Love in the Time of COVID-19: Working Apart but Creating Together.

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Helping the next generation of talent to build a global fanbase

Love in the Time of COVID-19: Working Apart but Creating Together.

By Sammie Venn Jeeni's Official Writer, Columnist and Blogger.

Here at Jeeni.com we celebrate and support all musicians and performers, and poetry has its own dedicated channel for artists and performers to showcase their work and earn 100% of their sales, ticketing, merchandise and donations. Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. If you want to see our pitch click HERE.

Today we showcase Sammie Venn as a very talented and creative writer.

“No one can whistle a symphony. It takes a whole orchestra to play it” – H.E Luccock

Sammie says, "Creativity brings people together. Artists, poets, writers and musicians have been forced apart, to distance, to isolate due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Yet collaboration has flourished. Adversity has brought us together to create in new and innovative ways. I have learnt over the years that it is not possible to be great at everything. Different skills that blend and morph with each other are key to an effective alliance. That’s where the magic happens.

I have forged a new partnership with a UK-based award winning sound designer to launch a series of poetry short films – I call them “Poetry Porn” – on YouTube as a prelude to publishing an anthology of work in the autumn. Joe Churchman and I have worked on various projects together over the years. She wrote and co-directed the multi-award winning short film “Gloop” and collaborated with Sir David Attenborough. Joe has worked with MC Saatchi and the BBC, her talents and eye for creativity know no bounds .

Where once we joined forces over the kitchen table, enjoying a glass of wine, we have been forced by the pandemic to find new ways of working together, including our latest venture. We both have a thirst for learning and a need to enthusiastically share and impart the wisdom we have gained. Creating during COVID-19 has been an exhilarating and challenging experience for us both, but one we have overcome and enjoyed with fervour and passion. Never before have Zoom, WhatsApp and the desire to teleport been at the forefront of our combined creativity. Despite the 50 plus miles between our respective homes the soul sister bond that we have nurtured over the years has never been lost.

The verve for all things lyrical has surfaced again whilst working on the Poetry films. Having created a series of 100 poems, I am now in the editorial process: altering verses, changing words and making sure rhythm, beat and iambic pentameter all synchronise.

The work embodies the emotive journey of womanhood: traversing sorrow, despair, anger and liberation. The natural environment heals all woes and this journey is told through the changes in season. Death, loss, renewal and growth are all subjects covered within the poems and the films. Winter teaches us how to be patient, to rest, hibernate and prepare for growth. Autumn helps us to embrace the process of letting go. Spring is a period of regrowth and birth. Whilst Summer is our time to blossom and burst into the most vibrant versions of ourselves.

In the depths of winter combined with a broken heart, “Kiss the Tinder” was born. Poetry was and still is my solace, it helped me to rediscover compassion, serenity and hope. I was lucky enough to meet a fellow poet and songwriter via the writing community on Instagram a couple of years ago, Renée is from Texas, so we have only ever virtually met but he kindly agreed to record this poem. A true gift. I woke one morning to his dulcet tones in my inbox, and with a voice of liquid silk, he is the soundscape to this film.

This Poetry Short is therefore a true collaboration. Global restraints from continental distance to COVID-19 have not curbed our resourcefulness. The project has only just begun. This poem was published in June in American Journal “The Starlight Emporium” along with a collection of my other work.

“Kiss the Tinder” by Sammie Venn

Kiss the tinder, fall in love with the ashes
The storm destroys the pain with lashes
Indigo shards, incandescent stains
Life blood flowing, ripped like veins.

Lightening shreds the Arial sky
It punches, spits and angrily cries
Glorifying the night with celestial screams
Mother Nature voices her savage dreams.

Dancing with Hope, thunder follows alongside,
For now, there is nowhere in the world to hide.
Like a love-lorn couple, they rampantly combust
Tears of anguish wash away rage and lust.

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12
Mar

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. www.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.

03
Sep

The Creator of Jeeni.

