Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny

Yesterday evening I went to the Jamaican premiere of Marley, the landmark bio-pic directed by Kevin MacDonald. Emancipation park was packed, and I worried that space would be at a premium, but I ended up sitting on the grass, watching the film with some students from the University of the West Indies. Was it a good film? Yes. The cinematography was beautiful. Capturing the green of the hills of Jamaica is no small feat. There was also a bunch of gloriously crisp colour footage from the early 1960s–stuff I had never seen before.

There were some interesting bits (the origins of the song “Cornerstone”, for instance), but, in general, the documentary told what I know of the story of Bob Marley. When I mentioned that there was nothing new or revelatory in the film, a friend said to me that the stuff most people might hide, Bob Marley didn’t seem to really mind sharing. In the final moments of the film we hear Marley’s voice: “If my life was just fi me,” he says, “mi nuh want it.” So there it was–his childhood, his past, his family, his relationships, his friendships, his children, his music, his music, his music.

It didn’t seem like he was a particularly great father, great husband or great boyfriend, and Cedella Marley, his eldest daughter, didn’t hide those facts. When talking about the days before her father’s death, she lamented that even in those moments, those where she might have wanted to have him to herself, he was for everyone. Perhaps that’s the bargain–he couldn’t give himself to specific people, because his desire to give himself to the whole world got in the way.

I kept thinking of Grant Farred’s great essay on Marley in his book What’s My Name? where he argues that the man’s politics were as important as his melodies and musical virtuosity. He may have not aligned with PNP or JLP, but he did make profound political statements. Marley’s concern in appealing to black audiences, in the face of swaths of white crowds was discussed. And the film’s depiction of the Zimbabwean independence celebrations touched on Marley’s prescient awareness of the need to be careful when designating “real” revolutionaries.

Given the carefully contextualized portrayal of Marley’s Rastafari beliefs and the development of the movement, I wished the film had spent a little time on Marley in Ethiopia. I know, given its already 144 minute running time, that not everything could be included, so it’s hardly a big complaint. The film is as Roger Ebert put it, “a careful and respectful record of an important life”, and I would have to agree.

Some recent writing on reggae…

Between a conference, a couple editing projects and a massive, ominous set of revisions, I’ve made some time to do a little writing. First, a review of a record chock full of one of my favourite genres of music–a genre I discovered while attempting to put together a “Women in Reggae” special for my old radio show, Venus. I first fell in love with “Caught You in a Lie” by Louisa Mark, but that, of course, is the tip of the iceberg. So happy to have written for Pitchfork again.

Joshua Chamberlain and I put together a little soundclash history for Clustermag to commemorate/celebrate this weekend’s World Clash events. Tonight we’ll be in Montego Bay for World Clash R.E.S.E.T. Jamaica–watch out for the tweets.

Uptown Pop Ranking

It’s taken me almost a week to semi-absorb the events of the EMP/IASPM Pop Conference held at NYU last weekend. I spoke early on Friday morning alongside Rustem Ertug Altinay, who talked about Güngör Bayrak and the fascinating world of Turkish Gazinos, and Mark Lomanno, who presented on jazz from the Carnary Islands. There were a number of interesting connections to be made between my paper on listening to Addis Ababa and their papers, which dealt with listening to other spaces/places. Note: I was lucky enough to have my paper live-tweeted by Ned Raggett (thanks so much Ned!!) You can check it out here.

After the panel, I was interviewed by Michael Rancic for Canada Arts Connect. It was interesting to talk about Canada in New York, and especially at the Pop Conference, where I’ve only heard a few papers about Canadian music over the years I’ve taken part. Del Cowie, incidentally, gave a great paper on Toronto hip hop before (and after) Drake. Rancic asked about whether or not an event like the Pop Con could (or should) happen in Canada. Of course, I’d welcome such a thing–and I do think that Canada has a huge amount to bring to the conversation about popular music.

Over the course of the weekend, Canada’s famous (or infamous–depending on how you look at it) CanCon rules were mentioned a shockingly large number of times. Yes, some of those times were by Canadians, but one very memorable mention was by Chuck D, on a panel about the music component of the Smithsonian’s African American History Museum, due to open in 2015. Arguing that the desire for national success–and the fact that media conglomeration has meant that national success seems the only viable option–has destroyed local scenes. Chuck D mentioned, with an air of what could only be called incredulity, that Canada insists on %35 Canadian Content on radio. I was sitting beside my Canadian colleague, who also gave an excellent paper on sound and space, Jeremy Morris, and we looked at each other, perhaps equally incredulous at this mention. The point was that CanCon regulations tip the deck towards the local, and therefore help out burgeoning acts/scenes. I think he has a point.

I also took part in a panel alongside such luminaries as Chief Boima, Wayne Marshall, Venus X, Eddie Stats and Dj Rekha. The topic was “Tropical Music, Appropriation and Music ‘Discovery’ in the Global Metropolis”, and the discussion ranged from Shakira to Santigold to Diplo to daggering. Venus revealed that she had written a series of newsletters for Shakira, apprising the singer’s people of the latest, most interesting developments in music. Apparently (and unfortunately), this information hasn’t really seemed to influence Shakira’s work. Venus, however, made the useful point that artists are indebted to their record labels and have to produce “new” and “exciting” music. They are so desperate to find something cool that they wouldn’t want to share their sources (a.k.a. give credit) to others or to the press. I was pretty flattered to be on the panel and felt that the conversation was wide-ranging (I learned about bubbling) and, I think, reasonably helpful in terms of thinking through issues of appropriation. As for me, the room was packed, and I can say quite honesty that I have never spoken in front of so many people in my life. I was nervous as all get out, but I think I managed to make at least one reasonable point, that being that listeners and journalists need to take some responsibility for telling the tales behind the tunes.

Other highlights of the weekend included the excellent ClusterMag-curated panel. Julianne Escobedo Shepherd’s paper on “The Ha” and vogue house was fantastic–thoroughly informative, insightful and entertaining. It was also great to finally meet her live and in person. Wayne Marshall’s paper dealt with the ever evolving ways in which youth share dance, music and more online, and the tag team of Max Pearl and Alexis Stephens took a look at the hype cycle and the speed of culture online.

