Kevin Coval's Release of L-Vis Lives!
September 14th, The Metro, Chicago
Review by J.W. BASILO, Performance Editor
If one wanted a single adjective to sum up poet Kevin Coval, it would probably be “ambitious.” This is, of course, is the man who along with co-creator Anna West took the idea of bringing Chicago teens together to share poetry and turned it into the Louder Than a Bomb, the biggest youth poetry festival in existence. It was under Coval's watchful eye that the program went from a couple dozen students in a theater basement to a monolith – a poetry slam festival encompassing 72 schools across the Chicago area that spans two weeks and contains a plethora of bouts, workshops and side events. LTAB has become a household name even outside of Chicago, a project so compelling that the documentary made about it toured the film fest circuit to great acclaim before being picked up for mass distribution by the Oprah Winfrey Network.
These achievements might not be as impressive if Coval's “grind” didn't also spill into his personal work. He crafts poems that ooze commitment. It's easy to get the impression that each word has been toiled over, every image obsessed into perfection. His first two books (Slingshots: A Hip-Hop Poetica and Everyday People – both on EM Press) are loaded with pieces that not only point the camera at the truth of the author but also fearlessly tackle the subjects that color his world. Coval never wavers when in the face of the controversial, be it racism, poverty, or the disarray of the public education system. His most recent work, L-Vis Lives!: Racemusic Poems (Haymarket Books), however, is more singularly focused, an examination of whiteness told through the lens of an disembodied “Elvis”: the metonymy of white boys everywhere falling in love with, and ultimately stealing from, black culture.
A book release as an event is not a new concept. In fact, in the last few years it seems strange when an artist releases anything without some kind of culminating production. Usually, at least in the poetry world, the author rents out a modest bar, bookstore, or coffeehouse, reads some of the pieces, maybe throws in a few colleagues to fill up time, and at the end of event sits down to sign copies. The guise of the celebration is, at its core, just a way to sell a bunch of books at once – a jump-start of sorts to prove to the publisher that the title wasn't created in vain. Coval's book release though, was more circus than literature event, more hip hop summit than stuffy, wordsmith circle-jerk. The site of the event, The Metro, is a mezzanined, full-scale rock club; it's a place where mid-level bands and MCs play to hundreds of standing-room-only fans. I must admit that when I heard of the event, my hipster reflex kicked-in. Even I, a colleague of Coval's and a supporter of all things “big air,” had twinges of who does this prick think he is? Shame on me for sleeping on the man's ambition.
Once I waited in line for will-call (yes, actual tickets were sold) I walked into the theater space to find the stage fully lit, with the ubiquitous DJ Itch 13 spinning records. The older members of the sizable crowd waited in their seats while the younger cats milled around or danced, creating a vibe unlike that of any book release I personally had ever seen. After a few minutes, the show kicked into full-swing as an Elvis impersonator, complete with jumpsuit and disposable scarves, came out to tenuous applause and lathered the crowd with a few passable renditions of The King's classics. The bejeweled Lothario exited to a half ovation and the man of the hour took the stage as a whiteboy video montage flashed on the cinema screen behind him. The evening was peppered this way: rounds of poems read by the author intercut with tunes with from the DJ (also in Elvis garb) and videos displaying icons of the whitewashed black music landscape. The music, video, and chronology of poems all worked to tell the tale of the journey of whiteness discovered through black music. The screen images in particular served as one giant wink to the audience. Though Coval never really made direct reference to the screen, the slide show of faces like Eminem and 3rd Bass did much of the subtext's heavy lifting. The multimedia presentation, combined with Coval's obvious love and mastery of the subject material, did an excellent job of adding important notes of levity and authenticity to the affair. If we're being honest, it's quite a chore a for most people to listen to over an hour of poetry – especially from the same speaker – but the spectacle and nature of this particular release party turned what is often an obligatory, masturbatory event into (gasp) something that was actually enjoyable for the audience.
Coval makes no qualms about where he comes from – how he too was once a white kid in love with black culture who showed his admiration in all the wrong ways. From the tale of busting weak rhymes for his class during an election rally, to the cringe-worthy yarn of going to a suburban strip mall salon before the prom to get a “peace” sign shaved into his head, the author never hesitates in skewering himself first. The genius, of course, is that every embarrassing word only adds to his credibility. A white man standing on stage to talk shit about white people makes most folks want to head for the exits, unless of course the speaker has the awareness to admit he too is part of the problem. No sooner did I make note of this than Coval himself uttered the thesis statement, “it ain't where you're from, it's where you're at.” This statement worked as the tipping point of the show, where the conversation of whiteness grows from wink to dialogue. It is also here where Coval makes it clear that the characters within the pages and on the screen have so much to tell us about America. Really, what can be more gangster than taking over a culture?
This column wouldn't be this column if I didn't directly address the performer's actual performance. Ultimately, Kevin Coval's “performance” of his poems, I must say, is nothing special. His voice is well-suited for the pieces he presents, and I believe the poems are indeed better coming from his physical throat, but that's not at all why I chose to discuss this particular event. I opted to tackle Coval's book release because of what it was: an accomplished poet finally creating for his poetry the spectacle it deserves.
