THE KITCHEN WORKERS are peering from a door at the ...
The National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences is also honoring Nile Rodgers, Timbaland, BMI President Frances W. Preston and Daryl Hall and John Oates. It's a stellar gathering at the aptly titled Heroes Awards Gala. On a personal note, it's nice to see an announcer mistake another black man for Jimmy Jam. This makes me feel better about mistaking Jimmy for Ruben Studdard. I'm also happy to ask Mann & Weil?who were pioneers in societal pop with songs like "We Gotta Get Out of This Place"?if they care about today's modern protest singers.
"To tell you the truth," says Weil, "we've been too immersed in our theatrical projects to pay attention to the pop scene." That's the right answer, too. Who can blame her for ignoring the lowlifes of today? These geniuses were pals with Phil Ochs. In fact, says Mann, "I remember when Phil came by our apartment to play us about five or six of his songs." Mann & Weil would join Ochs in a belated suicide pact if they heard what passed for protest music nowadays.
So I like to think that Phil and Barry and Cynthia all understand why I leave the Heroes Awards early to get to the Z100 Jingle Ball. After all, it's that time when music magazines start spreading lies about the year in music. They try to ignore their own editorial fawning and attempt to seem relevant. The Jingle Ball, however, is always the naked truth. 2003 was truly all about Beyoncé, Simple Plan, Jay-Z, Hilary Duff and Jessica & Nick.
There is simply no concert more of its time and place than the Jingle Ball, and I'm still proud to have heard Ricky Martin singing "Livin' La Vida Loca" in Madison Square Garden back in 1999. I haven't missed a Jingle Ball in five years, and I'm not planning to start now.
Except that I've really screwed up and asked to be put in the press room this year. Maybe I was expecting a big-screen monitor, an ace sound system and a personal sushi chef. Instead, it's a sleepy bunch of writers and photographers ignoring televisions with no sound. The press is reading magazines and waiting for the next celebrity to be dragged in for pics and quotes. Some tool from Us Weekly is sitting with three pages of questions that are all variations on "What are your plans for Christmas?"
Even worse, I'm told that I can't get out to see the live performances. Next year, I'm thinking, I'll just FedEx myself over in a crate and enjoy the show from the comfort of a loading area. I put up with this misery for about an hour, but finally snap when some guy from The Bachelorette comes in to discuss his recording career. There's no way that getting thrown out of MSG could be any worse.
It turns out that this rat is in a simple maze, and I'm soon out front watching Kelly Clarkson showing off her phenomenal street cred?not to mention some enticing new poundage. Security guards chase me off on a regular basis, but I'm always able to find a new vantage point to witness important historical events. This includes the snowstorm of confetti during Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey's touching Christmas song.
Then I discover that nobody's guarding the backstage area. This allows me a perfect vantage point to watch Sean Paul's female dancers adjust their outfits whenever they get a chance to run off the stage. As it turns out, this is also the ideal angle to appreciate Beyoncé live.
The big story, though, is that Tigerbeat is the most powerful magazine in America. Correspondent Colleen Broomall gets to scoop the other journos with her access to the Talent Gift Lounge, which means she gets to grab free stuff for herself while interviewing the evening's acts at the height of their own greed. I don't even rate a minute alone with Pierre from Simple Plan. However, I do manage to absentmindedly stroll right into Nick Lachey backstage. He's actually the first to apologize. You know, that's just pleasant.
[jrt@nypress.com](mailto:jrt@nypress.com)