Kenna - Doing It For Self
By: Kathleen S. John
December 23, 2003
"The new sacred cow is self," spits Kenna Zemedkun. The singer is lounging in a
room at the Soho Grand and he's on a roll, ranting about our culture of self-
obsession and the annoying habits of your everyday pop star.
Kenna is a far cry from the average American idol. For one thing, he's not quite a
star yet, but planets are aligning, people are talking, and he's getting close. For
another, he was born in Ethiopia, and grew up in Virginia Beach skateboarding and
worshipping U2. In high school, he crossed paths with marching band member
Chad Hugo, who later grew up to be one half of a certain superstar production
team (ahem, The Neptunes).
on Fred Durst's Flawless imprint, but bureaucratic hooey kept it off the shelves.
The delay only served to generate more buzz, and New Sacred Cow, as the record
is aptly named, hit the shelves in June. With his old friend Hugo on the boards,
Kenna created a heartfelt collection of super-catchy, danceable, rock-able tunes
that go from all-out anthems to sober meditations to straight-up head-nodders.
Kenna draws much of his musical inspiration from 80's giants like Depeche Mode,
the Cure and, of course, U2, but he doesn't want to be pigeonholed as another
80's throwback. It's a tough thing to escape from in these days of 80's revivalism,
but he just might manage to pull it off with a little more word-of-mouth hype and a
few more true believers like himself.
Not long before embarking on a national tour with arty electro-freaks
Fischerspooner, Kenna chatted about his past, his album, and why people should
just lay off Bono.
I saw you on Carson Daly last night.
[Laughs] Did I look like an alien or what?
They said it was your television debut.
Yeah, my first time performing on television, yeah.
The crowd seemed a little dead, though.
Oh, yeah. I think that the most interesting part about my whole career is how many
people don't know who I am, and how long [the album]'s been waiting to come out.
That night a lot of people were just like, "Wait a second. Who is this?"
I have here that you were born in Ethiopia, then went to Cincinnati, and then to
Virginia Beach. When did you move from Ethiopia?
When I was three years old. I was very little.
How come your parents left?
It's kind of a really complicated story, but basically, the government in Ethiopia was
overturned [by a military regime], and my dad had been the minister of agriculture
for the southern half of Ethiopia. They were basically murdering all the governors
and ministers. My dad got a scholarship to Cambridge University and my mom left
me with my grandfather, who was a U.N. Korean War veteran. The regime that was
taking over was a militia and they were basically military men, so they wouldn't
really bother my grandfather, but at the same time they really believed my parents
would come back, considering I was still there. So my parents kind of migrated
westward until they reached Cincinnati. My dad was studying for his doctorate at
University of Cincinnati and they figured out a way to bring me over. That's the
whole drawn-out story.
That's totally crazy.
I know.
So, after you got to Cincinnati, you eventually moved to Virginia Beach, where you
met Chad Hugo in high school. Were you in marching band, too?
No.
Oh, man. I was in marching band, so I always like hearing about marching band
dorks.
No, I was out skating. That's all I wanted to do. Chad was dedicated to that stuff,
man.
What did he play?
He played saxophone, but he was also drum major, I think. At the end of the day
you saw him on this big thing with his big hat and baton or whatever, going [imitates
a marching band tune] and you're like, "OK, whatever."
See, dorks end up cool sometimes.
He was always cool though. That's the thing about Chad. I don't know, I think it's
the Filipino culture. I've always seen Filipino catsÂ…they're just cool. Always have
the duds, they're always the right time on everything. They look at you kind of like,
"HmÂ…what you got?" [Laughs]
So then you grew up. How did you reconnect with Chad?
Chad and I kind of divided after high school. I went trying to figure out what I was
going to do with music or my life, because it didn't really feel like the education
thing would be the best route. I did go to college. Chad and I went to the same
school [Old Dominion University]. We'd see each other in the hall every once in a
while, we'd talk about what was going on musically, what was happening in the
scene. And there's no scene in Virginia, so it was a short conversation. He was
working with Pharrell [Williams] the whole time, [when] Teddy Riley moved into
town. A studio was set up, and by the time I got to the door to knock on it Chad
was already inside breaking beats. I had a friend who was in the early Blackstreet,
Levi Little - who was the most talented cat, I think, out of the whole crew of them -
[who] found me at a sneaker store and he just kind of brought me in. I was
supposed to be the piano/vocalist guy. But I left there, went on, tried to figure out
who I can work with in New York or L.A. or London only to come back and say to
Chad, 'You know, I'm trying to do this thing, but I can't find anybody who knows
what the hell I'm talking about.' And he got on the keyboard and came out with the
melody for 'Red Man, and it was done. He's like, 'Is that what you're talking about?'
