2012 December 14
A cold doesn't get in Sergio Kletnoy's way this week, at least not entirely; there are also some excellent music recs (obvi!), and a Kardashian run-in for Joanna Coles' assistant at Cosmo. Feel better, SK!
Ever since I was a toddler I wanted to be a singer. Unfortunately, this Russian-Jew was born with chops only good enough for when the shower is on to hide my off-key delivery, and only while someone else’s voice is blaring through the speakers. Today, my envy for those who can croon reached fever pitch, I got to meet one of my fave British newcomers, Jessie Ware, best described as Sade-meets-Lisa Stansfield-meets-Adele. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with her sensual purr or her erotic whine. Her voice is like butter, a soulful, deep, moody and powerful instrument that made me feel every note, every key, every word from the very first time I heard Jessie open her mouth. During our brief encounter, before a mind-blowing first-ever U.S. performance at The Box, Jessie told me she was a British Jew. A sister from another mother! And all I could think about was “Why not me? Why can’t I sing like her?” And then a light bulb went off: if I was a practicing Jew, who went to the temple, celebrated the holidays and didn’t get tattoos, I would be the one performing at The Box and singing my heart out. I used to laugh at all those no-voice fools auditioning for X-Factor, American Idol and The Voice, but I am suddenly realizing that I, just like them, just want to sing. Back to Jessie: her debut album, Devotion, is a classic, passionate, soulful must-have. Every song tells a story; my favorite, “Wildest Moments," is a masterpiece! In fact, it is so hot that it could melt the coldest of winters. Who needs global warming? Let’s just play Jessie on repeat. The full-length album will be out in the spring. If you cannot wait, a five-song EP, “If You're Never Gonna Move” is out in January.
Today I felt like four of the seven dwarfs: sleepy, sneezy, grumpy and dopey. Yup, I’m sick and I’m blaming JoCo for passing on her cold torch. I’ve been fighting it for the last three weeks, but it’s finally caught up with me. Here’s some advice: STAY AWAY FROM ME IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU! The only thing I’m looking forward to is getting in bed with a cocktail of Mucinex, Aleve D and Theraflu as soon as I get home. Grrrrrr.
Damn you cold. Damn you for making me feel like all those sickos in 28 Days Later and Outbreak combined. Maybe not as bad, but I need sympathy, goddammit! A tiny ray of light came upon me when Grace Codddington’s new book arrived in the mail (thanks, Random House), followed by five new songs from Dido (thanks, RCA Music) and three huge cases of Diet Coke (thanks, The Coca-Cola Company). Fingers crossed Apple hears how sick I am and sends me the new iPhone 5 for Christmas. Later in the afternoon, Rob Kardashian stopped by the office to show off his Arthur George sock line and was so thoughtful to THE BOSS: He brought her an awesome pair of British socks, but he wasn't thoughtful enough to bring me a Russian pair. Oh well. After work, the entire staff was off to Providence, across the street from Hearst, for the Cosmo holiday party. Of course, I was still feeling sick, but I put on my sorta-happy face and joined the fun and fearless crew for a drink or two or three. Anything to numb this cold.
I came in early to finish my February music page for Marie Claire. I think it’s some of my best work, just in time for Valentines day (or those who loathe it) and my 15 favorite songs of the year for Comopolitan.com. Let me know what you think. And for the rest of the day I will be counting down the minutes until I can rush home, get in bed and watch Project Runway All Stars with special judge Kylie Minogue and THE BOSS of course.
Obsessed: “Aaliyah," brilliant dance ditty by Katy B, Jessie Ware & Geeneus; “Radioactive," my favorite song from Jay-Z protégée Rita Ora’s debut album; “Love And War” by Toni Braxton’s lil’ sis, Tamar Braxton; “Clown," the best song from Emeli Sande’s underappreciated first album; dark and beautiful “Mirrors” by a Jhene Aiko; the eighties-sounding “Don’t Save Me” by Los Angeles born sisters HAIM; and finally, “Miss Atomic Bomb," one of the best songs on The Killers’ latest album. Have a great weekend and I’ll be back next week. Until then, follow me on Twitter at @SergioKletnoy for all the latest in pop culture.
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