Leslie Gray Streeter

VMA noms honor the classy, crassy.

Just in time for the big MTV 25th anniversary hoopla, the annual Video Music Awards nominations are out today. And the timing is appropriate, because two of the hopeful Moonmen receipients , Red Hot Chili Peppers and Madonna, recipients could be invitees at MTV Old Home Week.

The Chili Peppers got seven nominations for their music video history retrospective 'Dani California." The song sorta rips off Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker's "Mary Jane's Last Dance", but the video sees Anthony, Flea and the boys dressing up as everyone from Elvis to Kurt Cobain to Poison. It's clever, moves fast and doesn't take itself that seriously. And that's a good thing, too, because it's hard to take yourselves seriously when you've performed with socks hanging from your privates.

Madonna's discotastic "Hung Up" competes with the Chili Peppers for Video of the Year, one of her three nominations. The other big nominees are an interesting bunch, because only a few of the significant artists like Panic! At The Disco and Gnarls Barkley are all that new. Seven-time nominee Shakira is a vet by now, as are Christina Aguilera and Kelly Clarkson. I don't think that's so much an effort by MTV to consider the old-school as much as it is an acknowledgement that some of the older acts still know how to make a video.

My favorites of the crop, besides "Dani," include Christina's fetching retro turn in "Ain't No Other Man" and Gnarls Barkley's funk-singing ink splotchs in "Crazy." I could do without the Panic! cut "I Write Sins Not Tragedies." I am so over the "nutty goth people crash on the proper uptight people thing." It wasn't new when Billy Idol did it a zillion years ago in "White Wedding" and you're never gonna do it better than him anyway. Shocking isn't shocking when you're stealing.

For more on the nominations, see this.

Marc Anthony Wows Sound Advice

He's skinny. He's slightly bug-eyed. His current beard can best be described as...endearingly patchy.

But believe this, and believe it fervently - for the hour or so that salsero Marc Anthony owned the Sound Advice Ampitheatre stage Saturday night, there was no one more charming, more suavely confident, or more mind-blowingly sexy.

Just ask his wife J.Lo! She was there!

The 36-year-old Anthony was the third act in the Juntos en Conciertos show, taking the stage after Italian pop/rock singer Laura Pausini and veteran Mexican singer Marco Antonio Solis. Wearing a white suit with a tan shirt unbuttoned boldly low, he opened his set with Valio La Pena, and immediately established the secret to his magnetism: He always seems to be moving, even when he's not.

Consider, for instance, the opening moments of the passionate Hasta Que Te Conoci (Until I Met You) ,when Anthony, his eyes closed as if concentrating on every syllable, would hold a single note, as strong and unwavering in its tenth second as it was in its first. And even as he stood planted to one spot, there was still an air of something kinetic at work, even if the only thing moving was the incredible vocal power it takes to pull that off.

And as the song continued, the rest of Anthony began to move as well - his hips swiveled confidently to the salsa beat; his raised arm punctuated the blare of the accompanying trumpets, and his smile, first sly, then beaming, lit his face.

The star-studded evening featured not only the famous faces of Anthony and his singing compadres - wife Jennifer Lopez could be clearly seen in the wings, singing along, dancing and waving at Pausini during the show closer Amigo, featuring all three singers. During that song, Anthony, Pausini and Solis could be seen waving at someone in the audience - Former Chicago Cubs and Baltimore Orioles slugger Sammy Sosa, who was sitting in the front row and cheerfully posed for pictures with fans.

English-speaking American fans of Anthony who were not aware of him before his 1999 self-titled English-language pop album might have been surprised that the show was mostly in Spanish. The sole Engligh song was his biggest American hit, the explosive I Need To Know, which got the whole crowd, including Lopez, breathlessly dancing. At one point, Anthony sang the line "Tell me, baby girl" clearly glancing off-stage to his wife.

It was one beautiful moment in an evening full of beautiful moments, which ended as Anthony, Pausini and Solis blew kisses and beamed at the crowd during Amigo.

For more on Marco Antonio Solis and Laura Pausini, read the review here.

Sleater-Kinney Says Bye: "Rock Star" Girl Won't!

For the third week in a row, Supernova, the alleged metal supergroup, has wasted the opportunity to wave hasta la bye-bye to Zayra Alvarez. And I don't know why they don't just do it, already. The admittedly hot but kookily untalented pixie suggests a Latina Bjork - or perhaps an "America's Next Top Model" contestant turned performance artist. She's so sure of her fabulousness that she's not gonna let anybody tell her she's woefully wrong for the gig - even the people who created the gig. Maybe plucky peserverance works for heroines in Depression-era musicals, but when you're wearing a skin-tight patent-leather space suit, you just come off like a loser.

