The Hopeless Cynic: All That Glitters... by Robert G Hagans The Robster on love and relationships...watch your step ladies and gen... [995 words]
Gay Agony In India by Amit Gupta An essay. [620 words]
A New Perspective by Richard Koss A different perspective on the 911 tragedy and its aftermath. [614 words]
The Spiritual Way by Panangipalli S Murthy - [2,163 words]
Can't You See? A Collection Of Essays by Vineetha Menon A collection: Can't You See? - An insightful view into our own handicaps... [593 words]
The Park by Robert Benton The aging of a park. [338 words]
The Bridge Between by E. M. Conary This essay describes a bridge, which although real, it is more of a metaphor about life. [474 words]
People Don't Take Time To Climb Trees Anymore by Christina Tolentino A humorous piece written for a writing class that just makes you ... [314 words]
Music Box by Ozlem Wierzbicki It is a story about friendship and how life shaped it. [373 words]
From The Author by Scott W. Hazzard The wonderful world of Hazzarding. [228 words]
Timothy McVeigh: A Legacy by Shelley J Alongi This short work examines the possibility that Timothy McVeigh in character, action an... [788 words]
The Hopless Cynic: Masochistic Summer by Robert G Hagans The Robster takes a definitive stake forward in the ongoing battle of the... [1,219 words]
The Hopeless Romantic: Lost Loves by Charles Cotterman - [523 words]
Quiet Noises; The Interplay Between Silence, Sound And Space In Hip-Hop Music. by Martin De Leon this is a meditation on the stat... [3,576 words]
Perfection And Vanity by The Amateur Philosopher An essay on the problems of the modern world and the ways in which we could change and im... [1,732 words]
The Monte Carlo Iridium Credit Card. by Peter Perkins Essay on the current flood of credit offers everyone receives daily offeri... [995 words]
The Hopless Cynic: The High School Experience by Robert G Hagans After a hiatus, the Robster is back, with a look back at High Sch... [1,243 words]
Please Forgive Me by Susan T Fisher Being human and doing things I regret. [106 words]
Our Customer Charter by Peter Perkins An alternative view on the current fashion for mission statements, service charters, and t... [394 words]
House Trailer by John C Rivers a trailer is a good place to live. [270 words]
Baan Kwaan Prison by John C Rivers a story about my experience visiting a prison in Thailand. I heard the guys there like having... [1,154 words]
There Is Hope: The Hopeless Cynic by Robert G Hagans Here's a follow up to my last. Enjoy it. The Robster strikes again. Dedicated... [985 words]
The Hopeless Romantic: The Ideal Life by Charles Cotterman A bit of a universal spread on the old idealist philosophy. [780 words]
The Hopeless Romantic: Proud To Be Foolish by Charles Cotterman - [620 words]
Personal Trauma -- An Unwilling Spectator by Roxanne Kendrick Can't really describe what this piece is about, except that it was, f... [1,234 words]
The Old Homeplace by Tara A. Lambert "The Old Homeplace" is a short essay describing an homecoming on the surface, but just beneat... [528 words]
The Keeper by E. L. Bennett Where death and the beauty of life come together... An essay of a man who has chosen his final rest... [687 words]
Story Of Success by Heather Springer - [321 words]
My Teacher Of Life by Kim Dow The quality of material posted on your site and the unique opportunity to have other college... [422 words]
Every Woman Wants To Be Seduced by Joseph A Santiago I am Unlike most you have read. Creating a space between words, a space between... [1,695 words]
Brother by T Shanell Penniton A true story of my experience dealing with a life threatning disease that attacked my brother. [1,292 words]
The Greatest Show On Earth by Adagio A comment on how the public fuel war by supporting the big businesses and media gian... [390 words]
A Woman Is A Flower-A Man Is A Tree by Susan T Fisher Comparing the traits of women and men to the traits of flowers and trees. [308 words]
A Lesson In Love by Sharon Grata A shopping trip that teaches about love everlasting. [603 words]
Echoes Of Madness; A Night With Lee Scratch Perry
The Under-Ten League by James Plourde I find one of the gifts of fatherhood and reclaim a painful part of my own childhood throu... [1,756 words]
The Price Of Freedom by Matt Laubenstein An essay on what the price of freedom is to people around the world and what freedom reall... [1,029 words]
Renaissance--Western Civilization Essay 2 by Lissa N Metz-Gomez Essay number 2 of 3 for Western Civilization (fall of Rome up to the ... [4,207 words]
Middle Ages--Western Civilization Essay 1 by Lissa N Metz-Gomez The first in a 3-part series of essays I did for my Western Civilizat... [4,115 words]
Let's Have Some Fun With H M Os by Georgia Kraff A satirical look at the dismal state of healthcare today. [572 words]
Friend by Emcee Teacup A short little thing about a friend of mine. I'm new to writing outside of the forced journals of elemen... [1,009 words]
Essay For Western Civilization-Ancient History Part I by Lissa N Metz-Gomez This is the first in a series of three essays I did for m... [3,599 words]
