An Emerging Poetry Renaissance

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An Emerging Poetry Renaissance

The last couple of years has seen a rise in artists publishing poetry collections. In 2018, two years after his death, 'The Flame' was published. A collection of the unpublished work of Leonard Cohen, became the 13th book of poetry for the Canadian poet and musician. Was this the point an emerging poetry renaissance took hold, or has it always been there and we were just waiting for the mainstream to catch up? At Jeeni, we welcome it.

Leonard Cohen poses for a portrait in April 1972 in Amsterdam, Netherlands. (Photo by Gijsbert Hanekroot/Redferns)

Over the years we've grown up with the talents of Patti Smith, who celebrated 50 years of performance poetry this year. Smith marked the occasion with a spectacular take over of Piccadilly Circus, London for New Year's Eve 2020. We sympathised with the turmoil in PJ Harvey's tortured lyrics and Tom Waits' social commentry, but there are more varied artists now dipping their inked quills into the genre.

Black literature and music are blessed with plenty of talented wordsmiths, including Linton Kwesi-Johnson, Gil Scott Heron, Maya Angelou, Tupac, and Robert Hayden. Plus, the next generation of artists who include, Vanessa Kinsuule, Malika Booker, Raymond Antrobus and the moving performance at President Biden's inauguration of the American National Youth Poet Laureate, Amanda Gorman. Her performance, many claimed was the highlight of the ceremony.

Amanda Gorman - American National Youth Poet Laureate

There has always been verse and when music was added, the verses became songs. The emerging poetry renaissance seems to be more about an artists collective work being published as a complete and independent body of work. Individually dropping poems onto an EP or a social media post is a starting point for many and Jeeni is pleased the Poetry section of their platform is being used by many to showcase their work. Uploaded personal performances allow them to earn and reach out to an engaged audience and fanbase.

The words 'cathartic', 'soul-searching', 'lost love', 'healing', 'political', 'social voice', 'mental turmoil' have been used many times to decipher the minds and thoughts of poets. Throw in a global pandemic, coupled with international lockdowns and the perfect storm is created, enticing many to put pen to paper. Facebook and social media pages have members flocking to groups such as Poetry UK, Just Poetry and Arts Group and Spoken Word Artists. Meanwhile, sites such as the Poetry Foundation offer a platform of varied works, themes and history.

The best works of 2020 included, Lana Del Ray with 'Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass', which she also released as spoken word. Halsey released 'I would Leave if I Could', a body of work dealing with love, longing and the nuances of bipolar disorder.

Courtenay Marie Andrews - Photo *Jordi Vidal/Redferns*

For 2021, we are looking forward to the release from, Screaming Trees frontman Mark Lanegan - 'Leaving California', a collection of 76 poems following on from his well received grunge memoir of last year and Courtney Marie Andrew's collection entitled 'Old Monarch', to be released in May. The Alt-Country singer has created a collection in three parts and draws on the themes of childhood, family, leaving home, falling in love and becoming an adult.

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05
Jun

Spotlight on Children of The Beatles: Acorns and Oaks

by Kelli Richards, Jeeni MD USA Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com Most people are aware that I am (and always have been) an avid Beatle-ologist from a very young age. One of the things I find particularly fascinating is what’s become of the children of the Beatles — between the four guys, they had 10 biological children in total, and all but George also have stepchildren. I want to keep this blog relatively brief so allow me to share just a few examples to showcase the talents and passions of these amazing renaissance individuals and what they’re doing in the world as part of their legacy (I may well elect to do a more in-depth article at some point covering all of them). The one I’ve been closest to myself is Julian Lennon (John’s older son) who is the same age as me; I’ve had the good fortune of connecting with him over the years and admire him greatly. Julian is a gifted, multi-faceted man of extraordinary talent, virtue and depth of character. He’s not only an extremely talented singer and songwriter, and a successful musician, but he is also a noted photographer, a passionate philanthropist, film producer, advocate of many amazing global causes, and an award-winning children’s book author. Just recently I happened to catch an episode of a new cooking show by Mary McCartney who has carried on her mother’s dual legacy of being a noted photographer and a fantastic vegetarian cookbook author, chef and on-air talent. The show did a great job showcasing Mary’s personality, her humor and her charisma — as well as her obvious gift for creating delicious healthy meals. Mary’s sister Stella McCartney has been a wildly successful leader in the fashion world for over 20 years. Her designs are sought after by some of the world’s most famous celebrities, and her clothes are eco-friendly mindful of the environment. Stella is also a lifelong vegetarian and a passionate animal rights and climate activist. George Harrison’s only son, Dhani Harrison, is a multi-instrumental musician in his own right, a sought-after film/TV composer, and is among the most tech-savvy progressive technology-minded of the bunch having been instrumental in the Beatles being part of the hugely popular Rock Band video game developed by Harmonix in 2009. He also shares his dad’s passion for race cars. What’s especially interesting to note is that virtually all of the Beatle children have pursued creative passions whether in music, photography, cooking, fashion, filmmaking, philanthropy — or a combination of all of the above. There’s a whole lot more to share about ALL of these talented individuals, and as I mentioned — stay tuned to this channel — as I’m likely to write more about them in a lengthier article hopefully showcased in a notable publication. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