Well, that's not fair. She can't be a loser if they don't get rid of her and make her lose. Every week they keep telling her they're gonna, and still she survives to bitterly pimp-slap music another day. She must be stopped. Please.

One last Supernova note: How cool is Gilby Clarke? Apparently prolonged exposure to Axl Rose has sent him scurrying to the other end of the debauchery scale, because Brother was positively principal-like in his comments to contestant Jill the other night. As a bonus, he accompanied her on guitar as she slunk through the Stones' 'Brown Sugar." He was cool with her until she started grinding on him, much like Toni Braxton did to Taylor Hicks on the "American Idol" final. (In Jill's defense, that's a lot more appropriate whilst singing about sex than it was when Toni was crooning about the angry young man face down in the snow with a gun in his hand "In The Ghetto.")

Gilby reacted much the same way Taylor did - he wouldn't go for it. Later, he told her that she was selling herself short acting skanky when she had so much more going for her. "All you're selling is sex!" he said, a teensy bit stuffily. I'm not hating. I love it! I love that he understands that skanky is not always sexy. I never thought I'd hear an Oprah-like "You go girl!" message of empowerment from a bandmate of Tommy Lee's. But rock's unpredictable like that.

This week on "Jody Watley"...er, "Work Out.": Rebecca, the questionably flirty trainer and former "Amazing Race" contestant, shocked Miss Jody by showing her pictures of her boyfriend's allegedly sizeable wee-wee on her cell phone. Jody seemed stunned. Sure, she looked and all. But still she was shocked. Rebecca: Stop showing porn to The Jody.

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday, but apparently not impossible. Femme punksters Sleater-Kinney are packing it in about 12 years together. One of their final shows will be broadcast live from D.C.'s legendarily grubby 9:30 Club on August 1, 10 p.m. You can see hear the show online at NPR.org/music. But you won't get the pleasure of standing packed like oily sardines while some 30-something yuppie mom of two trying to recapture her Seattle glory days "accidently" stomps your foot with her 80-pound Doc Martens. Some experiences you can't replicate on-line.

"Rod rocks; The real daytime (and nighttime) drama!"

Just got word that "Hot" Rod Stewart, music legend, awesome "American Idol" guest geezer and Palm Beacher, is following his "Great American Songbook" series of standards with a different set of classics. "Still The Same...Great Rock Classics of Our Time," comes out Oct. 10 on J Records, and it features some undisputed radio gems.

Just don't expect the upbeat 'Tonight I'm Yours"-esque Rod, because these selections are solidly in rock ballad territory, like Bob Seger's bitter "Still The Same," The Pretenders "I'll Stand By You" or Bonnie Tyler's raspy classic "It's a Heartache." Others, like Elvin Bishop's admittedly "Fooled Around and Fell In Love" don't even seem all that rock to me at all. I'm sure it'll be fun. But I would love him to pull the skintight purple leopard trousers on and challenge Def Leppard, whose latest album "Yeah" is a valentine to Rod and other glam rock vets, to a rock-off. I bet Rod would give Joe Elliott a run for his Union Jack-loving money.

Sick of GH? Try HBO Sports!

Judging from the bitter, bitter snarkings on the "General Hospital" message boards on Television Without Pity, my favorite small-screen Web site, I'm not the only former fan who's fed up with the show's seemingly unstoppable sinking. About a year ago, I wrote about its bizarre obsession with mobsters and violence, propping up characters who are straight-up criminals at the expense of the town's lawyers, cops and doctors, who come off as uptight fancypants. It's morally dismal, and dramatically dopey.

The ratings are tanking, and they deserve to. I'm about to tell the TiVo to stop recording it. If I have to sit through one more scene of Sam (Kelly "Dancing With The Stars" Monaco) plotting against her long-lost mother Alexis (Nancy Lee Grahn) just because Alexis is the DA and is trying to put Sam's stupid mob boyfriend in jail, I'm gonna hurl...something at the TV.

Every once in a while, GH seems to rally - it shines every time they feature vets Tristan Rogers (Robert Scorpio) Finola Hughes (Anna Devane) and Rick Springfield (Dr. Noah Drake, as well as a close friend of Jessie's Girl.) But then it just slides right back into this weird adamant defense of the defenseless. It's awful. But I 've got a suggestion for drama-hungry GH fans about to jump ship - try a sports documentary.

"But wait!" you're saying, trying to drink the scenery-chomping acting of GH's Maurice Bernard off your mind. "I don't know anything about sports! Why in the world would I wanna watch the story of a bunch of sweaty dudes running around trying to kick, hit and bat objects long distances?"

