Hip-hop Daddy

Has hip-hop grown up a bit?

From the angst ridden social conscience and party vibe of the early 80s through to the gangster wishes and decrepit stories of the 90s, the flash and bang and synth of the 00s to the hip-hop of today: considered, mature, political… boring?

Of course, these are all broad sweeping statements, there’s shades of grey everywhere and within everyone, but let me say why I’m wondering this.

It’s Nas.

And his new album “Life Is Good”.

The same rapper that declared Hip-hop is Dead, (and regardless of whether you believed it or not, if you’re a hip-hop head, you probably bought into the argument) has released an album exploring his role as father, husband, their eventual divorce and of course the obligatory street conscience that named him one of the greatest ever rappers since his debut with Illmatic.

So here we have a world where hip-hop means Odd Future, Nas, Plan B, Kanye West, Jay-Z… well to me anyway. If I’m missing heaps it’s because I’m leaving heaps out, derr.

But some of the cleverest music of recent has been at the hands of crazy kids (Odd Future), or old heads (Nas, Jay-Z).

And even Odd Future has some pretty interesting things to say about the state of the world. Whether you buy into the hype or not is up to you. But the music’s got some strength, lyrically and beat-wise. It’s framing the world of the future hip-hop heads just like Gravediggaz did for me when I was younger.

And I like to think that I make some pretty articulate and creative statements in my art even with that dark background of music. So don’t write off the youngies. Time is only relevant to your position in it.

If you’re listening to hip-hop, let me know. I’d be interested to hear if you think it’s grown up, or maybe you think it’s dumber? What position does Australian based hip-hop music have in it all? I haven’t discussed it because I don’t really listen to Australian grown hip-hop music. Not since I was at a gig that felt like a klan rally. Although with the likes of Mantra, Rainman, and Hermitude, my attitude has swung back into giving Oz Hiphop a bit more of a chance.

Just don’t talk to me about 360.

So Hip-hop, you old bastard.

Is it smart? Is it relevant? Or has it got boring since NWA split?

Does music even have to be “smart” or “mature”? How does it become reborn? Is Kanye even relevant as an example?

I dunno.

I just like Nas’ new album. 

A different brain space...

Photo credit: www.vintageprints.ca

Performing is integral to my art.

So I'm finding it really really realllllly hard to get it suitable for print.

I'm trying to put together a zine of some of my best work and some of the stuff that's never made it to the stage, and I gotta say, it's not easy.

Editing and fixing and fixing and editing and making sure the layout's good and running down to officeworks to print only to realise it's not right so editing and fixing and geez it'd look good in colour but i'm not rich so it's gonna have to be black and white oh mannnnnnnnn it looks terrible!!!.... blah blah blahhhh...

But it's rewarding to revisit some of my stuff from over the years that has sat there in hibernation, waiting for something other than a stage performance to let itself out of the shadows.

Pieces like The Seamstress, about a sinister old magic lady who weaves her spells throughout a small town.

Tales from Stradbroke Island last year when I met a beautiful lady who introduced herself as "Mars-like -the-planet-chocolate". 

She drove me to the ferry.

And other bits and bobs that have floated about in my subconscious.

Sometimes there is art that needs a different medium to spring forth. Whole and clear.

They certainly weren't coming out for the stage.

But now that I've thought about them with a different brain space...

who knows?

Let's play. In different ways.

UNrequired Reading - Turnstyle

Image not mine, courtesy of http://writing.wikinut.com/Honouring-Sylvia-Plath/9hln3v-_/

If you haven't heard, Turnstyle is a little pocket of community-run initiatives based in South Brisbane.

Tonight, as part of the Brisbane Fringe Festival, it's all about the words.

Oh God The Words!!!

Here I was hoping to have at least a week away from poetry and yet I am thrust back into it, unable to resist the lure of Eleanor Jackson, Doubting Thomas, Liv In(the)finite and Maia Sinclair-Ferguson.

Damn you!!!!

It's all for Unrequired Reading, a beautiful little bulb that will shed some more light on the lives of Ted Hughes and Silvia Plath that Thomas and Eleanor brought forth for QPF earlier in the month.

I missed it then.

I sure as hell ain't gonna miss it now.

