The Prototype

The first time I saw Love Jones, it was in the theaters.  I was in the seventh grade, and I remember going to the movies with a friend of mine – still high from Erykah Badu’s debut album, and couldn’t wait to see a good romantic drama about black love.  (Though I doubt we would have articulated it that way back then.)  From the leather, denim and sepia saturated cinematography to the bluesy soundtrack to the flawless beauty of Nia Long, everything about that movie excited me.  And Darius Lovehall (Lorenz Tate)?  Darius Lovehall was the best thing since sliced bread. 

The character’s pomposity and wordplay were an intoxicating combination that could make you slap him and still invite him in to “talk”.  I’d experimented with writing poetry by this time, but Love Jones introduced me to the performance aspect.  Though it would be a little while before I began performing, from the night I left the theater I was hooked.  Spoken word was this intellectual, grown and sexy thing in my mind, and Darius Lovehall was it’s patron saint.

Fast forward some years, and I’m at the New York comedy club about to slam against some dude named Talaam Acey.  I’d never heard of him and the prize was a paltry $25 (enough to cover the drink minimum, the host joked), but no matter –  this was just for the love of words.  I. Was. Floored. He had an amazing way of intertwining sensuality and social commentary ( p**sy and politics) that tricked the audience into learning something.  His delivery was wonderful; his demeanor – haughty and humble at the same time.  After a close judging, we complimented each other and I invited him to a bi-monthly open mic in Jersey City.

When he showed up to my stomping ground in JC, he brought some copies of his latest CD to sell.  The title was Morally Bankrupt, and it was the best $10 I ever spent.  I played it on all-day repeat for weeks, and I dethroned the fictional Darious Lovehall as patron saint of spoken word because here was a man who made Mr. Lovehall sound like a beginner.  Since our first meeting, I have purchased two more of his CDs and even saw Talaam when he came to KCMO earlier this year.  (It was a Tuesday night, folks.  I don’t go out on week nights for just anybody.) 

He’s made a living at this performance poetry thing for over a decade.  He travels and performs and writes.  He’s still just as haughty and humble.  He’s still teaching audiences on the sly.  And for a limited time only, he has a free download (courtesy of Microsoft) of a piece called “Five Women”.  I’ve listened and I enjoy it; though I think some of his earlier work had more fervor.  Check it out, if you have a chance.  For some, this will be an introduction; for others, sweet nostalgia.  Either way, I offer a taste of the Good Deacon and his Reformed Church of Lyrical Lucidity.  (Oom Sha-lock-lock.)*

 

*The italics reference specific pieces of Talaam’s poetry.  Though I would like to take credit for “The reformed church of lyrical lucidity”, I cannot.