The Great Beauty

(La Grande Bellezza)

-Film Reviewed by Lisa Umhoefer–

Few films call for an instant replay. The Great Beauty (La Grande Bellezza), written and directed by Paolo Sorrentino, is spectacular. Seeing it once won’t be enough for some audiences, and many will consider immediately returning to the box office to purchase tickets for the very next showing.

The film opens with a female choir singing in a tourist spot in Rome, Italy. The angelic music, the heavenly views and the strange quietness of the scene woo the audience, until the mood is suddenly interrupted when an Asian tourist suffers a fatal heart attack. Gradually, the shock of the tourist’s death fades, and the singing and stunning photography of Rome resume. A powerful introduction, viewers immediately register that they are on a tragic and comedic footing. The Great Beauty meditates on the joys and thrills of life and living, without which there can be no death.

Enter Jep Gambardella (Toni Servillo), the film’s central character. He is first seen celebrating his 65^th birthday in lavish and eccentric fashion. Jep arrived in Rome 40 years previous, wrote a novella that garnered him some fame and then spent the next four decades following his dream of not only living the party life, but controlling the city’s party culture.  His desire is to decide for all what is hot, and to become the chief authority on this subject.  His fabulous apartment, with its large balcony lying directly across from the Coliseum, is the perfect spot to host large drug and alcohol-fueled binges. The age range of the party, which varies wildly from young to old—all free and sensual—is a refreshing sight for American eyes, where audiences rarely witness anyone over 21 enjoying themselves with such liberty on screen.

Critics have argued that The Great Beauty pictures the gross debauchery of Rome’s elite, perhaps romanticizing it to excess.  While wealthy and ostentatious characters are featured, they certainly are not the exclusive topic, nor are they pictured as single value characters who are either all bad or all good. Jep, in his wandering, encounters old friends, including those that still work in strip clubs to make a living.  Life is not easy for anyone, audiences discover in sad detail, but it can be beautiful for everyone as well. Jep’s romantic encounter with the daughter of the friend from the strip club is a wonderful depiction of the variety of love that can come from one person knowing another, if only a little bit.

The Great Beauty has been compared to La Dolce Vita by Federico Fellini. The comparison is apt on some levels, especially concerning the visual circus of images, but this film offers more humility and focuses on the importance of each individual man and woman’s life. At one point, Jep is hosting his friends in a quiet discussion in his backyard. After being chastised by one woman for his drifting ways, he brings her down to earth. “We’re all on the brink of despair,” he defends his lifestyle in a manner shocking in it’s bluntness, yet eloquently spoken. “All we can do is look each other in the face, keep each other company, joke a little… Don’t you agree?”  Clearly he believes his  lack of ambition is less a flaw than it is a conscious decision.

The company this film offers is superb. The images are breathtaking; the camera swoops and moves within Jep’s world, reassuring audiences as though they are being rocked in a comfortable cradle. Meanwhile Jep’s narrative merges with Luca Bigazzi’s brilliant cinematography, offering a parental voice that earns each viewer’s trust and sympathy.

There is not much in the way of overt drama or action, but this does not detract from the experience of this film. On the contrary, Paolo Sorrentino has crafted a coherent world that illuminates life’s most transcendent moments. Exploring the powerful emotions of heartbreak, embarrassment, longing, even exuberant happiness, audiences witness a majestic, though human life story play out and will feel drawn into the splendor and colors of every scene.

 ***

 Post Photo Courtesy of http://filmmakermagazine.com

Photo Courtesy of: http://www.baltimorebrew.com

Something with

a Crust

-Book Reviewed by Rachel Wooley–

Kimberley Lynne’s, Something with a Crust: Stories from Hamilton, is a collection that represents its Baltimore neighborhood beyond the setting: these stories are in turn quirky, campy, dark, funny, disparaging, and uplifting. They showcase the working class and the privileged, the thriving and the abandoned. They demonstrate the small-world, tight-knit feel of Baltimore’s best communities and the isolation of its neighborhoods from one another. Even the cover illustration, a close-up image of form stone, finds its inspiration here: the stucco finish was patented in Baltimore in 1937 and can be found covering many a rowhouse in multiple neighborhoods.

