Your Revolution Was Televised

Okay Sarah Jones, let's talk. Your poem, Your Revolution, lifted my spirits this weekend. I was able to reminisce through your use of sampling to move the narrative forward in this piece. Loving the musicality of this poem, I read it over and over and over. This is clearly one function of having a poem appear on the page -- the reader gets to experience it more than once. However, I wanted to see you perform this piece -- so I used technology to give me the next best thing.

Your Revolution

So I watched the video and you used the songs you sampled just as I expected you to and I still found myself wonderfully surprised. So having both the page and the stage versions gave me more access points, more clarity of how the songs work as text and more reasons to read and experience the work again.

I could see/hear this piece on a stage before seeing you perform it. I cannot imagine this poem without movement. It feels like a song itself – the rhythm and the cadence of the lines are powerful AND for those of us from this generation of music, we know where to sing, hum, and bob. It’s wonderful in that way. A road map through my musical history.

Going from page to stage enhanced this piece. It is meant to be spoken/performed because there is too much music and energy from one line to the next for it to only live on the page. Ironically, it can live on the page, but without the performance to accompany it in the Universe, it would also die on the page. Both are necessary.

In this poem, you use lines from popular songs to make a point about the music industry:

Think I'm a put it in my mouth just cuz you made a few bucks?

Please brother please

Your revolution will not be me tossing my weave

And making me believe I'm some caviar-eating ghetto mafia clown

Or me giving up my behind, just so I can get signed

And maybe having somebody else write my rhymes

I'm Sarah Jones, not Foxy Brown

and I get what you are doing here, but wonder why you selected to omit this in the Def Poetry performance -- was it only about the 3 minute time limit or was there more? Was there some commentary you felt comfortable putting on the page, but not saying on the stage? That givees me great questions about audience and intent and how performance poetry interacts with both in a way that page poetry does not and vice versa.

You make some really political statements about male and female relationships too,

Your revolution will not happen between these thighs

The real revolution ain't about booty size

The Versaces you buys

Or the Lexus you drives

And though we've lost Biggie Smalls

Baby, your notorious revolution

Will never allow you to lace no lyrical douche in my bush

Your revolution will not be you killing me softly with Fugees

Your revolution ain't gonna knock me up without no ring

And produce little future emcees

Because that revolution will not happen between these thighs

and about sex:

Because that revolution will not happen between these thighs

Oh, my Jamaican brother, your revolution will not make you feel

Bombastic and really fantastic

And have you groping in the dark for that rubber wrapped in plastic

You will not be touching your lips to my triple dip of french

vanilla, butter pecan, chocolate deluxe

Or having Akinyele's dream, (mm hmm)

A 6-foot blowjob machine (mm hmm)

You want to subjugate your queen? (uh-huh)

Think I'm a put it in my mouth just cuz you made a few bucks?

Simply using the word "revolution" over and over again, you build up a call to action that unfortunately never plays out fully in the end of the poem,

Because the real revolution

That's right I said the real revolution

You know I'm talking about the revolution

When it comes, it's gonna be real

The funny thing is that this ending works in performance more than it works on the page. On the page I have more time with the ending and while it sounds great on stage, it has very little revolutionary quality. It does not play with language in a revolutionary way, nor does it revolutionize the poetic elements -- but I only get this because I sit with it on the page much longer than I do when you push it to me from the stage.

It makes me wonder if initially, you wrote this for the page or for the stage.
Let's talk...

peacelovelight
Kiala

Sarah Jones & Aya de Leon

There is a visual element to performance—the effect of which cannot truly be replicated on the page. Of course, timing, beat, intonation & other elements also change from page to stage, but I am thinking mainly of movement, expression and costuming—specifically in comparing Sarah Jones’ “Your Revolution” and Aya de Leon’s “Hoe Supastar.” I found both to be pretty incredible. They are going after a similar problematic element of the African American hip hop industry—the exploitation of women in the interest of self-representation. Both are edgy and cut-throat; one is straight-up declarations through rhyme, the other is satire & musical performance.

I read the Jones first—I picked up on the musical references & was singing the lines of the songs in my head that were inserted into the poem; I didn’t need a performance there. I also immediately fell into the rhythm of the lines, picked up the beat and the rhyme scheme, and was experiencing the piece as a musical critique of a music industry. The last three lines read as a bit of a letdown for me. I was grooving with the repetition and the rhyme, expecting the climax (what IS the real revolution?) but then it just.. ended. Although I could see it working in terms of content, it left me wanting a more satisfying wrap-up of the pulsing rhythm. I’d like to hear how Jones would read this, I’m think she had a plan with those last lines, as everything in the piece seems so carefully chosen. Maybe her pause, her intonation & her positioning would have made it all come together better for me.

Now, when I watched Aya de Leon’s piece (at least as much as I could because the sound cut out of the youtube video early in the second half…), I have to admit, my ears were burning. I felt shy and excited about the way she presented herself. For a moment, I wondered if I should be offended, particularly because of the intro to the piece, played with no visuals against a darkened screen:

Next up is one of the most controversial artists of our day. Also on the Mighty Ignant label. She has been called one of the 10 most negative women in the U.S. by Ms. Magazine, and her world tour was picketed by angry women in Europe and Japan. Give it up y’all for Lady XXX-Rated.

I wondered if the correct link was sent out, and braced myself for what I was going to see. Then I thought of the Performance Group—Meg, Naamen, Micah & Jennifer—and told myself: Cool it, and trust these folks. Lady XXX-Rated struts onto the stage, displaying her body in her skimpy outfit to a cheering crowd. Once she started speaking, I understood that all this—the clothes, the wig, the announcer—was part of the image she was creating. She was in character—a character in the unique position of being a participant in a misogynistic element of the hip hop industry, but also an outspoken proponent of her placement within that industry (or at least the benefits that could be reaped from it).

This was taking Patricia Smith’s skinhead poem to another level—de Leon’s character is so fluid that we are forced to wonder whether there is some truth to her, and question how we fall in relation to her. de Leon further implicates the viewer in this manner when Lady XXX-Rated calls out the feminists of the Ivory Tower for critiquing her. So we are unable to write this character off as a subjugated woman who doesn’t even realize she is creating more problems for other women because then we are those finger-pointing, disconnected critics. And everybody seemed to freaking love Lady XXX-Rated (not sure if she is a parody of an actual person..). As soon as she started singing & dancing my cheeks burned even more. I loved the beat even though the lyrics made me angry. I loved the confidence of this woman, how assured she was in her body—even though I know this was supposed to represent a false confidence and problematic representations of the body.

So we are wooed by this character while at once aware of how she is knocking “herself” down. de Leon creates a fabulously complex image with this piece: she triggers our love for a good beat & an engaging character, and uses it to break down the entrapping misogyny of the mainstream (corporate) hip hop machine. She is using her body to display the misdirected way women have used they bodies to gain a lucrative position in a classist/racist nation. The costuming & movement she incorporates are absolutely critical to the success of this piece—making me wonder what effect it could have had on the page. But de Leon doesn’t give us the easy out, either, of being disgusted by or critical of this representative character. Because this character has a voice. The final message, if there can be one in so few words, is that we need to come down not on the women in this industry, but on those who put them in these positions; and, we need to reclaim this art from, as women, for our own self-representation & direct financial gain.

And, just a minute… could that be the “real revolution?”