Khaleel – Interview

A sexy male voice boomed through the open auditorium doors, “Yes! Yes! Yeeesss!”

That sounded interesting. I stepped into Salt Lake City’s Kingsbury Hall. Preparing to headline for Rusted Root, Bob Khaleel, a former rapper once known as Bronx Style Bob and Rolling Stone’s 1992 artist of the year, stood on stage with his band performing a sound check. Khaleel cued the band and they burst into his hit single “No Mercy.” The air throbbed with charismatic energy.

As I walked past empty red velvet seats that would soon full for the sold-out concert, Khaleel’s manager approached me. Hollywood Records hadn’t told him about my interview.

He saw my disappointment. “We’ll work it in. Let me speak with Bob.” He motioned me to a front-row seat and jumped up on stage.

After listening to his manager, Khaleel smiled at me. He said, “Can you hang out while we do the sound check?”

“Sure,” I replied. This was not a problem considering that I had a front-row seat for a personal concert.

Our photographer, Linda, arrived to shoot Khaleel and joined me. Kim, in charge of productions, accompanied her. Kim had come to ensure a smooth interview and photo shoot. Kim and Linda enjoyed the music as I told them about the delay. Kim’s bright eyes flashed. “While Khaleel’s working, I’ll go track down Rusted Root.”

She ran by several times. Ten minutes later she came back and asked, “Can you interview Jim DiSpirito, Rusted Root’s percussionist?”

I picked up my tape recorder, shaking my head. “That didn’t take you long.”

“Just doing my job,” she grinned. “He’s waiting backstage.” Linda and I followed Kim up onto the stage.

Jim DiSpirito looked like the boy next door with his friendly eyes, green plaid jacket, jeans, and brown boots. He shook my hand warmly.

We decided to take advantage of the temperate spring evening and moved outside. Breathing in the scent of pines and newly melted snow, Jim good-naturedly posed for pictures. He flashed an amused smile at Linda’s energy as she directed him. Kim buzzed around, helping Linda.

Jim and I sat on a waist-high concrete wall for the interview. I asked, “What’s the most interesting percussion instrument you’ve used?

He laughed. “A trash can.”

“I saw Stomp. They’ve made a lot of money doing that.”

He replied, “They sure have. Actually, the Indian drums that I play fascinate me. They’re really complicated and hard to play and the music tradition behind them interests me. It’s based on poetry. It’s something I love, and it’s really deep.”

He flashed a big smile. It was obvious he meant it.

“I read you’re an ethnomusicologist. What is that?” I asked.

“Enthnomusicology is musicology focused on non-western musical traditions. It’s a cross-disciplinary field combining cultural anthropology and music.”

“For example?”

“For example, I studied North Indian classical music from India.”

As the interview progressed, it was obvious that Jim had a warm sense of humor and a broad base of knowledge. It is no wonder that his music has gone platinum. He answered all of my questions and promised to have the band autograph photos for us. (for full interview transcription with jim DiSpirito, click here

Back inside, Bob Khaleel had finished the sound check. We found him in his dressing room. I looked around. No gold-encrusted M&Ms, just hot water, tea bags, honey, bottled water, and tortilla chips.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said. The make-up mirrors lining the walls reflected his smooth bronze skin and soulful eyes, the color of honey poured over chocolate. He took a seat facing me. Linda began blinding us with her flash. Kim remained standing.

Khaleel reached over and grabbed what looked like a jar full of honey. He gulped down several mouthfuls.

“Did you just drink straight honey?” I asked.

“It’s good for my throat, coats it. Want some?”

“No!” I shook my head. “You’ve stated, ‘Music is a cafeteria to provide food for thought.’ What thoughts do you hope to inspire?”

“Goodwill, free love. I miss that free love. I’m bumming hard.”

He smiled and drank tea this time.

“Hopefully I’ll inspire people to think for themselves, not just buy into what they’re told. That’s what I’m trying to get across; think for yourself and be thorough about it.”

He was easy to interview, honest and sincere. (for full interview transcription with khaleel, click here)

After the interview was finished he asked, “You guys wanna hang out backstage during the concert?”

We collectively answered “Yes!”

It was almost time for his concert to begin. We set up chairs offstage to the left, where we’d be able to watch the performance from fifteen feet away. No longer needing our tickets, we decided to give them away.

Outside, several fans milled around looking disappointed. A twenty-something, male flower child type held a sign begging for tickets. Next to him stood two female friends with long hair and tie-dyes, obvious die-hard Rusted Root fans. We gave them our tickets.

One girl exclaimed, “Oh, no way! Thank you! Thank you!” She had tears in her eyes. I thought of Jim DiSpirito, who would take the stage later, playing to fans teary-eyed with desire.

Back inside, while waiting for the concert to begin, Kim, Linda, and I chatted with Khaleel and members of his band.