I also enjoyed discussions about the music of revolution in Cairo, rebetika in Greece, Whitney Houston, record collecting, and so much more. However, the best bits were some of the conversations in between and around the panels. Great dinner conversation, great opportunity to meet new people, and, wonderfully, great weather.

Listening to Addis Ababa in Kingston

This coming weekend it’s the annual EMP Pop Conference. This will be the fourth time I’ve spoken at the conference, which is an annual music nerd-fest of epic proportions. There’s so many interesting papers, discussions and performances going on that it’s hard to choose which to attend.

I co-presented a paper on screwed and chopped hip hop in 2007, then talked about soundclash in 2008, and finally, in 2011 I talked about collaborations between Jamaican dancehall artists and folks from foreign. This year it’s all about Addis Ababa. I decided to submit an abstract after reading about Benjamin Lebrave’s disappointment with contemporary Ethiopian music. Of course, those who have done a little reading of this blog or who know me know that I’m a pretty big fan of Ethiopia and Ethiopian music (shout out to Debo Band!). I have, however, been specifically interested in the reactions people have to the music they hear in Addis Ababa as well as the work of someone like Melaku Belay–emblematic of what one might call a recent traditional music renaissance (or perhaps just another approach to the traditional).

This means I’ve been listening to a whole pile of Ethiopian music here in Kingston, and I’ve renewed my big love for Teddy Afro and reminisced about the Ethiopian millennium…

Anyhow, if you’re interested in what Addis Ababa sounds like, I’ll be talking on the Repositioning Urban Pop panel on Friday, March 23, 2012, 9:00 – 11:00. Here’s the abstract:

‘Layers and layers of not-so-dope synths’: Listening to the Music of Addis Ababa”

In a recent Fader column, record-label head and African music affectionado Benjamin Lebrave spoke of a recent trip to Addis Ababa. He had become enamoured with a particular tune with a particular synthy sound. After a week in the city, he was disappointed, finding the music either equally as synthy but “not-as-dope”, traditional, or representative of a long-past jazz period. He left frustrated.

But frustration is Addis Ababa. The city is one that demands a renewed listening ear. For Western listeners, the pentatonic backbone of much Ethiopian popular music sounds awkward and grating, especially when played on a tinny synth. Traditional instruments like the masinquo and krar accompany jerky, difficult dance moves. And though Ethio-jazz, made famous outside of Ethiopia by Mulatu Astetke, is more comfortable listening, it is representative of the sound of Ethiopia during the end of Haile Selassie’s reign—the late 1960s and early 1970s.

There are “layers and layers” of music in Addis. Like the city, its music is a complex web of old and new, serious and playful, discordant and harmonious. Addis challenges the notion of metropolis as it also challenges the notion of contemporary popular music.

This paper will take a sonic trip to and through Addis Ababa, looking at the tensions between the traditional and the modern. From the music shops of the merkato that blast Amharic pop and Celine Dion in equal measures, to the Azmari bets where stories, songs and insults are served up alongside folk dancing by traditional performers and musicians called “azmaris”, to the new generation of musicians that are playing around with bits and bobs of Ethio-jazz, Addis Ababa redefines “dope”.

Bigger than Jah: Celine Dion in JA

So I went to see Celine Dion perform in JA. It was unbelievable. I ended up being interviewed on radio (NewsTalk 93–to be broadcast this Sunday between 9-10am) about the show and writing a piece for the Montreal Mirror. Thought I’d throw up a director’s cut version of the piece here and some more photos.

It’s 2:30am on an average Monday morning. The unmistakeable, song-starting humming of Celine Dion fills the air. Women with their hands over their hearts and heads thrown back belt out the words to “I’m Alive” into the warm evening. Couples dressed to the nines—women in shimmery, sparkling dresses and men sporting bright coloured shirts and well-shined shoes—spin into the street through a huge crowd of dancers. Headlights light up the scene as cars fight their way through the road, which is bookended with huge walls of speakers. This is the Rae Town Old Hits street dance in downtown East Kingston, Jamaica, ground zero for the love this island has for Quebec’s most famous vedette.

If you expect Jamaica to be the home of reggae and dancehall, you’d be right, but it’s also home to one of the most committed groups of smooth adult contemporary and country music fans. If there’s one thing that Jamaicans love, it’s darned good singers singing darned good songs. From bad men to rude bwoys to Rastafari to uptown top ranking folks, Jamaicans are just as, if not more, likely to love Kenny Rogers and Air Supply as they are the Marleys, Buju and Kartel. For Jamaica, Bounty Killer might be the Poor People’s Governor, but Celine is the Commander in Chief.

Given the depth of Jamaican passion for Celine, it’s not surprising that when she was announced as headliner for the Jamaica Jazz and Blues Festival, the public thought it too good to be true. Festival founder Walter Elmore had to travel to Miami and beg a picture with Ms. Dion in order to prove that her heart was going to go all the way to JA. Sure, the Temptations, Ceelo Green, Bobby Brown, Johnny Gill, Ralph Trevesant and a weekend’s worth of some of the best reggae artists Jamaica has produced are already a draw, but nothing compared to the excitement surrounding the most well-known Canadian performer in the world.

In the middle of the Caribbean countryside, the Trelawney Multi-Purpose stadium was built for the 2007 World Cup of Cricket, but it’s not seen so many people as Friday, January 27, 2012. The Jamaica Observer newspaper headline screamed “Celine at last!” The two lane highway leading to the show expanded to an adhoc five, but people calmly dealt with the gridlock. Celine is worth waiting for. What would normally be a 30 minute drive from Montego Bay to the venue located just outside the cruise-port town of Falmouth took over two hours. While our taxi driver navigated through the seemingly endless sea of cars, we asked if there was anyone else he would have liked to see at the Jamaica Jazz and Blues festival, his response was, “No, she is better than number one. There is no one better. No one.”

