NBC and Conan reach Deal on "Tonight Show"

(CNN) -- Conan O'Brien will vacate his "Tonight Show" seat to make room for former host Jay Leno, NBC confirmed Thursday.

"NBC and Conan O'Brien have reached a resolution of the issues surrounding O'Brien's contract to host 'The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien,' " NBC said in a statement.

"Under terms of an agreement that was signed earlier today, NBC and O'Brien will settle their contractual obligations and the network will release O'Brien from his contract, freeing him to pursue other opportunities after September 1, 2010."

O'Brien will make his final appearance as host of "The Tonight Show" on Friday.

Leno will return as host of "The Tonight Show" on March 1, the network said in a separate statement.

"We're pleased that Jay is returning to host the franchise that he helmed brilliantly and successfully for many years," said Jeff Gaspin, chairman of NBC Universal Television Entertainment. "He is an enormous talent, a consummate professional and one of the hardest-working performers on television."
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Leno -- who will keep many of his old "Tonight" features -- will take over for O'Brien in the 11:35 p.m. time slot, followed by Jimmy Fallon at 12:35 a.m.

Although the network had been strangely silent about the deals happening behind the scenes, off-the-record sources have popped up in a number of press reports, leaking details about the difficult negotiations between O'Brien and NBC.

When the news first broke that the Peacock Network was going to nix its failed prime-time talk show experiment and move "The Jay Leno Show" to 11:35 p.m., it was clear that O'Brien had a handful of options: he could stay with the network as the host of "The Tonight Show" at 12:05 a.m.; head over to Fox, the only network to openly express interest in O'Brien; or wash his hands of NBC altogether.

O'Brien released a statement last week telling the "people of Earth" that moving the show to 12:05 a.m. would be against his principles, and that he wouldn't host the show if it had to air at that hour.

NBC, on the other hand, didn't appear to budge on its earlier statement that Leno would kick off the late-night roundup at 11:35. At that point, it was evident to industry insiders that it was only a matter of time before O'Brien and NBC reached an agreement that left O'Brien as the odd-host out.

This eventual outcome was heightened when Dick Ebersol, chairman of NBC Universal Sports, told the New York Times that it was "chicken-hearted and gutless" for O'Brien to continuously place the blame at Leno's feet in his nightly monologues, when he couldn't beat the guy in ratings.

However, since O'Brien has fallen victim to the domino effect of NBC's prime-time problem, his ratings have been on an upswing, while Leno's have stayed marginally the same.

But perhaps that rise in ratings -- which can easily be attributed to the very public fallout -- is a case of too little, too late.

Last week, NBC executives started sitting down with O'Brien's team to hash out the contract logistics and determine a settlement, rumored to be in the ballpark of $40 million.

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Amerie Review

Amerie wants to be more than a '1 Thing' wonder
By Chris Richards
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, November 1, 2009

NEW YORK -- It's lunchtime at Seraphina in Midtown Manhattan and Amerie is ransacking her purse, searching for a shaker of Himalayan salt.

"It has the same pH balance as our tears," the 29-year-old singer explains.

Half diva, half brainiac, this is a Georgetown University graduate who likes to read science magazines while she prepares for her latest photo shoot, a team of handlers fussing over her hair.

But most know Amerie as the voice behind 2005's chart-topping R&B single "1 Thing." With its bursts of percussion and ribbons of insistent melody, the song remains one of our decade's most revelatory pieces of pop music. "It's this one thing and I was so with it," she belts on the song's delirious refrain. "It's this one thing you did."

On Tuesday, Amerie will try to do it again with "In Love & War," her first U.S. release after a lengthy four-year absence. Weaving urgent melodies through sandpapery beats, it's an album tailor-made to stand out in an era where R&B singers are often treated as interchangeable parts in the great American pop machine.

"On the radio, you have a lot of artists sounding like each other," Amerie says between bites of bruschetta. "They don't really sound like themselves -- they just sound like the producer who did the record. To me that's super-whack."

Super-whack, indeed. In a world where uber-producers like The-Dream, Timbaland and Danja often play musical chairs with pop's A-list vocal cords, listening to the radio can have a particularly numbing effect -- one that makes Amerie's grittiness feel all the more resonant.