First of all, soap operas are all about the sweaty men, and it's fakey-fake sweat anyway. Also, you probably didn't know anything about mob hits, monkey viruses and Oxy-Cotin addiction, and that hasn't stopped you from watching "GH" every day, has it?

I am a sports fan, admittedly, but my love of these shows, like HBO's excellent "Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel," or the "Legendary Nights" series about classic boxing showdowns, goes beyond the stats. I think that people get really passionate about sports, and the people who play them, because they identify with them somehow. "So You Believe in Miracles" is about the 1980 US hockey team, but it's also about the need of a struggling, gas-starved nation to have a cohesive, overwhelming victory over a foe that seemed unbeatable.

And the "Legendary Nights" episode I just saw about the rivalry between golden boy Sugar Ray Leonard and ordinary joe Marvelous Marvin Hagler, seems like the tale of a puglistic Mozart/Salieri. In short, they're all about the human condition, scandal, passion, bitter jealousy and crushing defeat.

In other words: drama.

If you want to venture further into the genre, put PBS' "American Experience: The Fight" and "Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson" on your Netflix list. (Boxing is all about the drama!) The first one's about the legendary battles between Joe "The Brown Bomber" Louis and Nazi Germany's Max Schmeling. It's incredible, all about the social forces that made these men forever linked, and the countries whose hopes depended on them. And 'Blackness" is a heartbreaking look at how racism, money and pride fueled the notorious Jonhson.

Like the best of soaps, there's a healthy helping of sex, danger and have/have not rivalry. Best thing: No mobsters threatening to put out hits on the mothers of their children!

Jody Watley: She's Looking For A New Body, Baby!

Here at the PopStuff blog, we love ourselves some funnel cake, some Commodores ballads and some Jody Watley. That's why we mention her every chance we get, whether we're trying to get her hired on "The View" or "American Idol," or trying to get the reparations that Arnold Swarzenegger owes her for appropriating "Hasta la Vista, Baby" as his own.

And now, Miss "Don't You Want Me" has resurfaced in the most unlikely of places - a Bravo reality series! Apparently, Jody is a client of one of the scary buff trainers on "Work Out,' the new drama-full show about people who need more body fat and a sense of humor. Our girl is planning a comeback and she's trying to get back into Shalimar shape.

We're with you, Jody! Because being hot is better "The Second Time Around."

Shalimar-related puns...We got a million of 'em!

"SexyBack" or SexyWhack? You Be The Judge!

Sexy is like comedy - it's hard to define, but you know what it is when you see it, or, in the case of Justin Timberlake's almost oppressively clubby new single "SexyBack," when you hear it.

Or when you don't.

Generally, sexy should be like Fight Club: The first rule is that you don't talk about it.

Is there anything less sexy than a guy (or girl) who keeps going on and on about how sexy they are? If you've got an unmistakable sensual mojo, an inner heat that renders innocent bystanders speechless, you don't have to say it. Because Sexy doesn't have to show you its resume.

"SexyBack" is all about the telling-rather-than-showing. It actually starts off "I'm bringing sexy back." Was sexy missing? And shouldn't somebody tell Beyonce?

There's something so insincere about that, like he's in one of those '60s songs about to introduce a new dance — "It's the SexyBack, and it's Back, Back, Back!"

And once we've established that we are, indeed, talking about being sexy, he and ominpresent producer Timbaland, will not shut up about it - "Go 'head child and get your sexy on," Tim urges.

"Get your sexy on?" Eww! Doesn't that sound like the work of a brother who's trying too hard? No? Perhaps you haven't heard the "wocka wocka" noises meant to suggest either the bumpinest club evah or a porno. Perhaps both. That's layered on top of every generic dance song trick in the book - exaggerated whispers, much mention of hips and VIP rooms, and interspersed "yeahs" that are meant to sound hot and spontaneous but really sound...desperate.

The most glaring evidence that Justin needs to reevaluate his sexy is the line "I'll let you whip me if I misbehave." Really? Who's writing your lines, Justin? Jack Tripper, Larry and the gang down at the Regal Beagle?

Justin Timberlake was genuinely sexy back in the day, when he was perfecting his Soulful White Boy Shtick and shaking his thing in the "Senorita" video. That was hot because there was a winking sense of humor, and at least some illusion of subtlety.

But "SexyBack?" No, Baby. If you gotta buy all that ad space, maybe the product's not good enough to stand on its own.

"Rock Star" rocks; Not "The One!"