Stepping on the stage in silver jeans and shimmering shirt—the type of outfit that would fit right in at Rae Town—Celine went on to make three costume changes, each more bejeweled than the last. The crowd roared, some women crying, and most holding their blackberries in the air so as to prove that they were actually there, and Celine talked about her excitement about being in Jamaica. “It’s the best place in the world,” she exclaimed, pausing before finishing the sentence with “…to get a plate of jerk chicken!” Wild applause followed, and her bits of banter about rum cake and weather seemed genuine—she’d only arrived that evening, a couple of hours before, so it was pretty impressive. Sure, she’s from Charlemagne, but she might has well have driven up from Kingston given her ability to immediately engage the crowd. Proof? When she sang “I’m your lady, and you are my man”, a fellow next to me yelled out “Yes I am!!”

Being Canadian, hell, being alive means that you’ve probably heard every song in Celine’s catalogue whether it be in a mall or randomly on the radio, and the woman performs ‘em like it’s the first time. It was impossible not to join in the 25,000 person strong singalong. Sure, the crowd couldn’t keep up with “Pour Que Tu M’aimes Encore,” but it didn’t matter. Kicking up the drama, commotion began near the stage in the middle of Dion’s duet with a be-screened Andrea Bocelli as a concert goer took to his knees to propose.

Even Shaggy, who stood at the front of the stage, staring up in awe for every single song, was clearly taken with the power of Celine: “I was very moved,” he said, “Every Jamaican think they’re superstars anyway, so when she came in and was very complimentary about the country and the food and the culture. The crowd was like, ‘You’re a superstar like us now!’” Mr. Boombastic knows that Celine connects.

Carl Wilson, music critic and author of Let’s Talk About Love, a book about loving and hating Celine Dion, admits that her music is “sentimentalized”, but as he puts it, “presents itself in this explicit and over the top way that is easy to identify across language and cultural barriers. There’s not a lot of subtext.” As well, the slight awkwardness of her cutesy jokes, what Wilson calls “a lack of polish within all the polish,” is endearing. And the fact that English is her second language and that she’s from a small town is important: “People understand that she cares about her roots but she has moved on and achieved success.”

Every Jamaican gets this. Back in Kingston, all the people I know were beside themselves when I said I’d seen Celine Dion. When I revealed the fact that Celine doesn’t seem to connect with all Canadians and that there are actually more than a few people in Canada (and the rest of the world) who aren’t big fans of her music, a friend looked at me like I was out of my mind. “You don’t all love Celine?” she said, astonished, “You people all are backwards, seriously.”

Check the Technique

I guess Sean Paul didn’t get the memo. Though I’m interested in hearing Mr. Henriques’s new record and curious to hear the pop-influence in his tunes, I’m more curious to know what the thought process was regarding the title of the album as well as the album art. There’s seems to be no native-influence in any of the tracks on the record, and my bit of googling has found no explanation for the mohawk, image of tomahawk and “Tomahawk Technique” title. Not that any of this would really matter that much, it’s just that I wanted to see if there was any reason for the imagery selected. I’d seen Sean Paul’s new hairdo, and I didn’t think much of it, but in combination with the other bits and pieces that come together to produce the cover, I’m left thinking this is yet another example of appropriation of Native American culture.

As an entry into the North American market, perhaps Sean Paul’s people might have thought the imagery through a little more. I can suggest some resources if they want. They also might wish to have a conversation with A Tribe Called Red (who know more than a little about dancehall, hip hop, pop music and making people dance, all while showing respect for indigenous cultural history).

Update:

This post got the most views I’ve ever had in a single day. Interestingly, there were no comments… There were, however, comments when A Tribe Called Red’s Deejay NDN reposted the link. I asked permission to reprint NDN’s as well as Justine Campeau’s comments as I think they make the issue pretty clear.

      Deejay NDN

• It’s not JUST the hair…I think he’s cashing in on the “hipness” to be “Indian”. There was a trend in Jamaica in the 90’s where they sang songs about being Indian.

• Maybe I’m overly sensitive because I see my culture being appropriated every where and no one’s calling anyone on it.

• It’s about culture jacking. That was the original point of this post. I love Sean Paul and now I’m a little disappointed. That’s it.

• Now if you want to have a conversation about why all Aboriginal themed sports nicknames and mascots (including the Blackhawks) are harmful to an entire race of people, we could do that too.

• It’s the faux hawk mixed with “Tomahawk Technique”. It’s culture jacking. I LOVE Sean Paul and a little disappointed, is all.

  Justine Campeau

• Mohawk + the title “tomahawk” means something different. It’s using a stereotype of a culture and wouldn’t be ok if it was some white chick w neon corn rows with the title “yo dawg”. People aren’t educated enough about the histories of this bruised and broken culture. For some reason, they are the first for people to use their ignorance against rather than being the first that people that should be respectfully backed off from.
• These people aren’t out to stick first nations people, but they’re too ignorant to know what they’re using and saying isn’t ok.

2011 in Reggae and Dancehall – Part 2

Of course, when running down the year in Jamaican music, it’s important to get out in the street. After the tragic incursion into Tivoli Gardens of May 2010, the great Passa Passa popped down. It still takes place, though in a smaller incarnation. Uptown Mondaze has taken a bit of a backseat to Mojito Mondays. Whereas Mojito Mondays, which is located in the parking lot for Suzy’s Bakery, across the street from Savannah Plaza, home to Uptown Mondaze, used to end at around 1am, it now seems to stretch to 2 or 2:30am. A shame, really, as the venue for Uptown Mondaze is much more conducive to dancehall. The reduction in time has meant a reduction in patrons, which means less sound (and less speakers) for your $300. Sure, the punters still show up and it’s been able to stay in business, but it’s too bad folks prefer to hang around a parking lot with a small sound system (a few Mackie 450s) instead of crossing the street to experience significantly more bass from Soul Tone, who bring in the truck and construct walls of sound every week.

Mutabaruka will still probably bemoan the huge number of parties held in Jamaica, as one off events dotted the social calender each weekday in 2011,  Swagg Tuesdays had a moment, and Wet Sundaze seemed to be back on the radar alongside events like Hammer Fridays and Container Saturdayz. Weddy Weddy remains a standby, along with the numerous events at the former Asylum and the Quad nightclubs, but the infamous Dutty Fridaze has yet to be resurrected–maybe it’ll come back in 2012. The longest running regular street dance, however, is still the venerable Rae Town Old Hits dance. Having been taken off the road in 2009, it’s been steadily bubbling back on the street over 2010 and 2011. Now stronger than ever, Rae Town attracts heaps of people, all more ready to dance than profile. Large up to Klassique (Senor Daley, DJ Troy, DJ Snow and guests) for holding it down, as well as to founders Sister Norma and Brother Bunny at the Capricorn Inn for their commitment and staying power.

