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Debris Stevenson – Final Draft Auditorium show #SST9

6 Jul

Current Length: 5min

I will definitely need:

-1 Handheld mic + stand

-Track will have been mixed into one

-Audio Track – this will be with you by Friday.

I might need:

-ambient mics

-20 chairs

I may be using:

-A loop pedal – I am looking into this at the moment.

Performance wise:

-I am hoping to work with Hannah Silva and my partner to create a bit more texture using Mouthy’s on stage to create a sense of togetherness and seperateness, maybe saying some of the refrains with/ over me, and laying them up using a loop pedal. This is only a maybe at the moment as it depends on time and resources really.

Lighting-wise:

-Beyond what I have stipulated below – I really trust you and Laura on this one, what is making it difficult at the moment is not being 100% clear on the way I am going to perform it but I think there definitely needs to be a sense of being on a train but also being in a Grime setting with that strobing, darkness, and togetherness at the same time as being apart.

Key:

EMOTIONAL CHANGES

TECH/STAGE DIRECTIONS

Human Farm 

.

20 MOUTHY POETS SET UP ON STAGE IN RANGE OF AMBIENT MICS, THEIR SILLOHETTES BUT NOT THEIR FACES SHOULD BE LIT.

 .

DEBRIS WALKS CENTRE STAGE TO WIRELESS MIC ON STAND CENTRE STAGE.

 .

START TRACK.

 .

TIRED, FRUSTRATED AND DISCONNECTED.

//

//

Commuters journey;

wrappers, papers, rats and goodbye naps.

Commuters journey;

Brompton bikes, fights, scenic cites.

.

Commuters journey;

ticket fines, keypads distract minds.

Commuters journeys;

wheelchairs navigate human freight.

.

BECOMING MORE ACTIVELY FRUSTRATED WITH THE SITUATION, SPACE BECOMING MORE PACKED AND LESS CONSIDERATE.

.

It’s only a reservation –

trying to feed them both from her seat –

no other space to squeeze their feet.

Have we made life so neat?

A reservation?

//

//

REVIEWING THE SITUATION IN HER HEAD – WINDING HERSELF UP IN AN ATTEMPT SHE CAN THINK OF A SOLUTION.

Lady sits with bags, baby just blinks

his eyes don’t collide either side, he just squints,

her hands hook pits, her hands look tough,

but skin splits // like her bags lookin’ rough.

Sittin’ here, two seats apart on the train,

Reddening she’s staring through her baby like rain.

.

And I’m sittin’ here thinking

human farm, human farm,

human farm. Sittin’ here.

                                                Hey, we’re sittin’ here

yes sorry sitting here,

yes please sorry, sorry,

sorry sittin’ here

our seat yes we’re sittin’ here.

.

PISSED OFF

I wanna say –

                                    She’s just sittin’ here, saying nuthin’, watch

                                   Plenty other seats on the train, cotch!

.

FEELING STUPID AND HELPLESS

But – down the aisle wheelchairs (three) –

sticklers claiming seats

now elders with priority.

Awkward, I pretend I don’t see –

.

SLOWLY HOPE IMMERGES

She’s showing hurt: —

sweat-patches by the mile.

No one questions bags,

why she’s alone

lady over there

offers hands as a home.

(Hands as a home).

//

//

Commuters journey,

suited kindly other offers cover

commuters journey,

Tesco bags pram past stags,

commuters journey,

adjacent // stacks of fragile patience,

commuters journey,

Calm, baby offers palm.

.

HOPE LOST

Only a reservation

Finally, she was just about to eat.

Only a reservation,

before a clique of work colleagues meet,

                                    Oh our a reservation?

Eyes with a touch more grief?

DISPAIR

.

Now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm,

human farm, human farm,

I’m just sittin here.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry we’re sitting here,

yes us, sorry – sitting here.

Our seats, yes, we’re sitting here.

SHOCK/FRUSTRATION/HOPLESSNESS

//

//

//

//

START NEXT TRACK

Crying silent, tears are itchy, rolling down her shirt.

Strangers offering hands, but baby screeches, baby squirts.

Ladies champers-table, Marks & Spencer – what next?