I was trying to get my sister Lynne to watch ABC's new "The One: The Making of a Music Superstar" with me on the phone last night. She wasn't having it.

"I am really sick of watching people sing at this point," she explained. 'I just don't think I can do it anymore."

And this is from a former professional singer/actor who used to drive an hour and a half to my house to watch "American Idol" with me.

But she's right - "Idol," like 'Star Search" before it, hath wrought a rash of unoriginal copy catty shows about less and less interesting children trying to be the next Britney or Avril. "The One" is particularly troubling, with these late-teen and early 20-somethings trumpeting their uniqueness, all the while relying on some industry folks to tell them why they're unique.

It's really pretty awful.

By the same token, my sister and I are both addicted to "Rock Star: Supernova," which is also about people singing. Lynne neatly pinpointed the difference between the two - "On 'Rock Star,' these people are all pretty much who they are. They're grown up and they know who they are," she said. "On 'The One' they're all over the place. And that's not fun."

You said it, sister.

CBS' "Rock Star," which last year helped choose a new singer for Aussie power-pop rockers INXS, is back with Supernova, a "super group" made up of former members of Motley Crue, Metallica and Guns N Roses. Yes, it's people who know how to survive as a rock band, because with all the paryting they did, there's no medical reason they should have survived the '80s.

Because Supernova - Tommy Lee, Gilby Clarke and stone silent, stone foxy Jason Newsted - are brand new, they aren't set on what type of singer they want, except they must be loud, hot, and comfortable with a group of rowdy nuts behind them. So far, their favorites seem to be scary-looking South African human doodle pad Dilana, Lilliputian demon child Lukas and undeniably hot Storm "Yes That's My Real Name" Large.

I love Dilana, can do without Lukas and his pouty posturing, and agree that Storm is awesome, if a little theatri-fakey. Meanwhile, I love Jill, who rocked 'All Right Now," and adore Phil, who hails from my native Maryland and who gets louder and hotter every week. Jenny and Toby bore me, and that Zayra, while really good Bjorking out to 'Everybody Hurts' last night, is a one-trick pony. And her trick is 'I'm a hot little girl.'

Great, honey! So is everyone else. What else ya got?

Speaking of stand-alone hotness, that's the story of most of the sad, pitiful children on "The One." I thought that the idea of seeing these kids being molded into viable stars would be fascinating, but it's a train wreck, because they're just blank slates. And it turns out that there is nothing more boring than blank slates, because there's nothing really to build on. All I see is a bunch of hair and makeup and "Turn this way when you sing." Ghastly.

The only really good kids are the ones that don't seem to need much help - soul-deep Austin, who sang 'The Weight" like he was feeling it from his gut, sweet Sayesha and her 'Chain of Fools" and hottie Adam. He's a bi-racial kid with dreadlocks who immediately realized that the show was trying to make him into a clone of bi-racial former dreadlock wearer Lenny Kravitz, and refused to play Kravitz's cover of "American Woman" straight. It was a little uneven, but at least unexpected.

Those kids are fascinating. But the others, especially Miami's Jackie Mendez and that fake-trampy Aubrey girl, are disturbing in their blandness. Just...ugh.

And Mark Hudson, judge extraordinare? You look ridiculous with that dyed blue goatee, like a parrot. A goofy parrot. Quit it.

It's Cristal clear! Jay-Z needs to just chill

So are you sick of this whole Jay-Z/Cristal brouhaha? Tired of the charges of racism and the impassioned call by a multi-millionaire to boycott champagne that's the equivalent to many normal people's car payments? Having trouble mustering sympathy for really rich people who will have to take their luxury good business elsewhere when you're considering selling your own blood to pay for hurricane insurance?

Me, too.

But I still wanted to throw my modest two-cents into the ring — two cents that wouldn't even get me in the same zip code as the truck that makes the foil wrappers for the Cristal bottle, mind you. Because rather than ask for pity for Jay-Z and his champagne-spraying buddies, I want you to try and put your
broke-butt self in the shoes of someone nobody has any sympathy for — the snooty French dude.

I'm talking about Frederic Rouzaud, the managing director of Champagne Louis Roederer, the company that's made Cristal for more than 200 years. If you've been following this thing, you know about his interview with the Economist, in which he kinda shrugged off the incredible devotion Mr. Z, Lil' Kim, Snoop Dogg and the late Notorious B.I.G. have shown Cristal, saying we can't forbid people from buying it."

This seems, yes, like a lousy and dismissive thing to say about people who've not only spent a brazillion dollars on your product, but have sung its praises ad nauseam. Of course, the people those praises are targeted at are too poor to buy the stuff anyway, making it sort of useless from a marketing perspective.

