LOS ANGELES TIMES
Ray J relates ‘All I Feel’
Despite being Brandy’s litle brother, he’s now known for salacious R&B songs with graphic lyrics, L.A. gangbanger imagery — and a sex tape.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
April 12, 2008
In some ways, the record release party for “All I Feel,” the fourth full-length release from R&B performer Ray J, felt more like a night out at the club with the Southern California native than an invitation-only music industry event.
Yes, there was the entourage entering Hollywood’s Day After club through a darkened alley, the bevy of voluptuous young women clamoring for the star’s attention, rapper Mack 10 entertaining the capacity crowd, plenty of alcohol. But instead of executives and journalists, the guest list was a roster of Ray J’s childhood friends from Carson.
Still, the scene at his Sunday night homecoming underscored the image Ray J has tried to cultivate over the course of his relatively young career. The brother of crossover icon Brandy Norwood, born William Ray Norwood Jr. in 1981, worked hard to eradicate the squeaky clean, child-star image left over from his teenage appearances on Brandy’s sitcom “Moesha.”
These days, he’s more renowned for writing and producing salacious R&B songs with graphic lyrics and L.A. gangbanger imagery — and for a sex tape he made with reality TV star Kim Kardashian.
“On this album, I’m just being straight up with myself,” Ray J offers, pulling out a wad of cash to buy drinks for his crew. “I’m not trying to candy-coat anything.”
It’s a strategy that seems to be working for the performer. “Sexy Can I,” the first single from “All I Feel,” hit No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, finding its way into heavy rotation on dance floors across the country. Three songs on the album deal with infidelity — “Girl From the Bronx,” “Boyfriend” and “Jump Off” — while on “I Can Feel It,” Ray J delves into the idea of losing his identity in the course of an intense relationship.
The Game cameos on the track “Where You At,” which pays homage to West Coast gangsta rap, a major influence for Ray J, even though he doesn’t claim a gang affiliation. Still, dressed in a red bowler hat, black T-shirt and baggy black jeans, his outfit is strictly Piru Blood.
It’s another of the contradictions at the heart of Ray J’s persona. His songs talk about gang life, but he says he’s all about unity. His singles tend to perform well — his breakout, the sultry, Neptunes-produced “Wait a Minute,” featured the then 20-year-old beginning to explore his sexual side opposite guest performer Lil’ Kim — but his albums haven’t quite met with the same acceptance.
And while he’s committed to his music, he doesn’t shy away from the celebrity he’s garnered from the sex tape and other rumored celebrity dalliances.
“Sometimes it’s a little edgy; it’s a little raw,” Ray J says of “All I Feel” — and his larger musical identity. “But for the most part people love that because people are real, they are edgy and they are raw.”
The controversy surrounding Ray J hasn’t swayed the friends on hand at the record release celebration or his famous sibling, who admits she is impressed with the new album. “I can listen to it straight through,” says Brandy, 29, shouting to be heard over the loud music at the club. “It’s simple. You can sing along with it. I think he really took his time with it and took some risks.”
He took a risk during the abbreviated set that closed the night too, playing just one-and-a-half songs. As Ray J cranked through “Don’t Wanna Be Right,” his childhood friends crowded the stage, dancing and throwing up gang signs.
“All those thugs grew up with us in a neighborhood called Centerview,” explains Shannon Hendersen, 23, one of Brandy and Ray J’s friends from Carson. “The reason why they call it that is because in the middle of all the houses there are atriums. They are really big houses with five, six, seven bedrooms. It’s really nice.”
Suddenly, at 1:50 a.m, a voice interrupts the performance, saying only, “Music is the truth of humanity. We are now closed.”
Live: Trey Songz and J. Holiday
The pair bring ballads and hip-hop to the House of Blues.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
March 24, 2008
It’s the moment that the rabid female fans in the audience have been salivating for at the Trey Songz and J. Holiday show Friday at the House of Blues: Songz is finally going to take his shirt off. It couldn’t have come any sooner, because he had pretty much lost the crowd to this point with a lackluster performance that dwelled too long on dreary R&B ballads.
But could he redeem himself?
Songz robotically unbuttons his shirt. He seems unhappy or perhaps tired. The live five-piece band sounds slightly offbeat and off-key, but the familiarity of the hook to “Last Time” is enough to save it.
He coyly pulls his tuxedo over his shoulder, then puts it back.
“Spread your lovely legs out,” he urges in a sultry tremolo about the temptations of infidelity, “I know your favorite is the kitchen.” The ladies scream in anticipation.
By the end of “I Gotta Go,” Songz recommandeers the crowd, leading them through an easy, swaying two-step as he sings about the forces of attraction keeping him from his obligations outside the love chamber. “I don’t want to leave,” he cries. “I don’t want to go right now!”
At long last, he rips off his white tank top, revealing a V-shaped torso and a washboard stomach. Pay dirt.
Trey Songz and J. Holiday represent two different R&B archetypes.
Songz is the sensitive and attentive, designer clothes-wearing dreamboat. Holiday the more dangerous thug crooner with the requisite grainier vocal texture and countrified flavor. So there’s something for everyone.
When Holiday emerges on the light-speckled stage, it’s clear that the energy level is going to be much higher. He doesn’t just stick to his own repertoire but instead acts as a kind of emcee, hyping up the crowd as his band plays thigh-pumping breaks of songs culled from a vast, collective hip-hop consciousness, such as “Pop Bottles,” “Before I Let You Go” and “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly).” The musicians play with fury, as though they were raised on some unholy combination of Quiet Riot and Bad Brains.
And though the tempo slows at times, the emotional intensity of Holiday’s performance does not. He performs “Laa Laa,” his ode to cannabis, while sitting on a stool and bathed in saffron light, bringing to mind D’Angelo’s “Brown Sugar.” Then with a twist of wordplay, he transitions to another song about breathing, or lack thereof: “Suffocate.” “Got me looking at this phone,” he admits. “Every time it rings, I hope it’s you, girl.”