Here’s hoping that 2012 brings more dancing to the dance. Sure, the experts get out in front of the video light, but everyone else stands back and out of the way. If people can let loose on Rae Road every Sunday (and in the UK too!), why not on Burlington Avenue at Weddy Weddy?

Another place where folks were letting loose this fall, for the second time around, was at the televised Guinness Sounds of Greatness soundclash competition, which kicked off in September for another season. Unlike 2009’s version, which travelled around the island, this year’s edition was held at the Chinese Benevolent Association in Kingston. Big up Jay Will and Carleene Samuels for their combined direction and production prowess. The venue held a few hundred people, but those few hundred people could certainly made a heck of a lot of noise. Outdoors, soundclash is characterized by aerosol cans turned flamethrowers, but inside, the vuvuzela won the day. Quite literally. Certain evenings it was nearly impossible to hear the tunes for the squealing of so many horns. However, on television, the competition looked and sounded great, and it exposed not only younger “hotshot” sounds like Black Blunt and Bredda Hype, but also “veteran” sounds like Bodyguard, Sound Troopa, Black Kat and Silverhawk.

Of course, comparing GSOG with hours-long oldtime clashes or even the recent (and due to be relaunched) Irish and Chin-promoted World Clash series is like comparing apples and oranges. GSOG is a made-for-tv event. That said, it’s a very exciting made-for-tv event. By outlawing all profanity, the sounds tend towards more creativity in their dubs, and the Serato-sponsored challenges kept things interesting. The showdowns leading up to the finale between Rich Squad and Trooper were all entertaining, if sometimes controversial (such as when Bredda Hype lost against Rich Squad in the semifinals). Little Richie proved to be a masterful juggler throughout the competition, but Ricky Trooper made up for his poor performance against Bass Odyssey in 2009, killing Rich Squad and coming out on top.

Unfortunately, Jamaican music had to say goodbye to a number of luminaries this year. In February, pioneering soundman Cyril “Count C” Brathwaite passed. A man whose influence on sound system culture was impressive though under reported, Count C was given a fitting tribute by Joshua “Soul of the Lion” Chaberlain, who wrote a piece about the man for Wax Poetics and produced a short documentary fit for a Count. UK fast chat star Smiley Culture was killed by police in and both his family and the reagge community are still left asking questions regarding the circumstances of the singer’s death. It won’t be until well into 2012 that inquest results will be released. Though not a strictly reggae or dancehall voice, but most certainly one who brought his Jamaican roots to the fore in his hip hop, the sudden death of Heavy D at age 44 came as a great shock. In conversation with Jamaican-Canadian hip hop star Michie Mee this November, she spoke of how significant Heavy D was as someone who maintained the link between Jamaican music and American hip hop. Another fellow who exemplified the connection between genres, specifically ska and rocksteady, Barry Llewellyn, of the great Heptones, died in November. Unfortunately, the year ended with the loss of of producer Fattis Burrell, famous for his work as Xterminator productions–arguably responsible for Luciano and Sizzla’s very best work.

There’s lots to look forward to in 2012–from the growing UK scene (you know things are good when a guy like Marvin Sparks says “I don’t remember bashment having this impact on over here, as in British artists having so much dancehall material in it’s rawest form in my lifetime”) to the fact that Celine Dion–yes, THAT Celine Dion–will be performing in Jamaica at the end of January. For me, my top moment of 2011 was seeing my folks dancing to disco at Rae Town Old Hits and realizing that some tunes I thought were total crap become life-affirmingly amazing when played on a sound system. I don’t really have a list of favourite tunes or riddims, but I do know that I like music played loud. Big up all sound men and women. Bigga sound fi 2012.

2011 in Reggae and Dancehall – Part 1

Here it is, my fourth annual year-end round up of reggae and dancehall (counting 2008’s Pitchfork column). Whereas 2010 ended with a bit of a musical whimper–disappointing Sting, no real music news of note, this year has ended with a political bang. The “crushing” victory of the PNP in the polls has definitely shaken things up in Jamaica, but what about the music?

I’ve sat looking at this entry for a while. Last year there was all sorts of whinging about the state of the music industry in Jamaica and this year has been no different. One of the most engaging commentators on the Jamaican music industry (among other things), the irrepressible BigBlackBarry shut down his twitter account last year at this time, and this year he’s abandoned it for the time being.

Yes, one could list a lot of reasons that demonstrate that 2011 was a bit of a loser for reggae and dancehall, or could complain (with support from a range of, well, older folk) of how “static Jamaica’s musical progression has become”, but that runs contrary to the reality that there still was a multitude of quality releases, tunes and riddims. Sure, Buju winning his first Grammy for Best Reggae Album doesn’t make his imprisonment any less of a disappointment just like Mavado’s success in being signed with DJ Khaled’s We The Best music is difficult to celebrate as a triumph for dancehall when one recalls that the Gully God’s former rival (who also had a pile of international success in 2011), superstar deejay Vybz Kartel, ends the year in jail on murder charges.

Before the charges however, Vybz Kartel shocked the international media (from Hot97 to the Guardian) with his defense of skin bleaching. He gave a rather articulate lecture at the University of the West Indies as part of Carolyn Cooper’s Reggae Poetry class, putting Prof Cooper in cartoonist Clovis’s crosshairs. Undermining the professor’s position, numerous cartoons suggested that Mr. Palmer’s appearance at the university was emblematic of academic degeneration courtesy of dancehall. Granted, Kartel made some seriously questionable statements (making use of Haile Selassie’s famous statement “until the colour of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the colour of his eye” as a defense for bleaching is but one), but he didn’t fall flat, as many twitter/facebook observers forecast.

