(I Pledge)
True Rasta no deal with slackness, but a deal with blackness.
Rasta a deal with reality, sufferation inna di ghetto, and consciousness. True African and world history. Protesting against Babylon wickedness and indoctrination.
SLACKNESS?
That being said, and while not a fan of slackness, I will however “deal with” or maybe better “treat” a theme in reggae lyrics that may be considered “slackness” from some perspective. I doubt, however, whether this is truly the case. It is at the very least a “lewd” theme.
I continue thus more or less on the sexuality theme of my previous post.
I am talking about “Joe Grine” (or “Joe Grind”) in reggae lyrics. Those in the know might smile in themselves when reading this. For those who do not know: Joe Grine is a term in Jamaican parlance which refers to a “second male lover” of a woman. Typically a man who visits a woman when her regular boyfriend or husband is away. A phenomenon which does not seem that unique, yet remains for some uncomfortable. Or funny.
TABOOS
There aren’t many other themes that trigger so much hypocricy as sexuality. The scandals in the Catholic Church exemplify that. Also the taboos associated with sexuality serve for many to make sex more interesting, more “edgy”. Even if forbidden fruits do not really taste better.
In that light I do not mind too much that lyrics are sexually explicit in themselves. It depends on the way how. I begin to mind, and consider it immoral, when it is demeaning to women, glorifies forced sex or rape, or in another way humiliates a sexual partner.
In the subgenre of reggae, mostly dancehall, that often deals with explicit sex you will not always find such demeaning, humiliating lyrics. Most often they are funny reflections of aspects of reality, namely relationships. What can be criticized, maybe, is the lack of responsibility for the relationship with your (bed) partner, who you lie to, or fool somehow. But hey..both sexual partners tend to be adults who know what they are doing.
Women having several sexual partners is specifically interesting, because the taboo on it is bigger than on “two timing” or multiple partners by men, as it is generally more expected and accepted of (more strongly libido-driven) men. Male domination throughout history eased this acceptance of course. Interesting is also that it differs per culture, and per part of the world. This is related to cultural views on gender relations.
That’s why I find the lyrics on “Joe Grine” (or second male lovers) in reggae so interesting.
RESEARCH
YouTube with its vast and varied amount of music and other videos and films proved very helpful in a type of research I did on “Joe Grine” in Jamaican lyrics. YouTube was however not the only source for songs: I do have an own reggae collection. I relate the topic of Joe Grine in reggae lyrics to what I have learned about gender views in Jamaican culture and society. Again, partly continuing thematically on my previous post.
I try to analyze the different perspectives on the Joe Grine phenomena thus expressed.
One of the catchiest songs about Joe Grine I find to be a song of that title by Madoo from 1980. Irresistibly catchy, a very effective tune on the Far East riddim.
The lyrics are largely descriptive (what a Joe Grine does, including details), but what is the perspective, the emotion behind it? Not easy to tell. Madoo seems to stay neutral in his description. Although the line "all she get fe that is a two-faced tea potty" suggests sympathy for the woman, and critique of Joe Grine's cheapness. There is maybe also an element of fear: “when you think it’s peace and safety, Joe Grine a stretch out your gyal titty” (explicit but rhyming well).
We will take a time leap from 1980 to 2003. From 2003 comes another catchy song – with the same title - by the dancehall group Ward 21. Their, for dancehall, originally combined vocals led to a catchy song on (lord have mercy: it cannot be true that this riddim exists…) the Billy Jean riddim.
Here the Ward 21 guys seem to present themselves as Joe Grine, saying it is the woman’s choice and that the other men should be mad (vex) with her and not with him, who simply knows how to please her: she chose to have several lovers. Less distantly descriptive, more identifying. No moral scrupules was deemed appropriate.
Another example of identification is by Winston Hussey on the “lovers rock”-like (and seemingly Gregory Isaacs-influenced) song ‘(I was a) Joe Grine last night’. It is from 1983, so in time closer to the Madoo than to the Ward 21 song.
More a singer than a deejay/toaster, Hussey tells a funny tale, descriptively but somehow including what can be called “moral dilemmas”. He says how he learned, repenting, better not to mess with another man’s woman, yet at the same time that the almighty Jah protected him against death at the hand of an enraged man. So the moral judgment eventually seems to tip in favour of the Joe Grine.
Again we make a time leap, now from 1983 to 2006. Another artist taking the position of a Joe Grine is Kip Rich. In his 2006 song ‘Joe Grind’ (featuring Delicious) the other (regular or other Joe Grine?) man unexpectedly arrives when she and the woman are “busy”. An unpleasant, tense turn of events for the Joe Grine vocalist in question.
Again a nice, funny song. Also again, identification with the Joe Grine rather than with the jealous cheated-on partner - like both the Winston Hussey and Ward 21 songs.
The tendency to identify with the Joe Grine rather than with the partner cheated on can be explained by the lyrics of another song by female dancehall artist Ikaya and her song, also directly titled ‘Joe Grine’. Largely in Patois (only Winston Hussey’s song is more or less in standard Jamaican English), Ikaya explains how she has an “uptown” man with money for comfort, but a “downtown” (poor parts, ghetto) man to please her well sexually. That reggae and dancehall is since its origins more associated with downtown and the ghetto is hopefully well-known.
This is interestingly in line with my previous post on this blog: incapacity to fulfill breadwinner norms of financially maintaining women, makes poor black men prove their “manhood” instead biologically, i.e. sexually. “Prove I am a man” is also a line in Hussey’s song.
Joe Ranking’s “limitedly slack” song ‘Joe Grine Gal’ is lyrically quite simple on a desire to “wine” a Joe Grine girl/woman. Without deeper layers, it is for this post less interesting. Apparently – if I understand it right – a Joe Grine can also be female.
And yes: maybe to be expected, but there is also a Joe Grind or Joe Grine “riddim”…
So far for YouTube.
I have overall a stronger affection for roots reggae than for dancehall. I do enjoy some dancehall occasionally, however, even with “lewd” lyrics, especially when they have a “joking” and humoristic vibe.
My reggae collection consequently is mainly focused on roots reggae with only some dancehall, but as Joe Grine is a common Jamaican term it appears here and there in lyrics, also in roots reggae or lovers rock.
An example is the song ‘Gimme What Me Want’ on the album From The Roots (2004) by Horace Andy. Horace Andy is a roots veteran, but this song has a dancehall influence.
Joe Grine is in this song part of a list of men (any Tom, Dick, and Harry) chatting up, hitting on a woman, some offering gold chains, a “more wine” (?) man, and a Joe Grine. Horace Andy wants her to give “it” just to him and make these other men “gwaan dem ways” (leave her alone, go their ways). In this sense it is a different perspective as the Joe Grine is seen as a threat or hassle to the vocalist in this case, although along with a series of other male competitors.
GENDER RELATIONS
The Joe Grine phenomenon gives an intriguing insight in gender relations in Jamaican culture. Unfortunately in some countries, Islamic but also non-Islamic cultures and societies (e.g in Hinduist India), adultery by women is condemned much more, and even punishable with death in some cases, when compared to (less-condemned) adultery by men. In comparison, the Jamaican gender situation seems markedly different.
Polygamy among African-Caribbean men is sometimes attributed to African-based cultural origins, but it is actually an anthropological fact – maybe uncomfortable to some - that 70% of the world’s cultures accept forms of polygamy. More for men than for women, though there are exceptions.
Some cultures in sub-Saharan Africa accept degrees of polygamy for both men and women. Or used to, because the arrival of Islam or Christianity in parts of sub-Saharan Africa limited this officially. Islam allows a man to have a maximum of 4 wives but only when a man can maintain them financially. The marital exclusivity, even with several wives, can still contrast with cultural practices. In some parts of Africa where many slaves came from it was long common that men and women lived largely apart in own huts, only coming together in a hut temporarily, mostly for making love. This continues up to recently among Maroons in inland Suriname. This practice seems to assure at least a degree of independence of women as well as men.
But probably in some way slavery influenced it also: male slaves were stimulated to (just) breed and not start steady relationships with female slaves, the latter remaining at the same time “available” for the horny, sexual whims of slave masters or overseers.