Channeling a preacher cadence, Holiday asks, “How many freaks do we got in the building?” The quasi-churchiness melds into a crunk-punk interpretation of his most anticipated song, the erotically titled “Bed,” as thousands of dollar bills come raining down from the ceiling for the final performance.
And, yes, he takes his shirt off too. But that’s beside the point.
BEAUTY
Acne.org founder’s clear mandate
Let others sell acne treatments via star power. Acne.org founder Dan Kern takes another approach.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
January 27, 2008
THERE’S Jessica Simpson and Proactiv. Dr. Perricone and his $75 “Nutritional Support.” Sonya Dakar and her $50-an-ounce “Drying Potion.”
And then there’s Dan Kern — the man who’s taking the strange glamour out of acne treatment, and winning thousands of followers in the process.
Kern, 35, is the founder of Acne.org, a no-frills website built on a few simple concepts for clear skin. He isn’t a celebrity or even a doctor. But he is out to change the way the world thinks about clogged pores or — as he states with characteristic zeal on his home page — to use “the power of the Internet to pool the intelligence and experience of people around the world to end the struggle of acne as we now know it.”
In a little more than 10 years, Acne.org has gained 62,000 registered members and 20,000 unique visitors a day. The site is also a virtual town hall where sufferers commiserate, swap stories and solutions about bad skin, and keep message boards buzzing with makeup and grooming tips, product ratings, new research and scar treatment solutions.
“I’m looking for a gentle cleanser that doesn’t have sodium laureth sulfate,” writes deadbeat007. “Any suggestions?”
Acne_battle responds, “I’ve been using CeraVe cleanser and a Clinique cleanser also. Don’t take my advice though; my face looks like crap.”
One success story — from Marie in Los Angeles — reads, “My doctor had actually prescribed a 4% Brevoxyl Creamy Wash about three months prior, but I was using it all wrong . . . way too little for way too short of time. Using your method within two weeks, I saw a MAJOR improvement.”
Kern’s program is simple. He recommends washing with a mild cleanser, such as Basis Sensitive Skin bar or Acne.org’s Gentle Cleanser. Allow the skin to completely dry. Then apply a dime-sized amount of benzoyl peroxide to the problem areas until all of the product has been absorbed. In time, this amount will increase to nearly a tablespoon. Allow it to completely dry, then follow with a fragrance-free moisturizer.
After about two weeks, the treated areas will start to peel and flake. Chances are they will turn red and itchy and burn, but, according to Kern, after the affected areas peel off and the skin becomes accustomed to the treatments, clearer skin will emerge.
“Follow the steps . . . precisely as outlined,” he warns on his website. “I cannot make this point strongly enough. Maybe even print out this page or the checklist and take it into the bathroom with you.”
Such passion is to be expected from someone who can talk endlessly about bacteria, skin irritation and specific dilutions of benzoyl peroxide. Kern also is quick to invoke the lessons of his mentors, self-help gurus such as Deepak Chopra. “Helping people is not about what I can get in return,” Kern says, riffing on Chopra.
Born and raised in Westchester, Penn., Kern struggled with acne since he was 11. “I remember my first zit,” he says. “It was right between my eyes. And I was obsessed right from the beginning.”
When over-the-counter drugstore medications didn’t work, he visited a dermatologist. Treatments such as Retin-A and antibiotics showed few results or worsened his acne. By the time Kern was in college, his condition was so severe that he would keep the light off in the bathroom to avoid seeing his face in the mirror. Eventually he developed a daily cleansing and treatment regimen with a mild benzoyl peroxide formula that worked. He thought it a fluke, but “what astonished me,” he says, “was that it stayed clear.”
Then in 1995, he was working as an office manager for a video game company in the Bay Area. He was reading Chopra’s “The Seven Laws of Spiritual Success” and thinking about how he could help others. The answer seems obvious: “I should tell people how I cleared up my skin.”
Kern took an Internet class and made a simple Web page that described his skin-care regimen. Word spread, and e-mails started coming in from people who, it could be said, had been converted. Kern knew he had to buy the domain name Acne.org.
Kern’s regimen, according to Dr. Sonia Badreshia-Bansal, an adjunct clinical professor with the department of dermatology at Stanford University, would be useful for a person with mild acne. “However, in more severe cases,” she says, “a combination approach using prescription medications will be required, and the regimen will need to be altered.”
Dr. Ron Moy, director of dermatology for the California Health and Longevity Institute in Westlake Village, agrees. “Benzoyl peroxide is a fine ingredient. It hits bacteria,” Moy says. “Some studies show it may be as effective as any of the topical or oral antibiotics. It’s sort of the over-the-counter, cheap way for treating acne.”
If the acne persists, however, it’s probably time to see a dermatologist about other treatments, which may include Retin-A or an oral antibiotic. For people with acne aggravated by hormones — which many women experience — or cystic acne, benzoyl peroxide alone probably won’t do the job, says Dr. Joyce Davis, a dermatologist in midtown Manhattan.
Benzoyl peroxide’s major downside, too, is that it can irritate the skin, Davis says. That problem can be solved by using a moisturizer or cutting back on the strength of the solution. But a more annoying issue is that the chemical turns fabrics white. “It’s a very good acne product, but you just have to be careful, because it can bleach fabric,” Davis says.
Kern’s regimen remains largely unknown in the dermatology community. When Dr. A. David Rahimi, a fellow with the American Academy of Dermatology, visited Acne.org and read the claims, he was skeptical. “I think a lot of them are very exaggerated,” he said. “Just to say that you can put 2.5% on the face in huge quantities and clear the skin is silly.”
Kern’s regimen notwithstanding, the site’s information-rich content drives most of the traffic. Visitors interested in other treatments can search message boards for posts on retinoid medications, hormonal treatments and Accutane (isotretinoin, generically) from people who say they have used them.
