laurellgem-blog

[laurellgem-blog]

I'm sitting on a plane at the close of this whirlwind trip and instead of dreading the long flight I am appreciating this opportunity to finally be still and reflect, not only on this life-altering trip (which I can't wait to share more about later), but also on the entire summer. Over the course of this summer I have been going through rounds of edits on what was already a long literary analysis of Louise Erdrich's "The Round House" which was accepted into UWT's first scholarly journal. It has been a rewarding and educational experience to work with talented editors who took time to read and edit many versions of the paper. It was a long, sometimes arduous process, and along the way the paper morphed from just literary to something more political. For those who don't know, "The Round House" exposes the problem of sexual violence on reservations; it's a problem that is grievously overlooked and ignored in the US. What I learned during this research, and its implications about how Native people continue to be devalued by the US govt., was deeply disturbing. Do you ever feel drained just thinking about all the injustice in the world, and how powerless you feel to change it? It wasn't the long hours or research that got to me, it was the creeping doubt in the back of my mind telling me that, even if the paper was good, said all I wanted it to say, that all of it would be for nothing anyway. With the events of the last few weeks, I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling this sadness for the world. Last week Access* went live and I am officially a published author, which is great! More importantly, it gives me the slightest comfort that just maybe my efforts will make a difference. It's self defeating to think otherwise. Like law and policy, scholarship builds upon the body of work that came before it. With each voice added to a cause, new insights are gained, and awareness gathers around the topic. At a certain tipping point, when enough notice is drawn, action is taken. It may be next year, it may be ten years from now, but you'll never know if your voice (or alternatively, your silence) could have been that tipping point. Please take action in whatever way you can for the issues you believe in. Maybe that's aid to Puerto Rico, maybe that's reproductive rights for women, immigration, healthcare, gun control, our broken justice system. Whatever it is, don't give up faith that together we can change the world. Here's the link to Access*. Fair warning, it's looong. http://digitalcommons.tacoma.uw.edu/access/

[laurellgem-blog]

Friends, It's become increasingly important for me to write about my experiences instead of just taking photos. The little details of a great memory are the first to be lost, but for me, those are the most precious. In a continuous effort to live the richest life possible, I plan to start writing down my thoughts and experiences (particularly my travels) in this blog. I'd love if you followed along 🖤 - - Read my first blog post here ⬇️

[laurellgem-blog]

When StubHub loses your Kendrick Lamar tickets... it's for the best

I love going to concerts, but I have strong feelings about paying hundreds of dollars only to watch a favorite artist on a jumbo screen, and to give you a hint, they aren’t positive ones. Frankly, I figure I’d have better sound and visual quality watching that type of thing from home, so my general rule has been that if the actual size of the performer will amount to a single pixel in my field of vision (or a conglomeration of pixels on a screen), it’s a no-go. 

I could proselytize on the incredible talent, soul, and artistry that is Kendrick Lamar, but I won’t. Suffice it to say I bought a single ticket in the nosebleeds to see the Tacoma/Seattle show of Kendrick’s DAMN. tour on August 1st, featuring Travis Scott and D.R.A.M. If that doesn’t tell you who I’m Loyal too, then I don’t know what does. 

 As I shuffle through the metal detector line outside of the Tacoma Dome, the crowd complains that traffic and accidents made us miss D.R.A.M. and most of Travis, to which someone beside me (who apparently does not share my mega-concert aversion) adds that Travis Scott is a better performer than Kendrick anyway. Having just spent my rent money to see Kendrick (at a mega-arena, no less) I strongly protest, to which he nonchalantly says “No he is. Travis is on a bird right now”. 

 Um, ok? 

Fifteen minutes later an animatronic bird of prey charioting a harnessed, blinged-out Travis Scott is hovering just feet away from my slack-jawed face. Oh wow, that dude was serious. As the music blasting through the speakers competes with the feverish screams of an entire arena, sending visceral pulses of energy through my body, my single thought is, “How did I get here?” That’s a great question, actually, because didn’t I just say I bought nosebleed seats? Let’s back up. After weeks of entering sweepstakes and radio concerts in a vain attempt to win prime Kendrick tix, I spent $220 just to be in the same arena as K-Dot. The night before the concert date, however, StubHub emailed me saying that my tickets were no longer available (cue heart sinking to floor), but not to worry, they think they found tickets I’ll like even more. 

 Understatement. Of. The. Year. 

When I enter from the balcony, I immediately scope out the floor of the stadium. I am still disbelieving that the hazy, undulating press of bodies next to the stage will be where I sit—or rather, stand. There would be no sitting. Approaching the usher guarding the entry into my section, I am reluctant to even let the ticket out of my white-knuckled clutches; its existence contains redemption for an entire life of never-winning-anything disappointment. She looks at me dubiously before scanning the ticket, then escorts me all the way to my seat. Each step is an exhalation of awe that we haven’t stopped yet, that we keep getting closer and closer until suddenly she is pushing back a gaggle of rapt high school kids who had unknowingly migrated into the realm of my aisle seat. Yes. Aisle seat. That aisle is the only thing between me and the projecting stage diagonal to me, which also serves to guarantee that not a soul can get in front me.

