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Bum Rush The Stage artists |
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Bum Rush The Stage artists |
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Bammer's Bum Rush The Stage review
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Copyright Rose Cooper, 2002
I have a feeling Garnes and I will become fast friends fairly soon (I know I haven't heard the last from him...and vice versa), so to inaugurate our future friendship, I offer a piece of constructive criticism: bring it down a notch, Tevye.
Garnes came across a bundle of nerves at the start of the show, pacing throughout, and playing with the mic as if it were his lover (which, because its volume was turned up way too loud, became quite annoying). But that criticism aside, his hosting duties and poetic performances were excellently done - especially his piece about the non-support from MSU's The State News (and I'll just say, having had to deal with them in the past, I Feel ya, hon).
The first of the two "elders" who spoke, Thomas was almost deified by host Garnes. Not that I'm hatin' on the prof; he certainly earned his stripes (as evidenced by the letter Garnes read from literary giant Langston Hughes to Thomas from that time period). And it's only right that young folks give credit to those who came before them. Judging from the works Thomas read, props were righteously due. Thomas' love poem had the young women in the audience swooning, and his "Little Dark Girls" - a nod to the importance of Black children loving their natural selves - is as timely now as it was when he first wrote it.
From jump, Johnson worked the audience; he was most def one of my favorite artists of the night. He hit on all cylinders with each of his pieces: "Just Say The Shit" spoke humorously to the airs put on by some Spoken Word artists. His "Whatever Happened" was an old school lament that 40-year-old me could relate to just as well as the twentysomethings in the audience. And his "Fuck Jesse!" response to the Barbershop controversy, brought the house down.
Johnson (who also sang at the beginning of the show) says music is his first love; that music is "poetry put to beats". When I asked him what he wants America to know most, he said to "look at life critically, with a questioning eye."
There are those who can read poems; and then there are those who can Speak. Goode can Speak...and then some. Not only does this brother have a voice that would melt butter, he also brings deep, soulful, humble meaning behind those words. I'll put it to you this way: I only had enough money to buy one of the ten artists' CDs; I bought his.
Goode started us off with "Dark", his ode to Black women (my favorite line was "I like her so dark, in fact/if she lay on black sheets/you have to question if she's there"); and he rocked the joint when he came back later with "No More Pussy Poems" (Vagina Monologues anyone?) and his touching "Let's Talk". Somebody, call Russell Simmons...
Y'all know I don't mince words, so I'll say it straight: I didn't much care for Cocktails at first. True, he was sportin' a sharp-ass hat (and I love a man in hats), but at first glance, he came off too cool for his shirt. I wasn't feelin' his first piece, "What Do You Want Me To Say?", probably because my own relationship with my husband has moved past the stage where Words matter all that much. But Cocktails won me over, and rather quickly, with his followup "passion" piece, "Insatiable". Think Prince without the music, and you'll have a good starting point. All you old hats who remember the ladies throwing their panties on the stage at Teddy Pendergrass concerts...y'all hear me. oooWEE, bruh.
But Cocktails isn't only about the written word. He told me he'd like to become more involved in producing shows like Stan Lathan and Russell Simmons do; he's happy to be behind the scenes, more in control. His message to America: "The devil is alive & busy".
When I saw that "Thug Angel" bit in Spinxx's bio, I was prepared to be immediately turned off. Too bad I concentrated on the wrong word in that two-word phrase, for the harshness of his ghetto life was all but erased by Spinxx's sensitive performance. And as his bio states, he's definitely a poet to look for in the years to come.
Harvey mixes singing within her poetry, with the effect being almost like witnessing an old-time Baptist preacher winding up for his knock-out punch at the end of the sermon. It took some getting used to, mostly because sistagirl was loud on top of a loud mic. And truth to tell, I didn't much go for preaching in church in the first place...but Harvey's sermons were stories about herself, not thumping the audience on what we need to do to Get Right. Her blueswoman cadence sets her apart from the cookie cutter My Mahn Done Me Wrong lamenters.
When asked what she wants to do in the future, Harvey said she wants to "keep performing, produce shows, and promote more women on the mic"; and her message to America? "Remember my intensity, and respect my words."
Amir is a man after my own heart; a griot in the true sense of the word. Without pretense or build-up, he launched right into a poem-as-story, and kept me enthralled right through his last syllable. I found myself wanting to just sit and listen to him speak all night. I'm definitely looking for his debut spoken word album, Cornerstore Folklore.
What was most surprising to me was that he didn't start out as a traditional poet at all; he told me he was first a rapper, but he found hiphop to be too insincere. He plans on doing more college concerts, and developing his writing workshops further.
Honesty time, again: in his first set (a piece about the wasteland that is TV), I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. He spoke so quickly that only a few verses sunk in. Those verses were deep, granted; but the majority of the poem whizzed right by me. His followup on the "sweet silence of love" (powerful lyric, that), titled "Diet Cola", was MUCH better, cadence-wise. Sorry hon, but I still didn't grok ya, though my husband said he liked your pieces a lot.
I didn't have much of a chance to talk with Cola afterwards (and when I did, I called him "Coke". Duh...sorry 'bout that), but his message to America was quite poignant: "Look at the psychotics we have created!"
It's always a tossup to be the last performer of the night. As the "biggest" name, you can leave the audience in a frenzy; but if there have been a few too many performers before you, the audience may already be too tired to be pumped up. Such was the case with Abyss, from my seat, anyway. I had been so impressed with Sugar Johnson, and Jon Goode, and Amir, that by the time Abyss came on, I was about ready to go home.
All of which is to say that my lack of out-and-out enthusiasm for his set is no real reflection on the intensity of Abyss as a performer. I had heard his first piece when I'd seen him on HBO before; I smiled at the recognition, which is probably why it didn't impact me as it would if I had just heard it for the first time. His second piece, however, was cool, in that the audience asked him to repeat one of the stanzas he had just recited: not because we didn't hear it the first time, but because we just had to hear it again.
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