Spent sometime last night at the Virgin Megastore in Union Square and couldn’t pick anything new to listen to. I have been rocking Coldplay’s “A Rush of Blood to the Head” for the last three weeks and am STILL not tired of it. Love albums that let you find deeper meaning and here small nuances the more you listen to them. Add that you start switching up which song is your favorite and the reasons and that, my dear friends, is what an album is all about it.
I had the same thing happen with their last album, “Parachutes.” Originally, I got it for “Trouble” then fell in love with “Yellow” and finally the whole CD became the quickest 45 minutes of my life. Most U2 albums are the same way (big exception—Pop that album lost me half way through even though the first half is very good).
Virgin, Union Square, is pretty high on the rock tip, a nice contrast to Virgin, 42nd St, which is all about the rap. Ah… hip-hop, we knew ye once. When you were the voice of kids on stoops trying to say something that would get them noticed by turning to the cheapest most accessible technology. My theory has always been that early hip-hop was a direct backlash of the 70s mega funk bands. Kids that wanted to make music had to get expensive instruments, then get together in large groups and put on outrageous concerts to get noticed. Hip-hop changed that but now rap has become the same animal. You need crazy gear, street-rep (that is going to require a high-priced lawyer), videos and an entourage. I am wonder what the backlash to this will be, since rock-rap, to me, is more a child of punk than anything else.
What, no poetry? Au contraire, mon fraire, much good poetry this weekend. GK had her birthday party this weekend and we had a ‘closed’ mic performing poems just for her and a little rock and roll followed by an after party that was a bit too much for me, as I passed out within a half-hour. Worked more on the play, not really but I sure made the attempt to. This project is feeling more and more like a bad girlfriend every day and I am counting the days until it is over and I can focus my poetic energies to other poetic endeavors. Managed to make Kool-Aid out of old sugar by attending GK’s poetry workshop and had a blast. It was all new faces and it felt nice to get away from the familiar and work myself into new circles in the, quickly-becoming-more-familiar, role of elder statesman. The workshop had a great flow and we were able to hit a variety of subjects and critique a lot of work, my own included. This workshop is much better than my other one and has me wondering if I should drop one in favor of the other. Perhaps I will ruin the same poem through both groups and see what kind of feedback I get and let that be the litmus test.
Had some post workshop dinner with some of fellow poets who view me as some part of a higher echelon. I’m starting to get tired of the, “I sucked when I first hit the scene stories,” which I told anyway but also focused on how, if I’m here (wherever the fuck that is) then so can they. All but one, who is letting her own self-doubt become prophecy, have the potential and I am sure they will be making a nice splash on the scene soon. Really good to see how they all claim 13 as their own and have noticed the difference between the venues and realized they like the space that is made for them.
Back to Virgin, tried to listen to some Ani Difranco, which I keep hearing about but there was some girl listening to her like if it was a religious experience. She was jotting down lyrics or thought like a mad woman and then later was just tapping her head and rocking back and forth like if she was on medication, maybe I won’t pick up Ani. Could be worse, she could’ve been dancing like a rabbit on Ecstasy which is what some poor folks do when they listen to CDs in stores.
Time for new poems, y’all.