And Rouzard seems to be saying that these people are gauche, and if he finds them gauche solely because many of them are black, then that's not cool. Then again, the whole point of snotty elitists, French or otherwise, is that they think everyone who's not them is sort of gauche. So that's so much racist as it is elitist and snooty.

Also, you don't have to be a snooty French guy to consider some parts of rap culture gauche: the conspicuous consumption in such an over-the-top, "lookit my money!" manner that it would make Marie Antoinette clap her powdered hands in approval. Then there's the denigration of mostly black and brown women as Featured Left Bare Buttock. I'm not French. And I think that mess is tacky.

Maybe Rouzard is being a condescending prig. It seems that way. But maybe, just maybe, he's also concerned about a brand whose image and existence are important to him becoming synonymous with something he finds abhorrent. Of course, a lot of people would keep their abhorrence in check if the checks were big enough, but since somebody asked him about it, he felt compelled to talk about it.

That?s not necessarily snootiness, but pride in ones product. Think of it this way — say I wrote a book (I've been threatening to finish one for ages). And say that book was released and became a modest hit - big enough to help me buy my mama a house, but not so big that it was on everyone's radar. Maybe a celebrity, one whose image makes my skin crawl, like Paris Hilton, would discover my book. I'd be happy if Paris read it and liked it, particularly if she told a lot of people to buy it.

But what if Paris not only loved my book, but also decided to adopt it as her favorite thing ever, incorporating it into the tacky pursuits that drive me batty? All of a sudden, there's Paris on Page 6, getting drunk and flashing at some chi-chi club with my book held above her head, or in a video slapping the buttocks of half naked models on a yacht with it, or reading it in her next illicit sex video.

And say that now, my book, which I worked really hard on and poured a lot of my life and soul into, is on everybody's lips, but as "The Naked Paris Hilton Book?" I wouldn't mind getting rich, but I would cringe every time somebody said to me "Aren't you the Naked Paris Hilton Book girl?" And if I were asked about it in an interview, I would say, "I am glad that Paris read my book. But, you know, I don't wanna be known for that alone."

Again, I don't know what's in Rouzaud's head — he already sort of back-peddled. Cristal might take a hit but it survived for centuries before the first rapper sprayed some half-naked model with it. It'll be fine. So I'm not really weeping for him, either.

But I get it.

So they know they can dance: Sean?s Dance Factory, a local studio dedicated to enlightening kids through dance, is producing their fifth "Big Bang" dance revue show, this time in the Kravis Center's Rinker Playhouse! The show covers hip-hop, modern, breaking, and salsa, so there are many multicultural expressions of getting ones groove on. It's tonight at 7 p.m . and Saturday at 3 and 7 p.m.
Show 'em some love, huh?

Taylor Picks!

Just got the CD single of "Do I Make You Proud/Taking It To The Streets" by American Whoo!er Taylor Hicks. I'm not sure about the timing - the press release that came with it was dated June 21, even though "Proud' was officially released on June 13, and has been on the radio since Hicks snatched the American Idol crown from poised princess Katharine McPhee on May 24.

Nonetheless, I've got it now, and I like it better the more I hear it. It's not a good song, really - it's that usual "believe/achieve/conceive" graduation hoo-ha that Idol usually forces its winners to sing, even with their access to decent songwriters like David Foster and Stevie Wonder. Maybe those guys aren't at the height of their powers, but they could certainly do better than insipidness like "Because of you I am standing tall."

NOBODY TALKS LIKE THAT...nobody who's not singing a stupid graduation song, that is.

So why do I still like "Do I Make You Proud" and think that it's the best Idol single to date? It's all about the Taylor, baby. He's the only one of the winners or runners-up who have not been completely overwhelmed by the faux-emotional banality of the lyrics they've been given. And that's either because the producers like him better, or because he's got the most distinctive voice, a voice that wasn't really made for power ballads. It's a raspy Southern-soul voice, and so it won't be smoothed to a bland and pleasant consistency that can't cover the song's obvious shortcomings.

Instead, his voice is interesting enough - and his ability to sell a song solid enough - that you don't immediately hear the dumb words. You just hear this guy's passion and think "He's worked a hard long time for this and he wants to know that he's made people proud. Aww!"

Maybe "you sang the heck out of that stupid song" is faint praise. But it really is decent. Tay and the gang will be here next month, and you know he's singing this puppy. And for once, I won't physically flinch when the Idol single comes on.

A different Journey; Viewapalooza!