Lawrence Katz, a guitarist wearing a Robin Hood hat with two jaunty feathers, had enjoyed last night’s Alanis Morrissette show in Denver. “We’re heading across town to her concert after we finish playing.”

“And we’re with you, right?” Kim joked.

He looked at her. “We could get you in.”

“It’s sold out,” Kim sighed.

Lawrence smiled. “Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re friends with her band.”

Before Kim could close her mouth, the tour manager called him away. Excited, we took our seats offstage.

The band blasted into action, Khaleel wowing fans with his melted-chocolate voice: smooth, deep, and so, so sweet. His effortless stage presence further entranced listeners.

Leading into “It’s a Shame”, Khaleel said, “It’s too bad we lose contact with old friends. This song was written in memory of lost friendships.” Fans swayed to his heartfelt rendition of the emotional song.

“No Mercy”, an environmentalist plea with steel-drummed Caribbean undertones, was the crowd’s favorite. The audience clapped in rhythm as if underlining the song’s green message.

Kim turned to me. “All I’ve eaten today is a bagel. I’m starved.” My stomach growled. My watch read eight-thirty, and we’d be leaving for the Morissette show soon. If we wanted to eat, it would have to be now. We decided to hunt down something quick.

By luck, we ran into Khaleel’s caterer. She led us downstairs and through a long hall to a Mexican feast. There was a monitor in the room so we could still enjoy the show. Kim, a size two, loaded a plate with a taco, rice, fruit, and tortilla chips. Linda and I grabbed plates.

I bit into a fajita. The food was good. Then the band finished playing.

Kim panicked, “Oh no! We have to get back upstairs.” She regretfully eyed the taco in her hand. We left the food and ran.

We made it just as the band exited the stage. “Great show!” I said. “It was fun watching from backstage.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.” Khaleel smiled.

Bam! Without warning, Linda blinded us with her flash.

Lawrence blinked to clear his vision. He said, “Playtime. Let’s go hang out at Alanis.”

The band piled into two cars. Lawrence jumped in with Linda, Kim, and I. We led the caravan to the E Center, future home of Olympic spectacles, where Morissette had bumped the Utah Grizzly Hockey Team for use of the large stadium.

Lawrence told us that long tours can be grueling, but he enjoys traveling. He said it costs the record label $15,000 a week to keep the band on the road. “Where is this E Center? You’re not kidnapping me?” he asked, thirty minutes into the ride.

We explained that road construction for the Olympics had destroyed Salt Lake City’s freeway system. We eventually arrived and everyone piled from the cars. Khaleel and Lawrence approached the ticket window and returned with tickets for the sold-out show. I had expected to sit at the very top of the stadium, but we ended up on the floor. In front.

Morrissette wailed lyrics in her unique pathos-filled voice, mouthing those words of hers that hit fans in the gut. Though suffering from lackluster reviews, songs from Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie mesmerized the truly believing E Center crowd. Her Jagged Little Pill favorites whipped fans into a frenzy. No one near me stood still.

Linda asked Khaleel, “Is it strange watching her perform when you were up on stage earlier?”

“Yeah, it is. I like to do both, though.”

They turned back to Morissette, Khaleel observing with the careful eye of one performer watching another. For “You Oughta Know”, Morissette stood with her hands at her sides, palms outward, vulnerable and tortured and making connections with every fan that has ever been dumped hard. And haven’t we all?

Up close, Alanis hypnotized, pacing and jumping and whirling with her waist-length hair floating around her. Sometimes she twirled herself dizzy and fell, adding a humanizing element that fans loved.

Kim asked Lawrence, “How can you tell if a performer is tired?”

“Well, Alanis just flew in from Germany, and she performed last night in Denver. Does she look tired?”

“Not at all,” Kim observed.

“That’s the mark of a great performer. You can’t tell if they’re tired.”

Morrissette ended the concert by waving and throwing kisses to fans.

We stood, thanking Khaleel for the interview and for letting us sit backstage at his concert, as well as for sharing the up-front view of Morrissette.

“You’re welcome,” Khaleel said. “Just one thing”

We waited.

“Next time we’re in town we might want to try snowboarding.”

“No problem!” we replied. After all, Utah has the greatest snow on earth.

Musical chameleon Bob Khaleel wowed 80’s audiences as the hip-hop styled Manhattan poet known as Bronx Style Bob. In the early 90’s he moved to LA after Ice-T & the Rhyme Syndicate recruited him. In 1992, Rolling Stone Magazine named Bronx Style Bob best new artist. Soon after, his music evolved into soulful rock as he headed Super 8, which opened for AC/DC. He’s now changing colors again, using his surname, Khaleel, and crafting perceptive adult pop with his solo album People Watching.

Midway through his thirty-three city tour, Khaleel sat in his dressing room preparing for his Salt Lake City concert. I knocked and waited.

