Brandon's Buzz

Whitney Houston — “Love That Man [Peter Rauhofer NYC Mix]”
(from Love That Man [The Mixes]) —

Tori Amos — “Flavor [Peter Rauhofer Club Mix]”
(from Flavor [The Mixes]) —

Anyone who gives even the slightest damn about the world of dance music must find him- or herself in deep mourning this day at the stunning death of the extraordinary DJ and remixer Peter Rauhofer, who lost his brutal battle with brain cancer yesterday at the far-too-young age of 48. Rauhofer never quite managed to hit the same rarefied commercial air as a handful of his peers and progenitors (think Todd Terry with his crazy-cool radical reinvention of Everything But the Girl’s formerly mellow “Missing”; think Brian Transeau’s electrifying mid-’90s work with Billie Ray Martin and others), but those trademark tribal beats with which he dabbled (and dazzled) so brilliantly were instantly identifiable, no matter the artist. He was probably best known for his work with Madonna and Cher (the classic remix of whose 1999 international smash “Believe” landed him a Grammy in 2000), but this morning, we here at the Buzz choose to pay our respects by blasting a pair of our favorites from among Rauhofer’s lesser-known mixes: “Man,” a rare highlight from the regrettably dreadful “crack-is-wack” period of Miss Whitney’s recording career; and the spankin’-new “Flavor” (released just last December), as glorious a career-capper as one could envision. (As I tweeted yesterday upon learning of Peter’s passing: The Goddess has been remixed by the best over the years — including the aforementioned BT, whose mad 1996 masterpiece “Blue Skies” made all of us burgeoning house fans rejoice, scream “Tori Tori hallelujah,” and be glad in it — but never once did she sound more bold, more bangin’, more badass than when in Rauhofer’s crisp, capable hands. You were a magicmaker at twirling the knobs and spinning the beats, Pete; may you now rest — and remix — in peace, ever.

”I loved [season] finales as a kid. Knots Landing had the best finales. So I really put my heart and soul into [mine] and try to make them special because I know that’s what I want to see as a viewer.”

— The Following creator Kevin Williamson, speaking to Entertainment Weekly about the climactic final installment of his cat-and-mouse drama’s intense first season, which airs tonight on Fox. (The above quote doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, except that I’ve had Knots on the brain lately — perhaps you can blame the conversation I just recorded for Brandon’s Buzz Radio with its legendary star Joan Van Ark, which I’ll be posting directly — and, seeing as how that show never really got the respect it so richly deserved during its original run throughout the ’80s and early ’90s, I always get a peculiar thrill out of spotting any of today’s brilliant showrunners daring to reference Knots as an inspiration for their own work. After all, their more muted, character-driven cliffhangers were often overshadowed — at least in terms of cultural interest and impact — by the flashier season-ending antics displayed by Dallas and Dynasty back in the day, but I for one strongly doubt I’ll ever see another finale as compelling as Knots‘ 1987 outing — the infamous “crack in the cement” event, which TV Guide‘s ace critic Matt Roush just this morning named as one of the 60 greatest closing episodes in television history — or its 1988 effort, a taut and terrifying two-person teleplay starring the dynamite Teri Austin as a completely deranged hellcat hell-bent on murdering her romantic rival — the aforementioned Ms. Van Ark — and making it look like suicide. Good luck trying to top either of those episodes, Kevin, and thanks for bringing back some fun memories, kind sir.)