The replacement of original Journey singer/shouter Steve Perry with Steve Augeri was always interesting to me because the two sound a heck of a lot alike, and because their names are both Steve. That's a weird coincidence, honestly - I always wondered if they found some guy who sounded like Perry, but his name was Bob or Stanislav or something, and they said "How best to ease this transition and not have to change the name on our Christmas card list? I know! We'll call 'em Steve!"

Anyway, Journey is about to get its first singing non-Steve; Augeri has been dealing with a chronic throat
infection, so Jeff Scott Soto, who has played with Journey guitarist Neal Schon, is filling in starting tomorrow in Bristow, VA. I assume that means we'll be hearing Soto here at Sound Advice on Monday.

So welcome to the game, Jeff! How's your "Open Arms?" That's my jam! You've got some big lunged shoes to fill - when Augeri sang that at SunFest a few years ago, grown men literally wept. Really. The dude next to us had tears streaming down his face, looked at my sister,
who had seen him weeping and said "You just do not understand."

I guess not. But I'm willing to try.

Adjusting "The View": Last week at the Kelly Clarkson show, a friend from another paper stopped by my seat to dish about the Star Jones Reynolds/Barbara Walters smackdown. The former "The View" co-host had been making the rounds to explain her surprise on-air announcement that she was leaving the show.

Apparently, her contract hadn't been renewed, she was the last to know, and she wasn't gonna sit around waiting like a well-dressed, flat-ironed lame duck until she was given the official heave-ho, particularly since the newest future addition to "The View" is Rosie O'Donnell, who has said many nasty things about Star.

First of all...right on, Sistah. I mean, really. If your employer does not renew your contract, and then hires some woman who can't stop slagging you, they're obviously not worried about hurting your feelings. So...what? Star's supposed to sit around and smile and listen to Joy and Elizabeth natter on about some stupid mess every day when there's a silent invisible sign blinking over her head? A sign that says "Gets To Stepping?"

I haven't been a "View" fan since after about a year of regular viewing, it became obvious that they were all just talking over each other and trying to be cute - Behar, particularly, has this maddening way of saying something purposely obnoxious, seemingly just to start something, and then, if nobody comments, saying it again louder, like a three-year-old who's just yelled "POOPIE!" at Christmas dinner and then yells it again, extra loud, just to make sure people heard her.

But that doesn't mean I don't take notice when they run off one of their co-hosts and then act like she's
betrayed them by not taking her slow, slow death like a good little girl. Star left with as much grace and dignity as you can when you've been publically smacked upside the head. And grace has not always been her strong suit, so I give her some credit.

"The View," already down one host between Meredith Viera's departure and Rosie's arrival, quickly filled the hole temporarily with "One Life To Live" and Broadway musical "The Color Purple" star Renee Elise Goldsberry. Former "Moesha" and current "America's Got Some Explaining To Do" judge Brandy is coming up, which led me intially to believe that they're trying to fill the Black Girl Seat.

But then I found out that Susan Lucci, Kelly "Shut Up, John O'Hurley" Monaco, blandish "American Idol" runner-up Katharine McPhee and Shannen Doherty (!) are also in the rotation. I say, hire a black woman. Or a Latino. Or an Asian. And don't get mad at me - there are no other racial minorities on the panel, and like it or not, shoving Star off and replacing her with someone white sends the message "Minorities need not apply."

Not that the racial make- up of "The View" is a Congressional issue - this is a fairly silly show we're talking about. But it's a show a lot of people of every race watch.

And this is not some quota thing - you want to represent America and the people who watch your show? You're already including Rosie, who is gay. And there oughta be gay women on a show like that, because there are people of all different sexualities watching "The View."

To have a completely non-racially diverse panel? Dumb. So here are my non-solicited suggestions:

- Jody Watley. Every year, I suggest that "American Idol" replace Paula Abdul and her increasingly
incoherent self with Miss "Don't You Want Me," because they're both '80s pop fluff stars, and because
"Don't You Want Me" was my jam, right after "Open Arms." I don't know what Jody's up to these days,
or if she wants to do this. But last time I saw her, she was still hot. And made a lot more sense than
Paula Abdul. Or Joy Behar, half the time.

- Tamara Tunie. If we're going with soap stars, you oughta look at this gorgeous, talented, and shockingly underused "As The World Turns" star (you might also know her as the medical examiner on "Law And Order: Special Victims Unit"). She's poised, smart and, on second thought, too talented
for this show. Never mind. She's fierce, though.

- Victoria Rowell. This "Young And The Restless" star is also too good for this mess, but would class up the joint, and probably not take any of Joy and Rosie's overbearing stuff. And she's got the best
hair on daytime.

