Glaring Shadows

Glaring Shadows

-Poems and photography by Eliza Newman

 

Speak

I lay there,
His bicep beneath
My taut body,

My dry tongue unable—

I accept his kisses,
My eyes look past;

Isn’t the sunshine lovely?

Limbs atop the binary blanket,
Vomit stains masked
By the glare
Crimson and amber rays
Muffle my screaming—

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

As his hand inches towards mine
My skin recoils

O, renegade, O wrenched self.

 

 

 

Baby

Hold me near,
pass not a word.
The red sea won’t part today.
Dread and
my core filled full;
cling to this moment of uncertainty
(even as the hungry pink lines
keep screaming).

At dinner, a baby coos—
so plump, I think, so loved.
Breast milk floods the apples of her cheeks;
Her sweetness waters my eyes.
But neither of us could wish for that.

Not really.

No matter how sweet,
coos and smiles can’t erase
the screams for blood.
No craggily mugs of coffee in bed tonight,
no record playing or twinkly lights.
Silence plays endless reels;
surplus cowardice fills gaps.

Oh baby, what have we done?

We pray for the day to end,
sleep transposing fear,
quieting the merciless screams.
Blood.

***

Post Photos Courtesy of Eliza Newman

Worn To be Wild

Worn to be Wild

-Reporting by Betsy Alee

October 3, 2014-January 4, 2015, the Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, VA hosts the exhibit, “Worn To Be Wild: The Black Leather Jacket.”

Certain objects and images reflect the character of the era, inspiring people to listen to the human story. Think of da Vinci’s Mona Lisa of the Renaissance or the Tricorn hat of the Colonial period. In modern times, the black leather jacket is an icon of similar significance. These sleek and showy hides draw eyes and envy. Born on the backs of aviators and brought down to earth by the stainless steel of motorcycles, leather jackets outgrew the industrial age and entered the realm of high fashion. From the jacket’s hardly humble beginnings, generations have witnessed a spectrum of reality and fantasy. At the Chrysler Museum, individual lenders have contributed pieces that showcase the versatility and allure of this wardrobe staple.  A reflective journey through time begins at the entrance to the exhibit, detailing the leather jacket’s unique history.

Visitors first glimpse a display of leather jackets from the early 1900’s, a time when utility battled style. A knee length coat belted at the waist greets patrons and evokes the image of a soldier outfitted to ride in an open sidecar. These early coats had simple lines and promised relative protection from the elements as the new century’s vehicles and flying machines propelled people higher and faster. By the 1940’s, leather jackets were primarily designed to meet the needs of  bikers. Shorter jacket lengths were more practical and black was the “in” color. The “D” pocket, a large pocket on the front of the jacket that allowed easy access to maps, keys, or more nefarious items, became a common design feature. Likewise, adjustable collars and pitched sleeves provided for an optimal bike riding position. Several examples of these gnarly jackets hang in a row, chronicling the garment’s evolving style as it proliferated to fit the general public’s clothing needs. Throughout the 1950s and 60s the jacket achieved full swagger status with the help of entertainment industry studs like Elvis Presley and Steve McQueen. The collection even includes a 1956 Harley-Davidson Model KH owned by Elvis Presley. Elvis and this motorcycle were featured on the May 1956 cover of The Enthusiast Magazine for Motorcyclists, cementing the relationship between the leather jacket and timeless style.

The black leather jacket is clearly a canvas for creativity that fits a person of any persuasion. A look at the jackets of the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s, as well as today’s leather selection reveals colorful personalities and bravado. The look suits the courageous and cool, rock stars and runways, law enforcement and outlaws, moody anarchists as well as settled suburbanites. Likewise, the visible paint, buttons, patches, rhinestones and studs that adorn the jackets in the collection hint at the efforts leather connoisseurs make to customize their outfit.

Careful listeners will enjoy additional entertainment when they register the anecdotes of patrons passing through the exhibit. This reviewer overheard several tales, including one man’s story about an uncle who had sewn rabbit fur lining into his leather jacket. In another overheard tale, a young man told his friend about his first leather jacket, a souvenir purchased at a bazaar in Turkey. Leather jackets are uniquely adapted vessels contributing to personal expression and the creation of lasting memories.

The exhibit concludes in a separate room with a Pièce de résistance for anyone interest in history: the WWII jacket of General Douglas MacArthur, Commander In Chief Far East. Curious how you’d look dressed in leather? Whimsical interaction with selected jackets is permitted. Patrons can don samples and pose on a Harley-Davidson. Bridging the past with the future, an iPad is situated off to the side, allowing visitors to snap pictures and immediately post their proud leather-clad moment to social media. The inclusion of technology offers a clever portal into the museum’s treasures, spreading the word to all leather aficionados, grab your gang and get the bikes! “Worn to be Wild,” offers an excellent perspective of a classic style that continues to fascinate every generation. Don’t miss this exhibit. According to The Chrysler Museum of Art website, “this is its last stop on a two-year exhibition tour, and come January 2015, the show will be dismantled, and the objects returned to the lenders.”

