Jim Carroll at The Crocodile Cafe
Seattle, WA, 19 November 1998
Review by Hope Lopez
Earpollution, January 1999
I was introduced to Jim Carroll over four years ago by a friend of mine who’s in a rock band from Toronto. I was impressed by the liquidy bass line that he contributed to a song called “Basketball” and asked him what inspired the song. He told me that it was based on Jim Carroll’s underground classic, Basketball Diaries. I wasn’t familiar with Carroll but on the suggestion of my friend, I went out and purchased the book because he told me that I would “dig” him. In fact, I did. I fell immediately in love with Carroll’s voice through his clear urban prose that described the not-so-lucid state of the heroin nod. Amongst all the sadness and pain of the addiction, there was also this sense of purity and innocence without the romanticizing of heroin use.
I devoured BD in no time flat and went on a Jim Carroll rampage, trying to find anything by him. I fell in love with the second set of diaries, Forced Entries, and the collections of poems: Living At The Movies and Fear of Dreaming. At a cut-out bin at a small record store chain in Maryland, I found several copies of Praying Mantis, an out-of-print CD that contains Carroll’s spoken word. I bought one for five bucks and then really fell in love with the pathos of Jim Carroll’s voice, especially in “Fragment: Little New York Ode,” “For Elizabeth” and his humor in the monologue “The Loss of American Innocence” (which serves as the inspiration behind Carroll’s character Billy,the neurotic hot shot artist). I ended up going back to the store and buying the remainder to send to friends and fans who I knew would appreciate it.
I have a feeling that Carroll fans got what they wanted at his rare appearance at Seattle’s Crocodile Café. Fifty percent spoken word and fifty percent live music, Carroll displayed both of the arenas that he chose to express himself. Talk about cross promotion, Carroll has two new vehicles out: the first a new album of music and spoken word Pools of Mercury (Mercury) and a new collection of poems, Void of Course (Penguin Books). Pools contains six poems from Void and four poems from Fear of Dreaming (Penguin Books, 1993) and nine new songs.
The Croc show served as a perfect primer for the curious admirers who were uncertain about his two new pieces of work. Carroll walked onstage, made some crack about being professorial and needing a lectern. His floppy red hair looked brighter in contrast to his pale luminous skin and the black suit he wore. He started off with the poem “Locked Wing” about a young kid in an asylum during a schizophrenic bout. Carroll joked about being born at New York’s infamous Bellevue hospital, joking that his mother was in a straightjacket during his birthing. He read “8 Fragments for Kurt Cobain,” the trenchant poem that was in the works when he performed it in Seattle at the 1995 Bumbershoot with Patti Smith. The other side of Jim Carroll, that of the Jim Carroll Band variety (only tonight it was the Seattle substitute with local guitarist Robert Roth) also shone and rocked the Croc. Although Carroll’s timing as a poet is more precise than it is as a frontman to a band, one cannot deny that this part of the show was a treat; especially his improv of Del Shannon’s “Runaway,” the crowd pleasing “People Who Died,” and “Catholic Boy.”
If the public based their interpretation of Jim Carroll on the Leonardo DiCaprio edition of Basketball Diaries, they would be missing out on the feel of the diarist’s voice. Carroll fans appreciate this distinct voice with its New York flavor and its quiver because it lends itself to sound pained, saddened, nervous and sincere. For an artist, Carroll tends to undermine the high brow nature of poetry by maintaining a sense of humor and remaining unpretentious. His desire to express this need to find purity in a world that lacks that very element has a powerful and universal appeal that I’m sure you’d dig.