With production from New York’s Dre Skull, Vybz Kartel unleashed Kingston Story (the string-laden, Showtime-riddim inspired lead off single “Go Go Wine” is still getting daily radio play). The New York Times (courtesy of an excellent piece by Rob Kenner) and just about everyone else sat up and took notice of the Anancy-like artiste. Then, in the blink of an eye, the hook-driven yet lyrically-challenged “Summertime”, rose in popularity to become what many observers acknowledge as the song of the year. The riddim itself was also produced by a foreigner–the Swedish Adde Productions. Sweden is known for pop know-how (see Ace of Base, Robyn and Abba for examples), so it’s no surprise that the Summertime riddim was also the basis for Popcaan’s infectious hit “Ravin”.

Drawing all the more attention and publicity, Kartel’s dating reality show Teacher’s Pet debuted this fall to much fanfare and condemnation. The program was no more or less offensive than Flava of Love (with perhaps a bit more nudity and less snappy editing), but, in the words of one Jamaican commentator, it was  “sad”. Regardless, people worldwide tuned in on TV and online to see the self-proclaimed World Boss charm a range of Kartel-obsessed ladies. 2011 could have been the best year of Mr. Adidja Palmer’s career, until October 3rd, when he was arrested on murder charges. With no trial date set, Kartel is still in limbo–time will tell what 2012 has in store for di teacha.

However, speaking of the Dre Skull/Kartel combination, in February, Joshua Chamberlain, Thomas Palermo, Mel Cooke (though from afar) and I presented a panel at the venerable EMP conference entitled “Selling Jamaica”. My paper, entitled “Major Lazer, Major Money? Dancehall’s Relationship between Yard and Foreign” took a look at international collaborations such as Diplo and Switch’s Major Lazer project (a new record is due to arrive in 2012). Drawing from interviews with Dre Skull (who just unleashed a new production for Popcaan), Prodigal Entertainment’s Dylan Powe, and Red Bull distributor Wisynco head William Mahfood, I attempted to ask questions about how music is monetized in Jamaica alongside the ethics of cultural collaboration. Yes, I talked about Diplo, but folks like Venus X and Chief Boima took the argument about Wes Pentz further. The one thing that can be said about this is that more things should be said–more discussion should be had. Given that just about every UN report suggests that Jamaica should capitalize on its creative resources and the new PNP government has claimed to support cultural development, the Jamaica-specific part of this conversation will continue.

Speaking of the relationship between Jamaica and foreign, a couple of days before year end, the insightful Erin Hansen tweeted that “Sometimes it seems like Jamaican, American and British dancehall lovers are never on the same page.” I’ve written a little bit this year about the heavy emphasis on melody that exists in Jamaica. Sure, there are dancehall bangers, but you a just as likely to hear a sweet reggae or poppy tune that begs for singalong. This year a few of these that stand out are Richie Stephens and Gentleman’s anthemic “Live Your Life” (over a hundred thousand Europeans can’t be wrong), the made for repeat “One by One” by Laza Morgan ft. Mavado, Demarco’s triumphant “I Love My Life” (apparently huge in Haiti–according to Etienne) and heaps of tunes on the (admittedly more dancehall) Overproof–a riddim that shows no sign of age even after becoming the soundtrack of just about every cab ride I’ve taken since September.

Want an example of the differing taste in the US of A? In response to what I considered to be a reasonable run down of the top dancehall tunes courtesy of NPR (written by Baz Dreisinger), a discussion on Facebook (amongst Americans) treated the selection with disdain: “swill” and “weak” were two comments, “billboard top 5” was another. The list included “One by One” and “Summertime” by the way. Thing is, dancehall is pop music. Whereas in North America there’s often a premium placed on rooting through tracks in search of the rare, in Jamaica, radio and soundsystems respond to the massive’s taste. And when you look to the general population, the people pick pop. It’s more likely to hear Rhianna played in the dance than an intense Ward 21 track.

But if you are interested in that heavy, driven intensity that is rife in some hardcore dancehall, take a trip across the pond to the UK, where London crowds seem to appreciate a little more boom in their bass. The UK dancehall scene is experiencing more than a little bit of growth. The Heatwave have been holding it down for a while now, but 2011 gave way to a group of women whose many guises have provided an increasing number of parties and playlists. From Susannah Webb (DJ The Large) of Shimmy Shimmy and No Ice Cream Sound zine to Siobhan Jones (DJ Whydelila) and Physically Fit to Karen Cazabon (DJ Cazabon) of Hipsters Don’t Dance (alongside Inie Banigo, aka Hootie Who?), these ladies will play some of the singy songs, but as their end of the year round up proves, their selection in music leans more towards the Ward 21 end of the spectrum. Again, dancehall aint the same everywhere you go and it’s all according to the taste of the massive. And I still can’t understand why anyone likes Specialist’s “Street Hustle”.

Speaking of hustling, back in Kingston, a range of young musicians have been working hard to fit their roots and culture sound amongst all that dancehall. Whether at the African Village Cafe at Regal Plaza in Crossroads, on Wickie Wackie Beach, at the Manifesto JA festival, or at the launch of I Wayne’s Life Teachings, musicians like Jah 9, Kalissa MacDonald, Chronixx, Infinite, The Gideon and Kabaka Pyramid are pushing things forward with conscious, clever tunes. A couple favourites are Chronixx’s “Start a Fire” and the Occupy Wallstreet-worthy “Capitalists”.

Next: In the dance, Guinness Sounds of Greatness, saying goodbye, looking ahead.

Note: After posting this, I had an interesting conversation on Twitter with Gabrielof the Heatwave, who wasn’t sure about my distinction between the UK and JA. Though Gabe said  “I think there’s a bit of the cheesier stuff that doesn’t do so well here, & a bit of the harder stuff that does better here, but the main core of dominant tunes is pretty similar”, I might have overstated the case. I would love to know what other folks think…

Haile Roots Reggae

Ethiopian singer Haile Roots just released his first album of Amharic-language reggae called Chiggae (indicating a mix of the Ethiopian 6/8 time rhythm called “chikchika” and reggae). Arefe, of the always informative Addis Journal, wrote a post announcing the release today.

