Since I published
Soul Kiss, and started blogging more often, I've been approached by several spoken word artists, poets, and writers to act as a mentor. To be honest, there is a lot of information out there--a lot of folks giving pointers on how to get published, how to perform, etc. They even tell you how to react to the first "rejection".
Some people will tell you "Don't self-publish or use a vanity press because a real publisher won't take you seriously after that." Others will tell you that self-publishing shows that you believe in your work enough to finance it yourself. As for me, I say self-publishing is great for poets because the truth is that poetry is one of those specialty markets. Not everybody is going to want to read that stuff, so there aren't as many book publishers actively searching for poetry as there are searching for novels. As a matter of fact, much of what you'll find in directories is book publishers who won't deal with poetry at all. So, publish it yourself, promote it yourself, and if you like being on stage, perform it yourself.
What many, especially younger performers, are looking for is the stuff that they don't tell you. That homegrown mama-talk before you leave home kind of advice. On the surface, especially to the elders in the community, these may seem obvious. Some of it you might not hear or see elsewhere, so pay attention.
1. Never edit poetry to suit other people's tastes. On the flip side of that, especially if you're like me, don't try to edit other people's poetry.
The first lecture I attended in Atlanta was given by Ntozake Shange. She talked about some of her books, including "For colored girls who've considered suicide when the rainbow is enuff..." and If I Can Cook, You Know God Can (which had just been published at the time). When she opened the floor for discussion, I was too shy to ask a question so I waited until afterwards when she was signing my copy of For colored girls... before asking if she had any advice about getting published. She looked at me, smiled, and said, "Never edit poetry. It is not open for discussion. Don't edit it, and don't let anyone make you edit it."
A few years later, I was in a rap group called Exotica, and we were getting ready for a show, but there was one problem: our band was a group of orthodox Muslims, and while rehearsing with us wasn't a problem, they did not want to be on stage with us rapping about sex, drugs, violence and crime (it was positive rap, nothing gangsta, but still not something they could be associated with in their community). Plus, any parts in the songs where there was profanity was a problem as well... that was even a problem for me because at the time I was on a Praise Team at the church that I attended. In any case, our band refused to play. While attempting to come up with a solution, I suggested editing the songs so that they'd be able to accompany us. One of the drummers said, "No, we are not going to bastardize that man's art like that. Don't ever try to do that again. We'll have to find another way."
His saying that reminded me of Shange's words and made me realize that it worked both ways. Don't edit your own poetry, and don't edit other people's. If the audience relates to it, then it's for them to relate to. Whoever does not relate, it wasn't meant for them. Ultimately, it is up to you to express and the audience to interpret for themselves.
2. Always be gracious. One of the greatest testimonies to the life of Michael Jackson is that everyone who worked with him said that he was "So pleasant, such a gracious person." "He was a true professional, a perfectionist, but he was always so nice." You want people to say that about you. What you don't want to hear is, "She's a great artist, but such a bitch," or "Oh god, what a prima donna".
This is especially important when things don't go as expected. My first performance as part of a group that headlined an event came when I was pregnant with my first child. It was a concert that was a part of a three day long Gambian festival, and I was exhausted. I did not realize that a concert's headliner goes on stage last. So, in the time that we waited I'd grown tired, hungry and grumpy. I tried to take a nap backstage, and some of the other performers started trying to hit on me. I tried to sit unnoticed in among the audience, and everybody wanted to know who I was. The noise was giving me a headache, the air was stale and sweaty, the lights were too low and then--
"Finally, coming to the stage, DJ Zee and Rainbow International!!!"
We went to the stage. I picked up a microphone, and started to sing, "Hold on to Zion, Mother Africa, here we come again." But I couldn't hear anything. I mean, I knew I was singing, but I couldn't hear myself. Great, just great, the mic doesn't work, I thought. So I sang louder, "Hold on to Zion, Mother Africa here we co-ome." The crowd was cheering wildly, my head was spinning. I tried one more time, before getting frustrated and dropping the mic, walking off stage, and going to lie down on the sofa. At that moment, Zee ran to the stage chanting (a dancehall reggae form of singing) like a madman, and eventually one of the guys backstage convinced me to go back out. When I did, the crowd got even more excited and I continued the performance without incident, even though I still couldn't hear a thing I was saying.
Afterwards, Zee introduced me as his wife, and everyone who hadn't met me yet wanted to talk and shake hands. I probably gave them a look that would have killed them all if looks could do that. That didn't seem to bother them, although once I had time to reflect, I regretted my behavior. Especially when I found out the microphone did work--but the speakers were turned to the audience, not to the stage. (Doh!) They're supposed to hear you, you're not always going to hear yourself.
Always be gracious. I cannot stress that enough. Whatever goes wrong behind the scenes: lighting problems, issues with your publisher, the beef you have with your lead singer--none of that is the audience's fault. Stuff happens, they don't have to know you've had a hard time. I learned to always be gracious, because you never know who you're ministering to when you're putting things out there. It surprised me the number of people (including a Gambian nurse at the hospital where I had my first daughter), who came up to me for years after seeing me perform who said, "Thank you so much, that song that you guys did really spoke to me."
3. Don't date your coworkers. Consider your publisher, background singers, lead singer, the band, the dancers, the choreographers, producers--all these folks who work with you--OFF LIMITS. There are several reasons for this. Among others, if you become successful, there will always be those who say (especially if you're female) that you "slept your way to the top." Also, dating performers makes you look like a groupie, especially if you don't "hit it big".
Another reason to not date these people is that it becomes harder to concentrate on the professional relationship. (I dated two choreographers, and still can't dance. LOL) Then, when you break up, it is very difficult to keep the professional and the personal separate--even more than when you were together.
There's more that I want to say, but this post is getting a little long, so I think I'll reserve a few pointers for another post.