These stories, while billed as fiction, sometimes blur the line between that and memoir. Lynne draws from life experiences in her Baltimore neighborhood and beyond, seamlessly weaving them into imaginative scenes. The stories themselves are clearly linked, too: characters reappear, paths cross, situations move from background to forefront (like the ever-intriguing Asian lady in the round hat). You’ll start to recognize them from one piece to another – or maybe even from real life, if you’ve spent any time in the city.

Each story begins with an image – black and white, overexposed, taken from some part of Hamilton. Trees, street signs, and store fronts give a clue about where each story is oriented. The stories are narrative, and for the most part within the realm of realism, though sometimes the light mist of something magical slips in. “I believe that there’s some sort of energy in the universe, some sort of magic,” says the narrator in “The Whim of the Great Magnet,” the collection’s final story; “I can’t name it, but I feel certain it can name me.” Lynne might not be able to name this magical element, but she is certainly in tune with it here.

Lynne’s variety of description throughout the book is enchanting. She has a lyrical way of making comparisons even when describing people or scenes that don’t seem to merit such treatment. For example, in “The Guru of Hartford Road,” the title character has cheeks that “sag in pouches, pocked like pears teetering on the edge of decay.” In a few of the shorter pieces, like “A Little Wilderness,” these lyrical descriptions take the forefront, giving the stories a wonderful sparkle: “I like a little wilderness in my yard…I keep the wild barely at bay, a reminder of the tangle inside each of us.”

The strongest stories, however, are the ones in which Lynne has moved completely into the heads of her characters: third-person narrated pieces like “A New Minefield,” in which a 30-year-old classically-trained cellist is trying to reclaim his passion, and “Tree People,” in which a tree trimmer falls for the woman his uncle is dating. These stories unfold beautifully, and in a sense intricately, so that even the more absurd situations, like Felix’s in “Baked,” where someone breaks into his house to bake a pot pie, seem logical on some level. Lynne gives all of her characters incredible authenticity, which allows the outcomes of their stories to feel “right.” And one need only spend some time in Baltimore, particularly in the neighborhood of Hamilton, to realize that any of the situations  could also be true.

“Something with a Crust” is Kimberley Lynne’s third published book and her first collection of original short stories. It is her thesis project from UB’s MFA in creative writing and publishing and offers a wonderfully rich perspective on her home city. You can find it at The Gift Cellar and The Red Canoe (both in Lauraville, MD) or through its website, somethingwithacrust.wordpress.com.

***

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Innanetape

-Album Reviewed By Jake Kresovich–

Vic Mensa, a 19 year old rapper from Chicago, launched his solo career after the breakup of his former band, Kids These Days. He released his first mixtape Innanetape in the fall of 2013.  The Source magazine has ranked the album as the second best mixtape of the year, placing Mensa on the same pedestal as Chicago’s other up and coming artist, Chance the Rapper.  Likewise, Complex magazine has identified Mensa as one of the ‘25 new rappers to look out for’.  Both Mensa and Chance are part of the Chicago artist collective “SaveMoney” which consists of rappers, visual artists, producers and other driven, talented youths.  After a successful debut year, Vic will tour internationally beginning in February.

Innanetape opens with the song “Welcome to Innanetape.” Here, Mensa wastes no time demonstrating his considerable abilities as a rapper. He rhymes over a beat that remains heavy throughout the song.  This baseline drags slightly and is unable to keep pace with Mensa’s rhymes, but it never holds the vocalist back. Instead it creates a nice contrast with Mensa crafting brilliant verses to skillfully navigate the tricky pulse.

The lead single on the album “Orange Soda” shows Mensa’s ability to slow down and become more thoughtful with his rhymes.  In this song he rhymes about falling in love with music and the challenges that come along with trying to make it big in the industry.  “They made a list about Chicago rappers and they skipped me,” he complains.  But this setback has only inspired him to work harder. Towards the end of the track, a piano rings while Mensa sings overtop, offering a refreshing change of style from previously introduced beats and melodies.

“Tweakin’”, the album’s fourth track, again features a weighed-down beat that seems to lag behind the abilities of the lyricists.  At times the beat is confusing to follow, with pointed drum shots and slurs but this muddling of sounds hardly limits the power and emotion of the song. “Tweakin’” playfully invites Chance the Rapper to a guest verse and he does not disappoint.  His unique voice and flow shine through as he uses his lyrical ability to create some imaginative lines.  “They say a smart man looks like a mad man to a dumb man/ But one man…wait I’m tweakin’” Chance rhymes at the end of his verse as he loses track of his thought process, tying in his bars with the theme of the song.