However historically to be explained, Joe Grine is a common cultural phenomenon in Jamaica that therefore reflects also in lyrics from different decades.
These often humoristic, loose lyrics furthermore seem mostly in line with another trait common in African-Caribbean cultures: sexuality, while important for manhood, or a certain identity, is not taken too seriously. Neither is it sacralized in an exclusive manner as is common in large, institutionalized religions like Christianity/Catholicism, Islam, or Hinduism. Is it coincidence that women are/were mostly subordinate to men in these religions?
I cannot help but think that not taking sexuality too serious or rigid, while still recognizing its connection to a special bond with a person, may not be a bad idea of these African-Caribbean cultures…
zondag 17 april 2011
zaterdag 19 maart 2011
Reggae and homophobia
I object to the qualification of current reggae, or even modern dancehall, as “hate music” or “murder music”. This came from gay and other groups protesting against lyrics of some dancehall reggae artists, lyrics considered homophobic and even promoting violence against homosexuals. These Gay Rights groups have, of course, like everyone else, the right to protest or let their objections know about certain lyrics or expressions.
They can say whatever they want, but when some of them exaggerate or make false judgments…the freedom of expression goes both ways. It’s in essence a false accusation of, in this case, a music genre. Besides mentioning specific lyrics by specific artists there were inappropriate generalizations, at least by some.
Every true, seasoned reggae fan knows: overall reggae cannot be called Hate Music or Murder Music: the existence of some slackness and gun lyrics aside, mostly reggae remains quite the contrary: protest music against (gun) violence. Violent lyrics are not absent, but the balance tips strongly to the latter anti-violence lyrics. Besides, part of what seems violent in some Jamaican lyrics is in fact metaphorical, such as the “Bun” (Burn) expression, used as an expression of condemnation, rather than actual call for violence against (burning) certain phenomena.
Generalizations and simplifications, and also misinterpretations. No doubt that the song ‘Boom Bye Bye’ (recorded in 1988) by Buju Banton, early in his career, had anti-gay lyrics and seemed to call for violence. The lyrics are I think discussed enough. It also is true that anti-homosexual lyrics can be found in recent lyrics as well, such as by Shabba Ranks, Capleton, Sizzla, or Bounty Killer, and that several Jamaican artists, also older roots artist, made disparaging comments about homosexuals, or Batty Men (“batty” is Jamaican Patois for buttocks), as gay men are known in Jamaican parlance. These lyrics or expressions are, however, not as common as many think. Not even in modern dancehall. Besides, it strongly differs per artist, regarding the “if” and “how”. Some of these artists even stated publicly – in response to media images – that they do not hate gays. Important nuances.
The homophobia still expressed within reggae and dancehall may be regrettable, but must at the same time be put into perspective. Many countries in this world have outlawed homosexual acts, or are otherwise intolerant toward homosexuality, especially when compared to some European countries, US states, or for instance Canada, that are more liberal in this regard. Jamaica is furthermore a very Christian, especially Protestant, country, besides the influential Rastafari-adhering minority, and the Bible condemns homosexual acts as an abomination, also in quite violent terms.
HOMOPHOBIA
I must admit that I find homophobia an interesting subject, not nice or beautiful, but interesting: what moves people to emphasize their heterosexuality? Why is homosexuality considered and feared as a threat to a cherished sexual order? Not just by elites, but also by common folks?
I can try to be hypocritical, and caress my own ego by saying that I cannot at all imagine that people can be so intolerant, but I’d rather tell the truth. First of all, it also is true that I hate hate, also hate against homosexuals. If two people of the same sex are consenting adults, and both want to have sex with each other, essentially I don’t mind. It’s not my business, in that case.
On the other hand, I can understand homophobia to a degree. Mind you: that is not the same as approving of it.
I won’t tell too much about my experience as a sexually maturing boy, adolescent, young man, and now man, but I can say this: there are many aspects that promote insecurity when you grow up as a man.
Maybe I was unlucky, but I think societal norms, more than biology, made and make woman-man, girl-boy relationships often quite tense. Tense in the sense of a nice challenge, but often also unpleasant and disturbing. There are pressures on men, often from “macho” men around you, to hit on women, find women, often combining this with a very annoying competitive atmosphere. “True love” hereby tends to become secondary. Macho men are often insecure men who brag about their success with women or girls to show they’re better than you.
Yet you feel the same sexual desires within yourself. At a certain age (boys somewhat later than girls, I understood) you inevitably get sexual feelings. As an heterosexual your interest in female bodies, rounder buttocks, breasts, legs, all that, increases.
Set against the “macho” norm – as many women as possible – you’ll find that, well, most of these girls/women who amaze you do not want to be too intimate with you. Some of the more “distant” don’t want to be looked at, or talk with you either. There is a frustration there. This is ideally fulfilled by other girls/women who do want to be intimate with you, compensating the others. Not all boys/men are that successful, however.
I’ve heard men, in later stages, characterizing going to prostitutes as a sort of “failure” or “defeat”. Similarly, turning to your own sex (if you’re not born homosexual) can be seen as a similar “defeat” caused by female rejection.
This type of insecurity stems from competitive, macho norms, as I mentioned, but this in turn stems from decades of patriarchy and male rule over women. For a long time the norm was basically: any woman or girl should be available to a man or boy as he pleases, and should not withhold sex. I’m afraid that this thinking is still deeply ingrained, also in the Western world. It’s partly biological, but mostly socially shaped. If you’re not successful with girls and women, and other men around you are, you feel hurt in your manhood, and feel somehow humiliated.
It is this type of insecurity that can lend itself well for expressions of homophobia.
SLAVERY, RACISM, AND MANHOOD
Let’s return to Jamaica. Due to historical reasons “manhood” has a different, troubled meaning for black men in the Americas. Not just manhood but also womanhood were denied to slaves: their humanity was denied and they were treated as chattel. Socially they were as good as dead. Slave masters, mostly men, and overseers, also mostly men, abused and raped slave women more often than not. English-born Thomas Thistlewood, overseer and later plantation owner in western Jamaica, was a mass-rapist in that he had raped thousands of enslaved black women, i.e. on a regular basis, and other slave masters did not stay far behind. Enslaved men where stimulated to fertilize women, and sometimes slave-owners stimulated that enslaved men raped enslaved women. Procreation of slaves meant more enslaved labourers. Stable relationships or a “father role” for male slaves, meanwhile, were destimulated. Several “demasculinizations” thus took place.
After slavery the position of black people, including men, remained second-class: humanity and manhood kept being questioned.
The Western norm of a patriarchal man taking financially care of a wife and children was (and is) difficult to live up to when you don’t have the means to do so, and are too poor.
Long-denied humanity or manhood because of your race further adds insecurities to black men. These insecurities are historically understandable. It is not an excuse for everything, of course.
The last marker of manhood that remains is the biological one: having children with women, pleasing women sexually, as many women as possible, or having a large penis which (hopefully) all women desire, becomes a source of pride. However stupid this may sound: in a certain socio-psychological situation it makes sense.
Unfortunately, this emphasis on heterosexuality can take the form of homophobia. If you turn gay, you are marginalized all over again from desired norms of manhood.
In conclusion, to common insecurities of a maturing male as a sexual being, are added insecurities stemming from historical and social and racial inequalities.
PEDOPHILIA
By the way: many Jamaican reggae lyrics deal with sexual abuse and strongly attack pedophilia. ‘Child Abuse’ by the veteran roots harmony group Abyssinians is such a song. Jr X’s song ‘Pedophile’ another.
I can from the top of my head recall references in songs by Junior Kelly, Jah Mason, and Chuck Fender (the song ‘Gash Dem’), and others.
Also - many may not know this - Buju Banton’s Boom Bye Bye song originally referred to a man-boys rape case in Jamaica. I hope that most gays also agree with me (and with Buju Banton, most people in Jamaica, and in the world) that sex should be between “consenting adults”. Not with someone who is not ready for sex, does not want it, or does not even know what sex is.
That in Jamaica some pedophilia affairs were explained by some - both Rastas and Christians – as a wicked “batty man conspiracy” (to raise more gays, or to disturb the sexual, natural order etc.) may sound disturbing or unenlightened. On the other hand it also is, in light of the above, understandable.
