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Underground
Art PART
II EDITOR'S NOTE: The first part of this series ran Jan. 23 and is available online at www.eugeneweekly.com/archive/01_23_03/index.html Eugene emcee Hunter Blackwell says about graffiti, "Once you have a run-in with the law, it either scares the shit out of you and you don't do it anymore, or it builds a fire inside of you and makes you want vengeance on the system. For real graf artists, it's their life; it's everything for them; they walk, talk and think graf. It's like an addiction for some kids. Despite jail time, the risk of getting caught isn't as great as the pleasure of completing their mission."
Graffiti does not stand alone as a cultural phenomenon, but rather is one of "the four aspects of hip-hop," says Michael Walsh in his heavy coffeetable book Graffito. The elements are "rapping, b-boying or break dancing, DJ'ing or scratching, and graffiti." Combine the four aspects and you get the WOW Hall, the Wetlands and McDonald Theatre selling out hip-hop shows; you get programs on KLCC and KWVA, and you get concrete covered with eye-catching art. However you view this underground culture, hip-hop is in Eugene to stay. Check this literary barometer, measuring a pubescent pressure that's building to blow.
THE
GREAT MURAL DEBATE Artwork by Levi Banner, Brook Stein and Jordan Meuller began appearing on the building in mid-February and was finished just in time for this story. One neighbor, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of having her building targeted, called and wrote a letter to the owners of the Weekly, to community members and to Fred Meyer's (for donating paint to the project), expressing her extreme displeasure. "This whole neighborhood was originally craftsman bungalows," she said. "The mural makes one think of run-down neighborhoods and gangs, where this type of art is more commonly found. That's its association in the public mind. I feel threatened by it. It looks like it's going to attract graffiti." She said art is "based on a principle. I say that as an artist. I've sold art. I've sold paintings. The principle is beauty which is not different from truth and love. Art should be in harmony with life as a whole, and within itself. There's folk art and underground art and all that, but … Its (the mural's) clashing colors and styles. It doesn't show a high-level of beauty or skill. I don't feel it's artistic at all. It looks to me like it's about expressing anger in an irresponsible manner." "One little girl looks like she's giving you the finger," she said. "It's bold and garish. Its style asserts that it doesn't care about the neighborhood, and that's the essence of violence to me. It looks like it's saying 'fuck you.' I don't know; it's hard to qualify art."
Another neighbor, a businessman, voiced concerns that the mural would only encourage graffiti and lower property values in the area. So what will happen to the angst-causing mural? The artwork was never intended to be permanent, but will last for at least 30 days, as promised to the muralists. This little debate is part of a larger debate that's been going on for years: the never-ending squabble over "free walls," which for now do not exist. Free walls come into being when a property owner either dedicates a wall to graffiti or doesn't complain when graffiti appears. Kids come along and slap the walls with various chicken-scratch signatures, or in some cases, full-fledged murals. In 2000, the city gave $25,000 to the Lane Arts Council for an "Artwall" project designed to reduce citywide graffiti, what the city called "a nuisance," and to provide disenfranchised youths a venue for expressing themselves free from fear of prosecution. Artwall found walls for youths to paint, but perceptions of the project's effectiveness in reducing graffiti were varied. Officer Gary Ellis from the University Police Station, who worked to close down a free wall on 13th and High Streets, and who for years has marked his own tags — "stinks" — over campus-area graffiti in bright pink paint, said that vandalism can't be turned into art, and that graffiti would spread from the Artwall locations. "If the city says painting on a wall is freedom of speech," Ellis said in 2000, "then I can paint on it, too. If I think my idea of art is a gray wall than there's nothing preventing me from painting it gray."