Mensa touches on the violence of his hometown in the song “Yap Yap.”  The beat for this song fits the song’s theme in that it is dark and uses hard snare shots to sharpen the sound. The song begins with Mensa saying, “You think they stopped making guns when they made yours?” implying he also owns one.  After which he rhymes about making cops “miss their quota” by making sure “the baby’s in its manger” a reference reminding gun holders to makes sure their weapons are well hidden when the cops come around.  Like many other Chicago rappers the epidemic of violence in Mensa’s immediate environment has inspired many of his rhymes.

Innanetape is an ambitious and excellently executed mix tape. Although some of the production elements could be improved, the album as whole, and Mensa’s verses in particular, deserve all the praise they have received and more. Mensa’s friendship with Chance the Rapper exemplifies the well-connected Chicago music scene, and how there is thrilling innovation taking place in the Windy City’s studios.  Even better, Innanetape is offered as a free download, an authentic and generous gesture from one very talented kid who is having a ton of fun on the brink of fantastic success.

***

Post photo courtesy of http://theboombox.com

Harvey

-Theatre Review By Rachel Wooley–

Harvey, now playing at the Vagabond Theatre January 10th through February 9th, is an imaginative tale about Elwood P. Dowd, a well-to-do man whose invisible best friend, Harvey, is a 6’8 ½” pooka that has taken the form of a white rabbit. What is a pooka? And how will Mr. Dowd’s family, especially his society-minded sister, Veta, handle his unusual companion? These and other questions are answered in this fun revival of the classic 1950’s story.

The play opens with Veta (Joan Crooks, who gives the role just the right amount of drama), and her daughter Myrtle Mae (Karina Ferry), hosting a society party in their shared family home while Elwood (magnificently played by Roy Hammond), is out. Veta and Myrtle Mae can’t help ducking away from their guests every few moments to discuss the success of the party, but they’re also afraid that Elwood will come home early and bring Harvey with him. Of course, their fears play out exactly as they imagine: Elwood arrives home from his card game, Harvey in tow, and is pleased to find that Veta and Myrtle Mae have friends over. He sets out at once to introduce Harvey to the society ladies, to the horror of his sister and niece.

Mrs. Chumley (Amy Bell) and Elwood P. Dowd (Roy Hammond). Photo courtesy of Ken Stanek.

For Veta, Elwood’s behavior at the party is the last straw. She decides, with encouragement from Myrtle Mae, to have him committed to an asylum. In a comical twist, however, Veta manages to get herself committed instead while Dr. Sanderson (Chris Cotterman) allows Dowd to go free. The rest home must then correct its mistake, and Dr. Chumley (Phil Gallagher), the head doctor and founder of the home, appears to aid in the search for Elwood. (Phil Gallagher was cast in a last-minute replacement for Chumley due to the original actor’s illness; he gave a masterful performance.)

Chumley successfully locates Elwood – and Harvey. But the doctor’s own sanity is challenged when he discovers that he too can see the white rabbit. Complicating matters further, the doctor learns that Harvey may be able to grant him an unusual sort of reprieve from his overly taxing job.

The Players have built a delightful set to accompany the show. The first act takes place in the fairly intimate setting of the family library. The conversion to the large, open reception area of the Chumley Rest Home for the second act (via some ingenious hinged walls and rotated props) is fun to watch.

Dr. Chumley (Denis Latkowski) and Dr. Sanderson (Chris Cotterman). Photo courtesy of Ken Stanek.

Various sub-plots add to the entertainment. Myrtle Mae is at the age where she’s ready to be “turned out” into society and begin courting. Ferry’s range of facial expressions while Veta recounts having her clothes “ripped off” before she was forced into the bathtub at the rest home, is priceless. She’s horrified for her mother but also intrigued and amused by the idea. Then she meets Mr. Wilson (played by Colin Holmes), the rest home worker responsible for Veta’s horrors. Their instant attraction is obvious (and amusing), but masterfully portrayed by the actors so as not to be overstated.

And then there’s the tension between young Dr. Sanderson (Chris Cotterman) and the lovely nurse, Ruth (Amy McQuin). Their attraction to one another is clear, but seems to manifest itself only through arguments and bickering. Cotterman overacts the part a bit here, with exaggerated facial expressions and movements during his interactions with Ruth and Dowd, but will hopefully settle into the role in subsequent shows.

