THREE STEPS TO THE GOLD ... AND BEYOND KANYE WEST: THE NOMINEE.

Byline: Fred Shuster Music Writer

Shut out at the American Music Awards after losing to country singer Gretchen Wilson, rapper-producer Kanye West immediately made himself the center of attention.

``I was definitely robbed,'' he fumed backstage. ``I was the best new artist this year. I don't know if I'll be back at this awards show next year.''

Eight months earlier, at a media event for another artist entirely, West demanded camera time, crowing, ``I'm about to become the biggest thing this music industry's ever seen.''

The outbursts seemed genuine, but they could've been part of an orchestrated campaign to bring West to the notice of Grammy Awards voters. If it was planned, it worked. West again made headlines when he was named the top contender at tonight's Grammy telecast, where he leads the field with 10 nods. He's up for best new artist and album of the year, and along with his rap nominations, the Chicago-born West was recognized for collaborations with Alicia Keys and Twista.

``Anytime I'm nominated in the same category as Usher, I expect to lose,'' was West's characteristic response, referring to the pop star who's up for eight trophies (the two compete in three categories).

A rapping contradiction, humility doesn't seem to be among the 26- year-old West's qualities. The son of a university professor, his multimillion-selling debut album is titled ``The College Dropout.'' He raps of striving for grace but is petulant in public.

Yet his boasting has legs, at least in terms of the year in pop, where he's emerged on top of the heap. ``The College Dropout,'' a well-crafted pop/hip-hop effort occasionally marred by banal spoken-word interludes, topped countless best-of lists and is at the root of those 10 Grammy nods.

But West, who surfaced five years ago as one of hip-hop's most buzzed- about and visionary studio shot-callers, almost didn't live long enough to see his name in lights. In October 2002, he was involved in a blood- curdling car wreck in Los Angeles that shattered his face and nearly killed him - but also spurred him toward a crucial breakthrough.

Jaw wired shut from surgery during a long recovery, West lifted a sample from Chaka Khan's ``Through the Fire,'' using it as the foundation for ``Through the Wire,'' the deeply personal song and corresponding video that would become the first single for his platinum-selling debut.

``Through the Wire'' and ``Slow Jamz'' (written and produced by West, based on a Luther Vandross sample, and recorded with rapper Twista and Oscar-nominated actor-comedian Jamie Foxx) pushed sales of the album past the million mark. For his part, West had known exactly what would click with record buyers - years earlier, he'd reached rap's inner circle cooking up beats for Jay-Z, Ludacris, Talib Kweli, Keys and Mos Def. This time, he had hit upon the one genre untapped by rap producers - gospel music.

``He'd been making noise as a producer for a while,'' says E-Man, music director at top Los Angeles hip-hop/r&b station KPWR-FM (105.9) - Power 106. ``His thing was, he took samples you didn't expect from the '70s - weird stuff, slower stuff - and sped it up, which brought a very different sound to hip-hop.''

Like such previous Grammy blockbusters as OutKast's ``Speakerboxxx/The Love Below'' last year and Lauryn Hill's solo debut (which racked up a Kanye-tying 10 nods in '98), the remarkably tuneful ``College Dropout'' appeals to listeners of all demographics.

West grew up on Chicago's South Side with his mother, Dr. Donda West, an English professor at Chicago State University (you have to wonder what she thinks of the sarcastic ``Dropout'' title). Summers were spent with his father, Ray West, a former Black Panther who became a photographer and then a counselor. When he discovered a talent for rapping and creating beats, West really did quit school to follow a music career. A move to the East Coast led to a friendship with Jay-Z and a deal with Jay's label, Roc-A-Fella Records. All the while, West's reputation grew.

``Kanye's a very cool cat, a very focused guy with a lot of pride in what he does,'' E-Man said. ``He's very passionate, and that's what shines. On stage, he's got a unique overall vibe and presence - very positive and energetic. And his lyrics - who else could do a song about Jesus ('Jesus Walks') and make it one of the biggest hip-hop records of the year?''

West's 10 nods from the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, while impressive, doesn't set a record. The two artists tied for snagging the most nominations (12) in one year are Michael Jackson in 1983, and Babyface nine years later.

``I wasn't at all surprised to see that many nods for Kanye,'' said Geoff Mayfield, director of charts/senior analyst for Billboard magazine. ``The record had that rare combination of commercial success and critical acclaim. An awful lot of music people listed him as a year-end favorite, and even though the Grammys don't measure either critics' opinions or sales success, you have to imagine that academy voters pay attention to those indicators, even subconsciously, when perusing nominees.''

West appeared Wednesday in a sold-out date at the House of Blues in Hollywood, where he caused serious grooving and grinding with rousing performances of hits including ``Get Em High,'' ``Spaceship'' and ``Jesus Walks.'' A second album, ``Late Registration,'' is due in stores this spring, and he's also working with his own stable of artists (GLC, Consequence and Common) while continuing to produce other top talent.

``Some people go out and buy cars, buy jewelry,'' West said between songs. ``But me, I'm an artist, and I make videos.'' Then, he couldn't resist a dig at MTV, which apparently resisted one of his videos last year: ``They think the public can't handle anything with real emotion.''

