Ear Eater #6

                I sat ready. Food surrounded me waiting for consumption. My computer screen quivered with anticipation as I typed words into it. A few stared vacantly into their computer screens. They knew something was about to happen, something amazing, something that would change their lives forever and ever. 

                Steve Roggenbuck’s face emerged from the darkness. From darkness comes light. His teeth shone brightly out of the darkness. I’m certain Frank Hinton was happy. Everyone who was there appeared to be glad to see her. Words escape me in describing her attire. Photos failed to capture her radiating beauty. 

                All sorts of people were at the official gathering. Shaun Gannon appeared. Holding a camera Shaun was the videographer for the event. We heard countless people introduce and network among each other. In order to avoid the noise Steve showed off the surrounding area. Firefighters stood by outside. They were at the ready in case things got too hot for the poetry reading. 

                 Andrew James Weatherhead came out to Chicago from New York. While he introduced himself he explained how New York audiences were a bit more difficult than in Chicago. Though he had a slow delivery it was funny. Some of his poems had amazing lines, such as “Four more beers”, “Emails are unbelievable”, “Sleds sledding on other sleds” along with reading tweets. Metazen received some attention as Andrew read a few poems he had submitted to Frank Hinton’s site. Using weird details (ink jet printers, Statue of Liberty, etc.) made the poems that more graspable. 

                Frank Hinton read. “Fantastical Magical Life” got played.  According to Cassandra Troyan this was the first time anything like this had been done at Ear Eater. We watched her type things into a computer for the video. Once that had finished she read in a computerized voice with the caption “Sad Cave” above it. That was the title of the poem.  A girl and a boy hung out together. Each one began to explore the other, slowly, gently. Both of them rode in a boat together. Having such a long one drew me into the material. While it lasted 37 minutes it had become a whole environment with its short, suggestive sentences.

                Timothy Sanders read at the actual, in real life party. He’s the author of “Orange Juice”. According to Cassandra Troyan the book sold out. Coming all the way from Austin, Texas he began with a poem about a growling thing. I liked his delivery. Each word came out so clearly. For the first poem, he did a fantastic job of mentioning every single possible detail, how the animal moves, what it thinks, what it says, etc. Smells were described. Anything you could possibly want a description of had been included.  

                Meghan Lamb continued the evening. Introduced as a ‘poly-artist’ she had visuals and sound backing her up. The visuals included pieces of Americana, bits of farms, clear blue skies, etc. None of these are things I encounter on a regular basis. Her poem followed the video beside her to some degree. Listening to it explain the process of aging, awareness, and the bleakness of years passing. Growing up can be a bit gross and awkward. The poem felt extremely, unrelentingly dark. She asked why she pushed away all those bits of childhood, too quickly it felts. Stuffed animals were thrown on the floor. An ambient noise built up slowly. Using the same words over and over again made sense towards the end as Meghan made an entire environment come near collapse.

                Closing the evening was Mike Kitchell (known as “Impossible Mike” for the impossibility of his greatness). “A Contingency of Evil” got read first. He read it with a huge amount of energy. This one appeared to be bleak and surreal. Something was done with a millipede, something I cannot repeat on here nor want to. Really it takes a lot to shock me but the extreme details and gruesome actions were quite perverse. Later that evening I had nightmares about millipedes. 

                Seeing all the poets after the reading was exciting. We got a great feel of how they were normally. Great amounts of alcohol were consumed in the name of art. The inside of the refrigerator revealed that I and Cassandra Troyan enjoy the same brand of hummus, the rich creamy taste of Sabra. Everyone grew merry at the end. Virtual hugs were exchanged. It was a great performance. Ear Eater forever!

Did Utah Saints try to make rave more accessible for the Mormon community?

Back in the late 80s/early 90s, a magical thing occurred in the UK. The second summer of love came. Pasty English boys and girls became pasty English men and women. Electronic music ruled the airwaves, and even the sun visited this light starved land. Rave followed like sonic milk and honey to those fed mediocre punk rock for too long.

Halfway across the world, a particular group of people weren’t enjoying the fun. Commonly referred to as Mormons, they roast in the hot desert sun. Stores close after 5pm there, and they make the Amish look like fun-loving people. Little of the rave scene reached those people starved for culture. Some wondered when they’d have fun. That’s when Utah Saints came.

As foretold on golden plates, a band would come along. This band would preach to the world the joys of giving up caffeine and producing litters’ worth of children. Joseph Smith knew that this band would come from the UK, since America’s dance music infrastructure remained too weak to handle it, especially in outlying areas outside of Chicago and New York.

Utah Saints consists of Jez Willis and Tim Garbutt. Together they descended on Salt Lake City from a giant zeppelin, set to spread cheer amongst the sad townsfolk. “I just know that something good is going to happen” the speakers blared to the people below. Eventually they convinced the entire state that they should have some sort of statewide dance party. Instead of people being given the requisite drugs, they got their party on by eating white bread and drinking orange juice. For if you give up your ideals then what do you really have. Plus the dance parties ended at sundown. 

One of those dancing in the street ended up doing great things. A well-groomed, articulate young man called Mitt Romney remembered those heroic zeppelin dwelling Englishmen. Once he got to Massachusetts, he looped that song on his IPOD as he signed into law state-wide health care. People adored him for it, although he eventually was accused of “spreading joy” by his own political peers’ years later. Even channeling the good vibrations from early 90s rave via his haircut couldn’t save poor Romney against his ideological foe Rudy Giuliani. Instead, he was reduced to insulting Rudy’s inability to know how many illegal immigrants worked on his vast estate. Rudy curtly replied that his lands were so vast that he couldn’t keep track of the thousands who worked keeping the hedges neatly trimmed. 

Anyway, now rave is dead, but it is important to note how Utah Saints existed exclusively for Utah. No other state got so much attention from the English rave community, not even Idaho. For a brief moment, it felt like Utah might have been able to enjoy the fruits of modern life like birth control. Sadly, that never occurred. Those sprawling suburbs will forever remember that great shining zeppelin in the sky, which let them know that something good is better.