Review by J.W. BASILO, Performance Editor
If one wanted a single adjective to sum up poet Kevin Coval, it would probably be “ambitious.” This is, of course, is the man who along with co-creator Anna West took the idea of bringing Chicago teens together to share poetry and turned it into the Louder Than a Bomb, the biggest youth poetry festival in existence. It was under Coval's watchful eye that the program went from a couple dozen students in a theater basement to a monolith – a poetry slam festival encompassing 72 schools across the Chicago area that spans two weeks and contains a plethora of bouts, workshops and side events. LTAB has become a household name even outside of Chicago, a project so compelling that the documentary made about it toured the film fest circuit to great acclaim before being picked up for mass distribution by the Oprah Winfrey Network.
These achievements might not be as impressive if Coval's “grind” didn't also spill into his personal work. He crafts poems that ooze commitment. It's easy to get the impression that each word has been toiled over, every image obsessed into perfection. His first two books (Slingshots: A Hip-Hop Poetica and Everyday People – both on EM Press) are loaded with pieces that not only point the camera at the truth of the author but also fearlessly tackle the subjects that color his world. Coval never wavers when in the face of the controversial, be it racism, poverty, or the disarray of the public education system. His most recent work, L-Vis Lives!: Racemusic Poems (Haymarket Books), however, is more singularly focused, an examination of whiteness told through the lens of an disembodied “Elvis”: the metonymy of white boys everywhere falling in love with, and ultimately stealing from, black culture.
A book release as an event is not a new concept. In fact, in the last few years it seems strange when an artist releases anything without some kind of culminating production. Usually, at least in the poetry world, the author rents out a modest bar, bookstore, or coffeehouse, reads some of the pieces, maybe throws in a few colleagues to fill up time, and at the end of event sits down to sign copies. The guise of the celebration is, at its core, just a way to sell a bunch of books at once – a jump-start of sorts to prove to the publisher that the title wasn't created in vain. Coval's book release though, was more circus than literature event, more hip hop summit than stuffy, wordsmith circle-jerk. The site of the event, The Metro, is a mezzanined, full-scale rock club; it's a place where mid-level bands and MCs play to hundreds of standing-room-only fans. I must admit that when I heard of the event, my hipster reflex kicked-in. Even I, a colleague of Coval's and a supporter of all things “big air,” had twinges of who does this prick think he is? Shame on me for sleeping on the man's ambition.
Once I waited in line for will-call (yes, actual tickets were sold) I walked into the theater space to find the stage fully lit, with the ubiquitous DJ Itch 13 spinning records. The older members of the sizable crowd waited in their seats while the younger cats milled around or danced, creating a vibe unlike that of any book release I personally had ever seen. After a few minutes, the show kicked into full-swing as an Elvis impersonator, complete with jumpsuit and disposable scarves, came out to tenuous applause and lathered the crowd with a few passable renditions of The King's classics. The bejeweled Lothario exited to a half ovation and the man of the hour took the stage as a whiteboy video montage flashed on the cinema screen behind him. The evening was peppered this way: rounds of poems read by the author intercut with tunes with from the DJ (also in Elvis garb) and videos displaying icons of the whitewashed black music landscape. The music, video, and chronology of poems all worked to tell the tale of the journey of whiteness discovered through black music. The screen images in particular served as one giant wink to the audience. Though Coval never really made direct reference to the screen, the slide show of faces like Eminem and 3rd Bass did much of the subtext's heavy lifting. The multimedia presentation, combined with Coval's obvious love and mastery of the subject material, did an excellent job of adding important notes of levity and authenticity to the affair. If we're being honest, it's quite a chore a for most people to listen to over an hour of poetry – especially from the same speaker – but the spectacle and nature of this particular release party turned what is often an obligatory, masturbatory event into (gasp) something that was actually enjoyable for the audience.
Coval makes no qualms about where he comes from – how he too was once a white kid in love with black culture who showed his admiration in all the wrong ways. From the tale of busting weak rhymes for his class during an election rally, to the cringe-worthy yarn of going to a suburban strip mall salon before the prom to get a “peace” sign shaved into his head, the author never hesitates in skewering himself first. The genius, of course, is that every embarrassing word only adds to his credibility. A white man standing on stage to talk shit about white people makes most folks want to head for the exits, unless of course the speaker has the awareness to admit he too is part of the problem. No sooner did I make note of this than Coval himself uttered the thesis statement, “it ain't where you're from, it's where you're at.” This statement worked as the tipping point of the show, where the conversation of whiteness grows from wink to dialogue. It is also here where Coval makes it clear that the characters within the pages and on the screen have so much to tell us about America. Really, what can be more gangster than taking over a culture?
This column wouldn't be this column if I didn't directly address the performer's actual performance. Ultimately, Kevin Coval's “performance” of his poems, I must say, is nothing special. His voice is well-suited for the pieces he presents, and I believe the poems are indeed better coming from his physical throat, but that's not at all why I chose to discuss this particular event. I opted to tackle Coval's book release because of what it was: an accomplished poet finally creating for his poetry the spectacle it deserves.