Where Music & Storytelling Collide
Updated: 5 days ago
Five years ago we gathered about forty artists in my place during the pandemic. A cosmically-induced typo from the initiator of the gig, and my dear singer friend Cherry Sour put an 'o' instead of an 'i' into the 'living room' concert invitation, which would become The Loving Room Concerts small stage format in Europe. For myself however, something even bigger happened. I had a profound insight: arts are tools to transform our demons into progress. So for your inspiration, and as a thank you to all the artists (with a peak into my personal life), we'll explore how music, poetry, stories and demons connect.
Finally some contact...
It was the end of summer, warm enough still for skirts and tops, with the sun setting on the Amsterdam Canal, after an excruciating period of social distancing, as people were spread out over tables, chairs and on my living room floor. All the artists had been suffering heavily: there were no gigs during the pandemic. This was the first time we were allowed to gather, and the artistic energy had been bottled up for God knows how long. It was no surprise then, that the atmosphere was beyond electric. For hours, artist after artist finally performed for an audience again, almost exclusively consisting of fellow artists. We were giving it our all. And of course, it ended in a big jam.
The keep the flow we had selected a few artist to start the performances, followed by others who felt drawn to the 'stage', who would perform a maximum of two songs or poems each, so we could have as many people do their thing as possible. And while others were elated to finally have this artistic energy around them, I myself had an even deeper 'penny-drop'. This would be my first time truly connecting to poetry, live storytelling and spoken word.
A Poetic Eye-opener
In my own up-and-down music career, I had always primarily engaged with fellow musicians. I had hardly ever seen poetry and spoken word on stage and had always taken it for granted. To be clear, I wasn't negative about it. I just never had any opinions or judgements on it. It was there for people who like it, or need it, I thought. Which wasn't me. All I needed was music. Or so I thought.
It is no surprise then, it ended up shocking me to the core.
The prelude to this moment was a few weeks earlier, when 'The Word Magician' Kevin -Ahn Kwang Soo- Groen surprised me with a poem he had performed at The Labyrinth, a soulful restaurant in Amsterdam's center. It was in that moment that really for the first time, poetry reached my soul.
His poem was on demons.
How Poetry Absorbs Our Demons
What that says about me, I don't know. But I do know one of the key principles of storytelling is embracing friction and conflict. Life is full of challenges, all kinds of big and small frictions, and storytelling is the tool we've developed to explore them and teach each other how to best deal with them.
As a writer and lecturer on the subject I'm constantly using this principle. But here's the thing... I used to always gently coax people into it. I would use the word 'friction' instead of 'conflict' or the word 'challenge' instead of 'problem'. In other words, I didn't always choose the direct confrontation. Kevin, however, ended up teaching me there is another way.
His poem centered around the idea that artists are often perceived as weak and soft. Artistry is usually defined as one of the 'soft' occupations; fun to do but with little substance or impact in the 'real' world. This of course is a massive understatement and misinterpretation, since storytelling might be a tool even more important than the invention of fire, wheel and axe combined: the ability to communicate how to keep using, and even how you got to the invention in the first place.
But as far back as we can remember, those who do not understand what the power of storytelling is, end up attacking it. Calling the artist weak. This always puts all storytellers - writers, fine artists, musicians and poets alike - on the defensive.
Kevin, however, choose to attack.
He turned the argument around: artists are the sponges that absorb everybody else's bad energy and turn it into something good, something inspirational, a story we can all learn from. They go in 'swords drawn' to your worst places and most devilish ideas, and still come out with something better. Doing this is not weakness. It is pure, utter strength.
When he cited the poem, in a flash, I understood all art at the purest and most instinctual level. Not only was art there to teach us what is right (since it is the birth of all visual, physical and oral ways of expression). It is also used to explore where we go wrong. Or one could say: explore our demons. Because it is in our worst behaviors, that we can learn our biggest lessons.
At The Junction of Art and Life
That moment was of course, humanity at its worst. We had our Loving Room session during a world wide pandemic. Bad responses were coming from all sides, all walks of life, all possible people and cultures. No one was exempt from making mistakes. All of us had to face some sort of demon inside.
Some thought it was all nonsense. Others were scared of everything. Some were unable to slow down. Others slowed down far too much. Some blamed governments. Others blamed corporations. Some protested. Others locked themselves in.
There were far-right movements sprouting conspiracy theories: "It's all because of the government and the lefties!". There were far-left movements showing shocking little consideration:"Even if others die ... and I spread the virus... I am exempt from pandemic rules... because I'm a healthy yogi!". In between there were civil rights protests, economic downturns, burnouts... even a war started.
And in the end, the deepest truth was that no one had been right about everything. Or in some cases anything. All had suffered something of a loss. We were all asked if we could still connect to the natural world. To remember that we too, are animals. Most of us failed.
Pure, Utter Strength
So, here we were, in the thick of that moment, right there in my living room gobbling up all the demons from the pandemic, and throwing them back out on stage, transforming them into something more beautiful, more connected.
It was in that moment I understood the true meaning of Kevin's demon-analogy: in the worst of periods, people were giving their best performances. We had been absorbing the negative and were turning it into the positive in real time, right before my eyes and ears. It blew me away.
It was pure, utter strength.
There was Kala, a sound and music healer therapist, backed up by the enigmatic Bram van Langen, who told us a story, wrapped in a poem, about love gone truly wrong, before singing that out loud. There was the Scotsman Laughlin, whose self-aware, humorous yet incredibly deep poetry moved you from the inside out. There was Djilani his story of one the most profound losses a family can suffer in life, as he grow back into something stronger, more holistic, spiritual and empathetic...
And every artist started their performance with a story, a poem, a piece of spoken word, that made everything have even more impact, as the meaning of poetry finally reached my stubborn soul.
Humanity's Great Pause... and Punk
Afterwards, with the negative energy released, the stress and anxiety transformed into something better, I started to see the positives. I was reminded that not only had our art been elevated, but without all the pollution, noise and human activity, the sky showed bright stars at night, birds could be heard singing all day and dolphin pods had returned to roam our coasts.
All this time I had worked on the assumption that art and storytelling were there to overcome friction. But now I knew that it wasn't about 'overcoming' or 'concurring' or 'winning'. It was about acceptance and letting go. All that was needed was the simple act of facing those demons. That's when they just... I don't know... go.
Arguably, looking back five years as humankind, we've come out worse. Many more of our demons have escaped. The world is less safe. More stupid too. And artists are back to their familiar struggles, although I guess we do have stages again.
Yet, I'm reminded of that point in time, five years back, in my living room: it is in our worst moments that artists make their best work. It's like the Guernica from Picasso depicting true evil so powerfully, it has a preventative effect. Or the loudness of punk music, protesting the system... allowing us to be warm people, because we danced and screamed our demons out.
In a way, I'm still digesting the full meaning of that. Even five years on. I still have many demons to face, mind you. They're not pretty. It won't be fun. Nor will it be easy. And both as a writer and a musician, I too am still in a heavy struggle, with days that bring me down in demonic darkness.
But maybe, just maybe, it means my best work is still to come. Maybe all of our greatest work is still in the making.
Luv, as always,
Rogier
A big thank you from the bottom of my heart to all the artists from Loving Room, all the organizers (thank you Avi) of all the places we have gigs at in Amsterdam, and our Earopener Live Performance group. And for Cherry giving me the kick up the behind. Love you all brothers and sisters!
Check out our dreamy indie symphonic surf music on Spotify here!
And if you want face your own creative demons, check out the book The Whole Story — The Ultimate Guide to Storytelling here !!!
