dancehall university
friday night becca and i went to a dancehall concert at the university of the west indies-mona, which sits at the foot of the mountains here, in the papine area. it was an annual event called "spectrum," and featured quite an all-star bill: beenie man, buju banton, elephant man, wayne marshall, baby cham, tanto metro and devonte, stone love, etc. it was the first opportunity i had to see most of these performers live. i was especially curious about wayne marshall, the man whose stage name gets me quite a few confused and bemused reactions here. (i have heard rumors that it is not his given name, making me, quite literally speaking, the real wayne marshall, which is the way a lot of people refer to me here, only half-jokingly.) coming on stage shortly after midnight, marshall's performance was frenetic: high-energy songs sampled at a rapid rate. many of marshall's most popular songs are reworkings of popular american rap hits, and on this night he showed a strong predilection for songs by eminem (the other marshall). he did plenty of originals, too, in his own original mannera distinctive singing style, punctuated with trademark bursts of "tr-true-true" and "woo-oo-oo-oo." the typical song followed a standard performance pattern: after a short introduction by the live band providing the rhythms/riddims for the djs ("dj" is the jamaican term for rapper; a "selector" is what non-jamaicans call a dj), marshall would launch into the opening of a song, inciting most audience members to throw up their hands and shoot their air pistols into the sky. many also sang along. but after a mere four bars or less, the band would pull-up, usually evoking the rewind of a record on a turntable. rather than beginning the song again with renewed fervor, however, the band would then launch into an entirely different number. this pattern continued for about 15 minutes, as marshall rifled through his repertory. and although i must confess i felt a bit unfulfilled by the constant rug-tugging, the rest of the crowd loved it. according to lloyd stanbury, a friend who accompanied us at the show and no stranger to the jamaican music industry, the goal of the performers, and the desire of the crowd, is to maintain the highest level of energy, and this was certainly accomplished by the highly-received, short bursts of song by many of the night's djs. baby cham was particularly impressive. not only is his voice strong, and often tinged with the gravelly-quality so distinctive of dancehall djs, he can croon a bit to boot. his set concluded with a dancehall version of the jamaican national anthem that had the whole place singing along.
the highlight of the night, however, had to be the back-and-fourth exchange between beenie and buju. at about quarter to four, after beenie man had entertained the crowd for perhaps 10 minutes, he brought on buju, whose contrasting and commanding style had the crowd jumping to new heights. the two djs traded fours for several minutes, each following the other with a popular verse from their prolific catalogues. the contrasting vocal timbres (beenie's voice is a bit high, while buju's is low and gravel-pit rough, though not beyond crooning) and distinctive rhythmic patterns that each performer employed kept the crowd excited and worked up to a feverish pitch. soon buju and beenie were joined by several other djs who jockeyed among themselves to grab the mic and incite the crowd to another collective burst of imaginary gunfire.
it was a very dancehall kind of event. not much hip-hop happening really, except insofar as the deep musical influence hip-hop has had on dancehall, which today, though certainly disctinctive, owes as much of its timbral, rythmic, and formal palette to rap as to reggae. stone love, the soundsystem providing music between acts, played a couple of american rap songs at around 3 am. their selections did represent typical and significant choices: fifty cent's "wanksta" (perhaps the most ubiquitous rap song in jamaica and the states right now), a jamaican remix of styles's "high" (produced originally by just blaze, whose uncoventional approach to form [he often departs from common breakbeat structures, giving his songs a rhythmic fluidity that, in its ambiguity, could often pass for an innovative dancehall riddim] and predilection for big bass make him a favorite for jamaican hip-hoppers), ludakris's "move" (which, again, hits a dancehall nerve with its deep bass and departure from strict hip-hop form), a little nelly, some dre, and so on. at any rate, i don't need to look for hip-hop where i cannot really find it. part of my project is to figure out precisely which sonic characteristics dancehall has in common with hip-hop and what qualities make dancehall a palpably different thing from rap, for, as much as i may see the two as fluid and relational, they are certainly often perceived as different things. in particular, i am interested in how a listener's experience of beats/riddims (the musical tracks) and flows (the vocal performances, which are, of course, also musical) signals something like "genre" and everything that comes with it (which is to say, a whole lot of shit--social, ideological, various and sundry).