Creed: A Tribute by Matt Laubenstein This is an article about the famous band Creed that has sold millions of records. [779 words]
Belonging by Matt Laubenstein An essay about the human struggle to belong. [560 words]
Ancient History Part 2 by Lissa N Metz-Gomez The second in a three-part series of essays I did for my Western Civiliation-Ancient His... [4,895 words]
A Guy Thing by Georgia Kraff It isn't always the earth-shaking things that change the course of one's life. Sometimes it's some... [678 words]
South Florida Memoirs by Georgia Kraff The recent election fiasco in Florida didn't surprise me a bit. When I lived there, I ca... [565 words]
Faith And The Stars by Mary Ann Delk I wrote this article for some of my friends whom I had been discussing faith with. [1,056 words]
The Firstborn Of God. Resolving The Contradictions In The Bible. by Gail Evans "The Firstborn of God. Resolving the Contradic... [999 words]
Whispers In The Desert by Hasan Qutb Whispers in the desert. [222 words]
View's Of Man's Nature by Ali Nicole Burton This is an essay that tells a few different views of man's nature and how they relate to... [610 words]
The One Emotion by Michael W Miller The writers feelings toward love. [158 words]
Perfection by Michael Hunter Another "college essay". These things are starting to tick me off. Anyway, I decided to go a diffe... [452 words]
The Cayman Wall by Danny I. Spitler -The author revisits the place where he overcame fear years ago and challenges himself to do it... [1,448 words]
Go to page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 [10] 11
| |
TITLE (EDIT)
Echoes Of Madness; A Night With Lee Scratch Perry |
DESCRIPTION
a review and textual memory of a recent night observing and experiencing the legendary Dub producer, and pop culture mystic, perform.
[1,295 words] |
AUTHOR
Martin De Leon |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Alive.
[October 2000] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (19)
01 The Shadow Of Static (Poetry) - [125 words]
Alphabetized Nebula. (Poetry) an excursion into the origins of text via a visual soundscape. abstract hip-hop and the shadow of Borges are scattered throughout. light stretches... [162 words]
Aurora. (For The Unknown Author...) (Poetry) Textual phonograph. The cyclical nature of emotional existence. Here/now. Black and white stills of scratchy images, women and such, tears flooding the soft air. Things of this nature. [119 words]
Autonomía. (Poema Que Nunca Verá La Luz) (Poetry) - [50 words]
Composition For Three French Horns And Turntables. (Poetry) - [119 words]
El Vientre De La Mente. (Gray Noise) (Poetry) - [89 words]
Gravity Amateurs Image 15 (Poetry) this is an improvisational piece recorded while visually intoxicated. the title is sampled from a korean artist by the name of lee bul. she's a 20th/21st century sculptor that constructs these strange... [66 words]
Improvisation In The Light Of Image. Poem For Kate. (Unreason) (Poetry) this is a meditation on a brilliant being worthy of much more than this text. may these words honor her birth. goddess of improvisation... estas humildes palabras son en honor de su existencia. [211 words]
La Physicalidad De Memoria. (Poetry) streaks of visual sound. cecil taylor meets christian marclay. "the dalai lama of this rap shit". "the instant of decision is madness"-kierkergaard. a study on the syllabic nature of thought......and ... [93 words]
Lunarurbanizedinsight. (Poetry) the space between the molecular structure of air and abstractness. (spaced out like sun ra). a study in language. some free shit. caravaggio meets coltrane. thats about it. [153 words]
Neuro (Short Stories) A piece of microfiction that was a top ten finalist in the Austin Chronicle's 2004 Short Story Contest. I hope its not too inconvenient, but I've linked the .pdf file because its easier than transcrib... [1 words] [Literary Fiction]
No Title. (Inthespiritofcoltrane) (Poetry) ... [116 words]
No Title. (Verbalremixoflovepoem) (Poetry) this is a piece applying the aesthetic utilized in dj culture of remixing and recontextualizing elements by adding one's take of the mix to a poetical context creating a syllabic theater. [156 words]
Oratorical Anomaly. (Poetry) - [238 words]
Quiet Noises; The Interplay Between Silence, Sound And Space In Hip-Hop Music. (Essays) this is a meditation on the state of 21st Century hip-hop culture and several elements that exist therein. it treats hip-hop as a node where a multiplicity of art forms can linger and merge to extrapo... [3,576 words]
The Absent (Short Stories) Taking place in a hallway, a young mexican math teacher and his wife--she a maker a videos that she screens across walls in Los Angeles--both have their futures shaped by a gun. this is about the blan... [4,500 words] [Literary Fiction]
Theology (Poetry) - [49 words]
Vorba (Poetry) The title is sampled from a painting constructed by the 20th century Romanian avant-garde artist Victor Brauner. [49 words]
Whispers From Small French Children (Poetry) - [73 words]
|
Echoes Of Madness; A Night With Lee Scratch Perry
Martin De Leon
Echoes of Madness;
A night with Lee “Scratch” Perry.