Perhaps an unpleasant truth, but let’s just say that it is a complex issue…
They can say whatever they want, but when some of them exaggerate or make false judgments…the freedom of expression goes both ways. It’s in essence a false accusation of, in this case, a music genre. Besides mentioning specific lyrics by specific artists there were inappropriate generalizations, at least by some.
Every true, seasoned reggae fan knows: overall reggae cannot be called Hate Music or Murder Music: the existence of some slackness and gun lyrics aside, mostly reggae remains quite the contrary: protest music against (gun) violence. Violent lyrics are not absent, but the balance tips strongly to the latter anti-violence lyrics. Besides, part of what seems violent in some Jamaican lyrics is in fact metaphorical, such as the “Bun” (Burn) expression, used as an expression of condemnation, rather than actual call for violence against (burning) certain phenomena.
Generalizations and simplifications, and also misinterpretations. No doubt that the song ‘Boom Bye Bye’ (recorded in 1988) by Buju Banton, early in his career, had anti-gay lyrics and seemed to call for violence. The lyrics are I think discussed enough. It also is true that anti-homosexual lyrics can be found in recent lyrics as well, such as by Shabba Ranks, Capleton, Sizzla, or Bounty Killer, and that several Jamaican artists, also older roots artist, made disparaging comments about homosexuals, or Batty Men (“batty” is Jamaican Patois for buttocks), as gay men are known in Jamaican parlance. These lyrics or expressions are, however, not as common as many think. Not even in modern dancehall. Besides, it strongly differs per artist, regarding the “if” and “how”. Some of these artists even stated publicly – in response to media images – that they do not hate gays. Important nuances.
The homophobia still expressed within reggae and dancehall may be regrettable, but must at the same time be put into perspective. Many countries in this world have outlawed homosexual acts, or are otherwise intolerant toward homosexuality, especially when compared to some European countries, US states, or for instance Canada, that are more liberal in this regard. Jamaica is furthermore a very Christian, especially Protestant, country, besides the influential Rastafari-adhering minority, and the Bible condemns homosexual acts as an abomination, also in quite violent terms.
HOMOPHOBIA
I must admit that I find homophobia an interesting subject, not nice or beautiful, but interesting: what moves people to emphasize their heterosexuality? Why is homosexuality considered and feared as a threat to a cherished sexual order? Not just by elites, but also by common folks?
I can try to be hypocritical, and caress my own ego by saying that I cannot at all imagine that people can be so intolerant, but I’d rather tell the truth. First of all, it also is true that I hate hate, also hate against homosexuals. If two people of the same sex are consenting adults, and both want to have sex with each other, essentially I don’t mind. It’s not my business, in that case.
On the other hand, I can understand homophobia to a degree. Mind you: that is not the same as approving of it.
I won’t tell too much about my experience as a sexually maturing boy, adolescent, young man, and now man, but I can say this: there are many aspects that promote insecurity when you grow up as a man.
Maybe I was unlucky, but I think societal norms, more than biology, made and make woman-man, girl-boy relationships often quite tense. Tense in the sense of a nice challenge, but often also unpleasant and disturbing. There are pressures on men, often from “macho” men around you, to hit on women, find women, often combining this with a very annoying competitive atmosphere. “True love” hereby tends to become secondary. Macho men are often insecure men who brag about their success with women or girls to show they’re better than you.
Yet you feel the same sexual desires within yourself. At a certain age (boys somewhat later than girls, I understood) you inevitably get sexual feelings. As an heterosexual your interest in female bodies, rounder buttocks, breasts, legs, all that, increases.
Set against the “macho” norm – as many women as possible – you’ll find that, well, most of these girls/women who amaze you do not want to be too intimate with you. Some of the more “distant” don’t want to be looked at, or talk with you either. There is a frustration there. This is ideally fulfilled by other girls/women who do want to be intimate with you, compensating the others. Not all boys/men are that successful, however.
I’ve heard men, in later stages, characterizing going to prostitutes as a sort of “failure” or “defeat”. Similarly, turning to your own sex (if you’re not born homosexual) can be seen as a similar “defeat” caused by female rejection.
This type of insecurity stems from competitive, macho norms, as I mentioned, but this in turn stems from decades of patriarchy and male rule over women. For a long time the norm was basically: any woman or girl should be available to a man or boy as he pleases, and should not withhold sex. I’m afraid that this thinking is still deeply ingrained, also in the Western world. It’s partly biological, but mostly socially shaped. If you’re not successful with girls and women, and other men around you are, you feel hurt in your manhood, and feel somehow humiliated.
It is this type of insecurity that can lend itself well for expressions of homophobia.
SLAVERY, RACISM, AND MANHOOD
Let’s return to Jamaica. Due to historical reasons “manhood” has a different, troubled meaning for black men in the Americas. Not just manhood but also womanhood were denied to slaves: their humanity was denied and they were treated as chattel. Socially they were as good as dead. Slave masters, mostly men, and overseers, also mostly men, abused and raped slave women more often than not. English-born Thomas Thistlewood, overseer and later plantation owner in western Jamaica, was a mass-rapist in that he had raped thousands of enslaved black women, i.e. on a regular basis, and other slave masters did not stay far behind. Enslaved men where stimulated to fertilize women, and sometimes slave-owners stimulated that enslaved men raped enslaved women. Procreation of slaves meant more enslaved labourers. Stable relationships or a “father role” for male slaves, meanwhile, were destimulated. Several “demasculinizations” thus took place.
After slavery the position of black people, including men, remained second-class: humanity and manhood kept being questioned.
The Western norm of a patriarchal man taking financially care of a wife and children was (and is) difficult to live up to when you don’t have the means to do so, and are too poor.
Long-denied humanity or manhood because of your race further adds insecurities to black men. These insecurities are historically understandable. It is not an excuse for everything, of course.
The last marker of manhood that remains is the biological one: having children with women, pleasing women sexually, as many women as possible, or having a large penis which (hopefully) all women desire, becomes a source of pride. However stupid this may sound: in a certain socio-psychological situation it makes sense.
Unfortunately, this emphasis on heterosexuality can take the form of homophobia. If you turn gay, you are marginalized all over again from desired norms of manhood.
In conclusion, to common insecurities of a maturing male as a sexual being, are added insecurities stemming from historical and social and racial inequalities.
PEDOPHILIA
By the way: many Jamaican reggae lyrics deal with sexual abuse and strongly attack pedophilia. ‘Child Abuse’ by the veteran roots harmony group Abyssinians is such a song. Jr X’s song ‘Pedophile’ another.
I can from the top of my head recall references in songs by Junior Kelly, Jah Mason, and Chuck Fender (the song ‘Gash Dem’), and others.
Also - many may not know this - Buju Banton’s Boom Bye Bye song originally referred to a man-boys rape case in Jamaica. I hope that most gays also agree with me (and with Buju Banton, most people in Jamaica, and in the world) that sex should be between “consenting adults”. Not with someone who is not ready for sex, does not want it, or does not even know what sex is.
That in Jamaica some pedophilia affairs were explained by some - both Rastas and Christians – as a wicked “batty man conspiracy” (to raise more gays, or to disturb the sexual, natural order etc.) may sound disturbing or unenlightened. On the other hand it also is, in light of the above, understandable.
Perhaps an unpleasant truth, but let’s just say that it is a complex issue…
woensdag 16 februari 2011
To know is to belong?
Not very recently, but I just found out that in 2008 reggae artist Eek-A-Mouse had an outburst of sorts at a press conference at the (2008) Carifest C.A.R.E.S. festival held in New York. It was even described as a “racist” rant, and it is for all to see on YouTube. I missed it at the time itself.
As is to see, Eek-A-Mouse’s rage seems to increase each second. The audio quality is not very good, and linguistic issues (Eek-A-Mouse seems to respond partly in Jamaican Patois) further make difficult to grasp fully what he says. Yet, it becomes clear what he means. “White boys coming into reggae and making money, signed by big labels. Blacks don’t get signed” ”Whites take over reggae” etcetera.