They discuss folk remedies (such as dabbing a paste of aspirin and water on a cystic pimple to bring it to a head), and they ask which concealers and foundations help disguise an outbreak (Bobbi Brown, for one, has its fans and critics; Everyday Minerals has nearly a cult of 1,000 devotees). Collectively, they ponder holistic treatments and support each other emotionally through the self-esteem issues that accompany acne.
Kern isn’t shy about posting videos of himself as he still performs a precise and methodical skin-care regimen — “the thickness of the stratum corneum (the outermost layer of the skin) near the eyes is about one-tenth as thick as the rest of the face and can be very sensitive to benzoyl peroxide” — and offers a chart of interchangeable products for his regimen, such as Basis sensitive skin bar soap, Neutrogena On-the-Spot and Cetaphil moisturizer.
His willingness to suggest alternatives and substitutes makes him different from the high priests of the skin-care trade. Dr. Perricone sells a 2-ounce tube of 5% benzoyl peroxide for $55. And Dakar’s Drying Potion (”Hollywood’s Secret Weapon”) features ingredients such as peppermint and Dead Sea sulfur and sells for $25 for half an ounce.
Kern argues that a conscientious treatment regimen and the critical 2.5% benzoyl peroxide are all you need. And he’ll sell you 4 ounces of benzoyl peroxide gel for $8.50.
Times staff writer Shari Roan contributed to this report.
For the record
February 5, 2008
Acne.org: A Jan. 27 Image article about Acne.org founder Dan Kern identified Dr. Sonia Badreshia-Bansal as an adjunct clinical professor with the department of dermatology at Stanford University. Badreshia-Bansal is a board-certified dermatologist and fellow of the American Academy of Dermatology and is not associated with Stanford.
Acne.org’s prescription to clear skin
January 27, 2008
The acne.org regimen is built on the idea that a 2.5% benzoyl peroxide product — and the discipline to wash your face twice a day — are all you need to clear up your skin. Here’s the plan:
* Wash your face with a mild cleanser for 10 seconds. Kern prefers a face wash that is not scented, not a soap and not too expensive; he likes Purpose and Basis cleansers. Pat dry with a clean towel.
* Allow face to dry completely. Using clean fingers, apply a gel or a cream containing 2.5% benzoyl peroxide. Proactiv, Neutrogena and acne.org offer products at that concentration. Massage very gently over problem areas and surrounding skin, taking care to avoid the eye area.
* Let the medication absorb and completely dry. For the first week, the skin will turn red, irritated and itchy, but these symptoms will lessen by the third week.
* Acne.org recommends gradually increasing the dosage, which, depending upon the individual and the acne, can be a tablespoon or more.
* Wash your hands and apply a moisturizer labeled “non-comedogenic” and “fragrance-free” to lessen the dryness and flakiness.
Acne.org offers its own line of products, priced less than most department store brands.They are available at danielkern.com, where a 16-ounce bottle of cleanser costs $9.50; 4 ounces of benzoyl peroxide, $8.50; and 8 ounces of moisturizer, $10.50.
– Serena Kim
COOKING
Bibimbap! It packs a punch
When it comes to mixing it up in the kitchen, this classic Korean rice-bowl dish is always a big hit.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
January 9, 2008
When it comes to eating bibimbap, it’s all in the mixing. Bibimbap, or “mixed rice,” emerges from the kitchens of just about any Korean restaurant in Koreatown: a mound of warm rice in an oversize bowl topped with artfully arranged sections of vegetables, sliced grilled beef and then an egg fried sunny-side up. It’s drizzled with a little sesame oil and served with a dollop of kochujang, spicy red pepper paste. When you mix it all together with your spoon, the yolk breaks open and, along with the kochujang, coats the whole crunchy-savory-delicious affair.
It’s no wonder then that bibimbap is such a madly popular restaurant dish, but it’s especially suited to making at home.
My grandmother could whip up a bowl of bibimbap in less than 20 minutes with whatever rice, namulpanchan (vegetable side dishes) and bulgogi (grilled rib-eye steak) was left from previous dinners. Just about any namul — such as sautéed mung bean sprouts, sautéed mushrooms, lightly pickled cucumber, fresh daikon, braised zucchini or seasoned steamed spinach — might make an appearance in a beautiful vegetable composition atop rice.
Chang Sun-Young, author of “A Korean Mother’s Cooking Notes,” remembers eating bibimbap as a girl at the end of the lunar year. “We mixed together all of the leftover side dishes in the kitchen with kochujang and rice to clear out the pantry and make room for the new dishes of the new year,” she said.
Even if your pantry doesn’t happen to include toraji (bellflower root) or kosari (fernbrake), or your refrigerator isn’t already stocked with brined cucumber salad, these are worth shopping for or preparing for bibimbap. Mountain fernbrake is a woodsy, earthy fern that’s native to Korea, and shredded white bellflower root has a slightly bitter taste and meaty texture. Both are found in the dried-package aisles of Korean markets.
Dol sot bibimbap — served in a hot stone bowl so that the bottom layer of rice is browned and crispy — might be the most popular version of bibimbap at Jeonju restaurant in Koreatown, but it’s a relatively new invention created in restaurants around the mid-’70s. The restaurant is named after Jeonju, a city in southwestern Korea that is famous for bibimbap.
“Around Jeonju region, they produce very good-quality rice, soy bean sprouts, and all those things that you might use for bibimbap,” says Kyeyoung Park, an anthropology professor at UCLA who studies Korean American culture. “When people visit Jeonju city, the first thing they want is bibimbap.”
The homemade version is usually served in a large bowl (which isn’t hot or made of stone), and can be quickly assembled with freshly steamed rice, namul panchan and grilled rib-eye or whatever meat you might have on hand.
If there’s no time for making traditional Korean namul from scratch, there’s always the pre-fab shortcut: the mind-boggling array of ready-made panchan at the Koreatown Galleria. Or try inventing your own, like a seafood bibimbap featuring wild Alaskan salmon and crumbled seaweed, or bibimbap with grilled kale, eggplant and zucchini.