Don't you either.

7pm - $10 on the door.

There's soup, drinks and more as well.

----

Thurs 13th & Fri 14th September
@ Turnstyle Commmunity Hub: 10-12 Laura St, Highgate Hill
Ticket Price: $10 on the door (soup included!)
BYO & Bar Available

The Sorry Tree

It's World Suicide Prevention Day, and after being introduced to the crew from Soften The Fuck Up, I thought I would write a piece concerning the taboo of suicide, especially in young men. However, I always felt it was rather forced for me to talk about something that wasn't directly related to me. Then I realised if I don't talk about it, and leave it only to those with first-hand experience, I just contribute to the very taboo I'm talking about.

I met a guy a year ago who talked about when I was in my rap crew M.A.S. and how, when I left, a few fellahs followed my art still.
Then he told me when they "fell off".
At first I didn't know what he meant.
Then it clicked, and I understood.

This piece is dedicated to those boys, whose names I don't know, whose faces I never saw, but knew me as someone, or something, that made their life a bit brighter.
And also to those boys who I never met and will never know and who never knew me at all.

Peace. Love to you.
Scotty

Slammy

I remember a few years back when I won the Qld Poetry Slam, and I thought I was awesome. It was something that I wanted. So. Bad.

And this year I got to host the QLD Poetry Slam heats and final with the lovely Tessa Leon and I gotta say it was a blast.

See there's this thing that happens in slam.

You want to win. Most of the time.

And as a host. You have to take the piss. Most of the time.

And somewhere in the middle you meet that careful see-saw of acknowledging the effort and the nerves of the poets involved, while also acknowledging that, realistically, this is the smallest stepping stone in a performance/poetry/artistic future.

And that it's just a frikkin slam.

So thanks to the following poets who just performed on Friday night. Just did their thing for the poetry, the stage, and not for the points.
Thank you Betsy Turcot for giving me a poem. And a beautiful one.
Thank you Eleanor Jackson for giving me a reason to enjoy slam.
Thank you Angela Willock for stepping up and just being you.

And thank you to all the young kids who were there from regional QLD areas and beyond. Sharing their stories for the sake of sharing their stories. You were all really great.

It was a blast. And there's always next year. And the year after. And the year after.

Rebirth

Once again the QLD Poetry Festival and the QLD State Poetry Slam are over for another year. Nimbin Performance Poetry World Cup is done and dusted and all that is left is the party and the sunshine of B.F.F. and Brisbane Festival, West End Street Party (22nd September) etc etc... all in all though, the peak of the words are done for another year!

And at Jam Jar Poetry Slam on Sunday I was lucky enough to experience some of the spill-over from that. We had 12 poets sign up, most of whom I'd never seen before but had come to the slams and the poetry events throughout Brisbane.

Also, I got to witness one of my workshop participants win the slam on sunday, after having a huge growth in performance after entering Nimbin and the state slam. It's so great to see people go from strength to strength and realise there is no final product in poetry, or even art in general. You just keep going. Keep creating. Keep challenging yourself in new and exciting ways.

So good on you newbies, semi-newbies and not-so-newbies. Let's keep going.

I know this next year will be challenging for me in my pursuit of constant challenge and creation.

It might be time to write a show.

It might be time to tour overseas.

Either way the poetry community is in safe hands.

Home part 1

Home has always been a strange concept for me.

Relatively speaking, home is a place right? A house, a suburb, a street... whatever.

See I moved around a lot when I was a kid. I believe I never stayed in the same primary school for more than one year. In grade 2 I moved up to Tewantin on the Sunshine Coast because my mum had met a guy and we moved in with him. It was not good. It was not bad either. I remember a sense of anxiety and depression surrounding that place. And my mum became a vegetarian and by default so did I. I've harboured a hatred of squash ever since...

But every weekend I would hit the waves and be the best little surf grommet I could be. That was my home: the beach, the waves.

I was scared and awed by the huge goannas that would slip their way up trees with their giant claws and I even remember being swept up by a rip and my mum rescuing me.

Holy shit did she paddle her arse off!