You can hear it in lead single "Why R U" -- a pining love song with a scrappy boom-bap track courtesy of the production team the Buchanans. Unlike the chorus of "1 Thing," here our hero finds herself suspended in a different type of romantic disbelief: "Why are you the only thing that I care about? . . . Baby, you're no good for me, no!" Her vocal trills morph into growls as the beat threatens to boil over. "I like to work with people who are willing to create something with me, versus just giving me just their off-the-rack track," Amerie says of her collaborators. "I didn't come here to get a such-and-such record, I came here to get an Amerie record that we're gonna create together."


That desire for complete control came to a head in 2007 when Amerie decided to shelve her then-forthcoming disc, "Because I Love It." The album would have been her third U.S. release for Columbia Records, but the singer had grown skeptical of her paymasters and put the project in cold storage as she plotted a move to hip-hop powerhouse Def Jam, where she's currently signed.

"There was just too much turmoil on the executive level," she says of the lack of promotion she felt at her old label. "If it's not gonna be put out right, I don't want to do it."

The transition to Def Jam comes after a life of endless transitions. Eldest daughter of a U.S. Army family, Amerie Rogers was born in Massachusetts, but quickly moved to her mother's native Korea. Then to Texas. Then to Germany, back to Texas, and eventually to Alaska, where she graduated from high school.

Along the way, she glommed on to a wide spectrum of pop, developing an affinity for Michael Jackson, Barbra Streisand, Marvin Gaye, Madonna, the Beastie Boys, the "Grease" soundtrack and whatever else her parents were playing on the family stereo. "We always had soul music in the house," Amerie says. "And my mom listened to a lot of traditional Korean music" -- a drum-and-vocal-centric form that undoubtedly influenced her approach.

When her family relocated to Fort Lee, Va., in 1998, Amerie wanted to stay close. So she enrolled at Georgetown. She would major in English and minor in fine arts, but began pursuing her pop ambitions full steam. "Socializing was nonexistent," she says of her student days.

She eventually crossed paths with local producer Rich Harrison and formed a partnership that would launch their respective careers. "A lot of the [music] that I was encountering was soft and melodic R&B stuff and I'm not really into that," says Amerie. "I like a more aggressive sound. That was just so hard to find. That blend of aggression and prettiness."

But Harrison had it. He produced her entire debut album, 2002's "All I Have," as well as "1 Thing," and other standout tracks from her 2005 sophomore disc, "Touch." The duo haven't collaborated since, but Amerie wants to change that.

"Hopefully, we'll work together on the next project," she says. "I really want to. I'm always thinking about the next thing."

But today she has a new album to promote, and a car whisks her away from the restaurant to the studios of "106 & Park," the long-standing video countdown show on BET. The program's brightly colored soundstage is packed with teenagers coached to scream with all of their being, creating an ambience that sounds like pandemonium. If the network could find a way to harness the wind energy generated by these teenage lungs, it might be enough to power the blinding klieg lights overhead.

After the hosts' introduction, Amerie glides onto the stage to present her new video for "Heard 'Em All," a song with sharp, clashing synths that match the video's post-apocalyptic imagery. Three minutes later, the music fades and the audience cheers -- though the teens look a little dazed by the tune's aggression. This isn't the sweet, cookie-cutter R&B they're used to. Amerie knows when to add salt.

This Is It Movie Review

By Chris Richards
Thursday, October 29, 2009

"This Is It," the new Michael Jackson concert film, has been billed as a rare glimpse into the creative psyche that defined pop music's shape and trajectory. But this isn't a concert film. It's a rehearsal film -- and one that will leave Jackson's most zealous fans waiting for goose bumps that never arrive.
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MOVIE REVIEW: 'This Is It' doesn't do justice to M.J.'s magic


Filmed at the Staples Center in Los Angeles between March and June, "This Is It" captures the King of Pop prepping for a 50-night run at London's O2 Arena. But after the singer's death shocked the planet on June 25, the extensive rehearsal footage -- intended for Jackson's personal archive -- was quickly cobbled into a feature-length documentary that landed in theaters on Wednesday.