There are no hard and fast rules about what bibimbap is or isn’t — the beauty of it isn’t just in its appearance but also in its infinite adaptability.
RECIPES (that go with bibimbap feature)
Recipe: Bibimbap (Mixed rice)
January 9, 2008
Total time: 1 hour, 25 minutes
Servings: 4
Note: Kochujang, or Korean red-pepper paste, and thinly sliced beef can be found at Korean markets.
1/4 cup low-sodium soy sauce
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons sesame oil, divided
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar, divided
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon crushed roasted sesame seeds
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon finely minced ginger
1 pound thinly sliced rib-eye steak
2 cups short grain rice
1 cup julienned carrots (2 inches long)
1/2 cup red pepper paste (kochujang)
1/4 cup rice wine vinegar
4 eggs
1 cup toraji namul
1 cup spinach namul
1 cup cucumber namul
1 cup kosari namul
1 romaine lettuce heart, washed, dried and cut into thin strips (about 3 cups)
1. In a medium bowl, combine the soy sauce, 1 tablespoon sesame oil, 1 tablespoon sugar, the minced garlic, sesame seeds, black pepper and ginger. Mix well. Add the beef, cover, and marinate in the refrigerator for 30 minutes and up to overnight.
2. Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Place the beef in a thin layer on a greased roasting or baking pan and roast until browned, 10 to 15 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and allow the meat to cool on the pan. When it’s cool enough to handle, slice into thin ribbons and set aside.
3. In a large pot, bring 2 1/2 cups of water to a boil. Add 2 cups rice, stirring. Cover and reduce the heat. Simmer for 20 minutes. Set aside.
4. In a large saucepan, heat 1 teaspoon of the sesame oil over medium-high heat and sauté the carrots until crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. (Unlike Chinese stir-frying, the Korean technique employs lower heat and a gentler cooking process — no browning.) Set aside.
5. In a medium bowl, combine the red pepper paste, the remaining one-half tablespoon sugar, rice wine vinegar and one-fourth cup water. Mix well. Set aside.
6. Fry the eggs to sunny-side up in a large frying pan over medium heat, about 2 minutes per egg. Use just enough sesame oil to coat the pan to prevent the eggs from sticking.
7. Assemble each serving of bibimbap in four large individual bowls. Scoop three-fourths cup of rice in the center of each bowl. Add about one-fourth cup each of the toraji namul, the spinach namul, the kosari namul, the cucumber namul, the carrots, the beef and the romaine in small mounds on top of and around the rice. (Any leftover side dishes can be served along with the bowls, or refrigerate and serve them another time.) Top each bowl with one fried egg. Drizzle one teaspoon of sesame oil per bowl. Serve with a side of red pepper paste. When ready to eat, add the pepper paste and vigorously mix all the ingredients with a spoon, the traditional utensil for bibimbap.
Each serving: 903 calories; 39 grams protein; 103 grams carbohydrates; 10 grams fiber; 37 grams fat; 11 grams saturated fat; 283 mg. cholesterol; 1,901 mg. sodium.
Recipe: Spinach namul
January 9, 2008
Total time: 25 minutes
Servings: Makes 2 cups
Note: Adapted from “Dok Suni: Recipes From My Mother’s Kitchen” by Jenny Kwak with Liz Fried. This should be made the same day of serving.
2 pounds spinach
5 ice cubes
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon crushed and roasted sesame seeds, plus additional for garnish
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon rice wine vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons minced green onion
1 teaspoon sugar (white or brown)
1. Prepare the spinach by cutting off the stems and separating the leaves. Carefully wash the spinach in several changes of water.
2. Place the wet, clean spinach in a large frying pan over medium-high heat and cook until it is wilted and bright green, about 4 minutes. Note that the spinach may need to be added in batches, a little more added as what’s in the pan cooks down. When all of the spinach is wilted, remove from the heat and quickly add the ice cubes to stop the cooking process.
3. Drain the spinach and squeeze it vigorously two or three times until as much water is removed as possible. Shape the spinach into a ball and slice four or five times so that it’s in bite-size pieces.
4. In a medium bowl, combine the soy sauce, sesame oil, sesame seeds, garlic, rice vinegar, green onion and sugar. Add the spinach and thoroughly massage with hands. Chill in the refrigerator until serving. Serve in a small bowl, garnished with a sprinkle of sesame seeds.
Each serving: 270 calories; 22 grams protein; 5 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram fiber; 19 grams fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 38 mg. cholesterol; 733 mg. sodium.
Recipe: Kosari namul (sautéed fernbrake)
January 9, 2008
Total time: About 50 minutes
Servings: 4
Note: This dish can be made ahead for up to a week. Red pepper powder and dried fernbrake, also known as kosari in Korean, are available at Korean markets.
1/4 pound dried fernbrake
1 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce
1/2 clove garlic, minced
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 tablespoon of vegetable oil
2 green onions sliced
1 1/2 teaspoons of crushed and roasted sesame seeds
1/4 teaspoon Korean red pepper powder
Salt
1. Place the fernbrake in a large pot with enough water to cover and soak for 10 minutes. Place the pot on the stove and bring it to a boil. Boil, uncovered, for 30 minutes or until the fernbrake is tender. (It will turn a slightly lighter shade of brown.)
2. Drain the fernbrake, cool and vigorously squeeze out all of the remaining water. Cut off 2 inches of the woody ends. Then cut the remaining fernbrake into 2-inch-long pieces.
3. Transfer the fernbrake to a large bowl and season it with the soy sauce, minced garlic and black pepper, mixing thoroughly with your hands.
4. In a sauté pan, heat the vegetable oil and sauté the fernbrake over medium heat for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat, add the sliced green onions and cover. Let cool to room temperature. Transfer to a bowl and season with the sesame seeds, the red pepper powder and salt to taste.
