It is as black and silent as night in Cabot Auditorium. From one corner of the room comes a deep, adamant shout. From another corner, a woman's voice pours out a desperate song of Spanish prayer. The room begins to swell with chanting and chirps of wisdom and humor.
Five teachers are at the front of the auditorium. Not professors, but the group Universes, performers from the soul of New York. Five minds are poised to convey to captivated students the knowledge of Coltrane and Ali, the thumping of black slaves' freedom songs, and the realities of everything from salsa, to domestic abuse, to racism, to how to survive in a neighborhood where you are not welcome.
Universes came to Tufts last Wednesday night to "take you on a heartfelt rhythm - not just 'bout surviving the city, but surviving in the system." This rhythm is part journey into impoverished housing projects and part journey into the conscience of a people. The vehicle for this journey is a hybrid of rap, step, song, spoken word and limitless other forms of self-expression.
The five soulful artists don't just represent the pain of life in New York's streets, but also the humor. "Did you know blacks and Jews can get along? All you gotta do is make kosher spare ribs!" chimes a voice from a corner of the dark theater, evoking uncontrollable laughter from the sold-out crowd.
The lights come up. Before the laughs have entirely faded, Steve Sapp, from beneath a head of long braids, puts down a spoken word poem in a tone that calls to mind the Roots' "Black Thought." His voice paints a picture of two men summoning the courage to make eye contact with each other in a neighborhood where one of them is definitely not welcome.
Before we can recover from the power of these words, one of the other members stands up and spits rhymes that "Dr. Seuss would have written if he was from where I'm from." His fairy tale discusses the commercialization of hip-hop: "a pimp who liked to sell one-liners and slamming sounds." In this humorous fable, the old-school rappers ally with those who drop the new slang against the ultimate evil: selling out.
All five stand up. Seamless beat-boxing combines with honey harmonies of pristine intonation to form images of fatal domestic struggles and abandoned children. Voices mock evening newscasters monotonously reporting these horrific events. Poetic verses criticize us for not taking social responsibility, for "trying to wipe the yes off your face and replace it with an 'I dunno.'"
In another number, Mildred Ruiz's voice fills the room with gospel preaching and song. Soon, audience members are snapping their fingers and humming along with the performers in response to her song.
Flaco Navaja grabs the mic and recites an ode to "Newyorican poetry," a blend of Puerto Rican and American verse. He rhymes about his own personal influences, and the way in which he learned to create is especially beautiful when it draws on both the Spanish and English languages and tones. He concludes his poem, "The bastard child of two different languages, I move one step closer to poetic schizophrenia."
After the show, the members of the groups stay for a "talk-back" session, in which audience members can ask the group questions or talk about their impressions of the show. The group speaks with a humble calm that is both amazing and inspiring.
Universes have put together an off-Broadway show entitled Slanguage. The show ran at the New York Theater Workshop last year, was called a "roller coaster of rhythm" by the New York Times, and will run again this April. Anyone who is into underground hip-hop, spoken word poetry, or art that represents life in any form should not miss it.
"Slanguage is great because it brings organic hip-hop to people who wouldn't normally be exposed to it," says Chinua Thalwell of Onyx, who introduced the group.
At the end of the talk-back, students approach the stage to thank Mildred Ruiz personally for the incredible show. She responds with hugs and a business cards with the group's e-mail address on it. The only thing is, it's the wrong e-mail address. "You know, it's just ghetto like that," she says with a smile. If that's what it takes to have the talent and introspection which Universes brings to the stage, then to be "ghetto like that" is a beautiful thing.
