By Mackenzie A. Wilson
The State News, Michigan State University
23 February 1998
Beat poet and rock performer Jim Carroll reads one of his poems for a standing room only audience at the Blind Pig, 208 S. First St. in Ann Arbor, on Friday night. Carroll touched on topics ranging from social taboos to Kurt Cobain’s death.
ANN ARBOR — The colors of maize and blue remain the heralding empire of nearly everything.
They have the endless streets of art galleries, used-record stores, movie theaters and an unlimited list of assorted cuisine. A good medical school and sports program bold their fame, and their basketball team is something less to be desired. But still, the “other” school seems to have just a bit of an edge when being fashionably cool.
Ann Arbor’s Blind Pig played the lucky hosts to beat poet/rock performer Jim Carroll’s spoken-word performance on Friday night. It was a stuffy, standing room only atmosphere comprised of wall to wall varying ages. Jim Carroll stumbled to the stage with his ritual cigarette in an angelic, yet bumpy grace — ritually ignoring the crowd’s beaming stares.
“You’ll notice tonight my really low tolerance for alcohol,” he chuckled.
Dimmed fuchsia and black lights draped Carroll’s naturally pale complexion as he fussed with his music stand and fumbled for his glasses. Kind of disoriented during the first five minutes, he added, “Ah! My little light went out man!”
His thick New York accent began the night with an excerpt from his unfinished collection “The Petting Zoo.” Hand motions presented Carroll’s point to be precise, his want to be exact.
Sexual desires and connotations painted several poetic pieces sneakily, yet evidently. He frequently referred to busty blondes, once recognizing Jayne Mansfield. Adolescent frustrations were vividly illustrated in an untitled piece referring to a boy masturbating over Barbra Streisand, not knowing the assassination of John F. Kennedy was taking place. Perversion was a societal taboo, marked by a mother who condemned this action.
“He (God) took his omniscient eye off the president for one minute — he was so shocked at your perverse action,” Carroll mimicked graphically.
Carroll cupped his wiry cheek bone-length red hair and stoically swayed, so subtle, then clasped his hands together as he began “Eight Fragments For Kurt Cobain.” Carroll explained frustrations caused by the hype of fame and fortune which drove Cobain to the end.
Carroll knows, he’s been there. The catch is that he survived it, unlike Cobain.
“And instead you were swamp crawling down deeper, until you tasted the Earth’s own blood” captured his heartfelt pain for Cobain.
Jim Carroll’s ability to let imagery independently arise, was right on Friday night. A newly composed poem “Jukebox” was core-cutting — “I play only 45s, I do not show videos.” A humorous poem about a cat showed Carroll’s compassionate side.
“It was the most obnoxious cat … He once puked on me when I passed by … he had no name … he didn’t need one.”
“Message Left on an Answering Machine” closed the show with Carroll assuring the crowd “that’s what it basically was.”
Carroll has a quiver. A presence so breathtaking, you have to stop and think again; he is just another guy. He redefined that again and again in Ann Arbor. Too bad East Lansing didn’t have the chance to see that.
A new spoken-word album with a few songs, featuring members of Screaming Trees and Soundgarden, is being finalized while a new book “Void of Course” is set for a September/October release.
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