Each one-fourth cup: 25 calories; 0 protein; 5 grams carbohydrates; 2 grams fiber; 1 gram fat; 0 saturated fat; 0 cholesterol; 128 mg. sodium.
Recipe: Toraji namul (Sautéed bellflower root)
January 9, 2008
Total time: About 1 hour, plus overnight soaking
Servings: Makes 5 cups
Note: Adapted from “A Korean Mother’s Cooking Notes” by Chang Sun-Young. This dish can be made up to a week in advance. Kuk kanjang — labeled “soy sauce for soup” — and dried bellflower roots are available at Korean markets.
1/2 pound dried white bellflower roots
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon kuk kanjang (soy sauce for soup)
1 teaspoon sugar
2 tablespoons finely sliced green onion, green parts only
Salt to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon roasted sesame seeds, crushed in a mortar
1. Place the bellflower roots in a large bowl and pour in enough hot water to cover. Soak overnight to reconstitute; drain. Carefully shred the softened pieces by inserting the end of a paper clip or a needle into one end of the bellflower root and tearing the root into lengthwise strips. They should be about one-eighth-inch thick. Divide the larger pieces into three strips and the smaller pieces in half.
2. Place the shredded bellflower root back into a bowl and, using your hands, mix thoroughly with the teaspoon of coarse salt. Let stand for 10 minutes. Soak in a fresh change of water for 10 minutes. Drain, then vigorously squeeze the roots until as much water is rendered as possible.
3. In a large saucepan, heat the vegetable oil over medium heat. Add the minced garlic, soy sauce and sugar. When the mixture is hot and the garlic is fragrant, add the bellflower roots. Sauté for 12 minutes until the roots soften, stirring occasionally.
4. Remove from the heat and add the green onions. Season with salt and pepper and garnish with the crushed and roasted sesame seeds.
Each one-fourth cup: 39 calories; 1 gram protein; 7 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram fiber; 1 gram fat; 0 saturated fat; 0 cholesterol; 96 mg. sodium.
Recipe: Cucumber namul
January 9, 2008
Total time: 45 minutes
Servings: Makes 2 cups
Note: Adapted from “A Korean Mother’s Cooking Notes” by Chang Sun-Young. This can be made a day before serving.
6 Kirby cucumbers
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of sesame oil
1. Cut off the ends of the cucumbers, then cut them in half crosswise into roughly 2-inch cylinders. Cut each cylinder in half vertically. Using a spoon, carve out much of the flesh with the seeds, leaving behind only the cucumber skin and a thin layer of the attached flesh. Discard the seeds and carved out centers. Julienne the cucumber skins into 2-inch-long slivers.
2. In a medium bowl, toss the julienned cucumber peel with salt and set aside. After 30 minutes, vigorously squeeze out as much water as possible.
3. In a medium saucepan, heat the sesame oil over medium heat and sauté the cucumbers until thoroughly warmed through. Remove from the heat, place the cucumbers in a small bowl, and chill at least 30 minutes or until needed. Serve in a small bowl.
Each one-fourth cup: 12 calories; 0 protein; 1 gram carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 1 gram fat; 0 saturated fat; 0 cholesterol; 74 mg. sodium.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
ALBUM REVIEWS
If you think it’s hip, think again
By Serena Kim
Lupe Fiasco
“The Cool” (Atlantic) * * *
Lupe Fiasco is all about subverting the dominant hip-hop paradigm. He rebels against one of the core beliefs of the genre: the concept of cool — the idea that boils down to a composed sang-froid that comes with hard-earned street credibility. Fiasco rebels against cool. He flips it, deconstructs it and questions it thoroughly on this intensely cerebral second album.
His debut, “Food & Liquor,” was also a scathing rebuke of apathy and willful ignorance. Accordingly, it hasn’t gone gold, but the album was a critical smash. He was nominated for three Grammys, and GQ named him one of the “Breakout Men of 2006.”
It’s good to see that the accolades haven’t changed him. The 25-year-old lyricist remains loyal to his activist message, which is propelled by intricate wordplay and experimental, trip-hop-inspired beats. Plus there’s still so much suffering in the world for Fiasco to rage against: child soldiers, hurricanes and the AIDS epidemic.
The lead single “Dumb It Down” rides a stripped-down thump, a parody of trunk-rattling crunk. “I’m earless/ And I’m peerless/ that means I’m eyeless/ Which means I’m tearless,” spits Fiasco with a philosophical couplet that connects rap bravado with blind cynicism. The cameo artist, Gemstones, plays the foil and accuses him for going over his listeners’ heads with five-dollar words. “You’ll sell more records if you dumb it down,” he taunts sarcastically.
It makes you wonder how many mainstream rappers do “dumb it down” when writing lyrics or editing song selections on their albums, which then makes you marvel and respect rappers such as Fiasco who refuse to condescend to the lowest common denominator.
Ironically, the album’s contrived and pretentious beats could’ve benefited from a little sonic ignorance. The iconoclastic “Hello/Goodbye (Uncool)” featuring Unkle is doused in crashing drums and careening guitar solos that push the hip-hop envelope a little too far for purist tastes. The New Agey synthesizers on “Superstar” and “Little Weapon” — and heavily deployed throughout the CD — are better suited for classroom analysis than dance floor hedonism.
Though there’s much to admire about Fiasco’s idealism and poetic skill, he can also be annoying the way an excessively, politically correct person in your social circle can be annoying. And that’s kind of uncool.
– Serena Kim
AFI FEST
Can’t hold them back
The premiere of ‘Public Enemy: Welcome to the Terrordome’ brings out the bold rappers.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
November 9, 2007
The irascible Flavor Flav might appear on television with more frequency than his stentorian partner Chuck D, but judging from Wednesday’s world premiere of “Public Enemy: Welcome to the Terrordome,” at AFI Fest, Chuck D is still the star of the P.E. movement.
