like wildfire. (”Chillin” popped up as a suggested listen when I was YouTubing Eminem’s “3 A.M.”) At this point, though, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Wale has received rave reviews from every hip-hop lover I know, and my relationship with Lady GaGa was now so complicated even Jerry Springer couldn’t sort it out. By default, then, I ended up listening with an open mind.

And to be honest, if I hadn’t seen her heavily-banged blonde head bobbing in the background, I wouldn’t have know it was Lady GaGa. She is all non-chalance, waiting patiently behind Wale - instead of air-humping the camera like usual - allowing him to spit a sick verse about his shoes, his cars, and, somehow, McLovin’.

I could say Lady GaGa has grown on me, after all these months in denial, but I would rather say this was my first crack at her. Either way, I’m officially hooked.

My name is Emma Renda and I listen to Lady GaGa. Whew, that felt good. Thanks for listening.

Under The Rock: Gossip Girl Goes Solo, Sort Of

Emma Renda — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 02:13:16 +0000

It’s no secret the Gossip Girls have it all, on and off screen, but I never imagined there would be the time or talent to squeeze in a music career. Turns out I am sorely mistaken.

Leighton Meester, famously known as the beautiful and bitchy Blair Waldorf of CW’s Gossip Girl, is launching her solo music career and made her first stop a guest appearance on Cobra Starship’s “Good Girls Go Bad”.

Now, I have a very hard time buying into the actor-goes-serious-musician career move considering the track record of oh, say, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Scarlett Johanssen, Lindsey Lohan, ad infinitum. And if all logic prevails, Meester will fare no better. I had my doubts that she would ever become anything more than just a Gossip Girl once the series dried up. But then she appeared on the cover of both Nylon Magazine and Cosmo in quick succession and all of the sudden she was everywhere.

To my chagrin, I assumed MySpace would be the last place I’d find her. But there she was, right next to Down With Webster and Anti-Flag. Leighton freaking Meester. I was hardly surprised when I saw that her vehicle for musical success was none other than Cobra Starship, the captains of the scenester team. This band is more connected than Kevin Bacon and to their credit, the bit of Gossip Girl they’ve added to the mix isn’t so bad.

Meester’s brief appearance midway through the song “Good Girls Go Bad” is a welcome break in the usually production-heavy, boy-bandish repertoire of Cobra Starship. But her throaty interlude adds a dose of sass that male deep-V T-shirts don’t quite pull off. With an almost – and I hasten to make the comparison but for timeliness’ sake, here goes – Amy Winehouse-esque whine, Meester’s verse is totally believable.

The song is all about good girls being tempted to the dark side by these dangerous pop-rockers, and Meester fits the bill, simply because of her on-screen persona. Essentially, Blaire is singing about giving in to the rebel type – that is, Chuck Bass – despite knowing just how bad for her it will be. It makes one wonder if Cobra Starship’s musical inspiration is gleaned from the CW’s Monday night line-up.

Granted, it may not be the worst place to turn. Gossip Girl has made a reputation for itself as a go-to trend factory, and music has definitely not been ignored. In one of their recent episodes, No Doubt appeared under the pseudonym Snowed Out and performed an Adam and the Ants song. The rest of the soundtrack ranges from ahead of the curve hip, such as Santogold, Anya Marina and Coconut Records, to an impressive selection of classics by Sarah Vaughn, Billy Idol, New Order and the list goes on. There are even some Canadian appearances by The Dears and Two Hours Traffic. Well-played, GG.

Meester’s tune with Cobra Starship doesn’t skimp on the stars, enlisting Kevin Rudolph (of “Let It Rock” ft. Lil Wayne fame) to producer the track. It’s hardly debatable this song has all the trappings to be a surefire summer hit. And it probably will be. So despite the fact that a full-length album from Meester makes me very, very nervous, I have confidence she has enough connections to at least try to do it right.

Under The Rock: Matt & Kim Defeat The First Song Curse

Emma Renda — Sat, 23 May 2009 16:40:45 +0000

It should go without saying that unless you are The Clash, you should never open your album with a track that outshines the rest of the songs. Too often, musicians put everything out there all at once in the form of a single: the catchiest song, the defining song, the best song. All in one neat little bow.

Take Peter, Bjorn and John. The band penned “Young Folks”, undoubtedly one of the hottest whistle-chorus songs since Gene Kelly. They slot it in as the first song of their debut album, “Writer’s Block” – a promising start. Yet the rest of the album is completely useless. Boring, ambling, flat pop. They blew their premature load all over the place, and never recovered.(Their sophomore album was released in April and committed the same offence. “Lay It Down,” though appearing later in the track list, is an adorable and danceable hit. Every other song, however, is filler.)

Now, as annoying as this is, I too am guilty of perpetuating the curse. It’s so easy to fall in love with one song and never give the rest of the album a second thought. Especially when it’s the first song you hear. For example, I recently fell head over heels for “Daylight” by Matt & Kim. I made the world very aware of my infatuation, playing it for everyone I knew, Facebook status-ing the shit out of it, and listening to it on my own at least four times in one sitting, four times a day.

The song never got old – it still hasn’t, almost three months after my initial discovery – but I began to get curious. Did Matt & Kim have the clout to follow up a track that had completely turned my world upside down, and incidentally the world of all my friends? Was “Daylight” just a lucky break, or was there more to their drum-synth duo?

The suspense was building, and I couldn’t resist. I paused “Daylight” for the first time in weeks. Breathing deeply, I eased into the next song, “Cutdown”. The same sparse yet integral drumming, the same wavering, frenzied vocals, the same ethereal synth undertones. But with a different formula.

It was a miracle! The curse had been broken! This song, though perhaps not everything “Daylight” was to me at the time, was good. Very good. I listened on with glee to the heavier beat of “Good Ol’ Fashion Nightmare,” the very eighties “Don’t Slow Down”, and my new obsession, “I’ll Take Us Home.” Matt & Kim even had the good sense to include an extro remix of “Daylight”, as a sort of congratulations for making it through the nine other songs on Grand.

It became official: “Grand” is an entire album of jangly, hand-clapping, feedbacking tastiness. It has all the hook of MGMT with a more coherent, accessible sound. It has an opening track that knocks your socks off, and then threatens to rip your feet apart with every track that follows. And it is a debut album, no less.

Perhaps I will be one of the few to stop and appreciate the full effect of Grand and perhaps “Daylight” will indeed be all that ever reaches mainstream ears. But Matt & Kim have at least reassured me that there is an exception to every rule, and it doesn’t always have to involve Joe Strummer.