- Me. I'd probably only make one commercial break before I wanted to cry from all the shouting. But every day I'm on national TV would be one more day that I get discovered and finally become rich enough to buy my mama a house. All the NBA players are doing it! Besides, I've never claimed to be that classy.

Backstage with Ashley and Lauryn Hill news!

Hey, kiddies! How was your Fourth and your long weekend? I worked all weekend...of course, I was working at going to concerts and interviewing pop stars. So don't cry for me, North Tequesta.

I've been following along with the shake-out from the sucessful, if not completely drama-free, "Soulfull
Saturday" show at the Meyer Ampitheater. And I've gotten loads of emails, blog posts and just off-the-cuff chit-chat wondering what the deal was with the "unexplained delay" of Lauryn Hill.

Here's the best I could find out - still, no one is saying. But the spokeswoman for the event says that Hill's people issued not one but two different apologies for the delay that kicked the concert, which was, up tp that point, on time, two hours off schedule. So even though Hill didn't bother apologizing or explaining her lateness on-stage, her peeps acknowledge her part in the delay...for whatever reason that was.

Most of the attendees I spoke to still agree with the organizers for cutting Hill when she went over her
agreed-upon 30-minute set, which was shortened from 45 minutes because of the time delay. Three or four think it was disrespectful. I say the organizers were being respectful - to the local residents and the concert goers. But it's only you and me and we just disagree, as Dave Mason once said.

He's an Angel and he'll always, always be really good: Got a chance to meet Ashley Parker Angel backstage at Fourth on Flager. And what a sweet kid he is! He and Frankie Jordan, the tiny little singer girl who opened for him, were backstage at the Meyer signing autographs for a shockingly well-behaved group of beaming girls.

In fact, these girls were so patient, polite and non-bratty that frankly, they give crazy rock girls a
bad name. But they do themselves and their parents proud. Whee!

Ashley, who must own one heck of a powerful flat-iron to get his hair so gorgeously stick-straight, said
that he'd just gotten into town that afternoon, but was interested in hanging out in West Palm that
evening - "Maybe at Monkey Club?" he said. Later, onstage, he told fans he was going either there or
Bradley's. Clubland Michael and I were outside Bradley's for about 10 minutes watching folks fall off a mechanical bull and then went to go eat, so if he was there later, we missed him.

What I liked the most about little Ashley is how gracious he was of his fans - I watched him for about
10 minutes, signing stuff, taking pictures and chatting. I mean really chatting, not just "What's your name? Here's your autograph! Next!"

He smiled, asked names and seemed really excited to be meeting people. He could be faking this, but he seemed to really appreciate them being there, and not just because they were confirming that he's special. Sweet.

"Soulfull": Snapshots of Soul!

Between the review, the news story, and my previous blog, y'all have gotten the flavor of yesterday's Soulfull Saturday show. But let me lay some of the indivdual herbs and spices on ya:

- I had a chance to hang out with some of the guys from Politicks, a fabulous five-guy group from Northern Virginia/D.C. As much fun as their on-stage show was, they were even more fun kicking around the VIP tent. Lead singer Matthew Green has a singular signature dance move - bopping in a groovy circle, which he transposed from the stage to the tent. During Al Green's set, he could be seen shaking his head and going "That's what I'm talking about!" Little soul boys are so cute, especially when they're taking instruction from the master.

- The Roots. The Roots, The Roots were on fire! We don't need no water, let the...well, you know what I'm talking about. Philly is the center of the neo-soul movement, and The Roots are a huge part of that. I've always given them credit for helping bring rap to a new level, melding it with a full band, rather than just a DJ track.

Black Thought, righteously Afro'd ?uestlove and the rest of the Roots crew were in full effect on Saturday, starting with the explosive "Web." But the accessible grooving began even before their set. During DJ Irie's extended set while the Lauryn Hill thing got settled, Thought was walking around the VIP area, snapping photos with fans and chatting. He's one of those people that I'd always figured would be cool - I'd have been disappointed if he wasn't actually.

My favorite parts of their set were "Don't Feel Right," which samples the funky refrain of Kool and the Gang's "Jungle Boogie," and "Mellow My Man," which channeled a beat poet finger-snapping vibe, like there should've been some guy with a beret and a turtleneck in the corner.

- The Reverend Al. The Memphis pastor/'70s-era love man came to show West Palm Beach a little love. And that love is all-inclusive, being about God, your fellow man, and the cutie sitting on your right.

"I love you too! I love you back! I love you more!" the sharply-dressed Green gushed to the crowd, most of whom stuck it out for the Reverend's set, which started around 11 p.m. He started with "Can't Stop," from that album that heralded his return to secular music. His set provided the link between the secular and the sacred - equal amounts of passion.