I know this record has been a long time coming…I heard of and heard Haile Roots in 2006, when I first started research into other Ethiopians doing the reggae thing. The music by the man otherwise known as Hailemichael Genet is good–though it still maintains the synthy sound emblematic of Amharic pop. This might turn off some roots reggae puritans, but it really shouldn’t. As regards the single “Mela Enimita”, I suggest that folks listen to the whole song–after all, you get to hear Luciano and Mikey General on the track too. Luciano’s vocals are terrific, and the chorus is pretty great. The video combines footage of Addis with some bits of Shashemene. Apparently Luciano was pretty darned impressed with the resulting clip.

Sorry for the low quality–I can’t seem to find a better version (or one that has better sync), as this one seems dragged from one of the ubiquitous video cds slap dashed together to sell at music shops across Ethiopia. The actual video was made a while ago by Aida Ashenafi, the director responsible for the incredible Guzo, a film that documented what happened when two Addis Ababa city kids take a trip to the countryside to see what it’s like to live far from urban conveniences. The Simple Life this aint. You can get an idea of the film from this clip, but it’s a shame the whole thing isn’t online. And after, if you want to listen to more Haile Roots when you’re done, check here and here.

“No one will dance until reggae starts” – An Extended Interview with A Tribe Called Red

Since this week A Tribe Called Red released their terrific Moombah Hip Moombah Hop EP (go download it now, and then come back a read while listening…), I thought it might be a good time to post a long-form version of my interview for the Montreal Mirror piece I wrote back in August. Enjoy!

Erin: Who are A Tribe Called Red?

Bear Witness: I come from a family of artists – my father is a photographer, my mother an actor. My grandmother and great aunt are involved in Spiderwoman theatre – the longest continuously running women’s theatre company in North America.

I grew up between the theatre and the darkroom and at arts and theatre events, aroundd an exposed to lots of different things. Grew up in Toronto. Work as a video artist started with my father. We would go on walks where he would take pictures of me, and him taking pictures of me started to become a big part of his work—a whole body of his work called “The Bear Portraits”. Growing up with that and becoming more and more aware of why my father was taking pictures of me to represent aboriginal people in the urban landscape, that relationship grew more and more as I became more aware and started taking part in the photographs to now, about 2003, my father and I started working collaboratively. So that’s how the video art started. As for the music part of it, I’ve been a huge music fanatic my whole life. I’ve been a collector and around 95-96, my friends really pushed me to start Djing. So I have been djing now for abut 15 years or so. But really, a big change was hooking up with Ian and Dan and having us come together as a group, as aboriginal djs was really what changed the whole dj experience for me. And then incorporating that video work, which was always really close to my dj work as well.

Dan a.k.a. DJ Shub: My brother started me on this whole dj thing. He was a mobile dj. He used to play weddings, and he used to play at bars in Buffalo. And he’s the one who got me into this whole dj thing. He is the one that bought me the first set up of turntables and mixers, and this was back in 2000. I started out as a battle dj which is a lot different from djing in a club. You are always in a contest. In 2007, I won the Canadian championship and placed 6^th in the world. I won the year after and then placed 5^th in the world. The DMCs were something I always grew up watching. I started producing before I started djing—terrible, terrible hip hop beats [laughter]. The two just coincided together as time went on.

Ian a.k.a. DJ NDN: I started playing in punk bands when I was 13 or 14. I toured with the Ripcordz in my early twenties. After that, I worked in bars as a bouncer and in between bands I would play tracks. A new night started at the bar I was working at and from knowing that I could pick good music in between the bands, they let me start that new night. That’s how my music career began. That was 2006, I would say. I have been djing since 2006. I am married and have two daughters—one two and one three. Somehow we all mesh.

Erin: Tell me about the style of music.

Ian: When we started the Electric Pow Wow in Ottawa, we wanted to showcase that we were aboriginal djs in the city and that we were doing something and people should come and check it out. It was almost in the same vein as Koreans having a Korean party, that sort of thing. We just thought, why don’t we have a party like that? So we just threw it together, a few of us, and it was rammed with people that we had never met before. Growing up in the city, you typically know most of the other Indians, but this was a packed bar with people we didn’t know. It ended up being a lot of students who didn’t feel comfortable going out until they heard of our party.

We wanted to remix Pow Wow music to add to the flavour of the party and it just so happened that dubstep was the closest tempo and it was big music at the time. It was right to mix with traditional pow wow music. And then, with the dancehall reggae…Bear has been the best reggae dj in Ottawa for years now.

Bear: The first time we put together pow wow singing and a dubstep track was at a rehearsal that Ian and I were having for a gig and he said, “check this out”: he played a grass dance song and he asked if I would have anything that could go behind it. The first track I pulled up was a Jahdan Blakamoore instrumental for “The General”. It’s a really open, dubby, dubstep track and it just clicked in right away—it was at the right tempo, and it just worked really smoothly. But soon after that was when we added Dan to the group. We played that for Dan and showed him some of the ideas we were working with. At the time, Dan was living in Fort Erie, so he drove home, and the next morning he sent us this track, which is “Electric Pow Wow Drum”. He took this idea that we were working on and just ran so hard with it. We really saw something coming together.

Erin: Tell me about the love of dancehall.

Bear: I grew up in Toronto with dancehall all around me. I was a big fan and a big jungle fan too, back in the day. I’ve also found that a lot of aboriginal people love dancehall. I’ve always found it a funny thing, being the Indian dancehall dj, but as I’ve played for more and more native audiences, people bug out for it.

Ian: No one will dance until reggae starts.

Bear: There is something in it. It’s got that heartbeat rhythm to it. And moombahton takes off from that same place. Moombahton is something that we have all got really excited over. It is something that is new and happening right now – it’s got lots of producers really excited.

Ian: With moombahton, there are no real rules yet, so you just make what you want. And it gets out there pretty quick.

Bear: As producers, that’s what you are looking for – something that you can help shape, that you’re there at the right moment. But beyond that, anything with a damn fine bassline and a nice danceable chug to it, we’ll play.

Shub: Moombahton has pretty much taken over my production life for the past year or so. [laughter] Ever since Ian showed it to me for the first time.

