Dream a little dream

--Zac Crain

Mister Mojo's rising
The venue is called Mojo's, and it's a bit off the beaten track from the Sixth Street epicenter of South by Southwest. A quick survey of the crowd reveals that there are almost no little white badges in attendance--which means no industry moguls or journalists hoping to be the first to spot new talent. Camika Spencer (aka Emotion Brown), a 26-year-old African-American Dallasite, steps up to the microphone, right beside her partner Gno, who might be mistaken for a linebacker in overalls. When the duo get going, traces of hip-hop collide with samples from Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and Parliament-Funkadelic. But there's not a single guitar, drum, or even a DJ on stage. And though the crowd is certainly groovin', the drink of choice is not Shiner Bock, but cappuccino and latte.

Welcome to the forgotten stepchild of SXSW--spoken word poetry. Few people are even aware that SXSW has included spoken word in its repertoire for the past four years, and far fewer are willing to miss out on the glamour of bright lights and loud music to sit in a quiet cafe and listen to the ravings of a guy who claims to be a junkie "hooked on phonics." But then, perhaps they don't realize what they're missing.

In this time of confusion and stagnation in the music scene, when the industry isn't sure whether 12-year-old pop stars or 50-year-old bouzouki masters are going to be all the rage, the spoken-word showcase did manage to register more than a mere blip on the radar. Robert Smith, the man credited with conceiving the slam tradition in Chicago 20 years ago, even performed this year, as did the impromptu jazz-poetry ensemble Albuquerque Poetry Experiment.

The spoken-word star--which is the oxymoron it sounds like--was hometown hero Wammo, the Austin spoken-word artist who landed a deal with Mercury's new spoken-word division Mouth Almighty Records, based largely on his performance at SXSW last year. But Wammo's Fat Headed Stranger didn't quite cause the stampede at record stores Mercury had hoped for, so needless to say, there were no parallel-parked white limos outside Mojo's during Wammo's Friday-night gig. And the Saturday-afternoon barbecue held at the apartment complex swimming pool of SXSW poetry emcee Genevieve Van Cleve was hardly the posh kind of open-bar schmoozefest going on over at the Four Seasons hotel. Catering--a pot of vegetarian chili and a bag of barbecue-flavored Lays potato chips--was provided by her mom. And cocktails, a 12-pack of Schlitz, were supplied by the poets.

"Poetry is absolutely an afterthought at SXSW," says Cleve, a 27-year-old former oil and gas lobbyist from Pflugerville. Although the performers were selected by Mike Henry, who also books the Electric Lounge acts, Cleve says she is the "cruise director" for SXSW poetry, which draws entrants from all over the nation. "It keeps getting bigger every year," she says. "And SXSW has been good enough to let poetry take its place organically."

Still, when it was all over, no one had walked away with a fat contract for a multi-album deal with Virgin, which signed Jeff Liles (cottonmouth, texas) last year. There were just a few vague propositions for publishing in literary magazines (mostly for free) and a lot of anticipation about the National Slam Championships, to be held in Austin come August. But at one point, the audience was asked to stand up and hug the person next to them. Cleve asked: "I bet you don't get that kinda thing at a big, fancy rock show, do you?"

--Richard Baimbridge