"We came all the way from Memphis, TN. They told us you were having a Saturday night fish fry," the Reverend cooed. (Side note: The organizers should totally have a fish fry next time. With hush puppies.)

There was an equal serving of gospel (a smooth "Amazing Grace"/"Nearer My God To Thee" medley) and groovin' (the righteous horns of "Here I Am", complete with dancers, and a medley of songs paying homage to the soul singers who Green says paved the way from him, from the Four Tops to The Temptations.)

"Give Marvin a hand!" Green shouted, after a silky "Let's Get It On." "Tell him the preacher said that was good stuff!"

One more thing: I was standing in the beer line with Miss Beth and some friends when we were approached by this very tall, very cute, very young guy. He didn't so much talk to us as much as danced to us - just moving to DJ Irie's beat, like his own "Showtime At The Apollo" routine.

He told me his name was Bill Simonet, and that he was a 23-year-old "dancer/commodities broker/massage therapist/attention grabber." And he wants to be famous. Doing what?

"Whatever it takes," he said. We thought he was cute but goofy. And he is. But we underestimated the determination of The Bill. Because about an hour later, we were chatting on the lawn and heard the crowd just freaking out. There, on the stage, doing his crazy breakdance freestyle hulabaloo, was Bill! He even danced with DJ Irie! It was about one minute of that 15 they say you get to be famous, but it was a humdinger.

"Soulfull": Peace, Love, Soul and Drama!

I think that the inaugural Soulfull Saturday Festival proved three very important things:
- There are local soul and R&B fans who will come downtown and support a festival like this;
- That music, as Madonna said, makes the people come together;
- That just because West Palm is still establishing itself as an entertainment center doesn't mean the powers-that-be won't cut off a sistah off when she runs over time, even when that sistah is a big ol' star. And that's a good thing.

The sistah in question, of course, in Miss Lauryn Hill, who, as you probably know by now, completely missed her scheduled start time between india.arie and The Roots, and wound up performing a very short set right before luminous headliner Al Green. There is still no official word as to what the delay was - all I know is that up until that point, the show had been running shockingly on time, and that Hill's band was all set up and ready to go.

Where they went, unfortunately, was backstage, because Hill didn't go on. The City of West Palm Beach agreed to extend the show past the 11 p.m. curfew so that she and Green could both perform. By the time she did hit the stage, after The Roots lifted the crowd on a wave of jazz-inflected hip-hop, I think the overwhelming attitude in the audience seemed to be "OK, you're here. Show us something,"

She should have been amazing. I say this as a huge Lauryn Hill fan, who in the '90s internalized her music and her emotionally pourous voice, her confessional, proud lyrics, her natural hair and the beautiful soul that seemed to be flashing through her large, sad eyes. She, Erykah Badu, and india.arie were the Holy Union of Sistahs to me, who told the young girls and the world that they were enough - their strength, broad noses, full lips and whatever their hair was doing at the time. My 'fro and I thank them.

But in the end last night, she was just OK. Maybe I feel that way because I'd been sitting around watching the very patient crowd hang around through the old school party that DJ Irie threw down while Hill's band's instruments were taken down and The Roots' were set up. But Hill just came on and started singing, with nary an explanation as to what had happened. Her voice sounded OK - the best song was the lovely "To Zion," about her son. And the crowd seemed with her - to a point. But there was an expectation of something wonderful to justify the wait. And that did not happen in her set.

Well, that's not true. Something sort of wonderful, in a dramatic sense, happened. The band swung up the gorgeous horns for "That Thing," my favorite Lauryn Hill song. And it's funny, because as she began to sing, her voice was the strongest it had been all night. But as she started the first verse, there was a...sudden interuption of sound system. Nobody would officially confirm what happened, or who gave the order to cut the system, but it's assumed that she'd been given a certain time limit, and when she exceeded it, it was over.

But she kept singing - someone in the front row said they believe Hill didn't initially realize that the sound was cut. I don't believe that. Not long before that point, she'd told the crowd that "they're gonna cut me off," and that to blame whoever was doing the cutting, not her. I don't think that's a fair statement. She was late, for whatever reason, and the City was keeping the party going extra-late because of it. If they had to cut her, they did. And as much as I would have loved to have heard "That Thing," that thing they did was the right thing.

First of all, that cleared the way for Al Green (more on him in the next post). Second, it showed that the city and the promoters are serious. They can get first-rate talent. And they're gonna put on a first-rate show, respectful of the fans and the residents, no matter what. Outstanding.

Do it again.