He mentions some white artists who as outsiders got signed by big labels as reggae artists: Matisyahu, UB40, Ace of Base. He even mentions “lighter” skinned Jamaicans thus favoured, even Bob Marley, Sean Paul, and Shaggy, over blacks (Peter Tosh, Dennis Brown etcetera).
His outrage was such that he even left in an enraged state from the table.
I found this interesting, not just because of the sensationalistic, apparently unstable behaviour that seemed inappropriate, but because of what was actually said. The source surprised me somewhat – Eek-A-Mouse is not really known for his very ”socially conscious” lyrics. That aside, I think he is partly right, roughly speaking, and I take up the topic in this post.
I guess the basic question is:
Can white people make “real” reggae?
In 2010 2 works appeared/were published on reggae and related themes, such as Rastafari, and discussed in some ways what can be termed the relevant theme of “cultural authenticity”. This was especially the case with the book ‘Babylon East : performing dancehall, roots reggae and Rastafari in Japan’ (2010), written by Marvin D. Sterling. Another recent work, ‘Time and memory in reggae music : the politics of hope’ (2010), written by Sarah Daynes – a very interesting work by the way – had another main theme, namely Rastafari in reggae music. It did touch also here and there on the topic of (cultural) authenticity, as well as, like the other book, reggae’s international spread.
Reggae and Rastafari’s popularity in Japan is discussed in Sterling’s book. He treats how “blackness” is performed and seen in Japan, the differences between Rastas in Japan and in Jamaica – related to authenticity issues. Interesting is also the chapter on Jamaican perspectives on Jamaican culture in Japan. These perspectives and opinions can differ from accusations of “cultural theft” to appreciative or opportunistic attitudes.
(Jamaican) critiques on Japanese reggae fans or Rastas especially appear related to knowledge, as the book makes clear. Argumentation that I can understand.
I am of the opinion that if one wants to be a true Rasta – and not just one who wears dreadlocks - he or she should know about black history, Haile Selassie, and Marcus Garvey. At least above average.
This brings me to an interesting phrase in the other book, by Daynes: to know is to belong. She used this also in relation to reggae music, reggae history and artists (i.e. belonging to the reggae scene), but the same applies for Rastafari: to know is to belong. There is a link somehow there with cultural authenticity. “Who feels it knows it”: if reggae is originally music from the ghetto, then only those who lived and know ghetto life, or poor people’s lives more broadly, can make true reggae.
On some level I believe that. On another level, however, I consider it too rigid. I know that many reggae fans have a sincere interest in Jamaica, Rastafari, black people, and the way poor people live. Some might become musicians or artists. Sincere interest leads to knowing and thus, to a degree, “belonging”.
This leads to a second, related question:
Is knowing in this case really enough to belong?
On this topic there are as said varied Jamaican critiques, that are sometimes quite comical. After a Japanese sound system, Mighty Crown, has beaten in a competition Jamaican sound systems, artist Bounty Killer commented something along the lines of “is it not more appropriate for Japanese to specialize in karate”. Partly out of spite, for sure, and not without clichés, but it makes clear a sensitive issue. This, like Eek-A-Mouse’s “rant” showed: Jamaicans at times feel sidelined in their own culture.
Similarly, Buju Banton found that the relatively “quick” fame (in the US and elsewhere) of German reggae artist Gentleman, related to the fact that he is white. There are of course several other examples of this.
If a white person makes reggae songs and knows very much about reggae - instrumental/technical musical knowledge -, but at least equally important: the historical background and social and cultural context of reggae, is that enough to qualify him/her as “real”?
What is real or unreal is of course a judgment call. I guess it comes down to sincerity: of the artists themselves, and the “big labels” behind them. Anyhow, if in broad strokes the most famous reggae - i.e. reaching the greatest number of people - is by white, non-Jamaican or light skinned artists, then reggae is all in all misrepresented on a broad scale. It’s black and originally Jamaican music and should be known as such. Anything else is misleading.
This is injustice on a broad level, but it can trigger more personal injustices: white reggae artists can get rich with their music much easier than black reggae artists.
If a white enthusiast likes to add a reggae song or “feel” to his repertoire I think that even Jamaicans do not consider that bad in itself: it depends on the intention. Some reggae “riddims” use Indian or Spanish guitar motives, which can also be seen as “borrowing”. Crossing borders occurs often with music, and creativity is and should be free.
What I conclude out of the books I mentioned, the complaints of Eek-A-Mouse and many others (also more “cultural” artists), and other sources is that intention is very important. As long as there is no misrepresentation or cultural arrogance. Just as important: an equal playing field.
The lack of the latter seems to be the most difficult obstacle. Big labels sign up, maybe for racist reasons, maybe for commercial reasons, artists the inhabitants of their countries (US, Europe) might “recognize” more, i.e. white racially. Making thus this reggae more popular than real reggae. That’s where the misrepresentation and insincerity starts.
If that was the basic message of Eek-A-Mouse (not my favourite reggae artist, by the way) on that press conference, I agree with him.
(Ironically, one of the “whitest” audiences - relatively speaking - on a reggae concert in Amsterdam, and I have been to a lot, was at a Eek-A-Mouse concert.)
Of course, the quality of the songs and music should come first, not some racial identification which in essence is artificial (though widespread). That is a problem in this world: people like to be proud of something without doing anything for it: belonging to a nation, race, or people. But I rebut by repeating: true belonging begins with knowledge. This knowledge is sometimes “lived” and “ experienced” – in the Jamaican ghettos for instance - but also can be acquired, to a degree, by reading or traveling. Or by talking with people. The latter is not unsympathetic, reason for which I do not want to be too rigid for people, like white Westerners or Japanese, who truly have learned about reggae, being their long-time hobby. It is, after all, a form of respect and a compliment for reggae and/or Rastafari.
Another issue: Bob Marley and Sean Paul were both Jamaicans of mixed race, but Bob grew up poor, in the ghetto, while Sean Paul had a middle class (uptown) background. That doesn’t mean that Sean Paul should be forbidden to make reggae or dancehall, or that he can’t make nice tunes (he in fact has) which are appreciated by some. It is just maybe, from some perspective, less authentic, but can be somehow interesting as well. Not all artists take themselves too seriously, while they admit that they are influenced by reggae, like to play it and know about it.
From earlier days the bands The Police in Britain, or Doe Maar in the Netherlands are examples. Manu Chao from France (of Spanish descent) is also partly influenced by reggae. There is of course nothing wrong with that. I’ve heard about Jamaicans who liked songs of Manu Chao and also Gentleman. Even when they like a song, however, I heard Jamaicans criticize or joke about Gentleman’s use of Jamaican Patois (for being, well, inauthentic?).
Some whites or Japanese are accepted more or less as part of the reggae scene: they even work in Jamaica. Producer Frenchie (from, you guessed it, France) and Alborosie (from Sicily) are examples. Frenchie is behind the riddim ‘Jah Powers’ (known as riddim of the nice song Stronger, part 2 by Fantan Mojah - see underneath). The riddim is nice, though some may find it simple because there are few key changes or “bridges”, but it is effective and appreciated. That’s what counts. It also is used for songs of Jamaican artists. Jamaicans are otherwise said actively involved and not sidelined. That is of crucial importance.
Another question remains:
Can you make Jamaican music without Jamaicans?
I think essentially not. Not just by pretending to be Jamaican, anyway. In the said book of Sterling on Japan some Jamaicans were especially critical of Japanese reggae artists who never even met a Jamaican. They had more respect for Japanese men and women who go on vacation, or even extended stays, in Jamaica, including the ghettos and dancehall parties there. Another way to learn beyond mere book knowledge. On the way to belonging?
Maybe another word is also appropriate here: credibility. I guess there is some kind of scale of degrees I can come up with: there is reggae that’s authentic (black Jamaican, ghetto, but no criminal or ginal), and there’s reggae that’s credible (by artists who love it and don’t just use it, irrespective of race). The rest is fake or bandwagonism.
Unfortunately, at present what is most known as reggae among the largest number of people around the world tends to belong to the latter categories of fake or bandwagonism. Luckily there are enough “true” reggae fans around the world also.
A broader philosophical conclusion thus applies here:
Knowledge as well as sincerity are needed to be credible.