In an interview with the Weekly in late February, Ellis warned, "Don't make me look bad. Don't misquote me …. cut quotes short. You know what I mean. You do that and next time you want information for something more important, no one (the EPD,) is going to talk to you. I talk to people more than most. I talk to people until they fuck me." Officer Ellis commented that since a few months after the end of the Artwall project in September of 2000, there have been no free walls in Eugene. The term "free wall" also refers to walls that can be painted without facing jail time for vandalism or property damage. Eugene artists Hunter Blackwell (aka The Omnipotent Penman) and James Baker say kids are getting years behind bars for marking rail cars. Graffiti that tops $750 in damage is a felony by Oregon law. Baker was caught by police tagging along a stretch of wall by the train tracks, and he understood that for each time he put his name up he was charged with a felony. And though Baker now enjoys his freedom, others are spending time behind bars, for either "damaging property" or "getting their stuff out there," depending on how you look at it. The sparsely attended funeral of recently deceased Richard Crawford sheds further light into the hole in which Eugene's young graf artists find themselves. Crawford died on Jan. 28 this year, a man who, since moving to Lane County in '63, photographed thousands of works of young Eugene graf artists. He was a distinguished, friendly older fellow who walked the streets and railyards photographing art. He was seen by some as a solitary light in a dark, misunderstanding world.
"That man affected a lot of lives," said Levi Banner, referring to the many young artists Crawford had helped. According to Levi, Crawford would visit kids in jail and in treatment programs, help them stay strong, and remind them that when they got out they could express themselves artfully. Levi mentioned a youth who made it through Serenity Lane. Crawford and the boy's mother were the only two present on graduation day to support the youth. "He wasn't just interested in kids' art,' he was interested in their lives," said James van Winkle, longtime friend of Crawford's. "He would give photos of a kid's work to their parents who otherwise might never see their children's art, much of which is painted over, the day after it's put up. He was one of the few people who knew all the artists," Winkle continued. Yet the funeral was attended primarily by the parents of young artists, and not the artists themselves. "About 20 of the graf artists were afraid to show up because of possible responses from the Eugene Police Department," said Winkle. A mural will be painted in honor of Crawford's contributions to Eugene's youth. Artists who would like to help can call Winkle Mondays through Fridays at 653-0546, and Saturdays at 689-5064, or the Lane Arts Council for further information. People who would like express why EW should keep or cover their new mural can e-mail their opinions to cal@eugeneweekly.com
MUSICAL
UPRISING Well, Pierre, mon frere, Eugene extends its hand in invitation. Hip-hop isn't all blunts and gats and bitches. Come to E-town and get a new impression. Hear the Northwest, in all its conscious creation.
At about 11:30 pm on Fat Tuesday in the Wetlands, the newest Eugene bastion in the list of venues available to Northwest hip-hop crews, a shiny, black piece of vinyl twisted in a flying arc from where it was smashed to pieces on the turntables by Genus Pro DJ Billy. It flew over the heads of a crowd of jumping fans, and into history along with rock stars who jump into drum sets and light their guitars on fire. For a moment the ex-record was caught dead in the stage lights. The title hung legibly in the air, reading … Well, I lied, you couldn't read the title, but that
evening's show was, as they say, ill. Lyricists Marv Genus Pro emcee Marv Ellis, hip-hopper, rapper, or, as Ellis himself puts it, a "Rhythmic American Poet," is tied in to the global hip-hop scene, as well as that of Eugene. Ellis, who presently knows 50 full raps by heart (each lasting up to more than five minutes of quick dialogue with other emcees,) traveled last year to Europe, free-styling with cats from multiple nations. Then he returned to Eugene in October 2002 and concentrated on Genus Pro, choosing members who wanted to deliver a message, not just make noise. "What message?" I asked Marv. "Go to the show," Marv said, "and tell me what you see." Marv is timing Genus Pro's creation with what he feels will be the Northwest's entrance onto the global hip-hop stage. So far, few Oregon and Washington artists have made it big. At the first hip-hop showcase offered by Wetlands music manager Evin Marshall, Genus Pro showed up with four other crews. "We were sick," said Marv, "playing for like an hour and 15 minutes. The other groups only had like 15-30 minutes of stuff. Now, there's five