No longer sittin’ here. Standin’ in aisle getting’ vexed.

.

ALMOST COMEDIC ANNOYANCE AT THE REDICULOUSNESS OF THESE WOMEN

Commuters journey;

bougie bitches don’t get deserts.

Commuters journey;

mums travel lonely carry slums.

Commuters journey;

bust, we need strangers’ we trust.

Commuters journey –

dust, no tracks without rust.

//

//

SMALL AMOUNT OF RELEIF FROM THE WOMAN GETTING OFF THE TRAIN

Only a reservation,

others assist with muggy buggy.

Only a reservation,

champers ladies ignore her like a druggie.

Finally at her station

and I wish I could say I’d done less harm,

.

REFLECTION/ REALISATION

whilst I was sitting here

thinking

human farm,

//

human farm,

//

human farm

human farm

human farm,

x3

human farm

human farm

.

DISAPOINTMENT

Thinking here –

I was just sittin’ here

sitting here thinking human farm.

sittin’ here

sitttin’ here

.

Thinking.

.

Was I doing

any less

harm?

.

FADE OUT TRACK.

Mouthy Prep session for SST 9 – BeaBop

4 Jul

After missing from Mouthy for a few sessions, it was great to return yesterday and get straight into it.  I was involved in an exciting session where Emily had everyone hug her; some of us crawled with the Mouthy baby and we explored the emotions within our SST9 poems using different techniques.

To cut a long story short, it was refreshing to know that my poem had neither a male or female voice, which means there is plenty of legs for taking my Carnival Queen in any direction.  I also, whilst work ing on a body language exercise with Chris, affirmed that my poem is about regret.

I am going to use an acrostic to get this across:

[R]egal traditions – Queen, royalty; transferring culture through rituals

[E}mpty jealousy – A flat emotion brought alive by memories of her

[G]reedy self – Macho behaviour of narrator was about ego

[R]eality reveals true nature – Now the narrator understands her spirit

[E]ach moment lost – Their connection is lost

[T]ime cannot return her or me – Time cannot heal all wounds or wind back

Chris observed that I use my hands alot to shape my words and emphasise my conviction right down to the syllable.

Again, I know that there are layers within this piece that I cannot wait to explore – with hands!

Posted by BeaBop via WordPress for Android

SST9 BeaBop Final Draft – Carnival Queen of Fights

2 Jul

She senses that I am watching
Again.

I am crouching tiger,
Hiding my aggression.
She is my Queen.
Queen of fights.
Queen of the carnival.

I try connecting my thoughts with hers.
She jolts and
A fountain of feathers
Spews twelve feet high
From two dimples at the base of her back
Shielding me from her nurturing rhythms.

I remember in HD how
I would lord all of my yesterdays
Along her undulating vertebrae.
Cusses, flinging
Acid from my mouth
Taunted her to glitter
Like schizophrenic sparkles
Tussled atop
Hundreds
of
Sequinned
Thousands.

I used to be her masquerade
Bringing messages of expectation
Dressed up in crimped coca-cola tops,
cardboard mâché Ikeji masks
and tricolour ruffled trousers.
She would flirt with my djembe and
Surround my pan-pipe
Band of merry macho-men
Vibrating their pans of steel
Waving opulence at demure crowds
As we marched
On
‘Road.

Tomorrow,
Her chariot awaits
Waist wines carelessly her wheeled hooped skirt.
Framing her girdle –
An aluminium corset
Covered in purple batik and red raffia
Into which slots left wing and right
Her right to taunt me in the custardly light

On her right glows her Mas band,
Angels trouped ready
To set firework rhythms.
Stomps pierce the tarmac
And yes,
Now I can feel her vibration
And I feel like marmalade – thick cut.

On her left
I see my spirit jump and wave
Tempted to touch
A body which defined my mood for years.
My masked taunts
Carried along rainbow-veined tendrils
Collapse her soft-skinned sonnets
To feed a cockiness with no soul.

Now.

I sense her watching me –
Again.
Scraping at my heart
With grooved toes, clenched.
She aims her vibranium-tipped arrow
Knocking me off-balance,
Krumping my spirit.

I have lost our connection.