As is to see, Eek-A-Mouse’s rage seems to increase each second. The audio quality is not very good, and linguistic issues (Eek-A-Mouse seems to respond partly in Jamaican Patois) further make difficult to grasp fully what he says. Yet, it becomes clear what he means. “White boys coming into reggae and making money, signed by big labels. Blacks don’t get signed” ”Whites take over reggae” etcetera.
He mentions some white artists who as outsiders got signed by big labels as reggae artists: Matisyahu, UB40, Ace of Base. He even mentions “lighter” skinned Jamaicans thus favoured, even Bob Marley, Sean Paul, and Shaggy, over blacks (Peter Tosh, Dennis Brown etcetera).
His outrage was such that he even left in an enraged state from the table.
I found this interesting, not just because of the sensationalistic, apparently unstable behaviour that seemed inappropriate, but because of what was actually said. The source surprised me somewhat – Eek-A-Mouse is not really known for his very ”socially conscious” lyrics. That aside, I think he is partly right, roughly speaking, and I take up the topic in this post.
I guess the basic question is:
Can white people make “real” reggae?
In 2010 2 works appeared/were published on reggae and related themes, such as Rastafari, and discussed in some ways what can be termed the relevant theme of “cultural authenticity”. This was especially the case with the book ‘Babylon East : performing dancehall, roots reggae and Rastafari in Japan’ (2010), written by Marvin D. Sterling. Another recent work, ‘Time and memory in reggae music : the politics of hope’ (2010), written by Sarah Daynes – a very interesting work by the way – had another main theme, namely Rastafari in reggae music. It did touch also here and there on the topic of (cultural) authenticity, as well as, like the other book, reggae’s international spread.
Reggae and Rastafari’s popularity in Japan is discussed in Sterling’s book. He treats how “blackness” is performed and seen in Japan, the differences between Rastas in Japan and in Jamaica – related to authenticity issues. Interesting is also the chapter on Jamaican perspectives on Jamaican culture in Japan. These perspectives and opinions can differ from accusations of “cultural theft” to appreciative or opportunistic attitudes.
(Jamaican) critiques on Japanese reggae fans or Rastas especially appear related to knowledge, as the book makes clear. Argumentation that I can understand.
I am of the opinion that if one wants to be a true Rasta – and not just one who wears dreadlocks - he or she should know about black history, Haile Selassie, and Marcus Garvey. At least above average.
This brings me to an interesting phrase in the other book, by Daynes: to know is to belong. She used this also in relation to reggae music, reggae history and artists (i.e. belonging to the reggae scene), but the same applies for Rastafari: to know is to belong. There is a link somehow there with cultural authenticity. “Who feels it knows it”: if reggae is originally music from the ghetto, then only those who lived and know ghetto life, or poor people’s lives more broadly, can make true reggae.
On some level I believe that. On another level, however, I consider it too rigid. I know that many reggae fans have a sincere interest in Jamaica, Rastafari, black people, and the way poor people live. Some might become musicians or artists. Sincere interest leads to knowing and thus, to a degree, “belonging”.
This leads to a second, related question:
Is knowing in this case really enough to belong?
On this topic there are as said varied Jamaican critiques, that are sometimes quite comical. After a Japanese sound system, Mighty Crown, has beaten in a competition Jamaican sound systems, artist Bounty Killer commented something along the lines of “is it not more appropriate for Japanese to specialize in karate”. Partly out of spite, for sure, and not without clichés, but it makes clear a sensitive issue. This, like Eek-A-Mouse’s “rant” showed: Jamaicans at times feel sidelined in their own culture.
Similarly, Buju Banton found that the relatively “quick” fame (in the US and elsewhere) of German reggae artist Gentleman, related to the fact that he is white. There are of course several other examples of this.
If a white person makes reggae songs and knows very much about reggae - instrumental/technical musical knowledge -, but at least equally important: the historical background and social and cultural context of reggae, is that enough to qualify him/her as “real”?
What is real or unreal is of course a judgment call. I guess it comes down to sincerity: of the artists themselves, and the “big labels” behind them. Anyhow, if in broad strokes the most famous reggae - i.e. reaching the greatest number of people - is by white, non-Jamaican or light skinned artists, then reggae is all in all misrepresented on a broad scale. It’s black and originally Jamaican music and should be known as such. Anything else is misleading.
This is injustice on a broad level, but it can trigger more personal injustices: white reggae artists can get rich with their music much easier than black reggae artists.
If a white enthusiast likes to add a reggae song or “feel” to his repertoire I think that even Jamaicans do not consider that bad in itself: it depends on the intention. Some reggae “riddims” use Indian or Spanish guitar motives, which can also be seen as “borrowing”. Crossing borders occurs often with music, and creativity is and should be free.
What I conclude out of the books I mentioned, the complaints of Eek-A-Mouse and many others (also more “cultural” artists), and other sources is that intention is very important. As long as there is no misrepresentation or cultural arrogance. Just as important: an equal playing field.
The lack of the latter seems to be the most difficult obstacle. Big labels sign up, maybe for racist reasons, maybe for commercial reasons, artists the inhabitants of their countries (US, Europe) might “recognize” more, i.e. white racially. Making thus this reggae more popular than real reggae. That’s where the misrepresentation and insincerity starts.
If that was the basic message of Eek-A-Mouse (not my favourite reggae artist, by the way) on that press conference, I agree with him.
(Ironically, one of the “whitest” audiences - relatively speaking - on a reggae concert in Amsterdam, and I have been to a lot, was at a Eek-A-Mouse concert.)
Of course, the quality of the songs and music should come first, not some racial identification which in essence is artificial (though widespread). That is a problem in this world: people like to be proud of something without doing anything for it: belonging to a nation, race, or people. But I rebut by repeating: true belonging begins with knowledge. This knowledge is sometimes “lived” and “ experienced” – in the Jamaican ghettos for instance - but also can be acquired, to a degree, by reading or traveling. Or by talking with people. The latter is not unsympathetic, reason for which I do not want to be too rigid for people, like white Westerners or Japanese, who truly have learned about reggae, being their long-time hobby. It is, after all, a form of respect and a compliment for reggae and/or Rastafari.
Another issue: Bob Marley and Sean Paul were both Jamaicans of mixed race, but Bob grew up poor, in the ghetto, while Sean Paul had a middle class (uptown) background. That doesn’t mean that Sean Paul should be forbidden to make reggae or dancehall, or that he can’t make nice tunes (he in fact has) which are appreciated by some. It is just maybe, from some perspective, less authentic, but can be somehow interesting as well. Not all artists take themselves too seriously, while they admit that they are influenced by reggae, like to play it and know about it.
From earlier days the bands The Police in Britain, or Doe Maar in the Netherlands are examples. Manu Chao from France (of Spanish descent) is also partly influenced by reggae. There is of course nothing wrong with that. I’ve heard about Jamaicans who liked songs of Manu Chao and also Gentleman. Even when they like a song, however, I heard Jamaicans criticize or joke about Gentleman’s use of Jamaican Patois (for being, well, inauthentic?).
Some whites or Japanese are accepted more or less as part of the reggae scene: they even work in Jamaica. Producer Frenchie (from, you guessed it, France) and Alborosie (from Sicily) are examples. Frenchie is behind the riddim ‘Jah Powers’ (known as riddim of the nice song Stronger, part 2 by Fantan Mojah - see underneath). The riddim is nice, though some may find it simple because there are few key changes or “bridges”, but it is effective and appreciated. That’s what counts. It also is used for songs of Jamaican artists. Jamaicans are otherwise said actively involved and not sidelined. That is of crucial importance.
Another question remains:
Can you make Jamaican music without Jamaicans?
I think essentially not. Not just by pretending to be Jamaican, anyway. In the said book of Sterling on Japan some Jamaicans were especially critical of Japanese reggae artists who never even met a Jamaican. They had more respect for Japanese men and women who go on vacation, or even extended stays, in Jamaica, including the ghettos and dancehall parties there. Another way to learn beyond mere book knowledge. On the way to belonging?
