Review: 'Def Poetry Jam' boils down to emotion-filled rhymes

By Tom Sime - The Dallas Morning News

The bad news is that young poets seem to be very angry. The good news is they're loving every minute of their pique, as evinced by Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam, a showcase for stand-up poets.

The "slam" form of poetry – fueled by the energy of rap and the audacity of stand-up comedy – started in clubs and coffeehouses. It was noticed and packaged by the titular rap impresario, was made into an HBO series, got a Tony on Broadway and is now on a world tour that stopped at the Majestic Theatre on Tuesday with a cast of eight poets and a DJ.

Anger is only the showiest emotion expressed by this gifted roster of wordsmiths. Bubbling up through the shock wave of ranting are some delicate and tender feelings, and a healthy dose of humor.

"Don't wanna be your exotic," warns Suheir Hammad, a Palestinian-American from Brooklyn. But all these spoken-word pyrotechnics can't help but seem a bit exotic on the same stage that recently offered up the musical Heartland. Nevertheless, these folks are the heartland, and they know it, even though their anger seems fueled by the belief that no one else knows it.

The staging by director Stan Lathan is spare and straight- forward, keeping the focus on words and bodies. DJ Jedi sets the mood with a mélange of Maze and OutKast, heralding the cast's entrance with "These are the words of the next America!" And out they come, generally gorgeous and demanding to be taken on their own terms. They're tired of stereotypes and hyphenated identities.

But they share the old human weaknesses. Georgia Me, an Atlanta native, offers an ode to Little Debbie and other goodies. "My diet includes fried everything, all kinds of pork/People asking if I've been visited by the stork," she riffs, turning humiliation into humor. Flaco Navaja has a comic attack reminiscent of Chris Rock. Also hilarious is Beau Sia, a Chinese-American from Oklahoma who insists that "You're not shutting me up until/The egg roll is recognized as an American food."

Mayda Del Valle has the anger thing down best, and the lung power to deliver it in extended volleys: "My so-called pre- Columbian savage/Unenlightened ancestors/Had more humanity/Than your Microsoft/Macintosh technology/Monopoly information highway riding bareback/On the backs of underpaid Third World women and children ... Let me order your new world and paint the White House brown." Whew.

It's not all Anglo-bashing. Black Ice rages at black men: "You continue to hide your true self/Behind movie gangster disguises/Oblivious to what life's true prize is."

Poetri's from L.A. and adds a mellow, self-deprecating and conciliatory tone one can only hope is the flavor of the future. He also subtly calls the others on their raging in the closing group poem "I Write America," chiding "The people just like me,/Too busy blamin' instead of claiming/That America is the best place to be."