Amid all the chaos, Elwood manages to befriend nearly everyone. He clearly values companionship more than anything else. He hands out his business card in a comically repetitive gesture, taking hospitality to an extreme and inviting new acquaintances out for dinner or drinks immediately upon meeting them. His new friends – from the nurse to Dr. Sanderson to Chumley’s wife – are easily won over by his earnest enthusiasm. Hammond gives Dowd a sort of flighty, fidgety air; his fluttering hands and slightly unkempt appearance (his hair, for example, is always completely mussed when he’s not wearing his hat) make his earnestness seem even more endearing.

Judge Omar Gaffney (Marc Rehr), Veta Louise (Joan Crooks), and Myrtle May (Karina Ferry)

Elwood is eager to make others happy, especially Veta.  He ultimately lets his sister decide whether he should take the treatment from Dr. Chumley, which may eliminate the problem of Harvey forever. Thus, Veta must choose whether she prefers to rid her brother of his eccentric companion and help him to become “normal,” or to keep him as the kind, pleasant man he already is, eccentricities and all.

Director Sherrionne Brown (who also had a hand in the set design, sound design and props) brought to life a wonderful rendition of the story. The play is a light-hearted reminder of the importance of true companionship. It’s funny, uplifting, and marvelously executed – you’ll start to believe, like Veta, that you’re catching glimpses of Harvey, too – and you’ll be glad for it.

***

Announcing the Winner!

Monologging.org is pleased to announce the winners of its first annual “Travelogue Contest” The contest drew entries from all over the world, and has helped connect a greater network of writers. Participants compiled short, 250 word stories based on there travels. The contest was judged by Jeffrey F. Barken and Menachem Kaiser. Submissions were rated based on story telling technique, and the author’s accompanying original photograph from their travels. Monologging.org looks forward to repeating the contest next summer.

This years winner is Caitlyn Taix. Her travelogue, entitled “Casino Forests” recounts a dispiriting breakdown in Nevada, and a night’s stay in Reno. To read Caitlyn’s travelogue and view her winning picture please scroll below. Contest runner-up, Emily Villela’s piece, “Bogden Voda,” is also below.

Reno Sunset, Photo Courtesy of Caitlyn Taix

 Casino Forests

-By Caitlyn Taix-

Reno sounds agreeable if completely unfamiliar. Beth’s Rav was ill with MS like tremors, so we decided to stop there and give the car a rest. But we’d already pushed her too hard, so she died there instead—right off the interstate. In the core of a hectic intersection. I panicked. We were supposed to make it to the Redwoods tonight. “We’re gonna need to push it, Caitlyn.” Up a goddamned hill. Two sweet Mexicans and 30 seconds later, we were at a gas station calling a tow truck. Beth laughed and made things easy; her optimism never faltered. I mean, she finds 2 four-leaf-clovers in a mile wide field. When the tow truck finally arrived, the driver was charitable and offered us a ride to the hotel that my sympathetic father bought us. “You don’t wanna pay cab fees. Just buy me a Happy Meal and we’ll call it even.” We bought him two.

We found that Reno is not California. Glass elevators are not hiking trails. There aren’t

Redwood forests, but acres of casinos. Orange, wrinkly women with bedazzled pants and purses playing slot machines in gas stations. Everything neon and ching-chinging; everyone graying and smoking cigarettes. We were in a concrete carnival nightmare instead of in a tent under lush trees. The only friend we made was a thug named Avon who asked us to come party. Sensibly, we fled. So we got drunk and trespassed and pissed on the hell-hole. We mailed postcards. “Reno sucks. Never come here.”

***

Bogdan Voda. Photo Courtesy of Emily Villela

Bogdan Voda

-By Emily Villela-

Lou and I had been dating a year when we went on the road for four months. We bussed from

Albuquerque to New York, flew to Barcelona. From Spain, we traveled to Marseille, Zagreb, Bucharest. I was planning one week in advance: how we would travel, where we would sleep, where to buy groceries. Romania was Lou’s domain.

We were headed to the rural province of Maramureş. The conductor woke us before dawn and threw our bags onto the ground. We’d missed our stop. Outside, the mist turned to rain. We started walking.