Maybe another word is also appropriate here: credibility. I guess there is some kind of scale of degrees I can come up with: there is reggae that’s authentic (black Jamaican, ghetto, but no criminal or ginal), and there’s reggae that’s credible (by artists who love it and don’t just use it, irrespective of race). The rest is fake or bandwagonism.
Unfortunately, at present what is most known as reggae among the largest number of people around the world tends to belong to the latter categories of fake or bandwagonism. Luckily there are enough “true” reggae fans around the world also.
A broader philosophical conclusion thus applies here:
Knowledge as well as sincerity are needed to be credible.
donderdag 9 december 2010
Not quite “Jollywood” but…
Thinking about Jamaican feature (“fiction”) movies to many come to mind the legendary The Harder They Come (1972) featuring singer Jimmy Cliff. Though Jamaica’s film industry, being a small, developing country, is small, some movies appear now and then.
There are “developing” countries, ofcourse, with very extensive film industries, notably large and populous countries like India, “Bollywood”, and Nigeria, called “Nollywood”. Continuing the wordplay, I guess there is no “Jollywood”, or something like that. As many may know, Jamaica chose instead to specialize in music, with wide and international success.
Anyhow, The Harder They Come is not the only Jamaican movie, but it was the first one, boosting more Jamaican film initiatives. Here I’ll give a review of a few of these that I saw recently, while comparing between them. The working definition of “Jamaican movie” is: a movie set in Jamaica, with mainly Jamaican actors, and produced/directed in Jamaica. I exclude thus, for instance, the US-led Cool Runnings.
I try to analyse from the “movie perspective” – plot/story, acting, directing, filming, images etcetera - but also from a cultural and musical perspective, relating to what I have learned about Jamaican history, society, culture, and music.
THE HARDER THEY COME
I thought The Harder they Come (1972) was fine, but I stop short of calling it brilliant. It was entertaining, in part because of the Jamaican environment, people and dialogues, and had some good moments. There were emotional moments, even if somewhat hidden, aided by music, such as the images of poor parts of Kingston while Jimmy Cliff’s emotive song Many Rivers To Cross played.
Otherwise, not too many (deep) emotions were shown, and I find that a pity. The plot had the required mystery and tension to keep the watcher curious, but was at the same time somewhat weak, related in part to the lack of emotional depth. A country boy comes to the Jamaican capital Kingston wanting to make it in the music business as a singer, yet somehow becomes a criminal and even murderer, known locally as “rudeboy”. This status as “gunman on the run” eventually made his song(s) popular.
Somewhat weak - and even immoral - such a plot, to my opinion. An artist does for me not become more interesting or inspiring when he is capable of murdering other people, or doing other criminal acts against people. Hey, but that’s me.
ROCKERS
Reggae music played a role in The Harder They Come, Cliff being a reggae artist, also in the soundtrack, but this is stronger the case in the movie Rockers (1978). Alongside reggae, Rastafari got attention in Rockers, the protagonist Leroy “Horsemouth” Wallace being a Rasta (unlike Jimmy Cliff, who I believe became a Muslim). Wallace is/was in real life also a drummer on many reggae recordings.
Rockers is more than The Harder They Come a Rasta and reggae musicians movie, with many other musicians and singers playing large or small roles: bass player Robbie Shakespeare (of Sly and Robbie fame), Jacob Miller, Gregory Isaacs, Burning Spear, Kiddus I and others, as well as producers (Joe Gibbs and others). Musical performances in the studio and live are given much time in the film, and justly so. Recently (25 October 2010) deceased Gregory Isaacs’ live performance of his song Slave Driver in the movie is excellent, as is the studio session of Kiddus I.
Protagonist Wallace plays a role derived from himself: a musician (drummer) trying to get by with various jobs here and there. He encounters artists – some he works with - in different parts of Kingston.
All this is interesting by itself, but there is also actually something like a plot. Wallace wants to start a business selling records to producers to gain more income and become more independent, and (partly) for this purpose buys a motor bike. He is proud of this bike, tells his friends about it, lets it paint with a Rasta image and in Rasta colours. But, the bike then gets stolen when Wallace visits a dancehall.
Without betraying much more for people who have yet to see the movie, I’ll leave it to that. The plot may not be too thorough, but I guess this is one of those movies that doesn’t need a complex plot: there are enough interesting and engaging dialogues and happenings during the movie.
COUNTRYMAN
Countryman (1982) deals more with politics: elections, CIA intermingling, and the police. In relation to elections a political party is eager on finding a crashed airline pilot, presumably working for the CIA (or the other party). Police and soldiers search these two people. They, two white (US) foreigners, were crashed and then aided by a local Rastafari-inspired Jamaican fisherman (or “countryman”, hence the title).
I will not betray more of the plot, but I will say that it was entertaining and that the tension and the plot/story were told well.
Well and good, there were some aspects that one can consider odd, or remarkable. Jamaica is a predominantly black country, demographically, with about 90% of its people being primarily of African descent. Yet, relatively many of the cast had East Indian (from the country India) traits, also seemingly espoused Rastafari adherents. It is not impossible that such Rastafari with Indian traits exist (and there was some East Indian migration to Jamaica historically), but Countryman is presented as a Jamaican movie: at least let it be representative, seems a reasonable demand to me. Also, an “obeah” expert (Obeah is an African-based spiritual system) seems to be an Indian. Again, maybe not totally absurd, but neither very realistic.
It is on the other hand true, that among the cast of the movie there were also black Jamaicans, also as Rastas. This cast, by the way, was spontaneously recruited, the director explained. The only professional Jamaican actor was Carl Bradshaw, who some may know for playing “Boops” (a “sugardaddy”) in the Sly and Robbie videoclip of the song Boops.
The soundtrack was nice, but a bit limited to the Island record label (also producing the movie), and, predictably, recurrently Bob Marley and the Wailers.
DANCEHALL QUEEN
More recent (1997) is the movie Dancehall Queen. Centered around the modern dancehall parties in Jamaica, with dancehall music. I am more a roots reggae fan than a dancehall fan, but I could nonetheless enjoy this movie. I do go to reggae dances, by the way, and found that I besides to “one drop” and “rockers” reggae I love so much, I could even dance to (some) “digital dancehall”, if I liked it. So the portrayed world in Dancehall Queen is not too far from my lived reality.
Modern dancehall music is overall just as or maybe more popular in Jamaica nowadays, at least in most dances, than roots reggae. I noticed this also during my recent travels to Jamaica (2006 and 2008), although roots reggae was not absent.
The movie Dancehall Queen is on a poor woman, working as street vendor who becomes at evening/night a dancehall queen, dancing in competition at parties (hosted by artist Beenie Man).
This fact is worked out nicely and entertaining in this movie, with relatively good acting as well. The plot is also good – though some consider it somewhat far-stretched -, and seems realistic: dealing with criminals in the ghetto areas intimidating other ghetto residents, and an overall modern, and realistic Caribbean “vibe” to my opinion.
CONCLUSION
There are more interesting Jamaican movies than The Harder They Come, that is what I at the very least can conclude. I can recommend therefore each of these to those who haven’t seen them.
Moreover, the movies discussed above seem to reflect the times and Jamaican societies broadly. The music industry is important in Jamaica, and is important in most of these movies. The studios, as well as old and modern dancehalls (as party venues), roots reggae and dancehall.
Violent elections and CIA intermingling were indeed happening in Jamaica around 1980 (thus the theme of Countryman), while also the recurring rough-handed and/or corrupt policemen seem to reflect reality, as do the portrayals of ghetto life and survival through several jobs, also present in several movies. Gun crime is also sadly a reality in Jamaica.
Interestingly, the soundtrack or musical side of the movies fitted the times: “early reggae” in The Harder They Come, somewhat later “roots reggae” in Rockers and Countryman, and dancehall in Dancehall Queen.
Musically, to my taste, Rockers was the most interesting, but it had a somewhat limitedly worked out plot (music says it all, you might say). Rastafari(anism) got attention in especially 2 of these 4 movies. This attention was mostly respectful, sometimes realistic, sometimes not so.
Several movies had great, very atmospheric imagery, also of rural and mountaineous areas and of urban Kingston.
I can furthermore also imagine how some may find it interesting for cultural reasons to see and hear how Jamaicans behave and talk Jamaican Patois – combined with Rasta speech, as in Rockers - amongst themselves.
