Natch,
I get psyched when fresh lit comes my way (yes, total geek). Among
the recent prizes laid on me by my generous writer posse are the LJ
Open Mic Anthology, a little ditty that anthologizes the writers frequenting
the Little Joy reading series, and The Poet Remains, a poetry collection
by Leo Victor Briones.
The LJ Anthology (Knownothing Press, 2007) marks
year two for the Little Joy reading series, a killer weekly bar reading
pulled together by Keith Niles, the L.A. underground scene’s resident
poet-cum-tragic prince. Holding court at a little Echo Park hovel
lovingly protected from hipster posers and bleach, Niles creates a
land where everybody wins and loses and both go down with a drink.
“No one is bad here,” Niles affirms comfortingly in the editor’s note
as though he is throwing an arm over your shoulder and offering you
a shot. “The only sin is that of being a Pro,” he writes, “having
an act, playing it safe . . . this is supposed to suck.” Niles defends
the open mic as offering “the possibility of the miracle” when “the
dud that can’t hold a tune” keeps at it until “springing forth suddenly
one day with a voice.” Obviously, Niles has got something with the
Little Joy open mic. Every week the tiny bar is crammed to the pool
table with fearless artists airing their shit in front of a crowd
unfazed by accolades and polish.
As a decent chunk of the work in the
zine demonstrates, LJ’s self-proclaimed rabble can be as thoroughly
miraculous as the Pros can thoroughly blow. The anthology offers up
a nice showing of all that is right about open mics, especially this
one. The theme is largely failed relationships and life misfires applied
in that often refreshingly honest and unashamed tongue exchanged between
barstool compatriots and unrepentant poets who slurp the muse from
the bottom of a low ball glass or rummage for it with a one night
stand in a bed that smells like a kennel. These are writers unafraid
to explore life from the pavement, a rawness often pooh-poohed by
schools more attuned to canonical themes and forms.
Yet while
the LJ anthology demonstrates how the open mic can unchain poetics,
it also demonstrates a hint of what open mics can attract. The only
downer is an almost overpowering masculinist vibe, one jumpstarted
by the heterosexist teaser line “Booze, Broads, and Bullshit” emblazoned
on the cover and other sexist musings passed off as metaphor. Oy vey,
dudes; it’s like trying to talk to an otherwise OK guy who cannot
refrain from reminding you what a stud he is every five sentences.
The overcompensatory crapola detracts from what is otherwise a fairly
unpretentious vibe.
Thankfully, this is tempered by solid work, including
that of Niles, Paul Chavez, and Larry Colker (winner of the 2006 Poets
and Writers California Writers Exchange contest). In his narrative
poem “Fake,” Colker offers a narrator who ponders the aftermath of
casual sex against the potential for a deeper connection. Colker’s
clever application of humor and insight to the topic proves that the
LJ open mic has plenty of room at the bar for those armed with top
notch poetic know-how. No worries, LJ, a little cred here and there
won’t wash off the glorious crash and burn.
The Joy broads have their
minute as well—including L.A. standouts Theresa Antonia and Danielle
Grilli, whose prose mediation “Untitled” washes away the post-breakup
miasma with a current of startling imagery and graceful strokes. And,
I cannot wrap up without slapping down a round for Becky Hayes. Her
awesomely fucked up bar napkin scrawls are topped only by her equally
disturbing and dark-humored prose dissertation “Blind Spot,” written
in what reads as the POV of a sex worker ruminating over her youthful
and unintentional initiation as a dom. Nicely done, Chicas.
I imagine Niles will bust on me for promoting his hard work, considering
the “No Promotion, No Amplification” motto stamped firmly in caps
on the masthead. My excuse? I can’t help but love the thing for its
as-close-to-unpretentious-as-a-pack-of-poets-will-ever-get obsession
with our beautiful, plucky foible. In L.A.? Go, see, read, support.