The documentary shows Public Enemy’s beginnings as a mobile DJ unit and college radio show from Long Island, New York, and while it touches on the group’s rise to international fame with their sophomore release “It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back” in 1987, it also attempts to establish why the group remains relevant.
It’s a topic close to Chuck D’s heart. “We’re the Rolling Stones or the Bob Dylan of the rap game, most people know it, but Americans know it last,” he said before the screening, walking the red carpet on the rooftop of the Arclight Cinemas in Hollywood.
“What makes us great is that we’re creators, innovators, and we’ve always been leaders,” added Flav, clad in a brilliant pomegranate suit and spectator wingtips, a salad-plate-size clock swinging from his neck. “I want Public Enemy to be remembered as one of the greatest rap groups of all time.”
In the mid-1980s, Public Enemy introduced the world to a kind of lyrically and musically complex hip-hop that critiqued racism and social injustice using the language of black revolutionaries from the 1960s, such as Malcolm X and H. Rap Brown. “They more or less single-handedly created what we now think of as conscious hip-hop,” said Bill Adler, the group’s publicist for their first two albums. “There was a punk element to their music. It was deliberately noisy, clamorous and sample-based, but the samples were atoms and molecules of extremely potent classic funk, for the most part, and rock ‘n’ roll.”
The documentary, which is timed to commemorate the 20th anniversary of “It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back” and Public Enemy’s landmark 1987 London tour, grew out of director Robert Patton-Spruill’s years-long relationship with Chuck D. The pair were introduced in 1998 at a meeting at Miramax, and they began to collaborate on music videos and footage for a tour DVD in 2000.
Since then, Patton-Spruill has been amassing material for the documentary — concert footage, candid moments of band members bantering (or arguing) and interviews with musicians including the Beastie Boys, Henry Rollins and Tom Morello about the group’s impact on them.
“The film really developed organically, not something that we planned,” Patton-Spruill said.
While the film does show the group performing their most iconic songs, it also features footage of Public Enemy playing with a full band and even moshing on stage before predominantly white crowds at venues like Austin’s South by Southwest festival. The idea, Patton-Spruill said, was to convey the range and scope of their music.”They’re a punk band when it really comes down to it; that’s where their heart and soul really is,” he said.
Even though “Welcome to the Terrordome” is screening Saturday at AFI Fest, Patton-Spruill said he has every intention of continuing to tell the band’s story. “Great art is never finished, it’s just abandoned,” said Patton-Spruill. “So hopefully, one day we’ll do the 40-year doc on Public Enemy.”
Jill Scott is even better off the record
The live show exceeds the album, and the energetic singer’s playful
asides exceed what can be published.
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
October 18, 2007
Jill Scott pauses for a moment, takes a big swig from an imaginary
drink and wipes her lip with emphasis. “It’s just a metaphor for
something I want more,” she confides to the packed crowd Tuesday at
the House of Blues.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’s talking about sex.
And she mentions it repeatedly throughout her highly erotic
performance. Her ad libs and interludes are so risqué, they can’t be
quoted in a family newspaper.
Someone in the crowd whispers that the sexual energy is the emotional
byproduct of her recent divorce from Lyzel Williams, who was the
subject of some of her past love songs. And the set list does reflect
an aching heart: “Hate On Me,” “Celibacy Blues,” and “Crown Royal,” a
trio plucked from her new album “The Real Thing: Words and Sounds Vol.
3.”
Like any good poet, Scott captures the deeper meaning in everyday
moments in her songwriting. She sees the pathos of kitchen sinks and
collard greens. On “Epiphany,” another new one, she chants about
heaving, glistening body parts and squirting massage oil to a
syncopated conga drum, only to end with, “But why do I feel so empty?”
Ironically, she’s probably one of the least empty and most substantive
vocalists in R&B. Her voice is a magnificent instrument of virtuosity.
She transitions from different sonic textures with agility: jazz,
gospel, blues, even opera. In one moment she mewls like a vulnerable
kitten. Then, the emotion wells up inside of her swaying body, erupts
from her mouth and soars to the rafters in a satisfying musical
catharsis, a powerful antidote to the antiseptic, digitized nano-noise
we’ve grown accustomed to in recent years.
Her massive band — with its brass section, drums, guitar, bass,
synthesizer and trio of backup singers — follows her every lead with
a sound that is lush and well-oiled. The live show is better than the
album in the way the book is usually better than the movie.
The mature, 30-plus crowd eats it up with gusto. Friends and lovers
sway and embrace. Some couples kiss to the slower, more romantic
songs. Large swaths of the audience sing along. “Hold on, how is it
the album has been out only a couple weeks, and you already know the
words? Are you showing off?” teases Scott.
By 10:30 p.m., the show has erupted into a full-throttle dance party
(concertgoers don’t yet know that they will have to wait more than two
hours for their cars in the House of Blues valet). Everyone moves to
her 2004 hit single “Golden.” She receives a bouquet of flowers and
does a little beauty pageant wave. But wait, the show isn’t over.
A gentle piano solo emerges from the darkness and Scott breaks into an
emotional rendition of “He Loves Me (Lyzel in E Flat)” — the song
about her ex-husband. She sings, “You tease me/you please me/you
school me,” with such searing intensity, it almost seems like every
glass in the venue will break. Speaking of which, did anyone ever get
her that drink?
MUSIC REVIEW
Raekwon seems weary at West Hollywood’s Key Club
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
April 20, 2007
There was a certain sadness in the air when Raekwon the Chef performed
Wednesday night at the Key Club in West Hollywood.
Unlike his zany and energetic cohorts Ghostface Killah or Method Man,
Raekwon has always functioned with a sense of melancholy. His 1995
debut, “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx,” also fondly known as “The Purple
Tape,” is considered by many a hip-hop masterpiece and established the
chubby lyricist as one of the most popular members of Wu-Tang Clan,
the New York hip-hop collective. Its poetic lyrics depicted a gloomy
and sinister world of drug deals and stick-ups, sprinkled with
esoteric interludes from blaxploitation films and kung fu flicks.