***

Post Photos Courtesy of: http://www.chrysler.org/

Mad Honey

Post Photo Courtesy of http://alicejamesbooks.org/

Post Photo Courtesy of http://alicejamesbooks.org/

Mad Honey Symposium

-Book Reviewed by Kendra Bartell-

Mad Honey Symposium is a wonder of a book, a collection of poems dense with sonic pleasures as well as lyric puzzles. “Your mouth pins every sticky/body, swallowing iridescence, digesting/light” Mao calls in her first poem, Valentine for a Flytrap. This love sonnet pays reverence to that most carnivorous of plants. The verses hint at the emblems, both beautiful and dangerous, that are to come in the book: mad honey, bees, honey badgers, dire wolves… Mao creates a world lush with fervor, madness and poison, replete with dazzling imagery.

The collection dwells on the concepts of being drunk with love, poisoned by beauty, and savoring delicious flavors. Many of the poems center around “mad honey,” an alluring concoction which a pair of lovers imbibes in order to revive their sexual lust for one another. Later, we hear the voice of Pompey as he considers the suffering of his soldiers who retch violently after eating Mad Honey. The language of these “Mad Honey Soliloquies” reflects the allure of the honey: “It was swarm season. In the sweltering evening, blood/was scented, pure delphinium. Honey and carnage — // Delphi once prophesied” we hear from Pompey. The lilting language and the pure imagery draws readers into an intoxicating melody where vibrant characters dance.

Durian, Monstera Deliciosa, Azalea, and the Trinidad Scorpion pepper also make appearances in the second section of the book. They are either eaten or tempt consumption. In Hurling a Durian, it is “the fantasy fruit: it can awaken/desires lodged deep inside a person…so I am addicted, of course. Not to eating/but to sniffing it like glue.” The speaker desires to experience death, the act of killing, all spurred by the fruit’s corpse-like scent. The fruit holds a promise of death, just as the Monstera Deliciosa, if “unripe, it will steal your voice. Your gums/will blister little stars. You’ll vomit, swell, tremble.” Mao turns the traditional trope of eating in poetry on its head by focusing on food that can kill. This toeing the edge of what is delicious and what is dangerous creates a thrilling tension within Mao’s poems.

The book is rich with sonic musicality, creating a flow that draws readers and doesn’t let up. There is a physicality to Mao’s language, one that illustrates both the content (that is, her focus on the act of eating) and her technical word choices. The power of her language demands reading out loud. Otherwise, readers will miss the slipperiness, alliterative echoes, and split rhymes. “Mad Honey Song,” a poem towards the end of the book, reads like a lyric braid: “Dung describes my lips/on your lips. Dung describes the disgust, the gust, the August mud…When you’re done, I am paper and I am guts, I glut/and seethe.” Mao’s language is dazzling and intelligent, and her formal decisions strengthen the sonic presentation of each poem. “Mad Honey Song” is a poem of strophes or stand-alone lines. Each one announces its presence, creating a weight for each line that allows the music to hit you (and often, knock you out with its intensity).

Mao also focuses on femininity within the collection, specifically; she questions and challenges traditional notions of what it means to be a woman and to come into womanhood. An early poem in the collection, “XX,” begins “The night my sex returned, I shut the door,/barricaded it with a rattan chair.” This poem is a vivid, internal, savage look at entering into a sexual world when others are “half-asleep” or “locked inside [a] purity panoply.” The speaker calls: “despised softness, how a bite can sluice/flesh.” She rejects the stereotypical feminine roles of “softness” and “purity” head on. Later in the collection, we hear echoes of this speaker return: “If I could do girlhood again, I’d ask/to be scarier. Less whimpering—more pyromaniac/urges, more flirting with kerosene” (from Drop-kick Aria).

Mao draws parallels between this speaker, whose voice shows up in more than one poem, and the honey badger, nature’s most fearless predator. The badger is often referred to as a “she,” conflating her fierceness with that which the speakers of these poems crave: “When the snake whispers venom into her throat,/she does not whimper./A broken badger is not a sad thing.” The honey badger enters into the world with ferocity and refuses to back down. This behavior, Mao suggests, is an idyll of femininity with which we can relate.

Watch this author. Mad Honey Symposium is captivating, and Mao’s work will inspire as well as challenge readers to spit fire with a vivid tongue. Her imagery draws readers in with a clear voice that leaves all the marks of passion; lyrical memories that won’t fade fast.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of http://alicejamesbooks.org/

Picasso at the Lapin Agile

Lapine One

Picasso at the Lapin Agile

-Theatre Review by Victoria Kennedy

Catonsville, MD. 10/17- 26. Salem Players presented:  Picasso at the Lapin Agile. For those who missed this gem of a performance, here’s a recap.  Daniel Douek directed a community theatre rendition of the comedy by Steve Martin.