10
Jun

Mel's bedtime story

Once upon a time, I created a platform called jeeni.com which is where independent artists perform their music in front of new fans, and get rewarded for their efforts. On a Saturday night we ran a live global music festival featuring 18 acts from both sides of the Atlantic. The oldest performer was over 70, the youngest was under 10. They were brilliant, each in their own way. We broadcast over social media and websites. There were no adverts, there were no fakes, there was no hype. It didn't cost us a penny to run. Everyone had a ball. We are part of a revolutionary process that is killing a corrupt and rotting music industry which has held both audience and performer to ransom since the 1890s. So if you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you how, and why ... I'm an old hoarder, I hoard old music recordings, and when I say old I mean really old. Upstairs, in what was once a studio but has turned into an Irish Setter leisure lounge, there are several hundred wax cylinders from the 1890s. Each cylinder is a unique recording from an age before duplication was possible. If Miss Florrie Forde wanted to sell a hundred copies of Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy to her adoring public, then she had to keep lubricated and trill the bloody thing into a brass horn a hundred times and record it onto wax in real time. But to me the beauty of these cylinders is not that each one is a unique recording, but that each one is mercifully short, rotating at 120 revolutions a minute and lasting a meagre two minutes, because that's all a wax cylinder can hold. And so the two minute pop single was born. At the start of the twentieth century discs replaced cylinders, but not a lot changed. I have another room full of shellac discs that spin at 78 revolutions a minute. When it came to pop singles from artists bringing joy to the world throughout the first half of the twentieth century, they had just under three minutes to do it in. And if they were any good, just under three minutes was plenty. I feel personally to blame for what happened next, because in the hour of my birth in 1948, the microgroove vinyl disc hit the market, spinning at what my Irish chums call dirty tree and a turd revolutions per minute. I have an entire wall of vinyl albums, with their glorious covers and sleeve notes. And yes, they are arranged in alphabetical order by artist and date-order of release. Their storage capacity is approximately twenty-five minutes a side, which is usually twenty-two minutes too long. And on the opposite wall is where all my CDs sulk, each one capable of storing seventy-four minutes of audio, and not one of them played since the turn of this century. Why? Because a hacker called SoloH went and ripped the source code of something called the Fraunhofer MP3 encoder and spread it all over the internet for free. Thanks to SoloH, I can not only digitise my entire collection of recorded music without any restrictions on playing time, I can access the entire library of everything that has ever been recorded, for ever. My phone weighs exactly the same as my 78rpm copy of Little Richard's single Tutti Frutti, which runs for two minutes 28 seconds of total perfection. My phone holds 21,417 tracks in MP3 format, some of them complete symphonies, which are pretty good, some of them prog-rock drum solos, as used by Viet Cong torturers to break the spirit of the enemy. My desktop hard drive and cloud-accounts contain too many tracks to keep track of. I declare that my motivation for amassing this ludicrous collection of music was that one day it would bring me comfort in my old age, when my body and brain become enfeebled and I feel the need to keep hold of past pleasures while dying. As it turns out, I started playing my collection early, during lockdown, and wished I was dead by the end of day three. The singles were great, but the albums were mostly insufferable. Which is when I realised that the music album is stone dead, and the nightmare of a lifetime of audio padding is finally over. Then the real truth hit me. The recorded music industry is dead too. Thanks to COVID19 there has been an explosion of new creativity. Everyone is now a record producer, anyone can run a broadcast music channel, and that's exactly what everyone and anyone seems to be doing, including me. The spongers and leeches and shysters have been exposed as completely unnecessary, as have most of the agents, publicists and managers. They are no longer able to milk performers in our new world of social distancing, because they have lost their power. It's the remote audience that now has the power, and this audience wants instant gratification, not a load of overhyped, overwrought, overlong, flimflam. Jeeni.com is my final project in a very long career. I'm giving my artists three minutes per track to nail it, because that's what my old hoard tells me is right. And I hope you agree that in order to shine, three minutes is all that anyone should ever need.

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