THE GIG

Verse in Your Purse

Today is national Poem in Your Pocket Day, in case you hadn’t noticed. It’s late in the day now, but not too late to take part. Check the website for suggestions, or (if you really want to get serious) hoof it to your local brick-and-mortar retailer for a copy of the official anthology, edited by my dear friend Elaine Bleakney. (It’s really great.)

Related note: Lanie doubles as the art editor for At Length, an online literary journal. I recently contributed an essay about Neil Young and Miles Davis at the Fillmore East. Today there’s also a quick hit about my own checkered history with poetry, loosely speaking. (It went out as an email newsletter, but that link works too.) 

Free Verse

 

Photos courtesy of Peter Gannushkin / DOWNTOWNMUSIC.NET

The Evan Parker residency at the Stone has come and gone, and I’m sorry to report that my exposure was limited. But a few sources have assured me that the late set on Oct. 13, covered here, was among the more compelling. One of those sources: poet Steve Dalachinsky, a tireless chronicler of (and participant in) the New York avant-garde churn. Like some other devotees, Dalachinsky caught a generous slice of the run. Unlike most, he captured his impressions in verse form.

All Pints Wet: A Field Report

There was a lot to absorb this weekend at All Points West, the Coachella-offshoot indie production at Liberty State Park. Absorbency was, in fact, a physical concern throughout the festival, which began with a day so waterlogged that patrons were practically begged to give it one more shot: your Friday ticket stub would have secured admission on Saturday and Sunday -- a bargain, for those without a pass.

Mudslides aside, this iteration of All Points West was a distinct improvement from last year’s maiden voyage. (All my gripes with that edition were publicly aired.) Ferry service was convenient and quick, the beer pens were spacious, the view remained spectacular. Jay-Z and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs made for a formidable one-two punch on Friday night, and I found similar satisfaction on Saturday afternoon, when St. Vincent preceded Neko Case on the festival’s intimate middle stage.