In his directorial debut, Douek embraces Martin’s legendary wit, crafting hilarious scenes that develop at a breakneck pace.  Set in 1904, patrons of a Parisian bar called the “Lapin Agile” await the arrival of Pablo Picasso. The scene is a charming space decorated with wood grain. The bar dominates the set, adorned with jewel- tones and a large painting of a pastoral landscape hanging above. This authentic neighborhood watering hole is somehow cozy enough to attract the most unlikely customers.

The magic, which takes the shape of an extended Saturday Night Live episode, begins when Freddy (Chris Carothers), the bartender, steps out from behind the closed curtain. He introduces himself and invites the audience inside the bar.  Etiquette is disturbed, when Gaston (Scott Graham), a feisty, dirty old man, enters. The drunkard sings loudly, and talks nonstop about sex and drinking.

Next to arrive, Albert Einstein (Harris Allgeier) is young and neatly dressed with slick hair. He walks around tentatively seeking the ideal seat.  At which point, audiences learn that this is no ordinary play. “In order of appearance, you’re not third,” the bartender objects to seeing Allgeier  diverge from the scripted action. In a notable departure from the norm, he walks out into the audience and retrieves a copy of the program.  “You’re fourth.  It says so right here; Cast in order of appearance.”

We get our first hint of Picasso’s presence, when young Suzanne (Gemma Davimes) enters, saying; “I heard Picasso comes here.”  Heads turn. Her enthusiasm and curiosity for the celebrity suggests an intimate relationship or the desire for one. When the bar crowd confirms that Picasso “sometimes” frequents the bar, she extracts clothing from her bag. She then asks everyone to turn around – except for Gaston, who she sees as no threat, due to his age – and exposes her bra, as she changes into a more revealing top. Aware of Gaston’s obsession with sex, the audience gets a laugh out of this gesture.

By the time Pablo Picasso makes his entrance (he’s seventh), Einstein has dominated the small gathering of bar patrons, conversing about his scientific theories with Freddy’s girlfriend Germaine (Ashley Gerhardt). Throughout this dialogue, Einstein also displays his uncanny ability to problem solve, as Freddy solicits his help tallying his liquor order. Soon the bar has attracted a small crowd, including Picasso’s art dealer Sagot (John D’Amato). Just as their topic turns to Picasso, the legendary artist enters Lapin Agile.

Felix Hernandez is impressive in his stage debut. He passionately portrays the insecure genius, Picasso, shedding light on the real life Picasso’s immense dislike for his archrival Matisse. Hernandez jumps right into the hilarious fray, announcing, “I’ve been thinking about sex all day.” To which Gaston replies, “I’ve been thinking about it for sixty-two years.” The conversation unravels, revealing the full extent to which the pair obsess over women.

Despite the other patrons’ ostentatious interest in their distinguished guests, Einstein is, in fact, the most surprised and fascinated to discover Picasso. Before this night, he didn’t know the man existed. Both men are on the brink of tremendously successful careers. They proceed to exchange ideas, realizing that art and science are not so different. Einstein tells him, “I work the same way. I make beautiful things with a pencil.” They begin to compare their work and the methods by which they create. Their passionate exchange results in one of the most interesting scenes of the play:  a duel of pencils, Einstein vs. Picasso. The result is a mutual respect and admiration for art and science.

“You two are sprouting a lot of bullshit…,” Germaine ridicules their peculiar conversation. She even suggests that they have only pursued physics and art simply to meet women.

Another character, Schmendiman (Bennett Remsberg), adds another dimension to the fast-paced production when he bursts into the bar. The zany young man claims to be an inventor who “will be changing the century.” He then extols the value of following one’s heart to cement his place in history, before making a hasty exit.

Rounding out the cast is “the Countess,” (Hannah Kempton), and “the Female Admirer” (Crystal Sewell). Picasso assumes Sewell is a swooning fan, when in fact she’s an admirer of Schmendiman’s. Then there’s “the Visitor,” (Orbie Shively). Late in the play, “the Visitor” adds a strange element. This oddball character dressed in a sharkskin-esque suit complete with blue suede shoes claims to be from the future and embodies the lip-curling King of Rock-n-Roll.

Meanwhile, Einstein and Picasso continue to look ahead into the twentieth century, envisioning their influential roles. In the wake of a shooting star, the men and their supporting cast, grasp the endless possibilities of what the future holds and infuse the audience with the enthusiasm to believe in their prowess.

Douek, also a seasoned actor, shows promise, as a director. His rendition of Picasso at the Lapin Agile poses a delightful riddle: what happens when Einstein and Picasso meet in a bar? “I never thought the twentieth century would be handed to me so casually,” Einstein says, acknowledging the talent of Picasso. Indeed, in one act, the audience is given a glimpse into the different perspectives, hopes and ideas that these two figures championed. Audiences laugh, because Einstein and Picasso make their work look so easy.