When we moved back to Brisbane it was once again back to the flats, the apartment blocks, the little cheap areas where kids ruled the crevices and parents thought they new EXACTLY what we were up to. And they probably did. But I know we got away with more than we got in trouble for...

I was lucky enough to live next door to my cousins at one stage there. And to this day I have an excellent relationship with my cousin Josh. We grew up together, got in trouble together, fought, hated, raged, laughed, came home scratched up, fell over, fell up, threw up, and had to sit in opposite corners to cool off...

This was in the Capalaba and Cleveland area east of Brisbane.

And of all the 'spaces' in my life, I can still go back to Capalaba and know that this is where I'm from. While we moved around a lot, that area of Brisbane has remained the space that grew me up so to speak. To this day the scent, sight, and feeling of mangroves makes me feel okay about the world. Thanks to regular visits to Wellington Point, Cleveland and that whole Moreton bay area.

My grandparents always lived in a caravan for all of my young life, and even now they're off in Tasmania doing the whole grey nomad thing. But they were nomads and a little bit gypsy before they were grey. Always off, my Dar playing country music at RSL's and bowls clubs across the country. Always with a little bit of money in the pocket for the next adventure. Fishing rods, crab pots and a little dingy carefully arranged on their dust covered 4x4.

Nowadays I can step into a caravan and, thanks to numerous holidays with my grandparents, feel right at home.

And when my cousins moved out to Mundoolun in Jimboomba, I would spend days and weeks with them in my teenage years, exploring the scrub, chasing cows, riding bikes, swimming in waterholes, screaming SNAKE and trying to catch yabbies. I would eventually move out there for a few years in my late teens and love the sound of green tree frogs at night, of thick raindrops on tin roofs and motorbikes streaking across the dry countryside.

So between the moves throughout Capalaba, Wellington Point, Cleveland, Tewantin, Runcorn (where I spent my teenage years), Jimboomba, and wherever a certain caravan was parked, my concept of home has roughly been a roving venture.

In my adult life I've lived in Armidale NSW, Kangaroo Point, East Brisbane, Browns Plains, Heritage Park, Annerley and South Brisbane.

So what's home to me?

A safe space, a space where I can sleep comfortably, feel loved, listen to music, write my poems, cook a mean feed and know that I can come to at anytime, in any situation, without judgement or vilification.

So why all this talk of home?

Well I've recently lived in a house where hippies ruled and the garden was king. A beautiful house, full of love and laughter.

Then shit got weird. Well, it was always a bit weird. Flatmates that want constant attention and wanna be best friends can get tiring. But when flatmates like that will do anything for friendship, like inviting wandering junkies into the home, that's a bit strange. And when said junky takes a friends bike from the back yard, that's a bit shit. But when said junky 'loses' bike so brings back a $4g bike as replacement, that's just suspect. But hey! At least she bought a bike back yeah? (That bike was taken to the cops and had been reported stolen... so...)

Then when said junkie is snooping around the house a week later after just inviting herself in, that's a bit creepy.

Then when said junkie walks into my room while I'm sleeping, hungover and groggy and steals my wallet, you'd think something had to be done right?

You see I loved that house, wanted to live there for at least a year, but the concept of locks has boggled the mind of my weed smoking, "the universe has the answers" flatmate. And when the rest of the house broached this subject with him, he nearly threw the keys at us in a huff and puff and blow your home away.

So I'm leaving, shell on my back and antennae strapped tight to my head.

Home eh?

Tying this huge tirade together (thank you if you've made it this far) is the fact that I'm co-ordinating the Storytelling section of this year's Home Festival on July 21st at Raymond Park, Kangaroo Point. Poetry, storytelling, spoken word, theatre, jamming, roving performances etc. Yep we'll be living, loving and learning about home and what it means to all the various demographics of the local 4169, 4101 etc postcodes. It's Home Festival! So what does home mean to you? Got a story to tell? What's in your street? Any ghosts? Where's home to you and how do you define it? How is it destroyed? How is it upheld? Have you lived in the same house since like forever and what does that mean home is to you? Is home just a pillow? Is home a place in your heart? Is it a smell/touch/feel/sight?

I know if I've been travelling, there's nothing like the sight of that big brown dusty river to make me feel like I'm home.

Home Fest on Facebook