Through the thick black space that choked the nameless venue that loomed over me, he came. He appeared and burst splitting sightlessness into that dimension where the seen is lighted by the senses. Exhuming the breath that for what seemed eternities was being graffittied with the smoke of that herb of secular divination that only it seeps through. SWALLOWED BY THE ENERGY OF MAD RASTAS. The dry dreadlocked heads of many peered through the darkness, making one feel an acute diversity and non-divisiveness. I stood paralyzed by the interplay of absence and presence. The idea that moments from what I simply knew as now the stage would be the playground of physicality for the Jamaican Satyr’s mentality. The anticipation was soon swiftly cut as the keyboardist dropped his fingertips into the oceanic essence of notes that rose softly from his instrument of Dubimentation. The drummer iced with glasses resembling a distant relative of Posdnous slapped the snare into existence and followed the swaying glare of the bassist’s finger’s drifting. The gray light of the thick downwards rumble emanating from his speakers which stood thousands of feet over him, maintained the rhythmic sculpture like Nam June Paik drunk with focus. THE MADNESS HAD BEGUN. The man who had once walked the streets of Kingston with a toaster around his neck, slamming a hammer into the paved skin of Jamaica was at the brink of presence. He floated out dancing on a toothbrush, tongue spread leaking out of his mouth, wailing screams of how he had conquered Italy with his left foot. He stormed out in a green wardrobe with a turntable around his right wrist, whispering in German on how he licked Mohammed’s eyebrows. We were now floating in Lee Perry’s 5th Dimension. We were robotic thoughts enslaved in Scratchattica, where all was valid, nothing was extremity. Yet in reality he graced his beloved blunted audience by skipping slowly on stage from behind an unmarked door, smiling from universe to universe. HE WORE A HAT THAT ADORNED MORE ICONOGRAPHY AND MEDIA THAN A WARHOLLIAN REMIX OF A SCHWITTERS COLLAGE, OR A JOSEPH BEUYS AMALGAMATED PIECE. OLD BUTTONS, MIRRORS, AND LOOSE PASTED PINS DRAPED HIS BOOTS AS WELL. He wore an immense black Haile Selassie I t-shirt that hugged his small bouncing body. He drifted from the left side of the stage lit only by the insolent black hole of weed that sprout infinitely from his mouth dripping smoke upwards into a thin oblivion. He had entered as was now completely hopping from one spot to another as if precisely calculated, leaving only his words to stain his movement. He proclaimed himself the “black Christ” and the “black Messiah”. He smiled with a humility that was impossible to ignore. The dub thumped with a drunken echo filling the eyes of those who were fortunate to shell out 30 dollars to experience this modular meditation made from this otherwordly Mind. Scratch made everyone with a beating muscle stuck between their body make a little love that night. He also spoke for centuries about the government (how he embodied it), sampled many icons from American popular culture such as SHE-RA and HEMAN as well as the amazing Superman button he had swinging from the rings that adorned his microphone. He flipped and swung those rings that were drowned out by global and religious paraphernalia. Intermitting between speeches of how much he loved us, and offbeat onomatopoeias, were deep inhalations on Perry’s source of insanity, that fat joint stabbing the space around him. He removed his cap on occasion to display his short burning bleached hair blazing with a yellow energy of humor, for it is humor that ultimately makes Perry the God of Dub. Whether he was beating on his knee and asking the crowd to jump, or to stick there tongues out for some unknown reason, I recall that Perry’s acts, just as his music, defy reason. He is an Artaud of Dub music, a little more stoned and humorous than his French counterpart of 20th Century theater.