On Wednesday he treated hard-core fans to some of the album’s more
obscure cuts, the darkly hypnotic “Incarcerated Scarfaces” and the
introspective “Heaven and Hell.”
During his performance, Raekwon, who was born Corey Woods in 1970,
seemed like an aging rapper trying to make sense of a crazed world,
where death was the leitmotif. With the utmost sincerity, he sent his
condolences to the people involved in the Virginia Tech massacre.
“What’s going on in the world?” he asked mournfully. Earlier, he had
the crowd hold up lighters in memory of Ol’ Dirty Bastard before
launching into a medley of the deceased rapper’s hits.
The crowd hungered for the high-energy Wu-Tang classics like “Protect
Ya Neck” and “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’,” and Raekwon delivered. But
he seemed to be going through the motions wearily. Wearing a simple
Adidas track jacket and a satin gunmetal Dodgers baseball cap, Raekwon
ran through the standards. His signature hits, “C.R.E.A.M.” and “Can
It Be So Simple,” were some of the most somber, yet brilliant, tunes
in the Wu-Tang repertoire.
When Raekwon asked the audience, “Where my Mexicanos at?,” the
predominantly Latino crowd roared. He told them he was “honored” to be
performing in L.A., especially because he signed with Aftermath
Records for a forthcoming album to be produced by Dr. Dre and RZA.
Throughout the night, Raekwon eulogized what he termed “real hip-hop.”
To give the audience a taste of what he was talking about, he asked DJ
Thoro to “give ‘em my autobiography.” The selector made quick work of
the most memorable cuts of 1988, a critical year in hip-hop’s “Golden
Era” (depending on whom you ask), spinning snippets of Big Daddy
Kane’s “Ain’t No Half Steppin’,” Schoolly D’s “P.S.K.” and Slick
Rick’s “Children’s Story,” among others.
As the night wound down, Raekwon beseeched concertgoers to be safe and
stick together, sounding more like a concerned father than an
underground legend.
*
Clipse
Where: El Rey Theatre, 5515 Wilshire Blvd., L.A.
When: 8 p.m. Friday
Price: $21.50
Info: (323) 936-6400; www.goldenvoice.com/concerts
March 15, 2007
NO matter whether he wants to admit it, Pusha T of the Clipse is doing
the rap star thing.
He’s kicking back in the front lounge of the group’s silver tour bus
that is driving through Indianapolis en route to a show in Boulder,
Colo. He’s half-watching “The Wire,” the cable TV series about
Baltimore’s drug trade, and distractedly fielding a reporter’s
questions on his cellphone.
The bus that the Clipse have called home for the last week is tidy and
well organized. “There’s no such thing as a mess on our tour bus,”
Pusha T says.
The Clipse keep it clean and sober in their recording sessions too.
“When we’re in the studio, we don’t need a pack of blunts [marijuana
joints rolled in cigar paper, which is usually de rigueur in rap
sessions], four guns laying on the table, or a bottle of Hennessy,” he
says. “It’s totally not that rapper thing.”
Pusha T, 29, says he has never tried cocaine and thinks smoking
marijuana is “corny.” He and Malice, his older brother by five years,
have never been arrested for any drug-related offenses. And yet, the
Clipse have become famous for rapping about drug hustling, a common
theme in hip-hop.
On their albums, the brothers nimbly swap verses rife with slang-laden
word play about the drug trafficking lifestyle on spartan
electro-tracks produced by Pharrell Williams of the Neptunes, who
saves his most sinister beats — the kind with plodding bass drums,
cascading robotic sound effects and hollow drum kicks — for the duo.
In fact, their debut LP “Lord Willin’,” with its witty single
“Grindin’,” and its darker sequel “Hell Hath No Fury,” have had music
critics calling them the leaders of the so-called “coke rap”
resurgence in hip-hop, which includes artists such as Young Jeezy, Lil
Wayne and Rick Ross, who also tell explicit drug-dealing stories in
their rhymes.
In an essay about cocaine rap in the November 2006 issue of XXL
magazine, Kris Ex wrote, “The album that casts the largest shadow over
the current landscape is undeniably the Clipse’s 2002 ‘Lord Willin,’ a
full length that not only spoke about large scale trafficking with
eerie precision, but also sounded like the game — all peaks and
valleys, with paranoid gilds and desolate shines.”
But coke rap is a label that Pusha T finds lacking. “There’s so much
more to our lyrics than just coke rap,” he says. “My first commercial
success was in ‘02, and just in ‘05 or ‘06, the label ‘coke rap’ has
come about. So I don’t think it’s fair to just label us as coke rap.
There’s literature in our verses. It’s sort of undeniable. Our fans
know the level of intelligence. It’s not all just gratuitous.”
Last year’s “Hell Hath No Fury” traverses sophisticated territory
rarely covered by other coke rappers. On the mea culpa, “Momma I’m So
Sorry,” Malice gets high-brow with, “Now I consider Ferraris and
Salvador Dalis / I’m no longer local / My thoughts are global / That’s
why I seem distant.” Then on “Hello New World,” he evokes a
drug-dealing career gone awry: “Anything that keep momma from crying /
Visiting you behind that glass while you await sentencing / ’cause the
judge is saying, ‘Life’ / like it ain’t someone’s life.” Yes, drugs
are the theme, but the difference is in the consequences.
Malice and Pusha T were born in the Bronx to Gene and Mildred
Thornton, a postman and a mother who had a variety of jobs, including
liquor store clerk and pharmaceutical technician.
Malice came first, born Gene Thornton in 1972; then in 1977 Terrence,
who would later go by Pusha T, was born.
Two years later, the family moved to Virginia Beach, Va., where Malice
eventually earned his name as a local rap star and earned the
admiration of Williams during their high school years.