Meanwhile, Travis Scott is on a bird and the crowd is LIT. To my left is the likely singer of a screamo band. She is so belligerent that I conclude she is definitely “on one”. Or two. Best guess: MDMA with a side of bath salts. And, while I am vaguely afraid this aggressive short chick will eat my face, I silently applaud the absence of Effs she gives and am inspired. Bitch don’t kill my vibe and I won’t kill yours. 

The concert-enthusiast wasn’t wrong about Travis. He clearly understands performance and the power of spectacle, as any mega-show must, and he commands all of our attention. Travis signals for us to put two arms in the air from his lofty stage and then he motions that we should bounce them to the beat. Full disclosure, this is my first rap concert, and apparently they posses their own unspoken etiquette. I have a background in choreographed hip-hop, so I don’t do half-assed dance moves. I’m starting to really get into it… until I realize that no one else is on my level—not even the bath-salts-girl. Apparently this motion is universally understood in the rap community to be a casual up-and-down; it looks nothing like the jagged crumping I was doing. My bad. 

 No worries, I don’t flatter myself that anyone is focused on anything but the stage—that is until intermission. 

The lights turn on and a broad swath of fabric titled “DAMN.”cloaks the stage. Amidst a surplus of anticipation and a vacuum of stimuli, my neighbors and I transform into a crowd of possessed Furbies. We swivel our necks at odd angles to assess our surroundings; I am fascinated by what I observe. 

On the center left (my section) stand a crowd of young people who look like they saved up two paychecks working at Jamba Juice and Forever 21 in order to afford tonight. A mélange of older people, beautiful people, and their beautiful children occupy the center front section. They look like they have one thing in common: connections. My row eyeballs me like they’re wondering why my single-aisle-seat, mid-to-late twenties, industry-girl ass isn’t sitting with all the other schmucks in the center who only know “HUMBLE.” and can’t possibly tolerate the $800+ noise someone paid for them to hear without earplugs. I glance right and a girl already wearing earplugs is passing out the brightly colored status symbols like cocaine at a Hampton’s party. Great, now I’m self-conscious that I look like them…I had hurriedly exchanged my scrubs for something rap-concert-appropriate in a gas station on the way down to Tacoma, but I think I erred on the Boujee end of the “Bad and Boujee” spectrum. 

I, however, am not about to be caught dead with earplugs, and my evil side secretly hopes Kendrick calls out their half-hearted participation like he did to this VIP section in Montreal. 

Suddenly, the room goes dark and a short-film begins to play on the jumbotron. Punctuating the night’s performance, these mock-serious flicks gradually establish Kung-Fu Kenny’s (Kendrick’s alt. persona) directive to find the Glow “where the black is darkest”. The first short blinks out and the suspense becomes palpable in the dim arena. I am basking in the surreal knowledge that Kendrick is about to be five feet in front of me when a massive bang and several jets of fire burst from the stage. After returning to the skin I had momentarily jumped out of, my eyes alight on a crouched Kendrick ascending through a cloud of smoke. Needless to say, the crowd goes wild and I forget how to breathe. 

 Now THAT is how you go digital to physical on all ya’ll, ay? We were warned.

As the first refrains of the track play I lose it. It’s “DNA.”, my favorite song off the entire DAMN. Album (2017). Kendrick makes his way out to the projecting stage where he performs most of the righteously angry single. Is my face melting? I don’t care. Kendrick then migrates upstage for the rapid-fire verse of “DNA,” where he gets busy spitting bars while simultaneously dodging katas from an actual ninja. Kendrick keeps the energy high by seamlessly transitioning to “ELEMENT,” another popular track from DAMN. 

In keeping with the tour’s namesake, Kendrick primarily showcases songs off his latest album, but he also sends the crowd into convulsions by throwing it back to albums like To Pimp a Butterfly (2015) and untitled unmastered. (2016). When he performs one of the title tracks off good kid, m.A.A.d. city (2012), I could die happy. 

I have gone to many a concert, sang and danced along like no one was watching, but this is an entirely different experience. The one person that actually has the vantage to see me IS Kendrick Lamar, and I am so glad I know the words because I’m pretty sure I will probably turn to stone if he catches me slippin’. One song I only half-know, and it transports me back to that one time at Watershed I snuck to the front, touched Tim McGraw’s hand, faux-sang lyrics I did not know and proceeded to look like a gaping fish out of water. 

 At Kendrick’s show you genuinely get the sense that he is watching you, feeding off your participation. In an unforgettable moment, Kendrick cuts the music during “HUMBLE.” and extends the mic to his audience. We spout out every word to the verse and he appears thoroughly, well… humbled. He even makes an effort to include the cheaper seats by transitioning to a central B- stage where he slows the tempo down to perform “FEEL.” and “LUST” from a light strewn cell. 

Similar to Kendrick’s dynamic vocals, his performance lives on a broad spectrum that ranges from subdued to emotional to belligerent. He uses each tone strategically to achieve a masterful performance. The sheer technicality of a mega-concert like this handicaps his capacity for improvisation (which some may have enjoyed at other Kendrick concerts). Regardless, he is anything but mechanical; sweat coats his face, he occasionally loses breath and every motion he makes is electrified with intent. Sure, there is the occasional pyrotechnics and he does perform part of “PRIDE.” frozen sideways in mid-air, but Kendrick Lamar relies less on gimmicks and more on his sheer charisma and musical genius to captivate the room. Should we even be surprised? Kung-Fu Kenny is a virtuoso of his craft.