Yeah, actually.
And then you were like, 'Hey, I've got these songs,' and he was like, 'Cool,' and
then you just hung out in the studio for two years?
Yeah. [Laughs] Look, we all know the Neptunes catapulted in a massive way over a
short period of time. When I was starting working with Chad we were still in the
garage at his parents' house, and that's where the Neptunes did half of their stuff
in the early days. It was a Sony boombox attached to a keyboard and a couple of
little mixers and that was it. That's all they had and they'd break these records up,
really simple-style. [They're] really smart, really smart. I was in a divide, with Chad
doing Neptunes stuff and Chad doing my stuff, so we just took time to get the
demos done. I was a real perfectionist, so I wasn't going to let anything go to the
record companies without feeling like it was finished and done and beautiful and
amazing, you know? So it took us a while.
Well that's about it. But I have to give you props for liking U2 because they're one
of my favorite bands.
Bono is my mentor more than anyoneÂ…that's what I aspire to have: Those kind of
performances. They don't exist. There's nothing inspiring anymore. Everything's
such a derivation. The solution in life is giving. Once you stand on a stage and
have the opportunity to give and do it for the people there in front of you, you'll find
the reward is unbelievable. When a girl walks up to me and says, 'I stopped doing
heroin [because of your song]. I'm in withdrawal right now,' and she's pale and her
face is drawn and her whole vibe is clammy and she's shaking my hand, that's
when you know you have meaning in your life. That's what music is about.
Otherwise, it's just bullshit.
By: Kathleen S. John
December 23, 2003
"The new sacred cow is self," spits Kenna Zemedkun. The singer is lounging in a
room at the Soho Grand and he's on a roll, ranting about our culture of self-
obsession and the annoying habits of your everyday pop star.
Kenna is a far cry from the average American idol. For one thing, he's not quite a
star yet, but planets are aligning, people are talking, and he's getting close. For
another, he was born in Ethiopia, and grew up in Virginia Beach skateboarding and
worshipping U2. In high school, he crossed paths with marching band member
Chad Hugo, who later grew up to be one half of a certain superstar production
team (ahem, The Neptunes).
Kenna is a far cry from the average
American idol. For one thing, he's not
quite a star yet, but planets are
aligning, people are talking, and he's
getting close. For another, he was
born in Ethiopia, and grew up in
Virginia Beach skateboarding and
worshipping U2. In high school, he
crossed paths with marching band
member Chad Hugo, who later grew
up to be one half of a certain
superstar production team (ahem, The
Neptunes).
on Fred Durst's Flawless imprint, but bureaucratic hooey kept it off the shelves.
The delay only served to generate more buzz, and New Sacred Cow, as the record
is aptly named, hit the shelves in June. With his old friend Hugo on the boards,
Kenna created a heartfelt collection of super-catchy, danceable, rock-able tunes
that go from all-out anthems to sober meditations to straight-up head-nodders.
Kenna draws much of his musical inspiration from 80's giants like Depeche Mode,
the Cure and, of course, U2, but he doesn't want to be pigeonholed as another
80's throwback. It's a tough thing to escape from in these days of 80's revivalism,
but he just might manage to pull it off with a little more word-of-mouth hype and a
few more true believers like himself.
Not long before embarking on a national tour with arty electro-freaks
Fischerspooner, Kenna chatted about his past, his album, and why people should
just lay off Bono.
I saw you on Carson Daly last night.
[Laughs] Did I look like an alien or what?
They said it was your television debut.
Yeah, my first time performing on television, yeah.
The crowd seemed a little dead, though.
Oh, yeah. I think that the most interesting part about my whole career is how many
people don't know who I am, and how long [the album]'s been waiting to come out.
That night a lot of people were just like, "Wait a second. Who is this?"
I have here that you were born in Ethiopia, then went to Cincinnati, and then to
Virginia Beach. When did you move from Ethiopia?
When I was three years old. I was very little.
How come your parents left?
