bigger than a backyard, brighter than a star: gazebo festival shoots for the moon
a poem for a goddess-like individual who loves fashion
by LAMARKS, with contributions from Tigresse Bleu
Gazebo: A Garden of Rappers and Poets
Last Saturday was one of the best days of my entire poetic career.
My beloved co-creatrix Tigresse Bleu and I joined thousands of lovers of transformative music culture at Gazebo, Jack Harlow’s embodied dream to celebrate a particular type of contemporary music that defies genre, labels, and cliches.
We were invited by Superfly, the world’s greatest experiential producers, to create a special poetic experience for guests in the VIP area of the 2-day festival. When I awoke that morning, I was so excited that the anticipation felt almost like anxiety. I could barely speak to my family before getting dropped off at the event, eating my toast in uncharacteristic silence. I didn’t feel normal until we walked on-site and I saw how gorgeous and professional everything looked. Sadly, most Louisville events I’ve attended (including the Kentucky Derby!) leave much to be desired in the intention and organization and design departments. But Gazebo was a welcome surprise on all counts. The design theme of this mysteriously titled festival was that of a French chateau garden. Elevated, green and lush, manicured and curated but not prim or proper. Elegant, without feeling constrained or constraining. Real plants, green plant walls, Parisian street lights and street signs… everything fit together in a way that felt transportive and yet very much highlighted the Louisville Waterfront Park, and was supported by heavy duty infrastructure as well.
Experiences Are Made By People, For People
Pre-event, we were treated with the utmost respect and care by Superfly and the many other production and design partners involved, including Louisville’s own Production Simple. We learned that the undertaking truly was a village of collaboration, and that Jack Harlow himself was devotedly hands-on with building the festival experience from scratch. As a veteran in the luxury, corporate and large scale event spaces, I was really impressed with how things looked and felt on-site. Local businesses and national companies alike had beautiful activations, useful guest-centric services were available, and unexpected creative flourishes (like the ability to learn to play chess, see yourself in a renaissance painting, or have an artist bedeck you in biodegradable body glitter) abounded.
Introducing… Oracle Poets for Divine Experiences
When the doors opened at 1pm on Saturday afternoon, Tigresse and I were beyond excited. Tigresse was adorned with jewels and flowers and silks and I was wearing a custom shredded blue jeans dress designed by my personal stylist (aka neighbor) who goes by the monniker of Roaming Hides. We were basically vibrating with enthusiasm in our green velvet chairs, under the cheerfully clearing sky. And we weren’t just doing our traditional poetry experience. We were ORACLE POETS.
What is an Oracle Poet? Allow me to explain.
An Oracle Poet is an intuitive artist whose sole desire is to give you a message you need to receive, in a creative format that will be pleasurable for you to process. An Oracle Poet is not a “psychic” per se… but the experience of conversing with one may feel something like deja vu, or reuniting with a long lost relative, or putting on new glasses and looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in all your breathtaking clarity. You are still you. But your vision is slightly better, and people can see you differently as well. It’s refreshing, disarming, and inspiring.
An Oracle Poet is the person you want to meet as you navigate uncharted waters, start writing new chapters, undertake impactful decisions, and meet life milestones. And of course, while you’re lounging on a perfect Saturday afternoon, surrounded by beautiful artists, activists, healers, community leaders, and cultural creators.
Alternating every hour or so, we engaged with guests for seven hours, until the headlining acts drew all attendees to the huge main stage.
As we watched the headliners for the first night, the indomitable Vince Staples and fiercely iconic SZA, Tigresse and I reflected on the day of writing…
What Oracle Poetry felt like for LAMARKS:
I tapped into a new state of artistic flow that I have never felt before. I was able to tell people things that they needed to hear, without them even asking. We went far deeper than the usual poem experience, which is already pretty profound, and luxuriated in the enjoyment of our conversation, before jumping right into writing their poems. And the stories I heard!
Healthcare workers who love saving lives but are tortured by the exploitative medical system and long to change it from within.
Storytellers who have dreams to share with the world but don’t know how to find any money to support their beautiful ideas.
Mothers who are trying to keep it together for their children but have just fled domestic abuse and need a safe place for their feelings.
Sons who need a hand to hold while they grieve their mother’s dementia, activists who had to take a break from the movement because the revolution will take everything you have to give and more.
And for Jack Harlow himself. A cheeky and cheerful congratulatory ode for creating a container for creative realness that I sadly so rarely get to experience.
What Oracle Poetry felt like for Tigresse:
As a self identified mystic who considers themselves psychic or a channeler, music is heavily integrated into my practice. The way a song is constructed, the emotion the music can summon, the lyrics or even the title of a song can invoke messages beyond what may be obvious. Music speaks the language of the soul. It has the power to make life feel clearer, to make the most misunderstood feel heard and seen. I have had prayers answered through song.
Poetry is just as profound as music. Historically, reciting lyrics or text has been regarded as the “purest” sound. Poetry turns into more than just words strung together on a page but spells that can conjure up the highest and most divine. It is no coincidence to me that performing poetry feels very similar to giving a reading to someone seeking spiritual council.
Each encounter at Gazebo Fest felt so beautiful and genuine. The atmosphere was cackling with excitement and people were beaming with joy. From Canada to Georgia, Jack’s festival had brought everyone together.
With each person that sat down, I asked them what had been inspiring them lately. Some answers were simple and others more complex but to share any amount of vulnerability with me, a complete stranger, was an honor.
As I was typing, it felt as though a spirit had overtaken my being, my hands gliding across keys, transfixed and enlightened by the energy I was experiencing in front me with Ravyn Lenae’s heavenly voice and eventually James Blake’s amazing DJ set as the soundtrack to the moment.