***

Post Photos Courtesy of Daniel Douek

 

 

 

Daxia Formations

Daxia Formations

-A Collaboration by Patrick Milian and Harry Kleeman

In this collaboration, Monologging artist, Harry Kleeman combines his performative work with that of his digital practice and beliefs to collaborate with Monologging poet, Patrick Milian. Patrick’s body and mind conscious poems convey a raw and in some cases withering existence. The anatomy of Man is on display, as well as a whirlwind complex of maturing voices.

Harry’s pictures, likewise, explore the male physique through an intricate process. “The original performance consisted of a 2 hour long photo/video shoot with collaborator, Daniel Nielson,” the artist notes. “Daniel shot digital pictures as I went into a rage of monologue and painting in order to access and mutate an uninhibited self.” Kleeman has done numerous similar performances, and they are a part of a practice that he believe yields growth through transformation and persistence. The artist then combines the digital photos of his performance with found digital images of the Daxia Formation, a surreal, psychedelic colored landscape in China…

 

#1

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

 

 

Boy,

The kind of story here, the rules for doling out
tragedy, is no cushion for this femur
like a fuselage. Convention’s no diagram for
your body’s gleaming dismemberment.
Your zipper’s teeth nipped a fleck of flesh—
not yours. Now everything softens like marrow.
What you gain from carrying a dim menace
in bones curved with rage and submission
is a silence broader than snow-clad cities. Burning
bad news seldom thaws black ice knuckles,
and putting your dukes up at a bespoken narrative
won’t diminish its velocity.               Slowly,
the story goes that we learn our own fragility.
The story goes on without us if it has to.

 

 

 

 

#2

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

Man,

Whatever barbed boys don’t, you and I shall assume,
unerringly understand is up to them to look up.
Your consummate cohort, male humans of history,
isn’t but birthright, butch bequest—yours, mine maybe.
Will it be Gutenberg’s inheritance that I get?
Or whoever stamped it second, lived long enough
to bind it in books? Masculinity’s mostly
my limbic library, but also an apogee
I’m cagily catastrophizing. Man, I don’t desire
half as handsome a chest. I’d rather not remember
works and words you worried and rubbed into records.
What I assume shall you assume? Or should we whip
the shroud sheets? My rewired reading list
makes nothing like knowledge, not even eminence.

 

#3

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

 

 

 

Boy,

The emerald insinuation around a pigeon’s neck
knocks black out with refraction—stretches,
catches roadflares and swampgas—but no one studies
sturdy bodies. No one measures out in verse
birdy clots with matted claws. You should
shed your obsessions with the dirty dove’s green
ring—fastened delirium, pedestrian concern.
Unlearn what you’re convinced is your vision.
Shun the hypnotizing repeats, the rancid loops
spooled up and over, up and over, up and over.
Reverb is emptiness. Epiphany is just music
sickened by its own replaying. Amateurism
matches lacquers of gold to what’s ungrown.
Flown far from song, your birds don’t breathe.

 

 

#4

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

 

Man,

Adumbrated destiny,              biological fate,
calculated shadow that            darkens behavior:
evolution isn’t aging,   as         far as I’m aware.
Getting hard is getting             hard. Bulged or sunken
ingenuity of the chest:                        jugulars don’t make a
ka-ching below the                 left clavicle, but split,
make a crotch                          near the heart. Where’s my
original sin? Just a                   precious lattice-work  of
quietude quickened to             rock-rigid anatomy.
Stuff this stuff,                       this avaricious and
underwhelming adulthood.      Virility is a myth,
wonderful fodder for               ex-infantrymen.
You’ve taught me two                        zero-exception policies:
1) Manhood’s for sissies.       2) Only bones get soft.

 

 

 

#5

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

 

 

 

Boy,

Surely sight’s feeble momentum loses its
shrapnel-zone’s far-reaching perimeter
in shadow. Strange fact about pigment:
the shortened scope of vision somehow makes
shaded tones seem verily black instead
of shuttered, subdued versions of magentas,
chocolates, and scarlets. Fundamentals
in charge of sight get forgotten at midnight,
when boys are forced to seize the azures
made up in favor of such assured tones
as muddy foreheads and soured chardonnays.
Please hold votive lamps skillfully, or choose
to be foul Eros—light sparking off your chest.
Pray for scars that shine precious silver.

 

 

 

#6

Daxia Formation Performance Art by Harry Kleeman

 

 

 

Man,

Get icky, Heracles; I’m your Iolaus: lover/
nephew. Get newborn; I’m your baby-self
strangling snakes. Get slithery; I’m your snake,
making your making mythic. Get grown up.
Go faceless, fortified with a dramatist’s
mask. Go heroically under the mountain, where
we used to sleep. Go youthfully to the usurious
ends of our little loves, little lores. Go away.
Give me a sip of the ceremonial wine without
cutting me. Give it classily like a proper pagan.
Or conceivably classically. Give an assignment
to the theorists following along at home. Give out.
Gather your receipts and hope for a refund.
Gather your yoke, your years, your nerve.