It's kind of a really complicated story, but basically, the government in Ethiopia was
overturned [by a military regime], and my dad had been the minister of agriculture
for the southern half of Ethiopia. They were basically murdering all the governors
and ministers. My dad got a scholarship to Cambridge University and my mom left
me with my grandfather, who was a U.N. Korean War veteran. The regime that was
taking over was a militia and they were basically military men, so they wouldn't
really bother my grandfather, but at the same time they really believed my parents
would come back, considering I was still there. So my parents kind of migrated
westward until they reached Cincinnati. My dad was studying for his doctorate at
University of Cincinnati and they figured out a way to bring me over. That's the
whole drawn-out story.
That's totally crazy.
I know.
So, after you got to Cincinnati, you eventually moved to Virginia Beach, where you
met Chad Hugo in high school. Were you in marching band, too?
No.
Oh, man. I was in marching band, so I always like hearing about marching band
dorks.
No, I was out skating. That's all I wanted to do. Chad was dedicated to that stuff,
man.
What did he play?
He played saxophone, but he was also drum major, I think. At the end of the day
you saw him on this big thing with his big hat and baton or whatever, going [imitates
a marching band tune] and you're like, "OK, whatever."
See, dorks end up cool sometimes.
He was always cool though. That's the thing about Chad. I don't know, I think it's
the Filipino culture. I've always seen Filipino catsÂ…they're just cool. Always have
the duds, they're always the right time on everything. They look at you kind of like,
"HmÂ…what you got?" [Laughs]
So then you grew up. How did you reconnect with Chad?
Chad and I kind of divided after high school. I went trying to figure out what I was
going to do with music or my life, because it didn't really feel like the education
thing would be the best route. I did go to college. Chad and I went to the same
school [Old Dominion University]. We'd see each other in the hall every once in a
while, we'd talk about what was going on musically, what was happening in the
scene. And there's no scene in Virginia, so it was a short conversation. He was
working with Pharrell [Williams] the whole time, [when] Teddy Riley moved into
town. A studio was set up, and by the time I got to the door to knock on it Chad
was already inside breaking beats. I had a friend who was in the early Blackstreet,
Levi Little - who was the most talented cat, I think, out of the whole crew of them -
[who] found me at a sneaker store and he just kind of brought me in. I was
supposed to be the piano/vocalist guy. But I left there, went on, tried to figure out
who I can work with in New York or L.A. or London only to come back and say to
Chad, 'You know, I'm trying to do this thing, but I can't find anybody who knows
what the hell I'm talking about.' And he got on the keyboard and came out with the
melody for 'Red Man, and it was done. He's like, 'Is that what you're talking about?'
Yeah, actually.
And then you were like, 'Hey, I've got these songs,' and he was like, 'Cool,' and
then you just hung out in the studio for two years?
Yeah. [Laughs] Look, we all know the Neptunes catapulted in a massive way over a
short period of time. When I was starting working with Chad we were still in the
garage at his parents' house, and that's where the Neptunes did half of their stuff
in the early days. It was a Sony boombox attached to a keyboard and a couple of
little mixers and that was it. That's all they had and they'd break these records up,
really simple-style. [They're] really smart, really smart. I was in a divide, with Chad
doing Neptunes stuff and Chad doing my stuff, so we just took time to get the
demos done. I was a real perfectionist, so I wasn't going to let anything go to the
record companies without feeling like it was finished and done and beautiful and
amazing, you know? So it took us a while.
Well that's about it. But I have to give you props for liking U2 because they're one
of my favorite bands.
Bono is my mentor more than anyoneÂ…that's what I aspire to have: Those kind of
performances. They don't exist. There's nothing inspiring anymore. Everything's
such a derivation. The solution in life is giving. Once you stand on a stage and
have the opportunity to give and do it for the people there in front of you, you'll find
the reward is unbelievable. When a girl walks up to me and says, 'I stopped doing
heroin [because of your song]. I'm in withdrawal right now,' and she's pale and her
face is drawn and her whole vibe is clammy and she's shaking my hand, that's
when you know you have meaning in your life. That's what music is about.
Otherwise, it's just bullshit.
Music
Kenna: Don't blink
Neptunes-affiliated artist keeps listeners, and Malcolm Gladwell, guessing
BY MOSI REEVES
Published 10.17.07
Neptunes-affiliated artist keeps listeners, and Malcolm Gladwell, guessing
BY MOSI REEVES
Published 10.17.07
- In his 2005 best-selling book Blink, Malcolm Gladwell
devoted a chapter to the marketing efforts surrounding
Kenna Zemedkun, an iconoclastic Ethiopian-American
musician. "Kenna is the sort of person who is constantly
at odds with your expectations, and that is both one of
the things that make him so interesting and one of the
things that have made his career so problematic," wrote
Gladwell. More
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