He flashed a wide smile full of charm and shook my hand. He motioned me inside, no doubt making me the envy of his female fans. I looked around the dressing room; no gold-encrusted M&Ms, just hot water, tea bags, honey, bottled water, and tortilla chips.

Khaleel thanked me for coming. The make-up mirrors lining the walls reflected his smooth bronze skin and soulful eyes, the color of honey poured over chocolate. He took a seat facing me.

You’ve joked that you started singing on stage because the shower was too small. How did you journey from shower to solo album?

By happenstance. I was into performance art when I was really young. Poetry, acting. I wanted to be like Sammy Davis Jr., try and master everything as well as I could. I fell into hip-hop because it was in my neighborhood, but I grew up listening to a lot of Motown, Beach Boys, Beatles. 60’s stuff. I wrote songs, but just as an exercise, more of an aspiration or dream than a reality.

Then I came out to California and met Fish (Norwood Fisher) and some of the guys from “Fishbone” and they put together a band called “Trulio Disgracias”, which was maybe forty people. It had guys from Red Hot Chili Peppers, Spearhead, Jane’s Addiction, other bands. It was a big party. I was fortunate enough to have rehearsal sessions available from that. I could just walk right into a situation and start singing. I met other musicians, seasoned players that nurtured what they saw in me.

I started writing songs and got a record deal, then decided I wanted to sing. So, I got myself out of the shower and started to sing.

What was it like being on stage that first time?

I don’t remember much of that. The first time you tend to abuse a bunch of substances to get the guts and courage to walk on that stage.

And now you’re drinking water.

Yeah. And I like to tea, too.

How do you keep reinventing your music? You’ve gone from hip-hop, to soulful rock, to adult pop.

Music is infinite. There are so many core changes and so many ways you can play an instrument. The interpretation is infinite. I always feel like it’s really important to try and reinvent something you’re doing, reapproach it, instead or rehashing what you’ve already done.

Is it different performing for People Watching fans than for “Bronx Style Bob” and “Super 8” audiences?

Audiences are always different. Rapping is a different energy. For this album, I wanted simple lyrics, simple melodies. Music and fans evolve. Fans in the 60’s were trying to liberate themselves from the “Leave It To Beaver” ideal. Somehow in the 70’s and 80’s it became more about consumers and money.

What inspired People Watching?

I always loved to watch people. Still do. I used the ideas and insight that this gave me. After I walked away, I sat down and wrote in the same way that a screenwriter or a novelist would. I try and get as much research as possible for my songs, using people as my subjects.

You’ve talked about wanting to create more introspective music. Did something happen in your life to spark this desire?

I just think we’re living in a world that’s being trashed. Where are people’s intellects? I’m not trying to come off like some snooty intellectual. I just look around at the world and wonder sometimes what people are thinking.

He paused.

Not that there’s anything wrong with snooty intellectuals. They buy records too.

So you’re saying you want people to think?

Yeah. Where are the thinking people? There’s so much garbage out there; it’s suppressing the true intellect. Turn on the news and you’ll see it. Intellectuals and artists are out on the perimeter struggling.

Is that why you wrote “No Mercy”?

Yeah. I wanted to write about the environment, and what’s happening to it.

What was it like filming the video?

It was really hot. Lots of mosquitoes.

Where were you?

Mexico. I almost ran over a cow, and I was the only one that didn’t get sick. The director got malaria. I was drinking tequila.

And that kept the doctor away?

Exactly. I drank tequila, salt, and lime. It worked for me. I didn’t get sick.

He reaches over, grabs what looks like a jar full of honey, and gulps down several mouthfuls.

Did you just drink straight honey?

It’s good for my throat, coats it. Want some?

No!

Is “It’s a Shame” about real friends? And if it is, have any of them responded?

The song’s about real friends. All of them responded after hearing it. They’re all happy that I’m where I’m at. We were performers together. It’s sad that we drifted apart, all went different routes.

“It’s a Shame” is easy to identify with. Everyone drifts apart from friends even though they still care about them.

That’s why I wrote the song. It’s all about the human connection.

I read you toured for almost two years nonstop. What was that like?

It was brutal. We enjoyed performing, but it was a lot of hard work. It wasn’t all fun. I drank a lot of tea, read books.

What kind of books?

Mostly crime and true crime stories. I like autobiographies, too.

You’ve stated, “Music is a cafeteria to provide food for thought.” What thoughts do you hope to inspire?

Goodwill, free love. I miss that free love. I’m bumming hard.

He smiled and drank tea this time.

Hopefully I’ll inspire people to think for themselves, not just buy into what they’re told. That’s what I’m trying to get across; think for yourself and be thorough about it.

Did you get any good advice when you were starting out?

Try not to take things too personally. Don’t take rejection too hard.

Any tips you’d give aspiring musicians?

Realize your first big break might be your last. Savor the moment. Find a mentor if you can. Learn from somebody good. And have fun!

+ Kendeyl Johansen