 

***

 

Daxia is a true example of physical growth and development. It is a literal consequence of a transformation found in our world, but appearing to be one found only in dreams or the internet. My performance is a similar metamorphosis that affects my internal landscape in a way that only performance, rather than everyday experience, can. I also believe that the Internet and the ability to access any digital image/information at any given moment is heavily connected with a shift in collective identity and a place we go to change ourselves. I chose to use found images of the Daxia dreamscape to pierce my skin and surroundings, thereby mirroring and digitally heightening the expressions I attempt to achieve in my performance: ephemeral immortality brought on by metamorphosis.”

Harry Kleeman

Big Screen Streaming: Night of the Living Dead

Big Screen Streaming:

Night of the Living Dead

-Film Reviewed by Roger Market

Halloween is around the corner, and AMC’s smash hit The Walking Dead continues to dominate television with record-breaking ratings. In this climate, what horror movie marathon worth its salt would be complete without zombies? Consider George Romero’s 1968 cult classic, Night of the Living Dead, for your fright night. Five years after the film’s release, Canadian magazine Take One noted that it was the most profitable independent horror movie ever produced to that point. The film’s phenomenal success is not without reason. Even in the age of The Walking Dead, with its high production values and gripping, honest storytelling, horror fans have likely never seen anything as dark as Night of the Living Dead. The film resonated in 1968, and it retains the power to leave audiences terror-stricken.

In the opening scene, Barbara and Johnny arrive at the grave of their father. They’re still bickering about the three-hour trip they’ve taken for five minutes of remembrance when Johnny catches on to Barbara’s fear of the dead. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” he taunts, chasing her around the cemetery. Their teasing is all in good fun, but Johnny’s joke is all too true. Several zombies are lurking in the background…

Barbara and Johnny are oblivious, but for the clued-in viewer, the suspense builds until the pair finally realize that their world has changed forever. After the attack, Barbara escapes to a nearby abandoned house where a strong, resourceful man named Ben joins her. Unbeknownst to either of them, five others also claim the house as a refuge: Harry, Helen, and Karen Cooper, as well as a young couple named Tom and Judy.

What began as a quest for survival now includes themes of sanctuary and trust. Paranoia runs deep in such dire circumstances, and viewers wonder who will do the right thing, among other questions. Who is the strongest? Who is the cleverest? To what degree is each level of the house secure? Is there a safer place nearby?

Each character responds to the crisis in a different way. Barbara is almost catatonic throughout much of the movie, following the apparent loss of her brother. Actress Judith O’Dea brings a fitting sense of fear and vulnerability to Barbara’s expressions; however, this was her first movie role, and there is no denying that her line delivery is overdone in some places. Due to the movie’s low budget, many in the cast suffer from inexperience. They were all either unknowns or theater actors. Fortunately, one of the most compelling characters, Ben, is played by competent stage actor Duane Jones, who performs admirably in Night of the Living Dead. Jones has a commanding presence. As the only African American actor in the film, he stands out as a welcome hero in a racially charged era. Romero notes that Jones was chosen for the role not because he is black but because he was the best actor to audition.

Despite some acting hindrances and outdated sound and visual effects, the movie continues to garner critical acclaim for its exceptional story and its ability to reinvent the horror genre at the time. In fact, some critics and historians have remarked that Night of the Living Dead is a subversive film critical of 1960’s American society. Indeed, there are echoes of the Cold War and the Vietnam War embedded in the film. The climactic moments and denouement are bold and earth-shattering in a way that most horror movies, even now, tend to avoid. In 1999, the Library of Congress added Night of the Living Dead to the National Film Registry among other films that are “culturally, historically or aesthetically significant.” The movie is “Certified Fresh” on review site rottentomatoes.com with a 96% rating—sound evidence that tricksters shouldn’t skip this treat.

Ready to watch? You have three main viewing options, one of which is (legally) free since the movie is in the public domain due to a distributor error. First, you can watch Night of the Living Dead on Netflix if you have a subscription and don’t mind that the quality is less than great. No Netflix, but have Amazon Prime? Amazon provides a much better cut, digitally remastered for the 40th anniversary of the film’s release. The clarity improvements are staggering. Without access to Netflix or Amazon Prime? You can download the original cut of the movie at the Internet Archive (sorry, no 40th anniversary version there).

Happy Halloween!