Malice and Pusha T formed a group, originally called Full Eclipse, and
were signed to Elektra in 1998 on the strength of their connection to
the Neptunes. In 2001, they got another deal with Arista, which
eventually dissolved into Jive.
Though “Lord Willin’ ” sold more than a million copies, “Hell Hath No
Fury” was mired in label drama for five years until it was finally
released in late 2006. The Village Voice quipped that their sophomore
album was the ” ‘Chinese Democracy’ of hip-hop.”
Back on the bus, Pusha T is trying to think of his favorite drug
anthems. ” ‘Ten Crack Commandments’ was a great record,” he says. “It
was very blatant. But you might not call ‘Can I Live’ a drug anthem
from Jay-Z because he isn’t saying, ‘Can I live in a pool of powder?’
But in the end of the day, it’s records like that that showcase the
allure, the lifestyle. It doesn’t have to be so blatant. On the more
blatant tip, I love what Rick Ross did with ‘Hustlin’.”
He’s not so forthcoming when it comes to describing their own
real-life exploits to the media. When the reporter asks if they are
indeed drug dealers or simply artists that describe the mythology of
the culture, he says, “I would never, ever sit in the L.A. Times,
myself, raise my hand as if I’m sure, and tell you that I’m a drug
dealer,” he says. After a beat, he adds, “That would be preposterous.”
weekend@latimes.com
J. Wells “Digital Smoke” (Bonzi Records)* * 1/2
More tales of drugs and violence
IF Dr. Dre is the father of West Coast gangster rap, then J. Wells is
a distant nephew in the family tree. Raised in Pacoima, by way of
Chicago, J. Wells sold thousands of copies of his two previous albums
independently, often out of the trunk of his car along the streets of
Hawthorne, Inglewood and Compton.
Wells has a nondescript rhyme style, covering the usual themes: vivid
descriptions of high-quality marijuana, his gangsta-rap pedigree.
Wells crafts his own beats, which adhere closely to a fundamentalist
ideal of West Coast hip-hop: highly polished tracks, heavily doused
with Funkadelic-style vocals, such as Kokane’s pimp-song on the Rakim
homage “I Came in the Door.”
He coaxes good performances out of his featured guests. On the
lyrically substantive origin story, “Los Angeles,” his hook singer,
Samuel “Shawty” Christian, strikes a balance between grit and
tenderness. Then on “I’m Too Gangsta,” Styliztik Jones outshines
Kurupt and his wife, Gail Gotti, with his dense lyrics: “Collar bones
poppin’ /Way out of socket / Pay out of pocket.”
Despite these interesting moments, “Digital Smoke” lacks vision and
individuality, so it remains a mere mix-tape that only aspires to be a
bona fide album.
U.S.D.A.
“Young Jeezy Presents: U.S.D.A.: ‘Cold Summer’ the Authorized Mixtape”
(Def Jam)* *
For Young Jeezy, there’s apparently nothing more important than the
almighty “grind,” the blood, sweat and tears of dealing cocaine and
selling music.
This ruthless work ethic made Young Jeezy the “it” rapper of 2005,
when he burst on the Southern rap scene with his strained sneer and
his infinite ways of describing dollar bills raining down on strippers
shaking their wares.
There’s more of your garden-variety misogyny and ignorance on this
so-called mix tape by Jeezy’s group USDA, which is actually a
major-label release.
They guide listeners through a narcotics netherworld, replete with
vivid details about rubber bands, plastic-wrapped bricks of cocaine,
and rental cars with out-of-state tags, as on “Check.”
Over a slowed-down 808 and a spare handclap, they have fun with word
play on “White Girl,” which is also slang for cocaine. “Pam” is about
a neighborhood strawberry, or a female who will trade sex for drugs.
And on “Quickie,” Jeezy offers to pleasure his partner so quickly,
“I’ll even leave my Nikes on.”
Rapping over rolling, marching-band style beats and triumphant horns,
Jeezy veers dangerously close to substance on “Corporate Thuggin’ ”
when he explains his commitment to his materialistic management style.
On closer inspection, USDA’s simplistic rhymes about blind ambition
amount to nothing but a quasi-Republican,
pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps ideology on crack. Don Imus would
be proud.
POP MUSIC REVIEW
Nas raises the hip-hop dead at House of Blues
By Serena Kim
Special to The Times
May 2, 2007
Nas, at the House of Blues Sunset Strip on Monday, reminded the
multicultural multitudes that hip-hop was once a dissident voice.
He wore a chunky gold chain and opaque shades. Swaying his hunched,
lanky form, Nas delivered his poetic and political lyrics with his
inimitable hoarseness.
The rapper’s latest CD, “Hip Hop Is Dead,” dissected the destruction
of contemporary rap music in the hands of radio conglomerates and
corporate interests. Accordingly, a coffin, skeletons and a flower
arrangement were dramatically strewn on the spacious wooden stage.
“Everything must come to an end for there to be a rebirth,” he
explained as he criticized the most powerful members of the African
American community for missing his message.
“Oprah [Winfrey] doesn’t understand,” he said. Def Jam co-founder
“Russell [Simmons] doesn’t understand.”
He surprised the crowd with cameo appearances by the Game, who joined
him on “Hustlers,” and KRS-One, who jubilantly led a sea of bobbing
hands to classics from Boogie Down Productions’ repertoire, notably
“South Bronx.”
Throughout the night, Nas made references to political leaders whom he
admired, including Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. In “Black
Republicans,” a song he recorded with Jay-Z, he rasped, “I feel like a
black militant taking over the government.”
By performing short, energetic snippets, Nas managed to cram in a huge playlist.
The show’s climax came with the conga-driven chanting of his club hit
“Made You Look.” “Get money / Leave the beef alone slowly,” he advised
in rhyme.
As the show ended, a throng of sated faces filed out. “It was great,”
said Asanté, a 29-year-old educator who was among those exiting the
venue. “Nas is a poet and a teacher too.”