Dan O takes this blog's soul like Dracula takes necks
So I have been given this blog to update with whatever I like. These people are so misinformed they think I have some kind of hidden intelligence behind the dog and pony show I march out. Thats their problem.
Anyway, I want to use this to talk about Port Veritas which has a long shadow it casts backward. Some memories are hot holes that burn right into you, take up space that never will be filled by anything else. One such time was probably about two years ago at least. I still had stupid unmanageable hair but the crowd was different, it felt high school at times with splintered off groups of people in hip vintage clothes who were artists, poets, recording artists, and very hip. You could go into a reading and not be talked too.
This night was slam night and I knew the slam poets, I just didn't talk to them. I was looking at them and all of the heavy hitters had shifty eyes dancing with fear from side to side asking themselves "Who is that guy?" "Is he going to slam?" Slammers try and put the scenario together way before it happens, what place they are on the list, what order they read what pieces, what hat they wear, how high they get, it all has to be a perfect swirling storm.
No one knew who Juba was. When he took his first turn I almost lost it, I had that sick smile on my face. Hip Hop had a face hear now, all the watered down kids who read poems that started "The night was electric" would have to write more and write better. This wasn't just a slam poet, this was living melodic energy swaying as he spoke each word knowing each part of each poem like most people know their shoes. If I was a slammer i wouldn't have loved it, I would have swore to myself.
It was the first and only time I ever saw someone walk in off the street and win the slam. I knew people that always signed up and never won and never would, he just had it. On that night he pushed every great regular poet back 3 steps and they had to scramble to catch up. Some of us are still scrambling. I swear a lot when I'm impressed with someone, I swore a lot to my friends about him that night.
I still swear a blue streak thinking about it. It was a dark dank building(before the phenomenal one we have now) and he lit it up, with nothing but pure human Swaggerstomp storytelling.
Anyway, I want to use this to talk about Port Veritas which has a long shadow it casts backward. Some memories are hot holes that burn right into you, take up space that never will be filled by anything else. One such time was probably about two years ago at least. I still had stupid unmanageable hair but the crowd was different, it felt high school at times with splintered off groups of people in hip vintage clothes who were artists, poets, recording artists, and very hip. You could go into a reading and not be talked too.
This night was slam night and I knew the slam poets, I just didn't talk to them. I was looking at them and all of the heavy hitters had shifty eyes dancing with fear from side to side asking themselves "Who is that guy?" "Is he going to slam?" Slammers try and put the scenario together way before it happens, what place they are on the list, what order they read what pieces, what hat they wear, how high they get, it all has to be a perfect swirling storm.
No one knew who Juba was. When he took his first turn I almost lost it, I had that sick smile on my face. Hip Hop had a face hear now, all the watered down kids who read poems that started "The night was electric" would have to write more and write better. This wasn't just a slam poet, this was living melodic energy swaying as he spoke each word knowing each part of each poem like most people know their shoes. If I was a slammer i wouldn't have loved it, I would have swore to myself.
It was the first and only time I ever saw someone walk in off the street and win the slam. I knew people that always signed up and never won and never would, he just had it. On that night he pushed every great regular poet back 3 steps and they had to scramble to catch up. Some of us are still scrambling. I swear a lot when I'm impressed with someone, I swore a lot to my friends about him that night.
I still swear a blue streak thinking about it. It was a dark dank building(before the phenomenal one we have now) and he lit it up, with nothing but pure human Swaggerstomp storytelling.
posted by veritas2 at
3:13 PM
2 Comments:
Jubba came in took no names and hasn't stopped bringing it since. Its guys like him that make all of us push to be better.
Hey,
wanted to say your peice on 207 tonight was off the hook...
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