last night was a dinner meeting for the harvard-jamaica association--a renewed attempt to leverage harvard's power to do some good for jamaicans. charlie has put in a lot of work contacting alumni and brainstorming ways that the association can serve as more of a project-centered action-committee than a group of people with whom to bullshit over cocktails and recruit more people and money for harvard (not altogether a terrible activity, but not really an exciting, nor perhaps responsible, focus). the turn-out was great. about thirty people, alumni, friends, and other interested folks, came out to the liguanea club where we bullshit over cocktails and then, at least at my table, had rather productive conversations over dinner. becca and i were lucky enough to be shoved into a makeshift table in the corner, set up to accommodate the larger number of guests than expected. we were joined by marvin hall, a teacher in kingston, howard campbell, who heads the IT (information technology) dept at a school here, and oliver mcintosh, who is in the business of promoting sports and entertainment events. all three were wonderfully practical-minded men to sit and chat with. they are interested in projects, not club stuff. they are great contacts for getting out into schools ASAP to begin digital music and web-development workshops. they were very excited by the little demo that becca and i gave about our project. in addition to my basic fruityloops spiel, where i go from nothing to techno to hip-hop to dancehall in under two minutes, i also recruited the room to produce sounds with which we could build a rhythm that only that group in that room at that time could produce. here is the humorous, and funky, fruit of our efforts.
as exhorted further by the right excellent (not just honorable) alumnus, edward seaga '52, the next real task of the group is to brainstorm other projects to engage in. if the harvard-jamaica association takes off, it could provide a wonderful model for using harvard's considerable cache to support community development wherever alumni and friends abide. today charlie came over to the apartment to brainstorm some more about our next steps. he arrived shortly after becca and i finished our late breakfast--the first batch of ackee and saltfish and callaloo that we made from fresh materials. previously we had been using canned ackees (which one is hard-pressed to find outside of jamaica, except in specialty/caribbean stores), but we were recently told that eating canned ackees is a definite no-no if youre actually in jamaica. the only reason we had not tried the fresh stuff is because, if not cleaned properly, it can be poisonous. cleaning is not too tricky, however, and we're still breathing many hours later. ackees are really amazing fruits: yellow and tender when cooked (sautied with onions, scotch bonnet peppers, and pieces of salted cod), they resemble a cross between avocado and scrambled eggs. absolutely delicious. callaloo is a green, which, when chopped and steamed, with a little butter and some spices, provides a tasty complement to ackee and saltfish.
later in the afternoon, the three of us walked down to devon house, a colonial-era mansion (built and owned by a black man, however; see the story of lady musgrave road for details) and courtyard where one can get what must be some of the best ice-cream in jamaica, including such unusual flavors (to those of us accustomed to ice-cream from the northeast or midwest) as stout, strong back, and sour sop. the guava and rum raisin are pretty amazing, too.
tonight we are going to see "bellas gate boy", trevor rhone's new, autobiographical one-man play. rhone is one of jamaica's preeminent playwrights and is the author of "smile orange," and "the harder they come," among others. becca and i saw "bellas gate boy" last week when the role was being played by another actor who played the part with elan. this weekend trevor plays himself. we are interested in seeing how tonight's version will differ from last week's, which was quite good. i have a feeling trevor's performance will be enriched by his intimate acquaintance with the material. trevor has been a great friend since we arrived here, helping to get settled in many ways. yesterday, i gave him a copy of "no substitute," which we listened to in his car as we went on an errand together. he was rather taken by "america," and proposed that i give a reading at calabash, jamaica's annual literary festival. it may be too late to get on the program, but trevor recommends that i at least perform at the open mic. i am flattered by the compliment and think it will be a wonderful opportunity. i am eager to play people that song in particular because i believe it represents me as a thoughtful, politically-engaged person with a sense of humor and a desire to critique myself and my world. i like the thought of turning the gaze on myself in my work, not solipsistically, but as an alternative to simply making observations about others. if i am to say something about jamaica and jamaicans, i feel most comfortable saying it in a way that focuses on my own local circumstances (e.g., being a US citizen, a member of the hip-hop community, to whatever extent one exists, a fellow human being in a very connected world). creating this kind of self-analytical frame (with the idea that my "self" is inevitably tied to larger forms of community) seems, perhaps paradoxically, to be the best strategy for saying anything at all about anyone but myself.