The first time we realized that Otep is a simple anagram for "Poet" we were sort of bemused. Here was a nu-metal band with an emotionally extreme frontwoman who fancied herself a wordsmith. Then, we read some of Otep Shamaya's lyrics and we realized, "Damn, this girl really can wrangle together an evocative phrase or two." Over the years, this respect blossomed into admiration for the band and its turbulent style or art-laden rock. So, when we found out that Otep had a new record on the horizon, The_Ascension (out October 30), we took the opportunity to ask Shamaya to write a guest blog that expressed her obsession with poetry and the connection between finely honed words and bludgeoning rock. What follows is a beautifully poetic and revealing post about the power of well-crafted words.
Such sweet madness is this! The chemical wedding of poetry and song.
This is how the veil breaks. Once ink has been shed, once the quiet clicking of the keys begins, once the river of words devours my hungry head ... I can slip softly into a dissident kingdom of my own design.
Here, the night sky is peppered with eyes that blink and twinkle where the stars should be. The moon is always high and radiates a kaleidoscope dye of crimson, gold, and opal blue. It rests in the eastern sky and, with the right kind of mind, can be reached in a single leap. To keep the cerebral rivers from running dry I coil up in the limbs of an ancient tree to practice the dark arts of my private poetry. And all across the land, pagan mystery schools ritualize the path of the Sacred Hand.
In the east are the seven hills of ancient Rome, where sin is painted on our skin in Minoan glyphic poems. To the north, the enchanted forest of Far Arden is home to the Satyrs, Cyclops, and Centaurs that conspire, craft and breed. In the west, great pyramids of ivory overlook an endless emerald sea, where the Sirens and Oracles weave and sing a web of prophecies. To the south, a jagged landscape of carbon and fire holds a sanctuary for me when conflict and confrontation are all that I desire. And each night I dream in surges of divergent reality.
Dawn shakes my dreaming head in a watercolor spread of light and color. Soon, the cobra sun bubbles and boils over an armada of billowy cloud cover. And I continue to write, to feast, to incite insight - in the ravenous embrace of spiritual intercourse - soaring to climax in supernova heights. Here, where word becomes flesh, the dance of language and art birth my continued existence. It is a religion of seduction to the highest degree. It is my drug, my first true love, and my favorite part ...of me.
This is the narcotic of words.
For some, this might be a sugary confection too sweet for their mental palates. I make no apologies for my addiction to flowery, flowing language. Go read an instruction manual or a menu or a trade journal and leave this for those spiritual archaeologists who actually dig the pilgrimage of message in metaphor. For the remaining readers who hunger for motive, who seek an answer to why I'm a disciple of the marriage of music and poetry, I will do my best to go against my Scorpio nature and be, for a time, revealing.
In the simplest terms, poetry is an escape from logic. It expresses a state of mind through a cabaret of ideas that can exist absent of convention. In ancient times, poems were recited or chanted to a musical accompaniment - it was their method of passing on religion, history, and wisdom. This was the birth of song. It continued to evolve from oral tradition to being written down in meter to prose and free verse eventually returning to its origins as Performance Poetry. Some poets write for the eye, others for the ear. The Beat Poets were the first to popularize crossing over into recorded media to distribute their performed poetry. In fact, Allen Ginsberg, William S Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac were the first to open the gates of the bard for me.
When I was first introduced to their poetic mutiny, an immediate love affair consumed my soul. For me, they seemed to have but one purpose: to decimate the rigid, archaic rules suffocating the religion of poetry and self-expression. They remain pure outlaws of literature. The surge of energy and emotion that invaded me every time I read their work sustained me through many moons of self-discovery. And when I decided to give the spirit of music an offering, it was perfectly natural to marry the wilderness of poetry with the beasts of music. After all, one of my favorite songs, "The End" by The Doors, remains one of the most influential pieces of art in my life. This song was the first inclination of everything music and poetry could be.
I call our show a "ritual" because of the sacred nature it pulls from me. I am devoured by it. Our live performances are not a grouping of selected songs to be played nightly. No, our performances are a collective composition of our recorded music blended into a medley of performance poetry and soundscapes intended to communicate the emotion, message, and symbolism of the song it precedes. Many have likened our shows to a religious experience. I agree. A large part of the sanctified feelings I receive during performance is due to the poetry. In one performance, I can fight alongside the ancient Trojans, hunt with Gilgamesh, dance in trance with the Bacchae, conspire with Ginsberg and Kerouac, fight the good fight with Langston Hughes, explore a slow slide into self destruction with Sylvia Plath, party with Charles Bukowski, redefine consciousness with William Blake and Arthur Rimbaud, defy the dominant paradigm with Anne Sexton and destroy my senses with Charles Baudelaire. And now that we have resumed rehearsals for the upcoming tour with Hellyeah and Bloodsimple to promote our new album, The_Ascension, the veil is once again pulled back and I am thrust into the world between the seen and unseen.
This is my confession, my mania for words. Some folks suffer from sexual compulsions, and I suppose I can identify with them in many ways. The act of spiritually f---ing a screaming, pulsing mass of strangers in the dark is highly addictive. I do not pray for a remedy. I prey for more.
You want more, you got more. Here's Otep's video for "Blood Pigs":
18711
Comments