Surprisingly Lee Perry walked offstage as if saying goodbye to his hometown friends, enthusiastic and tired. It seemed like he had been on stage for 10 minutes. But just as he had appeared, Scratch had dissolved into the resonating thin weed smoke that filled the room. He left us gaping, wanting more. This surreal odyssey through the mindscape of this legend could not cease, not then. Yet he had undone the magic he had constructed with his presence. The band pounded strokes of thick, wet rhythms into the black canvas of the night and just as Perry led, they followed. I stood gazing into the empty instruments parading onstage through their stillness. Confusion flowed, chatter ensued and noise began to bubble deep in the mouths of those that stood wanting their Scratch to preach of “his level” and utter the outskirts of his mind’s flesh. So we made some fucking noise. Soon to our weak eyes a hazy figure emerged, dreadlocks swirling in the air. It was the keyboardist caressing the cool skin of his Korg, waiting for Perry to appear out of the air’s matrix. And after the rest of his aural entourage glided on stage, the noise had reached a level of comfortable annoyance. And we were asked to scream, to clap to bring the man who aided Bob Marley in constructing that harmonious sound he was so dearly adored for, back to ritualize the evening like a stoned Buddhist monk chanting “I love you all”. What an entrance that entranced us all. SIR SCRATCH flowed from behind that unmarked door with his version of a Jamaican “Fantasia”. A bright Wizard’s hat bleeding with blueness and cosmic symbolism floated atop his small aging head. an equally bright blue cape draped around his frail wiggling body flapped as he jumped with rejuvenation. He returned with even more sounds that intoxicated the body with movement so thick and hazy, it numbed the legs. The tight snap of the snare drum coupled with the screeching tones of the keyboard, all neatly backdropped by the precise fluidity of the bass made for toxic outcomes, making us all sick with pleasure. It was amazing. And there he was defying gravity, licking the ceiling, puffing on light bulbs, and ultimately speaking and smiling (the latter encompassing truth). He closed this pseudo-spiritual ceremony of peace and succulent vibes with words that left me stunned. Above all his grandiosity and innovation, Sir Scratch simply said “[paraphrasing] I’m a working man , I’ve got to go home my friends, got to go to bed.” All with his insolent smile that dangled softly from his face, giving way to those wrinkles to disprove his agelessness.
Lee “Scratch” Perry is a religion. He is a faith. Beyond the cultural cage of iconography he is a pseudo-mythological being of sound. a “Person” in the etymological sense, trapped in a human body, escaping through an offbeat, humble dialogue with those that are fortunate enough to encounter this spirit abounding with creativity. May this blunted Orpheus reign from his studio of sonic wizardry, tapping his fingers on the flesh of infinity and skip past the grave of cultural waste. He is an indelible source of inspiration and interest. Hear the echoes of his mythos shatter time, and let his sound’s shadow pulsate through the wall’s of your imagination’s phosphorescence.
Notes:
This is a reactionary review and experiential piece on an evening of wonder and amazement, dancing and laughing that occurred on the evening of March 17, 2001. Some 21st century live Dub shit, watching Lee “Scratch” Perry at Fitzgeralds in Houston, Texas. No footnotes or bibliography needed. Just thought. peace.
|
READER'S REVIEWS (3)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"It's good to know your alive man!" -- AC Keane.
"ypu seem to love music as only those who love silence can. your texts are a caleidoschope of Order and stream of counsciousness. you do it well with the art and knowledge of a teacher. are you a teacher?" -- Jorge Freire.
"i want to formally thank you for taking the time to read my work, Jorge. Please know that your commentary on various pieces of mine will be fully appreciated and valued. In response to your question, no, i am simply a student of the written word. peace." -- martin de leon.
TO DELETE UNWANTED REVIEWS CLICK HERE! (SELECT "MANAGE TITLE REVIEWS" ACTION) |
|
Submit Your Review for Echoes Of Madness; A Night With Lee Scratch Perry
Required fields are marked with (*).
Your e-mail address will not be displayed.
|
|
Submit Your Rating for Echoes Of Madness; A Night With Lee Scratch Perry
|
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2001 Martin De Leon |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2001 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2295
|
|