However her crown
Reigns historic
A rock ruling for equality.
My Queen
My Carnival Queen of Fights.

Debris Stevenson – SST9 Auditorium 3rd Draft & Tech Wishlist

29 Jun

Hello All, Sorry I am a day late – Charlotte is on holiday at the moment (we love your Charlotte!) and we are all feeling the burn of being without her efficiency! But I have come a long way in a day I think… So I have now confirmed the producer I am working with on this poem/track, and I am going to use two of his songs back to back: It will be Twelve Thirsy and then Club Rum from this EP. Tech Wish List  I have really scaled my ideas down…  I am really worried about being heard over the music and making sure I have a suitable mic/s and that the levels are right. I will 100% need a monitor to hear myself I think and I may end up professional recording some of this to take the preassure of this but it would be good to talk to tech about how we navigate this. -I think I basically might need some chairs, cool lighting and people but beyond that I want to keep it simple. A lapel mic or very good handheld and stand would be best. Feedback Questions

  • Is the story clearer now?
  • How does it make you feel?
  • What does it make you think about?
  • Are there any jarring lines/words/sections?
  • Not sure about the title?

Current Length: 4-5min

Human Farm 

1 bar intro track 1 (Twelve Thirsty)

 

Commuters journey;

wrappers, papers, rats and goodbye naps.

Commuters journey;

Brompton bikes, fights, scenic cites.

//

Commuters journey;

ticket fines, keypads distract minds.

Commuters journeys;

wheelchairs navigate human freight.

.

It’s only a reservation –

trying to feed them both from her seat –

no other space to wheel their feet.

Have we made life so neat?

A reservation…

.

–1 bar pause–

.

Lady sits with bags, baby just blinks

his eyes don’t collide either side, he just squints,

her hands hook pits, her hands look strong,

but skin splits // like her bags later on.

Sittin’ here, two seats apart on the train,

staring into tray through her baby like rain.

.

And I’m sittin’ here thinking

human farm, human farm,

human farm. Sittin’ here.

                                    Hey, we’re sittin’ here

yes sorry sitting here,

yes please sorry, sorry,

sorry sittin’ here

our seat yes we’re sittin’ here.

.

I wanna say –

                                    She’s just sittin’ here, saying nuthin’, watch

                                                      Plenty other seats on the train, cotch!

.

Clock down isle wheelchairs (three) –

sticklers claiming seats

now elders with priority.

Awkward, I pretend I don’t see –

.

She’s showing hurt:

sweat-patches by the mile.

No one questions bags,

why she’s alone

lady over there

offers hands as a home.

Ladies’ shone she cares,

others’ head phones blare –

//

Commuters journey,

suited kindly other offers cover

commuters journey,

Tesco bags pram past stags,

commuters journey,

adjacent // stacks of fragile patience,

commuters journey,

Pain? Baby’s crying canes.

.

Only a reservation

Finally, she was just about to eat.

Only a reservation,

before a clique of work colleagues meet,

                                    Oh our a reservation?

Eyes with a touch more grief?

.

Now I’m sitting here

thinking human farm,

human farm, human farm,

I’m just sittin here.

Hey, I’m sitting just here

Yes, sorry we’re sitting here,

yes us, sorry – sitting here.

Our seats, yes, we’re sitting here.

.

fade into next track (Club Rum)

.

Two bars of new track

.

Crying silent, tears are itchy, rolling down her neck.

Strangers offering hands, but baby screeches, what the heck?

Ladies champers-table, Marks & Spensers – what next?

No longer sittin’ here. Standin’ in isle getting’ vexed.

.

Commuters journey;

bougie bitches don’t get deserts.

Commuters journey;

mums travel lonely carry slums.

Commuters journey;

bust, we need strangers’ we trust.

Commuters journey –

dust, no tracks without rust.

.

1 bar pause.

.

Only a reservation,

others assist with muggy buggy.

Only a reservation,

champers ladies ignore her like a druggie.

Only a reservation,

I wish I could say I was doing less harm,

.

whilst I’m sitting here

thinking

human farm,

//

human farm,

human farm

human farm

human farm,

human farm

human farm

.