***

Post Photo Courtesy of: en.wikipedia.org 

Ain’t Misbehavin

Ain’t Misbehavin

-Theatre Review by Victoria Kennedy

Baltimore, 10/17 – 11/23/2014, The Vagabond Theater presents Ain’t Misbehavin,’ the second production of its 99th season. Directed by Rikki Howie Lacewell, this musical revue evokes the jazz music of the Harlem Renaissance, an era of artistic excellence and innovation that defined the historic New York City neighborhood throughout the 1920s and 30s. In a nod to Fats Waller, one of the most renowned performers of the period, the show utilizes his piano rolls and smoky voice to convey the spirit of a time when artistic songs narrated daily events and newfound rhythms expressed the night’s pulse. Musicians improvised in lively juke joints, and supper clubs highlighted well-choreographed performances of show tunes, featuring soulful singers. This production doesn’t miss a beat.

The musical direction of LeVar Betts nails the instrumentation with authentic style. Likewise, the cast of seven talented performers delivers heartfelt and humorous vignettes prompted by the lively and emotional songs. Brenda D. Parker, Michelle Bruno, Summer Hill, Amber Hooper, Melissa Broy Fortson, Timoth David Copney and Kevin Sockwell rouse audiences with familiar tunes. The title song, “Honeysuckle Rose” and “T’Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness” beg viewers to tap their feet and sing along.

Individually, the cast members show Broadway-worthy abilities. Copney performs “The Viper’s Drag.” Lamenting his dream of “a reefer five feet long,” as the number explores his drugged hallucinations. He is a theatrical trifecta, equipped with the voice, the moves and the charisma to give the audience the sensation of a real “pull” on a reefer. Later, Parker’s rendition of “Mean to Me” is wrought with emotion and power in an engaging portrayal of the sincere chanteuse, a talent also showcased by Michelle Bruno throughout the production. There’s humor when Sockwell employs skillful vocals and animated facial expressions, performing the song, “Your Feet’s Too Big,” easily drawing laughs from the crowd.

Equally powerful, Summer Hill shows her chops in Act One, as the youthful Charlaine, with a combination of verve and skillful singing. In the “Yacht Club Swing” she stylishly cuts a rug, proving herself an agile match for Copney’s dancing. Not to be forgotten, Hooper and Broy Fortson complete the ensemble of nightclub revelers. With tag team delivery, they inject a comedic element reminiscent of the bewitching hour—when the night becomes loose and jovial. Their mismatched cue card flipping during “Fat and Greasy” is a tongue-in-cheek method for inviting audience participation, signaling the audience to call out “Fat” and “Greasy” in the chorus. Collectively, the cast personifies harmonic excellence.

The dynamic set design creates several scenes at once, providing the backdrop for each musical song and its accompanying story. Thanks to the theatre’s skillful lighting technician and the vibrant music, the stage is seamlessly transformed between scenes. The eyes of viewers are directed first to a park bench, then to a juke joint, and finally to a packed nightclub where jazz musicians are performing. Audiences will swear they’ve spent the night at the famous Cotton Club or  an after-hours dive on 125th Street.

Ain’t Misbehavin’ has the peculiar ability to show the beauty of Harlem, but Rikki Howie Lacewell spares excessive polish. She still provides enough grit to make us feel like we’re hanging out with a real bunch of friends. Her production simmers with delight then boils over with spice. Audiences are treated to a rare glimpse of Fats Waller’s realm, rendered complete by his memorable music. The characters, meanwhile, convey the passionate nature of the people and time period, presenting stories and personalities that are governed by song. “Black and Blue” is performed with poignancy and conviction, as the cast delivers a powerful message about the racism prevalent in this period. The soberness of the note is softened considerably by the strong harmony of the ensemble. Their performances echo the tremendous spiritual release that took place during the Harlem Renaissance and has audiences singing along.

Ain’t Misbehavin’ is playing at Vagabond Theater, 806 S. Broadway, Baltimore, MD. Until November 23, 2014.

***

Post Photos Courtesy of Tom Lauer

Great Good Fine Ok

Great Good Fine Ok

-EP reviewed by Jacob Kresovich-

“Great Good Fine Ok” is a synthpop duo recording out of Brooklyn, NY. By chance, singer/songwriter Jon Sandler met multi-instrumentalist/producer Luke Moellman on the street while walking in New York City. Soon after, they decided to play some music together. They produced and recorded their first song, ‘You’re the one for me’ during their first collaboration. The track ended up reaching number one on Hype Machine twice in one month, hinting that the two were on to something special. Next, the duo released their debut album, Body Diamond EP, on October 9, 2014, inaugurating a nation-wide tour.

The EP’s single ‘You’re the one for me’ is an extremely catchy, high energy track. The positive vibes and upbeat feelings begin immediately and never let up. Sandler shows off his vocal ability, hitting high octaves that remain out of range for most singers. The chorus is contagious, ringing, “You’re the one for me/ did you know it?/ You’re the one for me/ can you show it?/ Show me where the love is grown.” The modern day love song employs fantastic production, transforming the track into a complete work. Listeners crave more.

