Last Friday night, I had the chance to return to Mezrab – Amsterdam’s house of stories – for the first time in many years.
I had the chance to tell a story. Sneakily, the story was actually an excerpt of something bigger I’ve been working on: a hip-hop storytelling show. It’s a unique hybrid of personal stories woven around original rap songs, creating a personal narrative about life, safety and artistic practice.
I’d been working on this in secret for quite a while, and then, over coffee, my friend Rod suggested I take a chunk of it to Mezrab and put it in front of an audience. Then, he set it up for me. So I would stop talking about it, and take that step.
The value of sprezzatura
Before I tell you how it went, I want to talk about sprezzatura. It’s a Renaissance concept – the art of making difficult and highly practiced things look effortless. A kind of ‘studied carelessness’ that can only emerge when the work has been so well practiced that all that work disappears. Think of a preternatural football dribbler or virtuoso musician; they seem so damn fluid that you can’t really imagine how hard they must have worked. That’s sprezzatura.
I wouldn’t say I reached those heady heights last Friday, but I did manage to successfully pilot 10-12 minutes of a cappella hip-hop storytelling in front of a packed Mezrab crowd. From where I was standing, it worked very well. It also took a whole heck of a lot of prep and practice in the weeks leading up – writing, cutting, rewriting, recording myself, listening back, running it. Rinse. Repeat.
That’s the paradox of sprezzatura. The appearance of effortlessness costs a lot of time.
The response told me that goofy (yet truly dope) personal raps and comedic, vulnerable stories have legs. So that’s promising.
But also: it was such fun. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be in the warm embrace of Mezrab and hearing such wonderful stories.
Taking private preparation public
Plus, I was reminded of something critical: private preparation only gets you so far. Stand-ups don’t build an hour-long show in a room by themselves. The joke writing part is important, of course, but the form requires them to get up on stage, repeatedly, in front of actual humans, and perform it.
Without that step, the show never comes together. With that step, you’re making progress on the road to something bigger. That’s what I got from Mezrab, in addition to a great night out and the chance to rock some a cappella rhymes in front of an audience.
And so the work continues. I’ll be scouting for more storytelling opportunities, continuing to work on the rhymes and the structure, and seeking out collaborators – dramaturgs, directors, sharp-eyed advisers – to help shape it.
Here’s something else I was reminded of: I love doing this work: the private and the public stuff.