Must the show really go on? At best, "This Is It" is a mere sketch of what Jackson seemed capable of delivering in London, with the King of Pop only half-singing, half-dancing through his most rousing hits. Stiff and frail, he paces the stage, during "Wanna Be Starting Something," as if mulling things over in his mind. At times, he appears almost lost inside himself.

And so it goes for nearly two hours. Jackson emerges from a mechanical spider during "Thriller," he rides a cherry picker during "Beat It," he hustles through a medley of Jackson 5 tunes including "I Want You Back" and "I'll Be There." As the latter song fades, he cracks a rare smile, basking in phantom adulation.

Dramatic pauses abound during rehearsal (imagine roaring fans here, here and here), but when the singer flicks his wrist, his band best not miss it. Jackson tut-tuts over a few missed cues, but otherwise his direction is fussy and inarticulate.

During "The Way You Make Me Feel," he softly chides his musicians for not letting the intro "simmer." You can almost see the question marks materializing over their heads.

Not the case with Kenny Ortega -- his noggin seems to produce only exclamation points of agreement. He's the director of both the concert and the film, and he shepherds Jackson through these rehearsals with a true yes-man's adulation. ("I agree, Michael," he declares after Jackson quasi-resolves things with "The Way You Make Me Feel.")


Along with Ortega's generous screen time, there's plenty of other inconsequential footage: tech dudes grunting as they schlep gear; costume designers explaining which sequins are shiniest; a guitarist who says how excited she is to work with Michael Jackson, followed by a second guitarist who says how excited he is to work with Michael Jackson.

And the poor dancers. You'd really hope to see Jackson enjoy a spontaneous moment with these incredible talents as they pop and lock around their idol, but all they get is a hand-holding circle where the singer speaks in fuzzy platitudes about adventure and love and saving the planet.

The film's one undeniably human moment comes during "I Just Can't Stop Loving You," with Jackson finally allowing himself to be swept into the music, singing full throttle. But despite the crew's excitement (and ours), he cuts it short: "I have to save my voice."

For a man who so desperately wanted to show us perfection -- or at least project the illusion of it -- Jackson would never, ever want us to see this film.

This Is It (111 minutes, at area theaters) is rated PG for suggestive choreography and scary images.

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Review of Maxwell Performance Washington Post

Suddenly, It's Again Maxwell's House
Neo-Soul Singer Rides A Surprise Comeback

Maxwell charmed fans in Richmond on Wednesday, just one stop on his biggest tour ever.
Maxwell charmed fans in Richmond on Wednesday, just one stop on his biggest tour ever. (By Jay Paul For The Washington Post)

On the heels of hit album "BLACKsummers'night," Maxwell woos the Richmond crowd on Wednesday night. He plays Verizon Center on Friday.
On the heels of hit album "BLACKsummers'night," Maxwell woos the Richmond crowd on Wednesday night. He plays Verizon Center on Friday. (By Jay Paul For The Washington Post)

By Chris Richards
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, October 2, 2009

RICHMOND -- Wednesday afternoon. Six hours till showtime. Maxwell is lounging in the cheap seats of the Richmond Coliseum, watching his road crew assemble the stage as if it were giant, real-life game of Tetris.

Just a year ago, the resurgent superstar would have been able to attend a concert here -- even sit in this very seat -- without garnering a squeal, a smile or a second glance. But when the lights go down later in the night, a packed house will greet the singer with grown-woman shrieks usually reserved for the likes of Al Green.

Call it a comeback that no one saw coming -- including Maxwell. His latest album, "BLACKsummers'night," debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard chart in July, officially ending a multiyear hiatus from the stage, the radio and the ever-bourgeoning blogosphere. Now the prodigiously gifted, intensely private 36-year-old is enjoying the biggest tour of his career.

"BLACKsummers'night" has sold 779,000 copies in the United States, according to Nielsen SoundScan -- 55,000 of which were snatched up in Washington. The singer says the District is his strongest market -- a fact evidenced by lead single "Pretty Wings," which has taken up permanent residence on local airwaves since early summer. It's a resplendent slow jam adorned with haunting gamelan chimes -- and he'll surely be crooning it when the BLACKsummers'night Tour lands at Verizon Center on Friday night. (Remaining tickets are expected to sell out before showtime, according to a Verizon Center spokesperson.)

