Slanguage: Vernacular Decadence

By J. Stethers White | Monday, February 16, 2004

College-funded programming often relies on creative headlining to catch attention of the harried student. Who could forget (or forgive) the delightful phraseology of the "KICK @$$ PARTY" a few years back? This past month, Dartmouth trotted out another inspired gem: "Slanguage." Get it? Slanguage was promoted as part of Dartmouth's recent festivities celebrating Martin Luther King Jr., and it was to be thrown down by some "South Bronx youths" who called themselves "Universes." Universes promised to "break boundaries—and break down the theater establishment's doors." Did they pull it off? I'm not quite sure, as I am not well acquainted with the theater establishment.

Making my way into the theatre at the Hopkins Center, Jackson 5 was piped in over the speakers. I took my seat and began to survey the crowd. Based on looks alone, I was heartened to find myself surrounded by people even further out-of-touch with hip-hop culture than I was—no mean task, I assure you. Most of the audience was old, but still, they seemed eager to break down boundaries. After all, they had been undeterred by an ominous posting at the door warning of "Adult Content" and "Adult Language."

Soon after I arrived, a Hop functionary wandered up to the microphone. Stifling her obvious delight, she explained that while the Hopkins Center puts on many shows where the audience is supposed to be polite, this was not one of those shows. Delicious! "This is a show where we want you to make some noise!" she hooted. Predictably, the crowd clapped, squealed, and snapped wildly.

She hoped we would enjoy the show, and then the five members of the Universes "theater troupe" filed onto stage. They intended to expose us to the "secret recipes / behind perms and doobies." I had little interest in either, but they soon reassured me: "We made talking s**t sound so mother-f**king good!" I was incapacitated with glee as I waited enthusiastically for the show to begin in earnest.

The performers arrayed themselves into the shape of a subway car and began tapping, stomping, and drumming rhythmically. Every so often one of the "riders" punctuated the racket with a dramatic monologue. "The Lord is everywhere," one claimed boisterously. Later, one of the women indignantly demanded a seat on the "train." She claimed she deserved it because of a lengthy list of complaints: She did not enjoy her job, her stockings were torn, she wanted to win the lottery, et cetera. Given the woman's none-too-insignificant girth, one could hardly fault reluctance (or capacity) to accommodate her, even though the subway car was, in fact, not real. Play along.

After our subway ride came to a grinding halt, Universes treated us to some urbanized nursery rhymes. In their versions, the Giant from Jack and the Beanstalk became Uncle Sam—and our hero, Jack? Well, "Jack wanted to put a cap in Uncle Sam's ass." Humpty Dumpty was no longer a story of innocent clumsiness. Humpty, you see, is about "a brotha who put himself above everyone else," and so he had to come crashing down. As the lights dimmed, I realized that their gritty portrayal of the urban landscape was both hipping and hopping.

A gentleman by the name of Steven, sporting dreadlocks and clad in a sweat-suit, approached the microphone as the lights rose again. For a moment he stood motionless in front of the mic. Then, he unleashed a feral howl, which I can only approximate as, "AYY YOOOOO!" The audience, caught unawares, mustered up an energetic "AYY YOOOOO!" in return. Unfortunately, this earned us Steven's displeasure. Lost for a moment in deep thought, he decided that our zeal could still be salvaged. "When I say 'Ay yo,'" he instructed, "you say, 'Aiight,' back!" After a moment, he tried again. "We gonna try this s**t again... AYY YOOOOO!" he hollered. With energy not seen since the bygone days of their youth, the audience unloosed a rapturous cry of "Aiiiiiiiiiiight!"

Now that the crowd was properly primed, Steven began another monologue. Though it did not involve hollering, it was fairly hard to follow: mostly gibberish and altogether meaningless. The audience still found delight in his garbled slamming. "Conquistadores with their autobiography / Christ-complex," garnered quite a bit of applause, but it was nothing compared to the reaction that was prompted when he claimed his spectacle was a "liberation of linguistics." He did not explain why linguistics needed to be liberated, but the crowd ate it up anyways.

Steven proved the most comprehensible of the bunch. Each member of Universes presented their own rambling discourses, generally relying on obscenity in lieu of profundity. But why should I speak, when Universes can do so themselves (and far more eloquently, I might add): "Let me stick it in your ears so you can hear me coming!"

The more obscure and incomprehensible the slanguage, the louder the cheers. A woman next to me (wearing some strange piece of cylindrical headgear) snapped her fingers in appreciation of every rhyme. Unlike her, I did not enjoy the production, but I seemed to be the exception. For those of us who did not care to wear silly hats, the Slanguage cast summed up their show quite well: it's "going to take more than common sense / to make sense / of this nonsense."

Slanguage: Vernacular Decadence

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