Julie Roberts — “Break Down Here” (from Julie Roberts) —

Was I the only one devastated this past Monday night when not one of the four judges on NBC’s thrilling singing competion The Voice — not even fellow country artist Blake Shelton, who has made her acquaintance in the past and who was clearly heartbroken when he realized whose fine vocal stylings he had failed to recognize — turned his or her chair around for the magnificent Roberts, who was so desperately resolute in her determination to steal a second shot in the spotlight after a series of personal setbacks wiped out her once-promising career? Granted, her wobbly take on Shelton’s smash “God Gave Me You” was perhaps not the finest showcase for Roberts’ still-potent pipes, but I was rooting hard for her nonetheless, if only because I still clearly remember the blinding brilliance of her profoundly powerful 2004 debut album, as fine a collection of torch songs and burning ballads as Nashville has produced in the last two decades. That record, for reasons that still remain unclear to me, failed to make a serious dent in the country charts that year: “Here,” the stunning lead single, barely clawed its way into the top 20 at country radio, and its two follow-up tracks (including “Wake Up Older,” a gorgeously harrowing chronicle of an unfulfilling one night stand) hardly made it above number 50. A poorly-promoted sophomore effort stiffed a couple of years later, marking the end of the line for Roberts’ first stab at fame. Seeing her on national television the other night (for the first time in years!) served as a strong reminder that although said fame can be fickle and fleeting, talent always finds a way to re-emerge.

One of the rare creative high points in what has become yet another disappointing television season for NBC has been Ryan Murphy’s charmingly deranged dramedy The New Normal, which, with its stories on love, civil rights, fairness within the evolving social fabric, and the ties that bind us together — hardly paint-by-numbers, laugh-a-minute sitcom fodder — has offered up a fresh new twist on typical prime-time family fare. Among the sterling standouts of Normal‘s instantly winning ensemble has been the lovely lass Georgia King, who was already a star in the United Kingdom long before she took these shores by storm in the role of Goldie, a naive young Midwestern woman who winds up carrying as a surrogate a baby for a pair of California men — one of whom is portrayed by Broadway veteran Andrew Rannells, with whom I spoke earlier this year — desperate for a child of their own. Normal ends its first season this very evening on NBC with a special hourlong finale episode which will presumably showcase the conclusion of the pregnancy in question; I spoke with King a few months back about her entree into American television, keeping a straight face in a cast of utter cut-ups, and how in blazes she manages to hide that Scottish accent so impeccably.

BRANDON’S BUZZ: Having watched every episode of your show, I didn’t have the foggiest clue until I started reading up on you, in preparation of speaking with you, that you aren’t even an American actress! You’ve done an utterly marvelous job of masking and losing altogether your Scottish brogue!

GEORGIA KING: [Laughs] I forget myself that I’m doing another accent [for the show], to be honest, and the shock on peoples’ faces during Emmy weekend [last year] was enough to sort of jog my memory. I don’t stay in character [on set] either, so I’m there going — [assumes full Scottish accent] — “Hellooo, cup of tea!” And then it’s, “Action!” and we go straight for it.

I don’t know what it is. My mum is an opera singer, and I’m thinking maybe — I don’t know if that makes you, musically, quite good with hearing accents, or if I inherited some genetic [talent] from her. But I’ve certainly worked on it, and I certainly listen. I’ve spent a lot of time chatting with people from the Midwest just to double-check, and I definitely want to make sure I do a good job. But I’m focusing so much on the character’s pain and struggle and excitement and joy, all these different things that Goldie goes through, and I focus on that so hard that I tend to forget that the accent, to a lot of people, is shocking.

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Flo Rida (with the Bingo Players) — “I Cry” (from Wild Ones) —

In a trend that I can wholeheartedly support — if only because it draws attention to one of the greatest songs in the history of great songs, and that’s always a good thing — it has seemingly become quite trendy to construct upbeat hip-hop tunes around the still-thrilling chorus of Brenda Russell’s unforgettable 1988 classic “Piano in the Dark.” (Literally, I had to grab my own self by the hair the other morning and drag my clicking fingers away from the iTunes music store, where I bought so many such songs that I nearly gave myself carpal tunnel.) Flo is riding a hot hand of late, thanks to his smash collaborations with David Guetta and Sia — not to mention his ravishingly raunchy top 10 crossover hit “Whistle,” the lust-drunk lyrics of which make me blush urry time it pops up in a shuffle — and this irresistible slice of fierce fluff feels like one more triumph in a growing string of same. (In case you missed it, I had an absorbing conversation with Ms. Russell four years ago on Brandon’s Buzz Radio, and during the course of that chat, in what I would place amongst the show’s top ten most fascinating anecdotes, she revealed how “Piano” came to exist in the first place, and how — nonsensically — it almost wasn’t released as a single at all. The privilege of being able to ask Brenda the questions that elicited her stunning story stands as one of the highlights of my life, and if you’re at all a fan of great music, it’s sure to brighten your day.)