So where's he been? Maxwell smiles at the question and says his exile was entirely self-imposed -- an attempt to reclaim his anonymity and the regular-dude love life that went with it. He recounts his time away in fond tones and a sandpapery rasp that belies his gravity-defying falsetto.

"I think by taking that break and living a life and meeting girls who actually didn't know who I was, where I didn't have to rest on those laurels and actually had to work for it instead of just having it fall in my lap -- that actually made ["BLACKsummers'night"] appealing to the masses," he says. "It made them sort of believe me more."
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It also reaffirmed the faith of older fans who had been following Maxwell since the glory days of neo-soul -- the late-'90s movement that adopted a heady, old-school ethos in hopes of vanquishing the bling-encrusted hip-hop of the day.

Some of neo-soul's biggest stars were venerated too fast, too soon, and disappeared into the shadows of their own success. After watching Lauryn Hill and D'Angelo derail, fans wondered if Maxwell's premature exit was something beyond his control.

"I think people just assumed something had to be wrong," he says. "'Why wouldn't he want to be famous?'"

Well, why?

"Fame . . . it kind of kills the humanity and the humility of music for some reason," he says. "You're like this product all of a sudden and you have to stay in this Superman costume with people telling you that if you cut your hair, your career is over."

The iconic, blown-out Afro that he's referring to wasn't the only thing that made Maxwell famous -- but it helped. He first emerged in 1996 with "Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite" -- a stunning debut album that would eventually go double platinum. His reputation grew through 1998's "Embrya" and 2001's "Now," and his myth solidified when he vanished soon after. When the world finally tugged him back toward music, he heard the call coming from the speakers of a drug store.

"I'd be going into Duane Reade to get, like, Palmer's Cocoa Butter or get my girl tampons or whatever, and there's some song playing that I wrote five years ago," says Maxwell, remembering the little moments that eventually motivated him to start writing again.

By 2008, he had started work on a trio of albums that would share the title "BLACKSUMMERS'NIGHT." (The gospel-centric "BlackSUMMERS'-night" lands in 2010; a quiet-storming "Blacksummers'-NIGHT" is promised in 2011.)

When the first installment dropped in July, it felt sly and subversive, boasting a live band with a delicate touch. The recording has all the hallmarks of a throwback soul album: hot horns, skittery drums, bass lines that lurk before they pounce. But beneath that vintage facade lies an ocean of sonic detail that doesn't really sound like a product of its time -- or any before it.

Maxwell is quick to cite the unexpected influence of indie artists Arcade Fire and Fleet Foxes. "It's funny how much more rock I listen to," he says. "R&B and soul -- it's so computerized now. . . . I knew that 'BLACKsummers'night' needed to sound live. That was the only way it was gonna sound different to people on the radio."

Now, headlining bigger venues than ever before, the singer faces the challenge of delivering that sound and all its nuances to the deepest nosebleeds.

"I want everyone," he says, tracing a crazy shape in the air with his index finger. "I want them to all to know that I feel them."

In Richmond on Wednesday night, they certainly felt him. The singer took the stage in a crisply tailored suit straight out of Motown and strutted down a Y-shaped runway, women grasping at his shiny black loafers.

The performance pushed two hours and included the ever-charming "Sumthin' Sumthin'," a cover of Al Green's "Simply Beautiful," the famously lithe version of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" and a sublime finale of "Pretty Wings."

Soaring, roaring and panting in all the right places, his delivery put him on the doorstep of a pantheon inhabited by Marvin Gaye and Prince -- those superhuman singers who protect their incredible gifts with a fierce sense of privacy.
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The balance hasn't been lost on Maxwell. "All of the greats -- there was something about them. And you knew just enough, and hopefully it just circulates around the music," he says. "Now, it's so difficult to have mystique."

He shakes his head, purses his lips, soaks up the fan's-eye-view before the final pieces of the stage lock into place.

"I'm one of these people -- I don't wanna know how the magic trick is done."