There were stories from several groups of friends who were celebrating birthdays (so many Gemini’s) and each other, traveling long distances to continue to cultivate and strengthen cosmic platonic bonds.
Musicians whose talent is so deeply rooted within them, it is ancestral, drawing from their rich musical family history to make way for an even more abundant future.
Fellow psychics who have a particular gift for predicting celebrity trends and could charm anyone with a bat of a lash and a flash of a smile.
Coordinators for the event who took a breather from all their hard work to be heard and to delight in something heartfelt for once.
And one for the sultry siren SZA, a chanteuse for the ages, who has been a pivotal artist for me as well as many others who have felt confused and lost in this world.
It was inspiring. A gorgeous day dedicated to music, art, and community. As a born and raised Louisvillian, I couldn’t be more proud of what the people and artists involved in Gazebo Fest have accomplished.
If Day One Was This Amazing, How Could Day Two Top It?
When I awoke on Sunday, the sky was dark but my heart was shining so bright I barely noticed the weather. I went through my normal morning ritual, with my additional acts of devotion that I do before every performance. I was in a totally zen state, honored to have another opportunity to write for such incredible souls, as well as preemptively amped for Jack’s headlining set at the end of the night. I’ve been a fan only since his most recent release, Jackman, which is a must-listen for anyone who appreciates feminism, vulnerability, generosity, and humanism in their rap. I rarely call myself a “fan” of any person. But I am really so appreciative of the thoughtful stories he is telling, in the way the world needs to hear, at the exact correct moment.
I was in this reverie, reading on the couch, when a text came in from Superfly: Code Yellow. Moments later, Code Red.
I looked out my living room window onto the tree-filled Victorian walking court I live on. A huge tree branch snapped off and smashed into their roof. Rain pelted my terrified cats, who had moments before been lounging in the windowsill.
I thought, it’s before noon! Surely this will clear up. I kept reading my book (I’m currently re-reading The Actual Star by Monica Byrne by the way) I put on my all white Kentucky cowgirl fit to get in the zone. But as the hours wore on, it became clear: Mother Nature would not be ignored today.
At 3 o’clock, the organizers made it official. The whole day was canceled. Jack Harlow would not even get to play his own festival. Thousands of fans would be devastated. A dozen other up and coming acts would not have their chance to find their new community. And who knows how many people would not have the opportunity to have a unique, mystical interaction with an Oracle Poet. A momentary cosmic exchange that could change the course of their lives, and contribute to our dream of unlocking creative collective consciousness through poetry.
I surprised myself by how completely shattered I felt by the decision. But I understood the reasoning. With weather like that, how can you risk someone’s safety or life trying to go on? It’s an impossible feeling choice, but there was no other way.
That’s when it hit me: if I was this saddened, how must Jack, the producers, the performers, the FANS feel? A tidal wave of collective grief washed over me.
Tigresse and I went down to the site to load out our things. The damage to the construction was obvious. The ominous sky loomed sadly over determined workers doing their best to begin the gargantuan task of breaking down this beautiful creation.
When The Poet Can’t Perform, Where Do The Poems Go?
I’ll be real with you: I drowned my sorrows in mezcal margaritas that afternoon.
I took my typewriter with me to the bar, hoping to at least create a mystic experience for someone who might come into my path.
Sure enough, someone did. A small business owner who is in the middle of a heartbreaking divorce, and replenishing herself with art, camaraderie, and a devoted younger lover. When I pulled out my typewriter and channeled her poem, she burst into hot, passionate tears of relief.
I think she meant it in a good way when she said “Oh my god I hate you you bitch.”
We hugged tightly, and she started laughing through her tears.
It was a precious moment, amidst a deeply disappointing day.
A Monday of Mourning for Much More than Music
I woke up Monday morning still sad, but packing my bag to write fairy godmother poems at a mass vow renewal queer wedding cruise in Seattle this week. Could be worse, right? I checked social media (which I strictly avoid except for special events like Gazebo) and that’s when I saw the heart wrenching posts about Rafah. The horrors of fear, hatred, and genocides all over the world. And I felt a different type of sorrow and shame wash over my consciousness and well up in my gut.
How can I complain about a canceled performance (even if it is my job, my life’s vocation and I know that our energy heals hearts, opens minds and lets people safely feel emotions that will create the more peaceful world I long to live in) when broken, misguided, dangerous people destroy lives, villages, whole histories overnight, and over all of human history?
How can it be true that I am sad because I wanted to hear inspiring music in the sunshine in Louisville Kentucky, but I am also drowning in sorrow for strangers and societies around the world? How can a sensitive heart handle these things, and be expected to participate in the systems that have been handed down to us, and not go insane, or go numb, in the process?
How Can We Create as The World Burns? MUST We Create EVEN As The World Burns?
I didn’t want to end this blog post in this way. I wanted to just tell Superfly that we love working with them, tell Jack Harlow that his work is just beginning and his creations are magnificent consciousness shifting containers, and tell you that you should come visit Louisville next year for what I hope will be the second installment of Gazebo Festival. But here I am, reading BBC genocide news during an extended layover on my way to celebrate queer love in Seattle, wondering how many years left we have until it all collapses and we have to (get to?) start all over again.
I guess what I’m saying is this: mother nature is trying to get our attention. And the structures we’ve built are not keeping us safe. And there are great minds and able bodies who are ready and begging for the chance to create new, more beautiful, more loving things. And each morning we must start over inside ourselves and among each other. Over and over again.
By LAMARKS, Founder and Chief Poetic Officer, Ars Poetica
lamarks@arspoetica.us