Erin: Can you tell me about connecting traditional with the modern? Obviously, there’s been a number of collaborations between western music and southern styles—I think of the controversy surrounding Diplo and the discussions about appropriation and exploitation. Can you explain your approach in working through these issues?

Bear: Right away, it is different for us as aboriginal people, as people from a minority group working with other aboriginals or other people from a minority groups or people of colour. There’s automatically a different kind of collaboration that is going to happen then when you are working with someone from the settler nation.

So what’s got us all really excited now is the idea of global indigenous electronic music. Cause it’s happening all over right now. And I think all of the really, really exciting things that are happening in electronic music are coming from indigenous people from all over the world. We are all really excited to do more collaborations with people. The more that we get in touch with people from all over the place, we’re finding that people are thinking in the same ways and moving in the same directions as we are. We’ve made friends with these guys out west, World Hood – online friends and we are going to see them at Aborginal Music Week this fall.

These guys are doing the same thing—fusing their traditional knowledge with their urban experience. Connecting with people like that for us is a huge thing.

Erin: How should people go about collaboration?

Bear: Credit your samples! It was a really important thing for us as soon as we started working with this pow wow music to credit the groups that we were sampling. Huge thanks goes out to Guillaume Decouflet. He really worked hard to make sure that we had a deal with the record label and that Northern Cree, the group we remixed for “Red Skin Girl”, that that was all done correctly – we weren’t just jacking this music without giving credit or respect to the people who originally created it

Erin: What do Northern Cree think of it?

Shub: Northern Cree loved it. There was a pow wow here in Ottawa – Northern Cree was the host drum of the pow wow. And we were really excited that they were going to come to our event. We held an electric pow wow the same night. We had the pleasure of having Northern Cree there. We were all nervous because it was the first time I’d ever met them. The way we do the song live is a live remix, and we were on our toes as to the way they would react when they heard their track all cut up and remixed the way we do it. We were totally surprised with the reaction we got from them. Their jaws dropped. They were floored. We actually played it twice—they came up to us and asked us to play it again. It was a reaction we were hoping for.

Erin: Can you tell me the relationship between traditional pow wow and your electronic version?

Ian: It’s centred around the music and a gathering of people – a celebration of our culture. It’s all about dancing at the same time and having a good time and seeing friends that you haven’t seen in forever and seeing friends that you saw yesterday, but you can still have fun with them. It’s about fun—it’s about gathering.

Erin: You have talked in other interviews about the identity of the urban aboriginal – can you explain this further?

Ian: It’s someone who is aboriginal, and identifies as aboriginal, but has never lived on a reservation. Which makes it hard to find roots and any form of culture. I grew up in Ottawa, but I would go back to my reserve and stay with my grandmother for weeks on end during the summer, and I was always an outsider on the reserve at the same time. I would hang out with my cousins, but I wasn’t from there. I was always accepted, but I was different. But at the same time, growing up and all through highschool I was called chief, or “No Tax” was my nickname through highschool.

That’s the other side. You are made fun of because you are an aboriginal, but you don’t really have a strong sense of identity. And right now we are trying to give ourselves an identity. That’s what our party is about anyways.

Bear: My family has been urban for generations now. My grandfather, my father and I were all born in Buffalo, New York. On my mom’s side it’s four or five generations that go back in New York city. They’re an old New York City and Brooklyn family. So I have spent time, like Ian did, on my reservation; I still have some family there. But you are always treated as a city Indian when you are down there. I guess it’s the same as for any community when you go back to where you’re from and you’ve grown up having different experiences. For me, my community growing up was the urban aboriginal arts community, and that was my family. That’s how I had my connection to my culture was through the arts and through the theatre community in the 80s in Toronto, which was a very exciting time. I never felt that I lacked having a community in that sense, but there was always that thing at school where there was one other native kid and we always hated each other [laughs]. That was the guy I got in fights with in the early 90s. But Toronto was very different than it is now . . . communities have grown so fast.

But as we are going along, we are creating this aboriginal urban identity in everything that we are doing.

Ian: It’s not like there hasn’t been an urban identity before, it’s that we are doing it in a more positive way than say gangsta rap. As far as aboriginal music goes, you can either be a blues singer, traditional singer,

Bear: Or heavy metal . . .

Ian: I’d love to see more heavy metal . . . But you are either a gangsta rapper, blues singer, traditional singer, or country singer. We don’t really fit yet being aboriginal club producers. Or electronic producers. It hasn’t necessarily been done yet.

Erin: Tomson Highway once wrote that the image of the “urban Indian” is pretty negative.

Ian: The music that we’re making is more positive than most gangsta rap that’s out there—and I’m not saying that we’re not into the native gangsta rap scene, it’s just that it is a little over abundant. It’s part of why we stand out.

And can you imagine if these kids in these remote communities who are killing themselves at higher rates than ever – if we gave them a computer with something like Garage Band to make some music – how bored they are – how amazing some of that music would be? It’s a little frustrating.

Erin: I have heard that you were pretty inspired by the work of Heaps Decent in Australian aboriginal communities. Are you are work on something like that?

Ian: Because of all that is going on right now, it has been put on the backburner, but only just slightly . . . We need sponsorship. We need to get in touch with Pioneer or Serato or Ableton or any of those production companies where we personally use their products and see if they would be into giving us some of their product to give to communities so that it would help them with that. And maybe at the same time get some well-known producers to come up and sit with these kids and show them how they make tracks and collaborate and make tracks together. Because there is nothing more satisfying and self gratifying than that. When A Trak went down [to Australia] and worked with kids with Heaps Decent, those kids had nothing and now they have 10,000 people who have downloaded their song. I just can’t wait for that to happen to the aboriginal youth here.

Erin: It’s really about empowerment through the arts.

Ian: Empowerment through music is a way to express yourself and a way for other people to accept you.