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.” It is day 5 today and we have raised 98% of our target £100K. 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! There was once a little Quaker boy called Charlton, who got sent off to a nice school in Oxfordshire. Charlton liked videogames very much indeed, and when he turned thirteen he became a fan of one particular game which was called Deus Ex Machina. It was hopelessly life-affirming and it allowed him to influence the plotline and outcome, just like a load of similar games. But it was also the first truly interactive movie, running in real time, with voice actors and a full music soundtrack. It came with a large monochrome poster of the face of a beautiful, innocent, yet alluring lady robot, which the boy hung on his wall. And that thought pleases me, because I was the creator of the game, and my intention was to blow the minds of children just like Charlton. Ten years later, he was no longer a Quaker schoolboy but a stroppy atheist, and he was making a living writing very naughty cartoon strips and highly scurrilous columns for a computer magazine called PC Zone. I hope his career choice was influenced by the naughty cartoon strips and scurrilous columns I was writing for the rival magazines he devoured, but I suspect he already considered me to be an old fart. Back then I believed it was my mission to take the piss out of anyone and everyone in the computer industry, and so did young Charlton. He was calling himself Charlie by then. Charlie Brooker. Today, Charlie Brooker is probably best known as the creator of the Netflix phenomenon Black Mirror. In a brilliant episode, he didn’t just nick my idea of an interactive movie where players influence the plotline and outcome, he went and did it for real. He set his episode in 1984, which was the year of my game’s release, and he hung my old poster on the wall for a touch of authenticity. And yes, he did ask permission. And yes, I was more than happy to give it to him. And no, he didn’t pay me. Brooker’s use of the branching narrative was absolutely seamless, and when the viewer-player-actor makes a choice via a mouse or remote control there is absolutely no buffering involved. And just like in my old game, if the viewer-player-actor refuses to make a choice, then the movie-game-stage makes it for them. In the future, I am sure this technique will become an active tool of the porn and ultra-violence industries, but consumers of mainstream entertainment have become more and more bone idle over the years. In fact vast numbers can’t even be bothered to select the crap entertainment they watch or play, but allow algorithms to select for them. So no, this is not the future of movies, it’s the past. Charlie Brooker didn’t predict this, and neither did I. It was predicted by Ray Bradbury in his 1953 novel Fahrenheit 451, where books have been banned because they encourage people to think, and the 1966 film of that story was one of my greatest influences. In the movie, the writer/director François Truffaut introduces us to a world in which the masses consume pap via personal screens, and believe they have choice in determining the outcome of all sorts of vacuous plotlines. They don’t, of course, and the purpose of such so-called entertainments is to pretend the people have a say in the way things are run, what choices they have, and what garbage they believe in. And here we are, more than half a century later, living in just such a society. And we don’t even need movies to condition the masses, we can use videogames. People who live-stream their gameplay are called streamers. People who watch them playing are called lost souls. Today more people watch streamers play sports simulations than watch live sport. This passive practice is ridiculously popular on streaming sites like Twitch, YouTube and a whole host of others. Even back in 2014, Twitch streams for computer games attracted more traffic than America’s leading cable and satellite network HBO, with professional streamers mashing up high-level play and banal commentary. Now they can extort big money from sponsors, subscriptions, and donations. Last year, passive viewers watched active players for more than 450 billion minutes of streamed content on Twitch alone, as the streamers jiggled and babbled while playing with themselves at FIFA 19, Monster Hunter World and all the rest. One such streamer is a charming young man called Richard Tyler Blevins, who sports attractive neon-tinted hair and goes by the name of Ninja. He has minted around ten million dollars from subscribers who pay to watch him play a game called Fortnight. Let me just make that clear – they are not paying to play Fortnite themselves, they are paying to watch Mr Ninja play. Fortnite involves a hundred players at a time who fight and butcher one other to the death until only one is left alive, all in high-definition video. There are currently 200 million players of the game. The youngest players are aged eight, which should worry their parents, but probably doesn’t because mom and pop are too busy passively watching some other streamer. The average age of a Fortnite player is 13, which is the same age as the schoolboy Charlie Brooker was when my hopelessly life-affirming game helped turn him into a potty-mouthed cynic. At least I know I succeeded in something. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

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