Today of course, West is one of the music network's most-played artists, with a handful of clips in rotation around the clock.

``Even though he's one of our most popular artists, and he's all over radio and in the clubs, people are still hungry for him,'' said La Toya Moore, MTV's vice president of music and talent. ``Unlike some rap artists who tend to wear out their welcome by becoming overexposed, it never reached that point with Kanye.

``He's an interesting personality people are relating to. They'd like to know him.''

The process

The road from a record's release to a golden gramophone atop the baby grand is almost as long and windy as Mulholland Drive. The process starts when record academy members and record companies submit entries, which are screened for eligibility and category. Voters, all of whom are involved in the creative and technical aspects of music-making, help with both the nominating process that determines the five finalists in each of 107 categories and in the final voting to determine Grammy winners.

Once those early entries are submitted, reviewing sessions by more than 150 experts in various fields take place to make sure the recordings meet specific qualifications and were placed in appropriate fields, including rock, r&b, jazz, country, gospel, new age, rap, classical and Latin, among others. The purpose here is not to make artistic or technical judgments but to ensure each entry is eligible and placed in its proper category.

For today's 47th annual Grammys, eligible recordings must have been issued between Oct. 1, 2003, and Sept. 30, 2004. The recordings were in general distribution in the U.S., available at stores, over the Internet or through the mail.

First-round ballots with lists of eligible recordings in all fields, except those voted on by special nominating committees, are sent to voting members, who return their ballots to an accounting firm for tabulation. To help ensure the quality of the voting, the academy's 16,000 members vote only in their fields of expertise. Yet they can nominate in the four biggest categories (record, album and song of the year, and best new artist).

At that point, Grammy - to use the jargon of the recording studio - puts a little reverb on it. A select group that Billboard's Geoff Mayfield refers to as a ``secret society'' and record academy head Neal Portnow calls a ``blue-ribbon committee'' go through the top nominations to make sure requirements are met and, in the words of Portnow, ``there are no embarrassments.''

The voters, incidentally, are music pros with creative or technical credits on six commercially released tracks (or their equivalent). These can include singers, conductors, songwriters, composers, engineers, producers, instrumentalists, arrangers, art directors, album notes writers, narrators, and music video artists and technicians.

And, sorry, no trophies for roadies - this year.

Does it matter?

``If you're a working musician, it's something you can't plan for, or strive for, or expect,'' said vibes and marimba player Dave Samuels, who won in '03 for best Latin jazz recording with his group the Caribbean Jazz Project. ``It's an elusive thing that lands on you. It's not like winning the lottery. Your salary doesn't suddenly leap into the stratosphere. But you will always be known as a Grammy winner.''

For those on the outside, the 3 1/2-hour telecast works on two levels - it affords sometimes unexpected entertainers a worldwide audience in an instant and - in categories like Samuels' - it celebrates genuine musical artistry and craft. Plus, insists record academy chief Portnow, the show offers a snapshot of mainstream pop culture.

``It's almost an accurate picture of the cultural and sociological times we live in,'' he said, pointing to the fact that tonight's ceremony will reflect the dominance of rap/hip-hop throughout the world.

Others, though, will not be watching.

``The problem with the Grammys is, great music challenges the status quo - it doesn't proudly participate in it,'' said John Wood, a Los Angeles jazz musician and longtime industry observer whose late dad, Randy Wood, launched the historic '50s blues, gospel and jazz shop Randy's Record Shop in Gallatin, Tenn., before founding the Dot Records label.

``Back in the '50s, there were no music awards shows,'' Wood said. ``Nobody needed to be told what the top records were - everyone knew. Music was the centerpiece of our lives. It brought everyone together. There weren't 107 categories. It wasn't a battle to win trophies and then a contract to hawk Pepsi.

``And it wasn't all about looks. I've got news for you - if Usher weighed 300 pounds, he wouldn't be accepting any awards. But if Elvis looked like Roy Orbison, he still would've sold billions of records and been just as beloved today.''

There's also the issue of competition. Unlike football, music is not a rivalry. Trophies have absolutely no bearing on the emotional value of a piece.

``Comparative judgments by a panel of experts is only useful in the allocation of resources, for example, scholarships to music schools, or grants,'' said Mat Callahan, a longtime activist and bandleader whose forthcoming book, ``The Trouble With Music'' (AK Press), is a political analysis of the music industry. ``In a society where the top criteria is units sold, there can be no justice in the awards process. Corporations run the show.

``A song can send your soul soaring, but you can still remain in chains.''

True, but to the non-Kanyes - the musicians, producers, writers and art directors slogging away in the industry's engine room - a Grammy trophy is a proudly displayed symbol of work well done, presented by peers. Even though it's usually presented in a special ceremony before the TV cameras roll.

``It's not a popularity contest at that point,'' Samuels said. ``And it's not like winning an Oscar. The big directors don't call you the next day offering parts. But it's something very, very special in the lives of musicians.''

Fred Shuster, [phone]

fred.shuster(at)dailynews.com

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(2) Kanye West

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