Bear: I had a really hard time in school. I was one of those kids that was put in the learning disabled and the gifted class at the same time. They never knew what to do with me. It was through my experience outside of school with the arts and through being able to bring that into school that I was really able to do anything positive within my educational experience. I started doing video when I was in highschool and that switched it for me. I started doing video essays and things. It changed the way that I felt – from feeling really stupid most of the time to someone who had found his way to express his ideas through art. That really changed the way I felt about myself. This is something I have always remembered and carried with me. And as an individual artist I have done workshop work with aboriginal youth and in remote communities and it is something that is really important for me and really important to all of us in A Tribe Called Red. Something that we have talked about quite a bit is doing that – giving back into that idea that we can show people a lot about themselves, about their self worth, about what they can do with a lap top. We are fortunately going to get our first chance as a group to do a workshop not specifically directed towards youth in Peterborough this coming fall with Spiderwoman Theatre . . . The original idea was for us to get a bus and tour around Canada. Find funding and time. But it is definitely in the top of what were thinking of

Erin: Tell me about “Woodcarver”—the song and video piece about the shooting of John T. Williams.

Ian: I first heard about the shooting. The dashcam shooting video went viral and I got sick to my stomach as soon as I saw it. I thought to myself, at least it’s caught on camera and this cop is going to get the book thrown at him. And it is so sad that this poor guy had to die. And then six months later, the verdict comes back and he is set free and I was just completely flabbergasted and hurt and mad all at the same time. We had a meeting and I said we had to do something. We already had tracks made and I thought we could call a song “John T. Williams – look it up” or do something like that. We had a platform that people were going to listen to what we were going to say and we should probably use that properly right now and just bring some sort of awareness, because we can’t necessarily change what the judge said, but we can definitely make more people aware of the situation. Dan sprinkled a little Shub dust on a track and Bear made a movie to that and the rest is history, it took off from there.

Bear: One of my favourite things about “Woodcarver” is that Ian said, ok, I have this idea, I want to do something about this, and Dan went back to Fort Erie and again, the next morning sent us this track that he had kicked out and it was amazing and was exactly what all of us were thinking of. And then I was able to run with that idea and make the video. It was a really smooth collaboration from the inception of the idea to everyone working to put it together. In that way it is one of the pieces that I am most proud of. Also, as Ian was saying, we get more than a thousand hits a week on our Soundcloud, so it was a chance to use all those hits that we were getting to raise some awareness.

As far as the video itself, watching the dashcam video was so difficult and such a haunting piece, and when I first got it I watched it a bunch of times over, just the straight footage and what really struck me about it was, here’s this incident that is so heavy, and so telling about where things still are to this day in North America for aboriginal people. Here’s a man who was walking down the street with a legal sized blade who was shot four times in the back.

Ian: After ten seconds warning.

Bear: It’s such a heavy, loaded thing, but that day was just a day. And the dashcam footage starts with him driving his route. And after he walks out of camera and you hear the shots for that first five minutes before all the emergency crews arrive, it’s still just a day. There was something about that that really stuck with me. So that’s why there is the repetition of that whole first part in the video, where it’s like, what happened before? He’s just driving. And John T. Williams was just walking. The image of the man running in the video was just my way to say, run man, get the fuck out of there!!!

Erin: You do have a platform, a sense of responsibility and ability to comment. Is there anything you wish people thought about?

Bear: Wearing headdresses isn’t cool.

Shub: Stop wearing headdresses and whooping at our shows. Don’t do that anymore.

Erin: Really? That has happened?

Ian: Yes. I just got on the mike and said “That’s Racist. Stop!!”

Shub: This last party we had, we dropped this song that is a remix of the Atlanta Braves track, the “Tomahawk Chop”, so I figured, when we drop this, people are either going to start doing the Tomahawk Chop or something like the whooping. We kind of expected it and, sure enough, there were people in the crowd doing the “Indian calls”. We got on the microphone right away and said, that’s not cool. They seem to listen to us.

Erin: There have been a number of discussions over appropriation on the internet, but it still seems to happen.

Ian: I am more than willing to sit and talk to anyone and with a cool head explain to them exactly why it’s not cool. I started a couple of campaigns where we went against certain aspects that I personally felt, that I was being made fun of. One of them ended nicely it was about an Esko Water ad, and they took it down. All it takes is a simple conversation and nobody swearing at each other where I can explain. People typically get it. I would say 99% percent of people do.

Erin: Where do you get your clothes – like the t-shirts that say “Caucasians” instead of “Indians”?

Ian: On the internet. There’s also a guy that does Falldown gear. He’s doing the same thing we’re doing but on a fashion tip. Cool, hip, clothes with aboriginal designs on them, so we’ve been wearing a lot of that stuff too.

Bear: It blows my mind that it’s suddenly become ok again in the 2000s to wear red face. This whole Pocohontas and Brave dressing up thing and headdresses and war paint and all of this stuff is kind of like, what happened to the last thirty years of work that’s been put into working against that kind of imagery. Avatar—which was so disturbing because it was this mish mash of bits and pieces from every aboriginal culture around the world. What is interesting with what we’re doing right now and people like Robbie and other artists is that right now Indian is cool. Right now is that wearing headdresses is cool – but what’s cool is really fake, one dimensional, Hollywood image. Partially, due to that coolness, we’ve gained some popularity. In this insidious way we are starting to affect these people. The door is cracked open. And we’re going to stick our foot in it and say, ok, you want to wear a fake headdress? This is what the real deal is. This is what real pow wow music is. That’s an amazing opportunity we have right now.

Erin: And your music speaks quite loudly – literally. It’s big music.

Bear: We’re big guys. [laughing]

Erin: Any collaborations happening soon?

Shub: We are going to get the chance to work with a drum group from Montana called Midnite Express. This is going to be the first time we are going to collaborate with a drum group instead of us taking the music they have already recorded and remixing it. We are going to actually start something from scratch and work collaboratively as a presentation for Aboriginal Music Week in November, so that is something that we are really looking forward to and something that we really wanted to do from the beginning but we didn’t have the chance to. This is just one step closer to something that we want to do on a whole. We want to collaborate with more singers this way as opposed to doing it by remixing.

At the Gathering of Nations in Alberquerque there are competitions. Whoever wins there is the world’s best. We’ll call it like the DMC of pow wow. [laughter] It came down to Northern Cree and Midnite Express this year. They tied. They had one more song. Northern Cree edged it. But it was a great competition. And we get to work with them. These guys and Northern Cree are the best of the best. They are the two giant names in pow wow right now.