The temperature rose with the sun. I tied my sweater around my waist and cursed my leather boots. Toothless old women and children stood on the roadside, thumbs out. I tied a scarf around my head and followed suit. We caught one ride, walked for miles, caught another.

The sun was setting.

“Where are you going?” asked our lady driver.

“Bogdan Voda.”

“But where?”

“The center of town?”

She laughed, drove home. After some discussion, she gave us a single bed. The next morning, her husband brought us bread, blueberry preserves, a steaming vat of milk.

“Is this pasteurized?” I said once he’d walked away.

“Oh for god’s sake,” said Lou.

I had no idea where we were going next, how we would get there, where we would lay our heads. Our host was tilling a garden plot by hand. The air smelled of hay and horses. Pale sunlight fell on thatched roofs. And I drank.

***

Urban Tumbleweed:

Notes from a Tanka Diary

-Book Reviewed by Kendra Bartell–

A pink snake racing across the desert

hardly needs explanation, unless

you believe it is only a trick of the mind.

In Urban Tumbleweed: Notes from a Tanka Diary Haryette Mullen presents to us 366 variations on a tanka, a cousin of the haiku form of Japanese poetry. In English language translations or writings, usually the 31-syllable form is split into 5-7-5-7-7 lines, but Mullen improvises, creating a 3 line form with variable syllables between each poem. Most stick to the 31 syllables, but all are 3 line snapshots of an urban pastoral experience.

Mullen’s introduction to the collection describes how the project made her “look forward to this daily reminder that head and body are connected.” The walks she takes, without any distractions of companions or ear buds, allow her to both connect with her body and allow for the brain and body to talk to each other, through her. The 366 poems are compiled from a year-and-a-day’s worth of walks through Los Angeles, Texas, and Sweden, presenting condensed images of each locale. The visual presentation on the page is 3 tankas per page, with considerable white space in between. This design presents readers with a choice. In their precise imagistic feel, for many, it will be difficult to resist reading through the book quickly, trying to piece together a uniting narrative structure or discover thematic links between the poems. Other readers, however, will enjoy patiently considering each poem individually. A reading strategy that bears relevance considering each tanka was composed on a different day.

The pastoral has been a form in poetry dating back through centuries and continents, so it is exciting to see a poet such as Mullen take on the form in an urban setting, while applying interesting formal constraints to the poems as well. Some of the book’s compelling imagery demands pause:

Blast of hellish breath, infernal scourge,

parched wind that whips and scorches. Green

torches, oily eucalyptus trees, bursting into flame.

In this poem readers hear the echoes of Mullen’s previous work. Each line is marked by an incredible awareness for sound and rhythm, any and all connotative and denotative meanings of words that can be pulled into the poem. But Mullen’s sense for play feels less present in this collection than in her other works, Sleeping with the Dictionary and Muse & Drudge. While Sleeping with the Dictionary, a finalist for the National Book Award, was similarly engaged in working with constraints, it did so with an eye towards L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E and more procedural poetics, working towards showing language as its basic form: building blocks to tinker with. Here, in Urban Tumbleweed, the constraint seems to be working to focus and rein in the poems, to distill them to one pure moment. The book solidly holds on to its meditative tone, even when playing with humorous moments like a hummingbird mistaking Mullen in a red dress for a giant hibiscus.

Ultimately, this book is admittedly working in a different vein. Urban Tumbleweed is not packed with allusions, riddles with sound and procedural poetics, or layered denotative and connotative meanings of words. Instead, the book presents focused meditations. Despite the temptation of a quick read, readers will likely profit most from this volume of poetry by slowing their pulse and accepting the mood cast by the sparse pages. Spending time with each tanka is rewarding. Each stanza unfolds like the very flowers Mullen has labored to present in their most concise form:

Caught a quick glimpse of bright eyes,

yellow feathers, dark wings. Never learned your name—

and to you, bird, I also remain anonymous. 

***

Urban Tumbleweed: Notes from a Tanka Diary by Haryette Mullen, Graywolf Press (Minneapolis, Minnesota)

Post Photo Courtesy of: NPR.org

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The Philadelphia Story

-Theatre Review by Diana Mumford–

The Philadelphia Story, now playing at the Charlottesville Live Arts Gibson theatre, December 13^th-January 18^th, was originally written in 1939 by Philip Barry. The revival follows a wealthy family that has been largely unaffected by the Great Depression. Barry’s approach to the slice-of-life concerns of the upper crust of society was adapted for the silver screen the following year. Both the play and film originally starred Audrey Hepburn as the lead, Tracy Lord, a socialite en route to self-discovery.