There are “developing” countries, ofcourse, with very extensive film industries, notably large and populous countries like India, “Bollywood”, and Nigeria, called “Nollywood”. Continuing the wordplay, I guess there is no “Jollywood”, or something like that. As many may know, Jamaica chose instead to specialize in music, with wide and international success.
Anyhow, The Harder They Come is not the only Jamaican movie, but it was the first one, boosting more Jamaican film initiatives. Here I’ll give a review of a few of these that I saw recently, while comparing between them. The working definition of “Jamaican movie” is: a movie set in Jamaica, with mainly Jamaican actors, and produced/directed in Jamaica. I exclude thus, for instance, the US-led Cool Runnings.
I try to analyse from the “movie perspective” – plot/story, acting, directing, filming, images etcetera - but also from a cultural and musical perspective, relating to what I have learned about Jamaican history, society, culture, and music.
THE HARDER THEY COME
I thought The Harder they Come (1972) was fine, but I stop short of calling it brilliant. It was entertaining, in part because of the Jamaican environment, people and dialogues, and had some good moments. There were emotional moments, even if somewhat hidden, aided by music, such as the images of poor parts of Kingston while Jimmy Cliff’s emotive song Many Rivers To Cross played.
Otherwise, not too many (deep) emotions were shown, and I find that a pity. The plot had the required mystery and tension to keep the watcher curious, but was at the same time somewhat weak, related in part to the lack of emotional depth. A country boy comes to the Jamaican capital Kingston wanting to make it in the music business as a singer, yet somehow becomes a criminal and even murderer, known locally as “rudeboy”. This status as “gunman on the run” eventually made his song(s) popular.
Somewhat weak - and even immoral - such a plot, to my opinion. An artist does for me not become more interesting or inspiring when he is capable of murdering other people, or doing other criminal acts against people. Hey, but that’s me.
ROCKERS
Reggae music played a role in The Harder They Come, Cliff being a reggae artist, also in the soundtrack, but this is stronger the case in the movie Rockers (1978). Alongside reggae, Rastafari got attention in Rockers, the protagonist Leroy “Horsemouth” Wallace being a Rasta (unlike Jimmy Cliff, who I believe became a Muslim). Wallace is/was in real life also a drummer on many reggae recordings.
Rockers is more than The Harder They Come a Rasta and reggae musicians movie, with many other musicians and singers playing large or small roles: bass player Robbie Shakespeare (of Sly and Robbie fame), Jacob Miller, Gregory Isaacs, Burning Spear, Kiddus I and others, as well as producers (Joe Gibbs and others). Musical performances in the studio and live are given much time in the film, and justly so. Recently (25 October 2010) deceased Gregory Isaacs’ live performance of his song Slave Driver in the movie is excellent, as is the studio session of Kiddus I.
Protagonist Wallace plays a role derived from himself: a musician (drummer) trying to get by with various jobs here and there. He encounters artists – some he works with - in different parts of Kingston.
All this is interesting by itself, but there is also actually something like a plot. Wallace wants to start a business selling records to producers to gain more income and become more independent, and (partly) for this purpose buys a motor bike. He is proud of this bike, tells his friends about it, lets it paint with a Rasta image and in Rasta colours. But, the bike then gets stolen when Wallace visits a dancehall.
Without betraying much more for people who have yet to see the movie, I’ll leave it to that. The plot may not be too thorough, but I guess this is one of those movies that doesn’t need a complex plot: there are enough interesting and engaging dialogues and happenings during the movie.
COUNTRYMAN
Countryman (1982) deals more with politics: elections, CIA intermingling, and the police. In relation to elections a political party is eager on finding a crashed airline pilot, presumably working for the CIA (or the other party). Police and soldiers search these two people. They, two white (US) foreigners, were crashed and then aided by a local Rastafari-inspired Jamaican fisherman (or “countryman”, hence the title).
I will not betray more of the plot, but I will say that it was entertaining and that the tension and the plot/story were told well.
Well and good, there were some aspects that one can consider odd, or remarkable. Jamaica is a predominantly black country, demographically, with about 90% of its people being primarily of African descent. Yet, relatively many of the cast had East Indian (from the country India) traits, also seemingly espoused Rastafari adherents. It is not impossible that such Rastafari with Indian traits exist (and there was some East Indian migration to Jamaica historically), but Countryman is presented as a Jamaican movie: at least let it be representative, seems a reasonable demand to me. Also, an “obeah” expert (Obeah is an African-based spiritual system) seems to be an Indian. Again, maybe not totally absurd, but neither very realistic.
It is on the other hand true, that among the cast of the movie there were also black Jamaicans, also as Rastas. This cast, by the way, was spontaneously recruited, the director explained. The only professional Jamaican actor was Carl Bradshaw, who some may know for playing “Boops” (a “sugardaddy”) in the Sly and Robbie videoclip of the song Boops.
The soundtrack was nice, but a bit limited to the Island record label (also producing the movie), and, predictably, recurrently Bob Marley and the Wailers.
DANCEHALL QUEEN
More recent (1997) is the movie Dancehall Queen. Centered around the modern dancehall parties in Jamaica, with dancehall music. I am more a roots reggae fan than a dancehall fan, but I could nonetheless enjoy this movie. I do go to reggae dances, by the way, and found that I besides to “one drop” and “rockers” reggae I love so much, I could even dance to (some) “digital dancehall”, if I liked it. So the portrayed world in Dancehall Queen is not too far from my lived reality.
Modern dancehall music is overall just as or maybe more popular in Jamaica nowadays, at least in most dances, than roots reggae. I noticed this also during my recent travels to Jamaica (2006 and 2008), although roots reggae was not absent.
The movie Dancehall Queen is on a poor woman, working as street vendor who becomes at evening/night a dancehall queen, dancing in competition at parties (hosted by artist Beenie Man).
This fact is worked out nicely and entertaining in this movie, with relatively good acting as well. The plot is also good – though some consider it somewhat far-stretched -, and seems realistic: dealing with criminals in the ghetto areas intimidating other ghetto residents, and an overall modern, and realistic Caribbean “vibe” to my opinion.
CONCLUSION
There are more interesting Jamaican movies than The Harder They Come, that is what I at the very least can conclude. I can recommend therefore each of these to those who haven’t seen them.
Moreover, the movies discussed above seem to reflect the times and Jamaican societies broadly. The music industry is important in Jamaica, and is important in most of these movies. The studios, as well as old and modern dancehalls (as party venues), roots reggae and dancehall.
Violent elections and CIA intermingling were indeed happening in Jamaica around 1980 (thus the theme of Countryman), while also the recurring rough-handed and/or corrupt policemen seem to reflect reality, as do the portrayals of ghetto life and survival through several jobs, also present in several movies. Gun crime is also sadly a reality in Jamaica.
Interestingly, the soundtrack or musical side of the movies fitted the times: “early reggae” in The Harder They Come, somewhat later “roots reggae” in Rockers and Countryman, and dancehall in Dancehall Queen.
Musically, to my taste, Rockers was the most interesting, but it had a somewhat limitedly worked out plot (music says it all, you might say). Rastafari(anism) got attention in especially 2 of these 4 movies. This attention was mostly respectful, sometimes realistic, sometimes not so.
Several movies had great, very atmospheric imagery, also of rural and mountaineous areas and of urban Kingston.
I can furthermore also imagine how some may find it interesting for cultural reasons to see and hear how Jamaicans behave and talk Jamaican Patois – combined with Rasta speech, as in Rockers - amongst themselves.
zondag 7 november 2010
Je weet toch
Het leek me grappig om een blogbericht “Je weet toch” als titel mee te geven. “Je weet toch” is op een bepaalde vage manier verwijzend, maar ik ga hier wel degelijk de uitdrukking zelf dieper analyseren.
De uitdrukking wordt veel gebruikt in de straat- en jongerentaal en is vermoedelijk onder Surinaams-Nederlandse jongeren ontstaan. Over de oorsprong en geschiedenis van de uitdrukking is mij helaas verder weinig bekend.