The song’s music video, produced by The Wild Honey Pie, features the duo as a number of characters in an 80s-style cycling class. “Great Good Fine Ok’s” sense of humor and fun-loving behavior prompts them to play a number of female characters whose personalities range from stuck-up to overly flirtatious. Equally amusing, the male characters they play are either party animals, dweebs or fitness buffs. The video is a combination of Ok Go’s famously choreographed dance routines with Brooklyn’s fascination for era-specific sartorial culture.

The three other tracks rounding out Body Diamond EP remain true to the duo’s catchy, electro-pop style. All four of the songs are memorable and hang around the audiophile long after listening. “Great Good Fine Ok” is poised for a whirlwind adventure as they embark on their North American tour. If the initial fame they scored on the highly regarded website, Hype Machine, is any indication of their growing intrigue, listeners and fans have a lot to look forward to as Sandler and Moellman’s sound proliferates.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of: http://www.thisfiction.com/

And the Winner Is…

Announcing the Winners!

Monologging.org is pleased to announce the winners of its third annualSummer Monologue Contest. The contest drew entries from all over the world and has helped connect a greater network of writers. Participants compiled short, 250-word responses to daily prompts. Fiction author Jeffrey F. Barken, memoirist, Ben Tanzer, and poet, Kelsey McMurtrey worked together to judge the submissions. Entries were rated based on their use of language to stylize stream of conscious remarks or to create a compelling scene. The winners have been invited to join the Monologging community and monologging.org looks forward to hosting the contest again next summer.

The 1st place winner of this round of monologging and a $50 prize is Jessica Meredith. Jessica’s submission, entitled “The Absurdly Cleansed,” offers a bleak view of a deserted laundromat on a rainy evening when the desire to obtain warmth and cleanliness is irresistible..

Pinhole_Laundromat_GMoyer

Photo Courtesy of wiki.lenoxlaser.com

 

The Absurdly Cleansed

Its 2 am, crying rain outside and I finally did it, hit rock bottom, finding myself in a deserted Laundromat in the middle of nowhere. My girl kicked me out of the van, again. This time she didn’t come back for me. Three hours walking through mud and slush, the only sign of life was a flickering bulb outside. Inside the furnace was cranked, welcoming me to hells gate. The gatekeeper was hunched over in a corner, pretending to sleep, murmuring words in demon’s tongue. My soiled clothes were melting into dark brown pools on the sticky floor. In front of me the glass doors to each laundry unit were portals leading to other lost souls tombs. In my pocket I still had six quarters that would pay my passage fair. But, I snapped out of it. Nice warm dry clothes sounded fine. I debated, not a one in sight to see me standing in my birthday suit while I waited, and that would leave me one quarter to make a call to my cousin to come fetch me out of my most recent episode. The hot air had my over-worked breath parched. A vending machine was barely humming in rhythm with drums beating on the metal roof. A blue bottled water button glow the most magnificent light even seen in God’s country. I was heavy with hope and desperation. Prayers flew off cracked lips. My path had been revealed. I just hadn’t been listening.

***

The following two monologues by Betsy Allee and Kim Nelson placed second and third in the 2014 Summer Monologue contest. Betsy’s monologue, “Solstice,” presents a language lesson focussed on the pronunciation of delicate words–all on the longest day of the year. Kim’s monologue, meanwhile, seeks the scent of candles to calm a mother’s nerves.

Solstice, Silhouette Asunder , Photo by Jeffrey F. Barken

“Solstice, Silhouette, Asunder.” Photo by Jeffrey F. Barken

 

Solstice

-By Betsy Allee

“Say, sal stess.” There’s just a hint of a difference.
“It doesn’t matter why it’s said this way.” Aggravating. Doesn’t it derive from a root like sol or solar?
“Say it like salsa, not like soulsa.” It only matters twice a year. No wonder no one says it correctly.
“No, we don’t have chips to go with lunch. One more time…Sal stess.”

Someone should start a pronunciation contest. A speaking bee, instead of a spelling bee. The letters are: C – A – C – O – P – H – O – N -Y Rich irony. Words spinning in sound and definition on a constant journey around the light of understanding. Knowledge may result from witnessing order, but wisdom comes conquering the chaos, and using inference for clarity does not sound like SUB plus T – L – E.  Symbols or cymbals? Without supporting instruments the cacophony endures. Like the sure purpose of primary colors, words must bond and hue to depict the landscape. Even this evidence is not enough to unleash all the senses.

I won’t explain solstice by insisting he form the word on his tongue. His mouth is full of fruit. He doesn’t have to utter to tell me he wants to be released from the impostor of instructional conversation. Proper speech assists cleverness, but the moment is rare and glorious. Letters tick by, and language tells a story, but it is the highest sunlight of the year illuminating eager, youthful cheeks that resounds in perfect harmony.