After ridding herself of her alcoholic first husband, Tracy, at present played by Elizabeth Trevor, finds a new partner in stalwart George Kittredge, played by Ray Smith. With her own love life seemingly in order, she and her family struggle with the burden of her father’s affair. The family’s troubles grow when two reporters are sent by Sidney Kidd, a tabloid mogul, to uncover the clandestine scandals of “fashionable Philadelphia.”

The reporters, Liz Imbrie and Mike Conner, played by Grace Trapnell and Daniel Prillaman, nimbly deliver dialogue wrought with dry wit. Mike’s introduction to the Lords completes Tracy’s excess of gentleman callers. The predicament of a well-to-do woman with three lovers is hard to sympathize with, but Trevor’s resurrection of Hepburn’s role is noteworthy. Trevor gives depth to the potentially one-dimensional socialite role with her depiction of her character’s genuine need to be presumed a flawed human.

Audiences will feel transported in time. The show opens with a movie projection that provides the Lord families’ back-story, an interesting and effective choice by director Betsy Rudelich Tucker. The visual incorporates traditional filming styles from the 1940s, and the device is used again between acts to move the story along. Likewise, the physical staging is done tastefully in the minimalist style of the wealthy. The wardrobe echoes the set by including well-executed vintage-inspired looks in monochrome grey tones. In classic Hollywood style, the Lord sisters change into overdone motley when peacocking for the reporters.

Tracy’s younger sister, Dinah, played by Camille Kielbasa, presents a catalyst for further discord. The table is set for drama when she invites Tracy’s ex-husband, C.K. Dexter Haven, played by Brad Frazier, to lunch. Dinah’s character has the potential to skew gratingly cutesy, but Kielbasa’s talent is apparent. She manages an intelligent performance while staving off an overly sentimental portrayal throughout the course of the play.

The parental figures in the play also deliver impressive performances. The stodgy father Sandy Lord (Johnny Landers) and mother hen Margaret Lord (Jennifer Lawless) seem entirely comfortable in their parts while Stewart Moneymaker as the lecherous Uncle Willie is both hilarious and cringe-worthy.

Barry’s play underscores the idea that humans are messes wrapped in clever packaging. As the reporters prying into the Lord’s lives, uncovering their moral shortcomings, Tracy is forced to realize her imperfections.

The Philadelphia Story is a light-hearted peak into high society. Despite the play’s sentimental romantic comedy ending, entertaining dialogue and the likeable cast create an enjoyable atmosphere into which audiences will happily escape.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of: http://www.livearts.org

Traphouse Rock

-Album Reviewed by Jake Kresovich–

Few young bands manage to put forth an album as compositionally sound as Traphouse Rock by Kids These Days. This unlikely group of high school students from Chicago, IL have created a powerful and persuading sound.  Their eight piece outfit is led by Vic Mensa on vocals, but he is not the only star on stage. Macie Stewart offers beautiful melodies on the keys and with her backup vocals. Produced by Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, Traphouse Rock blends hip-hop, blues, jazz and funk into a unique sound that begs listeners to press repeat.

Traphouse Rock rhythmically builds up and relieves tension through a number of powerful, loud ballads. The album opens with the cleverly named track, ‘(Intro)mental’ which features the piano lightly introducing a simple melody.  Once established, drums and a gentle bass fall in underneath. As the tune becomes increasingly complex and more directed, tension compounds, driving the raising the tempo, almost out of control.  Finally the guitar sounds with a soulful solo that releases all the pent up energy.

An interlude composed of radio sounds follows. The operator plays the tuner in search of a suitable station until the Traphouse Rock party begins with the third song, ‘GHETTO.’ Here listeners are immediately introduced to Vic Mensa rapping over the band’s rendition of ‘Smells like teen spirit,’ giving a nod to the youth and wildness of the band members.

The pinnacle moment of the album arrives early in the fifth track when Mensa rhymes ‘Don’t harsh my mellow’ over a dark, driven piano line.  The song is raw and tormented.  “Shut the fuck up” Mensa screams before diving into a chorus where the name of the song is repeated.

