Is there a better way to try out my new 70-300mm lens than from the dark nosebleed seats at Louder than a Bomb 2017?
Spoiler alert: No there is not. There is also no better way to support this work than to donate here.
Veronica and I attended an event Thursday night at Chicago’s DuSable Museum. Performances at the boundary between hip-hop and traditional poetry poured out of these vibrant young people. These high school students had much to say about poverty, racism, sexual and community violence, the high school life of a heavy teenage girl, police misconduct, school underfunding, and much more.
Stephanie delivered â€œbroken Englishâ€ a loving tribute to her father, Mexican-born, who has worked so hard to support his four children: â€œIn my fatherâ€™s face, you do not see a criminal. You do not see a rapist. You do not see a drug dealerâ€¦. He might come from a different place, but he is right where he belongs. He is the best that Mexico has brought.â€
Surprisingly, President Trump was not real popular with this group of Chicago young people. Stephanie reminds the President: â€œThis land was never yours to begin with,â€ to cheers.
Anthony delivered a striking â€œMan-botâ€ meditation on masculinity and sexuality. â€œWe are engineered for fake strength.â€ (Bonus badly-shot video below the fold…)
Sammyâ€™s angry untitled poem noted the plight of a 17-year-old who must join the army to kill and fight as his only route to college. â€œMy 1.872 donâ€™t pay for college. 1.872 skeletons do.â€
Melissa projected such serenity standing waiting to go on, and then exploded with the first words of her angry poem, Blackjack, on the memory of a sexual assault: â€œMy body was your back room gamble.â€
Ireon, the eventual winner, gave an amazing word-play tribute to her grandmother with a green thumb, who â€œjammed her praises into my scalp.â€
On it went. Just an amazing evening.