An artists’ coop — make that co-op — rented by a group of visual artists, serves many artists. Those that chip in and help with the rent, the visuals, use it as a studio. There are paints finished paintings, easels, works in progress everywhere and words of the prophets written on the gallery walls. Every fourth Thursday but in December is Spoken Word Night. The venue also welcomes aspiring writers to a weekly study group. The name of the co-op, located on the northwest corner of Pasfield at South Grand in Springfield, Illinois, USA is The Pharmacy. On Thursday, December 15, Springfield poet A.D. Carson came to The Pharmacy to share his poems, his music and excerpts from his first novel, COLD.
The audience arrived at 7:00 pm, “Springfield-style” which translates to 7:15 ish? 7:20? So what’s yer prablim dud? Before they began coming in, a well-done program had been placed on every chair. The publication included a short biography of Carson and notes about his book excerpts, raps and poems he intended to perform. Once the featured guest made it to the microphone the fireworks began.
Bookending the show at start and finish were an Intro — “Rap Star” — and an Outro (Carson’s word) — “My Hustle” — excerpts of prose from COLD read live over a music and sometimes, voice track on a CD or Blue Ray (I would not know a Blue Ray from a Charles ray.)
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The titles of Carson’s oratories would mean nothing to most Honey & Quinine readers as the titles of songs I have written would mean nothing to those who’ve not heard them. And as someone almost said, “You can’t judge a poem by its title.” or if you’re from corn country, “You can’t judge a poem by it’s title.”
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There is no mistaking The Pharmacy for Carnegie Hall. But there is no denying that for A.D. Carson, The Pharmacy may be remembered, some day, as a step in that direction. And while conceding that many “performers” develop individual personnae — personnas if you don’t do Latin — there was no trace of such contrivancing before or during his time behind the microphone. As he set up his sound system he talked amiably with all who approached him. Before and during the patter, the reading and reciting — and I’m sure some folks will say I’m doing the man no favors by sharing this opinion — he seemed the quintessence of Will Smith on the Letterman show. There is no hint of sullen resentment, the bravado of ultra-kewl and distancing from any living human being, present that evening. There were some who seemed to be marginally living, and one or two who seemed to be marginally human in their ways of being, but they all came to the event. And this happy circumstance “speaks” to the man’s wide-spectrum appeal.
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It was a complex production for a one-man delivery. Some items were read to a recorded musical background, most if not all his own two CD recordings of his own writing to music track and spoken word. He sang and spoke as a living second speaker in harmony, frequently, with what came from the recordings. Carson demonstrated an artist comfortable with intricate timing and production. He didn’t miss a cue. He talked about “rap tracks:” recorded music and percussion serving as a foundation for what’s delivered live on stage. A major rap artist had offered to record a rap track for him for $300 and he declined because he would rather make his own. The variety kept things interesting as he read from his novel, shared a poem . . . this, that and whatever and never overloading the preamble. Evident on the side where the audience couldn’t read the screen was a device that kept him on program, was used to cue the next number, and may have shown the texts of some poems he was reciting “almost” from memory. It was a nifty idea. He also read from paper, but was never chained to the pages. Eye contact with the audience was consistent throughout. Otherwise, poetry might as well be read to your living room mirror.
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The only down side was the question and answer period that followed directly on the heels of his performance. By the time I exited “with all deliberate speed” for home at the end of the complete package, I could not remember if there had been an intermission between performance and QandA. I don’t believe there was. If there had been, and if I had understood the likely . . . . . . . d-u-r-a-t-i-o-n . . . . . . . . . . . . of what was to follow, I would have thanked Carson for a terrific performance and departed cheerfully. Much of the second half was tech talk generated by aspirants in trail. There wasn’t a “dumb” question or answer in the onslaught of them. A surly, but young, dude who might have played a role in the dancing chorus of “West Side Story” as one of the Jets challenged Carson to a “rap off” or a “rap duel,” something like that. The gentleman in front fielded the question reacted as Fred Astaire might have, brushing powder off his shoulder after a slow dance with Ava Gardner. He explained The Pharmacy was not the place to discuss duelling rapsters; maybe later on the street corner. Smoooooth. It seemed obvious Carson was in familiar territory.
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But the session wasn’t happy time for me. There was no escape because unlike the high school students who had exited during the performance during the introduction of the next book excerpt or poem, there was no time for breathing before the next question. There was not previously arranged end time, either. The longer it went, the more disappointed with that part of the evening. I was trapped in the front row! And by the time it all came to a lurching conclusion, I hated the world.
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The Visual Arts Gallery at University of Illinois Springfield brings featured artists to curious audiences BEFORE the official receptions begin, usually a half an hour before the gallery doors open. Artists talk about their art and then answer questions, and anyone with a question unanswered can talk to the artist during what follows. Launching the QandA after a n intermission where folks could socialize with Carson and then stay for the rest if they wanted to stay would have made a big difference in how I carried my attitude during the short walk back to my home down the block and around the corner. In the future, I will exit soon after the last item in the performance is completed, even if there are crackers and wine promised after the QandA.
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I am still very happy to have attended A.D. Carson’s performance. I learned a lot about the man, his life on the journey to that night at The Pharmacy, and I guarantee all readers of Honey & Quinine — HandQ, if you prefer — you will be glad you shared what he shares, the next time you attend an event that promises more.
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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.
Apologies for mis-spelling the poet’s good name in the first photo caption. I THOUGHT I corrected it. In pennance for my unintended oversight, you may call me Belinda.
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