http://www.haymarketbooks.org/pb/L-vis-Lives
Kevin Coval’s third full-length book of poetry explores the sensitive subjects of race, privilege, and cultural appropriation from the less approached side. Through these poems Coval explores the personal and political ramifications of being a white man who becomes a fan and imitator of black artists and artforms. Coval’s poems are at their best when they are at their most self-aware. When we see Coval pointing out how white characters such as himself or his amalgamated character “L-vis” use and misuse black art we believe him and find ourselves as readers endeared to that desire of L-vis/Coval to fit.
One such example is the hilarious “call and (tepid) response”. This poem portrays Coval’s middle school self as an aspiring rapper. We see a wonderfully awkward tension between our unsure protagonist and our even less sure world. The suburban universe that the would-be rapper inhabits is unsure of what to do with him or how to respond. Either perceptively or foolishly, the protagonist reads their tepid response and his own courage to call as an affirmation to who he is and who he wants to be with his new art.
This poem in many ways is the heart of Coval’s collection and the idea behind the book. Coval the author and his book stand at the crossroad of an poetic academy that is unsure what to make of him and a hip-hop community that distrusts poetry in the book forms that Coval presents. In the poem the artform and the courage to use it give power and identity to our middle-school hero and the same happens for the author through his book.
A common feature of hip-hop music is its preoccupation with self. Much of the music, even when it speaks to larger social or political issues, is crouched in the language of “I.” In the music we are often not able to make a distinction easily between the characters presented in the song and the artist themselves. Hip-hop listeners do not easily separate the gun-toting, club-hopping, bottle-popping character 50 Cent from Curtis Jackson, the multimillionaire author and entrepreneur who doesn’t consume alcohol or drugs yet creates lurid tales of nightlife. This book is incredibly hip-hop in that sense. The speaker of the poem is the character of supreme importance often in these poems and we’re never quite sure where the speaker ends and author begins.
The adaption of this blurring identity is one of the small geniuses of Coval’s book. The poems draw from the lives of Kevin Coval, Elvis Presley, Eminem, Rick Rubin, Vanilla Ice, and John Walker Lindh in ways that reveal the commonality between all these characters. Readers come out of the book unsure about what parts of L-vis are gleaned from the life of the American Taliban or America’s most famous rock star. By muddying the waters between these various characters, the author reveals the common humanity of all of his subjects and the thin line between fame and infamy.
The book is split technically into 5 parts. The two longest parts of the book, however, are the “life side” and “death side.” The concept of a life and death side seems to be homage to gangster rapper Ice Cube’s album “Death Certificate.” On that record Ice Cube presented first a “death side” that described the ills of ghetto life and then a “life side” that gestured toward ways in which urban communities could begin uplift. A notable difference in Coval’s adaptation is the reversal of the sides. Coval presents us with his “life side” first then followed by the “death side.” Rather than mimic Ice Cube’s didactic shift between the sides, Coval instead positions them as two parts of the L-vis narrative.
The “life side” documents L-vis as a child coming across black music and becoming entranced by its allure. In these poems we see sometimes our sometime insightful and sometimes offensive hero stumble through his dissatisfaction with his own white upbringing and his perceptions of black culture and life. Coval’s strength is his narrative. In the poem “the crossover” he uses paragraphs to create a sort of quickened pace through the images that create a dystopic view of 1980s surburbia. The narrative is well constructed, the thesis of the poem seems a bit immature, but to good effect. The speaker of the seems convinced that hip-hop music is the ultimate egalitarian movement and gushes about the music’s potential. This classic viewpoint of youth culture may seem naïve to some but it works well to set up the liberal optimism that is a part of the L-vis persona.
The “death side” of the book takes a departure from the innocent searching for identity of the first side and delves into the lonely ascension into relevance for the white artist in a black artform. These poems are darker than the earlier work. Though they explore the psyche of artists coming into their success they display a sort of loneliness and guilt about this success. In this section the poem “letter to white backpackers and battlerappers” rings out as a sort of warning to every would-be L-vis (the author included). The voice in the poem challenges such artists to be self-reflective and self-critical as they engage in cultural practices that do not belong to them.
The book takes a few departures from its theme to speak on other topics to a mixed effect. The most notable example of this is “Holla for Troy Davis.” The poem is only in the loosest sense a part of the psychology of L-vis. For a reader of the collection as a whole this poem is a bit jarring because it doesn’t like so many of the poems comment directly on L-vis. Despite this disruption, the poem “Holla…” showcases Coval in some of his most poetic and powerful verse. Using the refrain “i’m with you in county,” Coval paints a series of small, emotionally impactful vignettes that offer insight into the injustice suffered by many in the prison industrial complex and how that suffering emanates through families, neighborhoods, and worlds. Coval takes what could very easily be a very trite political poem and immerses it in a humanity that is compelling to the reader. Like “call and (tepid) response”, this poem reveals where Coval is at his best, appealing to the humanity of his subject.
L-vis Lives works to critically examine the reality and ramifications of white people appropriate black forms. This critique is an interesting mantel to take up but ultimately it is not Coval’s most potent thesis. There are times in the book, such as the poem “posing”, where we wonder if Coval is doing just that. There are times when he seems so critical of white people and whiteness that it strikes slightly insincere. In those spaces, it feels as if Coval is trying that age-old quest to prove that he is “down” or “hip.” When he disregards that cool posture and exposes the little slices of humanity in himself and his speakers, Coval is at his most powerful. When his poems aren’t worried about being cool enough they become all that and more.