The 55th Annual Grammy Awards have arrived, thankfully with much less agita surrounding them this year than last, when my dear Miss Whitney passed away the night before the ceremony, a tragedy that cast an impenetrable pall over the entire event. This year, the focus is thankfully back on the music, and how: for the first time in I-don’t-know-how-the-hell-long, each of the four primary races seems to be a total toss-up heading into the home stretch, which suggests we could be in for some big surprises on Sunday night. (It would also appear to portend that a great many prognosticators will come away from these awards looking and feeling like big ol’ fools; as the great Dan Rather once said on Tom Snyder’s brilliant old CBS chat show, “He who lives by the crystal ball learns to eat a lot of broken glass.”) Still, I have a decent batting average with these predictions — which are made all the more tough by the fact that Recording Academy’s tastes can sometimes be notoriously difficult to pin down — over the history of this blog, and I’m feeling incredibly brave as I type this. Ergo, allow me to break down the major Grammy contests:

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Son Volt — “Drown” (from Trace) —

Because we had gift cards and certificates whose dates of expiration were quickly approaching, A and I took dinner the other night at our local Logan’s Roadhouse, whereupon we happened to get paired with the most charmingly ingratiating waitress I’ve ever met. Throughout the course of our mighty tasty meal (which was capped off by a most creative dessert: the cutest miniature metal buckets filled with various fruity cheesecake and brownie a la mode concoctions), we learned far more about our perky server — from her love of meat loaf to her odd Brady-Bunch-esque family arrangement involving her fiance’s ex and their collective brood — than we could ever have hoped to know. She didn’t even mind when I would occasionally burst into song, as I did when this forgotten classic from 1996 spilled out from the restaurant’s speakers and I felt impelled to jam. (I hadn’t heard this one in forever, but I had an instant memory of driving Sherry Ann mad playing it over and over again back in the day, and I have vowed to do the same to A — who was a bit nonplussed by this fabulous tune’s obvious charms; he claimed he could barely hear it, and I retorted he was barely listening — until he’s every bit as much in love with this song as I am.)

Matthew Perryman Jones & Mindy Smith — “Anymore of This”
(from Anymore of This) —

Smith and Jones aren’t exactly household names — yet, mark well — but for us fans of bubbling-under, angst-ified indie rock, this heavyweight collaboration is, in its own peculiarly subtle way, roughly as earth-shakingly momentous as that time those divine divas Whitney Houston and George Michael decided to blow minds worldwide and team up for one of the all-time great bitchfests. I know not if this is a one-off or merely an appetizing morsel portending more such duets to come, but no matter: “This” is a tender, dreamlike, wrenchingly sweet alliance.

Four months in, who is making the unlikeliest splash of the television season? Look no further than the dashing Andrew Rannells. A Nebraska native who has already taken the New York theater scene by storm with starring roles in the Broadway hits Hairspray, Jersey Boys, and The Book of Mormon (which netted him a 2011 Tony Award nod), Rannells has made a stunningly seamless transition to the small screen this year, with a recurring role on HBO’s buzz-magnet cultural phenom Girls (which has just returned for its second season, fresh off a surprise Golden Globe win for Best Comedy Series), and a star turn in NBC’s dementedly sweet-natured smash sitcom The New Normal, which has been a key player in its network’s ratings resurgence this season and which emerged as one of the precious few bright spots from a largely languid slate of fall debuts. I spoke with Rannells a few months back, just as Normal was getting off the ground, about the stresses of his transition to television, about working with a cast of bona-fide scene stealers, and about his desire to make his set’s crew members chuckle whenever possible.

BRANDON’S BUZZ: So, you’re kind of the man of the moment, sir!

ANDREW RANNELLS: Well, um… [laughs] I guess! I don’t know; I’m having a lot of fun, I know that!