***

Photo Courtesy of en.wikipedia.org

Photo Courtesy of en.wikipedia.org

 

Candles

-By Kim Nelson

If I light some candles I won’t be able to smell the diapers. Maybe the warm flickering light and the scent of burning Tahitian vanilla will take me away. A little baily’s in my coffee. Nah a little coffee in my bailey’s. If step on another fucking Lego I’m going to run naked and shrieking through the suburbs… Oh God please let them sleep for a whole hour so I can wipe up the spilled milk and take my first shower in 3 days and maybe put on a clean shirt. No fuck the shower. Some things take precedence over cleanliness. I’m heading up to my room and I’m going to drink this by myself with nobody touching me or needing me or demanding something. Maybe I’ll light ten candles- one for each time I resisted the urge to shake a red faced raging 2 year old monster and one for each time a smart ass six year old made me feel dumb. I’ll light these red candles to forget about all the sex I’m not having- don’t even want to have any more because it’s the Sahara Dessert down there anyways. Is that the pitter patter of little feet? Nope, just the dishwasher. I’ll light the lime green one to fill my room with burnt citrus and forget
that I’m lonely. Shit, maybe I’ll just set this place on fire.

***

Post Photo by Jeffrey F. Barken

Haunted Reading

ATPLHGO_Cover

 

Haunted Reading

-Book Review by Diana Mumford

Stephen Graham Jones has encountered the creatures that go “bump in the night” and he’s telling their stories in his most recent short fiction collection, After the People Lights Have Gone Off. This book is akin to the cult childhood classic, Scary Stories to Tell In the Dark, but written for a mature audience. The traditional elements of vampires, werewolves, zombies, and ghosts all make appearances in After the People Lights Have Gone Off. Jones, however, masterfully manipulates these horror tropes, creating plots that reach beyond the genre’s traditional mythos.

His stories also explore the horror in mundane activities, immersing the reader in tales where anything can happen. In Thirteen, a trip to the movies results in an irreversible and deadly curse. In The Black Sleeve of Destiny, an expedition to the thrift shop prompts in the purchase of a sweatshirt that transports objects through space and time. In The Spindly Man, a book club meeting turns into a terrifying journey in which the narrator discovers the demons lurking within himself.

Even though his stories are not full on gore-fests, they still give the reader a visceral reaction. In the story, Solve for X, a general feeling of unease gives way to queasiness when a woman is slowly mutilated by her captor. Her torturer, meanwhile, demands answers to mathematically unsolvable questions. “You don’t have to guess… you already know. You just don’t know it yet,” he remarks. Likewise, the descriptions of a woman’s skin being slowly peeled away are both intriguing and nauseating. “The next time he pulls a strip of tape from her arm, the triangle of skin comes up with it, dangling by a gummy thread.” Readers won’t be able to put this story down until the bitter end.

The titular story, After the People Lights Have Gone Off, is, arguably, the best piece in the collection. A husband and wife, Mark and Kelly, decide to stay the night in their unfinished home. In true haunted house style, there is a mysterious accident in the middle of the night that leaves Kelly paralyzed. The story explores Mark’s difficulty coping with his wife’s accident and, his gradual realization that they are not alone in their new home. This story’s depiction of a supernatural presence is so well-drawn, readers will swear that Jones isn’t writing fiction.

These extraordinary tales would not be believable without Jones’ dimensional characters. His narrators are flawed and relatable. Even faced with elements of the supernatural, Jones’ characters also allow readers to stay grounded in a realistic environment. In After the People Lights Have Gone Off, for example, Mark’s love for his wife and his guilt for her condition understandably motivate him to seek an explanation for the tragedy they have endured. When asked by Kelly’s father why they had climbed the stairs that lead to Kelly’s accident, Mark’s inner monologue reveals his affections for his wife and his poetic nature. “Because it was cool, Stan. And because we were hot. And because our love buoyed us up to the dizzy heights.” Mark is likable, which makes his response to discovering the presence in his home all the more horrific.

After revealing supernatural elements, Jones’ dark, nuanced tales deserve a second read. The author takes the tedium and predictability out of horror writing, riddling his stories with dramatic and successful plot twists. This element of surprise will make the reader wonder where Jones gets his inspiration. Fortunately for the curious, the author’s note at the end of the book explores his inspiration and creative process. Regarding his story, The Spider Box, Jones says, “I just sat down one afternoon, knew I had two or three hours for writing that I wasn’t going to waste, so I put this title up-top, to see what would happen.” With all of these inclinations, it’s no wonder Jones has such a devout fan following. And, for those who are unfamiliar with his work, this collection is the perfect introduction.

In need of a Halloween thriller to justify all the spooky decorations on your porch and in your windows? After the People Lights Have Gone Off is the perfect haunted house coffee table companion. Leave it on your nightstand, however, and you’ll never get to sleep. Your ears will prick up, and your heart will pound at every little noise…

Available now from Curbside Splendor.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of Curbside Splendor