crews in town who've worked hard, each with an hour-and-a-half of dope material. The scene's growing before my eyes." Marv is familiar with the major styles of American hip-hop geographies: Gangstaz and hoods in New York and Southern Cal., underground rave-influence from San Francisco, and the rolling, bouncing rhythms from the South. He says other corners of the nation have produced paid hip-hop stars because they've grown up around drama, and so that's what they preach: guns, hos and drugs. "The Northwest," Marv says, "needs the balls to represent what's going down in the Northwest: eco-education; intellectualism, politics." Marv's well-known in Eugene hip-hop, but he gives credit to everyone's who's working hard, or "getting up," crews like "Big Balou, Genus Pro, Organic Assault Weapon, Burn Unit, Strangefolks, Logic. All those guys are getting up pretty regularly." And Marv gives love to Wetlands' music-booker Evin Marshall, who makes the Wetlands one of the only places in town for underground music. "And tell Dan Steinberg," says Marv about a local music promoter who brings national hip-hop acts to town — they have a sell-out draw in Eugene — without including local openers, "to start getting us local crews to open up for the big shows. We see what they're doing on stage and we can provide at least that level of performance and entertainment. We understand how to be a master of ceremonies. Our music touches people; they groove to it. He should give us a chance. Call him on it." Others have given hip-hop a chance, though, like local alternative education programs. Marv recently taught two hip-hop classes, at Patterson Elementary and through River Road Elementary School's Best Program for grades one through five. His first class went from 10 to 25 students over its five-week duration, and the class he's teaching now is a student favorite. Focusing on the differing elements of hip-hop, Marv "doesn't front;" he brings in community experts from each genre to work with the kids. In one string of classes, DJ Freemen from crew Raging Family taught DJ'ing; Frustr8 (the artist responsible for the Le Petit Gourmet mural) taught graffiti art, Marv himself taught rhythmic American poetry and the Raw Action Break Squad, a local break dance troupe, taught their own acrobatic dance.
HIP
MOVEMENT "I don't want to say there's a rivalry," says RA leader Levi Banner, also the muralist for the EW mural. "We have nothing against each other. They're just the only people in town we have to break against." Banner's been to Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, San Diego and L.A. with his crew, RA, to battle. Battling, like in the musical side of hip-hop, is a show of skill to see who's the got the illest moves. As to whether Banner's the Michael Jordan of break in Eugene, he said, "I'd never say I'm the best breaker here. We've got other guys in RA, and we've all got different moves. It depends on what you like. We've all learned from each other." RA's never had a teacher. They pick up their amazing movements through improvisation at home, in a studio at the YMCA, in performances at the WOW Hall and other Eugene venues, through breakers they meet on the road, and by watching videos. The EDGE, on the other hand, has Darryl Shaft. Shaft, from Dance Theatre of Oregon, was approached in 1998 by some parents wanting him to teach their children, and the EDGE Breakers were born. Now the highly athletic Shaft supports a troupe of youngsters led by Eli Kreigh.
"I don't know what I'd be doing," said Kreigh, "or where I'd be if I hadn't been breakin' with my boys the past few years. Definitely not where I'm at right now, and not in as good of shape as I am either. It's given me a chance to broaden my lifestyle, and look at life from a different angle, upside-down." The different angles are community angles. Both RA and the EDGE Breakers are reaching out. The EDGE has been involved in teaching troubled teens to break, such as in workshops at Looking Glass. RA leads a break class at Kelly Middle School through the end of the year, spreading their aspects of hip-hop to any kids who would give them a try. RA incorporates all the aspects of hip-hop within their ranks; breakers; graffiti artists; emcees, all delivering their message in a real way, living for what they do. Banner himself, one of the best breakers around, can be seen through his vibrant painting on the EW cinderblocks, in large letters spelling out 'Eugene,' and in small figures break dancing in bubbles, blown by a girl who's innocent of giving the finger. And as for Genus Pro's message, Like Marv said, go to the show, and then you'll know. To some, it's music about a world, where leaders set examples in war rather than art, where walls free for painting are feared by the city, and where local crews wait tables at nighttime so they can perfect rhymes in daylight.
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