You know, every television season, the people who decide these things choose upon whom they’re gonna bestow that elusive thing called “buzz” and, for whatever reason, you seem to have won that lottery this year. Is that a weird feeling?

It is a weird feeling. I’ve been plugging along as an actor in New York for a long time now, and it’s certainly nice to get some extra recognition. But I still feel like — you know, I’m just doing my job.

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Dionne Warwick — “It Was Almost Like a Song”
(from Now: A Celebratory 50th Anniversary Album) —

Marking her golden anniversary in the bidness, the glorious Warwick — whose debut single “Don’t Make Me Over” became an instant smash upon its release exactly fifty years ago this month — is back with a newly re-recorded collection of her classics, which, as one might expect, leans heavily on her masterful collaborations with Burt Bacharach and the recently deceased Hal David. You’d think she’d have tossed in a new take on “Heartbreaker” or “Finder of Lost Loves” for the ’80s lite-FM freaks in her fan base (hint: me me me me me), but I’ll take what I can get, especially considering that a) Lady Dee still has a remarkable command of her voice, which remains impeccable; and b) she does throw us a curveball or two in this album’s tracklist, among them this restrained, riveting cover of an old Ronnie Milsap chestnut. (I can’t even tell how good it does my heart to see Miss Dionne crawling back into her comfy wheelhouse, as heretofore, her most memorable accomplishments of the past two decades have been that whole Psychic Friends fiasco and calling supermodel Niki Taylor a “hussy” behind her back in an instant classic Celebrity Apprentice catfight. In other words: welcome the hell back, lady.)

NBC’s indomitable warship soap Days of Our Lives celebrated its 47th birthday last week (and will air its 12,000th episode come January), and for roughly thirty of those years — give or take a primetime furlough or two, during which time she reigned supreme on such smash shows as Falcon Crest and Melrose Place — the radiant, criminally gorgeous Kristian Alfonso has remained front and center as the show’s primary distressed damsel, Hope Williams Brady. It seems fair to say that Hope’s future has rarely been more in flux: Alfonso’s longtime co-star Peter Reckell has just vacated Salem, bringing to an end — at least temporarily — one of the most storied romances in daytime history, and Alfonso now faces a frame of time breathing life into Fancy Face without her beloved Bo by her side. The Buzz had the great fortune of speaking with Alfonso by telephone a few weeks back, during which conversation we dug into all of the above, as well as her thoughts on the undying loyalty of Days’ ardent fans and the current shaky state of daytime drama as a commercially viable genre of entertainment.

BRANDON’S BUZZ: Don’t let me make you feel old here, but next year marks thirty years since your debut as Hope Williams Brady —

KRISTIAN ALFONSO: I think you’re right! And you know what: I embrace every single year!

Could you have possibly fathomed that we’d be sitting here in 2012 still hopelessly enchanted by the magic of Bo and Hope?

No! No, and I am so thrilled that I am still on Days and that I get to walk through those doors every day. Seriously, it’s a thrill, every single day, and I still get nervous. I still get butterflies! Peter [Reckell, Bo] teased me about that; he [would say], “Are you nervous today?” And I’m like, “I-I-I — I am! I feel the butterflies in my stomach!” And he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

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Gladys Knight — “Licence to Kill”
(from Licence to Kill [Original Motion Picture Soundtrack]) —

In honor of James Bond’s triumphant return to the world’s cinemas (with a $90 million weekend at the North American box office alone for the latest installment, Skyfall), I’d like a moment of appreciation for my own personal favorite Bond theme, which would have been a well-deserved smash in the spring of 1990 had the film itself not been such a commercial dud. Decades later, it’s still brills. (As for the current title theme, written and performed by the peerless Adele: A professed his love for the tune after seeing the film Saturday night, but I find it a bit meh. It’s certainly lush and alluring, and Adele predictably gives it her all vocally, but the verses just meander aimlessly and the chorus lacks one of those trademark grab-ya-by-the-guts hooks that her gunnysack full of Grammys proves she knows how to craft. In a recent string of red-hot successes, “Skyfall” leaves me cold.)