Traphouse Rock’s only guest appearance is by a young, up and coming Chicago artist, Chance the Rapper on the track ‘Wasting time.’ Chance’s verse builds as he appeals to his “darling Nicki.” He tells her that he loves her but feels he wasted time on her and is unable to understand what love actually is.

The second to last song, ‘L’Afrique’ stands out. Stewart offers a beautiful introduction over a light melody played by the keys and trumpet, pleading with the listener to open their eyes to the world and take in all that is offered. Mensa, meanwhile, adds in verses that are again a contrast to previous lyrics, touching listeners with a more reserved tone.

Along with unique, original compositions, Traphouse Rock features a number of covers of popular songs.  In particular, the horn section offers an impressive rendition of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’ during the song ‘Bad Billikan’ and the jazz ballet ‘Summertime’ in the album’s final song ‘A Man’s Medley’.

Offering more ups than downs, Traphouse Rock leaves listeners feeling empowered, and with a sense that one person can conquer the world alone. The album showcases the creativity of the young minds behind Kid’s These Days, is emotionally packed, and will liven any situation.

***

Post photo courtesy of: http://metrojolt.com

Mary Ruefle

TRANCES OF THE BLAST

-Book Reviewed by Kendra Bartell–

The world was designed and built

to overwhelm and astonish.

Which makes it hard to like.

from “Fireworks.”

It’s striking that Mary Ruefle would name her new collection Trances of the Blast, given the definition of trance: “a half-conscious state characterized by an absence of response to external stimuli, typically as induced by hypnosis or entered by a medium.” Here, the medium is of course, words. The words in each poem, like the world, are designed and built to overwhelm and astonish readers. Ruefle makes each blast entrancing, for that one moment of reading it on the page and beyond. These poems will stick.

In the first poem, “Saga,” Ruefle opens with what becomes a central motif for the entire collection: the time given to each of us as a life. Central questions with which Ruefle grapples is what is the difference between time? What happens to us, and “a life?” This opening poem sets the stage for her inquiry:

Everything that ever happened to me

is just hanging–crushed

and sparkling–in the air,

waiting to happen to you.

The poem begins with a pessimistic definition of what a life is, but through the cyclical nature of Ruefle’s linguistic connections, it turns out that it’s not quite as depressing as we thought. These “rifts and sagas” of life are “filled with /music and the smell of berries and apples,” even though there is also “shouting when a gun goes off/and crying in closed rooms.” Ruefle is honest about the ups and downs of life, the crests and troughs of these waves.

Visually, Ruefle’s poems are intriguing. Many are presented in single stanzas, often times taking up an entire page. This marks a shift in Ruefle’s poetic aesthetic from some of her earlier works. Oftentimes, in previous poems, Ruefle would signal readers when the big moment or revelation was coming: either stanza breaks or a colon would emphasize the significance of her diction. In Trances of a Blast, however, the longer stanzas force readers to balance each line or sentence on its own merits against the others and ponder the poem as a whole. Ruefle’s intention is to make readers spend more time with these poems and for them to decide on their own what is important.

That being said, some of the more visually unusual poems are also the most sonically or thematically playful as well. One of the most memorable poems in the collection is“Le Livre de ma vie” or, “the book of my life.” This poem uses short stanzas (the majority are couplets, following an opening tercet), that allow for huge paratactic leaps and bounds. For example:

I love you.

But who is the I

and who is the you?

Mr. Potato Head

Mr. Potato Head

…

Help me behave,

Weeping in the dark earth.

The jumps occurring between stanzas allow readers to ponder the statement. Mr. Potato Head figures as the malleable self that changes through the experience of one’s life, but he is also a figure for a higher power that can serve as a guide through this same experience. It’s a feat to pull off an exclamatory plea to a children’s toy, but if anyone can accomplish this, it is Mary Ruefle.

Trances of the Blast is an enchanting and mesmerizing ride along with one of our most gifted poets through “Middle School,” “College,” childhood, and middle age. The Blast becomes a figure for each of our lives, and the trances we slip in and out of while experiencing these moments. The poems count backwards, entrancing readers and also provide the gong to wake them up. In the collections final poem “Picking up Pinecones,” the speaker poses the question “I’ve spent my life in a forest./Picking up new things,/will it never end?” This is the last gong of the book–a call to arms to sit up and take notice of the forest around you–will your trance never end?

Trances of a Blast

Mary Ruefle

Wave Books, 2013 (Seattle & New York)

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