Thinking here –

I’m just sittin’ here

sitting here thinking human farm.

I’m just sittin’ here

sitttin’ here

.

Thinking.

Fade out track.

SST9 First Draft BeaBop

1 Jun

Smiling On De Road

Two dimples brand the base of her back –
Carries my chants along veined tendrils
Emanating from soft skin to feathered-edged sonnet

Her body defined my mood for years
Sometimes I was marmalade – thick cut.
Others I am a crouching tiger hiding my aggression

Soured reprisals are balanced on her left
Proud to remind me of her worth
Weighted in gold-coated vibranium

Cusses used to fling from my mouth
Taunting her schizophrenia to tussle
Glitter sparkles atop hundreds of sequined thousands

On her right is a Mas band of angels
Lined up like a troupe ready for fireworks
Rhythms pierce the tarmac

Around her girth is an aluminium frame
Into which slots in her left and right
Her right to be objective in the custardly light

This idea is still cooking in my head. I see it being performed by somebody else or two. The construction of a carnival costume being the metaphor. It will last for 3 minutes.

Posted from BeaBop’s tablet thingy

Debris Stevenson – SST9 First Draft

1 Jun

Hello All!

So I haven’t had much time to work on this as I have been working on London for the past two weeks so an incredibly rough and I actually already have a lot of feedback on it already to implement but I am holding off until I have worked out who I am collaborating with – as I may end up using a loop pedal (Hannah Silva has kindly offered to teach me) or an instrumental and the introduction of these could possibly have a big impact on the direction of the piece.

First thing on my list before develop further is to set in stone who/what I am working with then I will push this further. As mentioned previously, this is also likely to feed into a wider body of work around religion, poetry and my life.

But regardless of all those apologies, feedback is obviously always welcome J

 

Slam; bang, criticize, pan, crash, thump

 

I remember Amit’s dad’s garage,

Ilford, metronomic language.

Girl pulled a shank to my ribs –

.

We got’a mic, got kids, got lyrics.

Life’s but a race or a rave.

Either way we need something to pray to.

.

We need more hope than a b-tech

We can brick lay a path but can’t

articulate our way yet.

.

I open my eyes. I’m in a black-box studio.

15 young pallets sat in a nervous row.

One steps forward, talks about her Dad –

She hides her clothes in his briefcase,

his lies in her tea. Then another poet does

a series of puns about movies I’ve not seen.

.

Another runs over 3 minutes explaining

her black-boy-brother prank painted

with dulux burning through 3 layers of naked.

.

Flash to the knife at my bottom right rib.

Heave hand to lips. Next poet grips the mic.

Till the BPM of her life jostles right.

.

I have to look at my score sheet eventually.

Tell only some of the 15 that they articulated

life successfully. I spend 2 hours talking 1-1.

.

Several contestants cry before feedback’s begun.

As I explain, I’m back in that garage, where no one

sung about flowers in the pouring rain.

.

A shank was a stage.

the other two judges

missed their trains.

.

I’ll have to go back to my parent’s house.

Pass the garage where we all unleashed ‘arms-house’.

.

Where spit could burn further than 3 layers deep.

Where we all learned to cut before we could leap.

.

—- Debris

Debris Stevenson – SST9 Idea

17 May

So I have a lot of ideas buzzing around my head for this one, and also a lot of other writing I am working on that I think this piece alongside. I think what might help is for me to list my aims/objectives for this piece:

-I want to push my understand and use of poetry crossing over into Grime Lyrics/ MCing both within my writing and my delivery.

-I want to work with local Grime artists in developing, creating and performing the content – I really want to work with a producer and ideally some MC’s too.

-I want to explore the ‘Carnival Atmosphere’ of a cypher, a battle, a clash in a garage, a living room, a park.

-I am currently developing a lot of content for my one day 1 woman show (my SST8 piece is part of this too), this show is mainly around my family and religion but I want Grime and where I grew up to feature in it too and I think this piece might be at the core of that intersection.

-I think it is quiet likely I will be aiming for the Studio show for this because I really want to create that vibe of being in a small, sweaty space. BUT I am aware aiming for the auditorium show may enable me to draw in some more high profile collaborators.

Very excited!

Debris