Hoe dan ook: de betekenis van “je weet toch” is van een aanstekelijk soort vaagheid, waarvan ik de psychologische appeal wel begrijp. Met de suggestie van een mysterie wek je een illusie, en in een zelfgemaakte illusie is het doorgaans goed toeven. Het is een sociale illusie bovendien, want de ander “weet toch” wat je bedoelt, kent de codes, de levensstijl van de groep. Het sympathieke ervan is dat het ook niet zo uitsluitend is: je gaat in wezen uit van de overeenkomsten tussen mensen, wat we allemaal delen, want de gesprekspartner is “in the know”. Die sociale, insluitende kant maakt het voor mij ook niet irritant of nerveus-makend, zoals andere gevallen van aanwezige maar onduidelijke geheimen.
Ik zie er ook wat meer - en wat positievers - in dan een vermeend gebrek aan uitdrukkingsvaardigheid of wellicht een lager opleidingsniveau. ”Je weet toch” zou in dat laatste geval niets meer zijn dan een gemakkelijke manier voor de spreker om te complex, gerationaliseerd taalgebruik te omzeilen. Dat betwijfel ik, ook omdat het een specifieke woordkeuze betreft: niet “je weet wel” maar “je weet toch”.
Cabaretier Roué Verveer gaf het gebruik onder jongeren hilarisch aandacht in één van zijn voorstellingen. Hij stelde, vermoedelijk quasi-serieus, dat het een excuus voor álles is geworden. Voor het te laat komen, bijvoorbeeld, waar een Surinaams iemand met “je weet toch” weg kan komen bij een andere Surinamer, maar niet bij een Nederlander. Zeer grappig, maar tegelijkertijd nieuwsgierig makend naar de oorsprong ervan.
Over de oorsprong is – naar wat ik vernomen heb althans - helaas weinig geschreven. Sommigen zoeken het in de hip-hop cultuur, waarbij “you know” of “y(ou) know what I’m saying” of “y(ou) know what I mean” veel voorkwamen en -komen in bepaalde hip-hop teksten. Dit zou vertaald zijn naar “je weet toch”, of de variant “je weet zelf” (sommigen associëren deze laatste ‘zelf’ variant met Antillianen en het Rijnmond-gebied).
Ik vond dat ook als verklaring op een website, maar deze kan met de beste wil van de wereld niet wetenschappelijk genoemd worden (zie: http://wiki.retecool.com/index.php/Je_weet_toch).
Het gebruik ervan komt onder bepaalde groepen vaker voor dan onder andere. Jonge stadsbewoners van Surinaamse afkomst liggen voor de hand, met name hen die – zo wil het vooroordeel - niet hoog opgeleid zijn, maar ook andere (met name) jongeren, uit andere etnische groepen, gebruiken het.
Volgens anderen is het uit het Surinaamse Sranan Tongo afkomstig en ook ouder dan hip-hop “you know” teksten, namelijk van “I sabi(e) toch” (letterlijk “je weet toch”).
Mijn talenkennis helpt me “je weet toch” verder te ontleden. Ik ben er niet zo lang geleden achter gekomen dat er een Spaanstalige variant van bestaat, met name in het Caraïbische Spaans (Cuba, Puerto Rico met name): “ya tu sabes” (letterlijk naar Nederlands ”je weet het al”).
“Al” is niet geheel hetzelfde als “toch”, maar er in deze uitdrukking wel zeer sterk in betekenis aan verwant. Het wordt onder meer in reggaeton of salsa nummers gebruikt onder meer in de vage betekenis van “ya’ll know how I do”, zo stelt urbandictionary.com (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ya+tu+sabes)
Een element van opscheppen en bluffen wat in “je weet toch” niet altijd zit, maar soms toch wel. “Ya tu sabes” en “je weet toch” worden eigenlijk grotendeels met dezelfde betekenissen gebruikt.
Ik kwam er ook achter dat er een Jamaicaans Creoolse (of Patois) variant van bestaat: “y(o)u(h) done know”. Voorspelbaar verwarde ik dat met “don’t know”, maar het is afkomstig van het Engelse “done” (gebeurd, gedaan dus), met dus “know”. "You done know" betekent dan “je weet het al”, zoals het Spaanse “ya tu sabes”, en eigenlijk in de praktijk bijna hetzelfde als “je weet toch”.
Het gebruik dat ik van “You done know” ken (in songs en conversaties) lijkt ook zeer sterk op dat van “je weet toch” en “ya tu sabes” (zie hiervoor ook: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ya+done+know.
Interessante vragen: is het echt vertaald, naar al die andere talen, uit hip-hop lingo uit de VS? Vanaf de jaren 80 dus toen hip-hop en rap ontstond. Dan vertegenwoordigt het een recente, internationale invloed vanuit de VS.
Of heeft het gebruik een oudere oorsprong in het Caraïbisch gebied: gezien het voorkomen in zowel het Sranan Tongo, Jamaicaans als ‘t Caraïbische Spaans?
Heeft het wellicht een Afrikaanse oorsprong: zie het zowel voorkomen in Afro-Caraibische als Afro-VS culturen?
Of is het een historisch-linguistische aanpassing aan het leven in een kolonie met slavernij en ongelijkheid: vaagheid als geheimhouding en dus als bescherming?
Of is dat allemaal te ver gezocht?
Interessante vragen. Wie weet krijg ik er ooit een antwoord op..
De uitdrukking wordt veel gebruikt in de straat- en jongerentaal en is vermoedelijk onder Surinaams-Nederlandse jongeren ontstaan. Over de oorsprong en geschiedenis van de uitdrukking is mij helaas verder weinig bekend.
Hoe dan ook: de betekenis van “je weet toch” is van een aanstekelijk soort vaagheid, waarvan ik de psychologische appeal wel begrijp. Met de suggestie van een mysterie wek je een illusie, en in een zelfgemaakte illusie is het doorgaans goed toeven. Het is een sociale illusie bovendien, want de ander “weet toch” wat je bedoelt, kent de codes, de levensstijl van de groep. Het sympathieke ervan is dat het ook niet zo uitsluitend is: je gaat in wezen uit van de overeenkomsten tussen mensen, wat we allemaal delen, want de gesprekspartner is “in the know”. Die sociale, insluitende kant maakt het voor mij ook niet irritant of nerveus-makend, zoals andere gevallen van aanwezige maar onduidelijke geheimen.
Ik zie er ook wat meer - en wat positievers - in dan een vermeend gebrek aan uitdrukkingsvaardigheid of wellicht een lager opleidingsniveau. ”Je weet toch” zou in dat laatste geval niets meer zijn dan een gemakkelijke manier voor de spreker om te complex, gerationaliseerd taalgebruik te omzeilen. Dat betwijfel ik, ook omdat het een specifieke woordkeuze betreft: niet “je weet wel” maar “je weet toch”.
Cabaretier Roué Verveer gaf het gebruik onder jongeren hilarisch aandacht in één van zijn voorstellingen. Hij stelde, vermoedelijk quasi-serieus, dat het een excuus voor álles is geworden. Voor het te laat komen, bijvoorbeeld, waar een Surinaams iemand met “je weet toch” weg kan komen bij een andere Surinamer, maar niet bij een Nederlander. Zeer grappig, maar tegelijkertijd nieuwsgierig makend naar de oorsprong ervan.
Over de oorsprong is – naar wat ik vernomen heb althans - helaas weinig geschreven. Sommigen zoeken het in de hip-hop cultuur, waarbij “you know” of “y(ou) know what I’m saying” of “y(ou) know what I mean” veel voorkwamen en -komen in bepaalde hip-hop teksten. Dit zou vertaald zijn naar “je weet toch”, of de variant “je weet zelf” (sommigen associëren deze laatste ‘zelf’ variant met Antillianen en het Rijnmond-gebied).
Ik vond dat ook als verklaring op een website, maar deze kan met de beste wil van de wereld niet wetenschappelijk genoemd worden (zie: http://wiki.retecool.com/index.php/Je_weet_toch).
Het gebruik ervan komt onder bepaalde groepen vaker voor dan onder andere. Jonge stadsbewoners van Surinaamse afkomst liggen voor de hand, met name hen die – zo wil het vooroordeel - niet hoog opgeleid zijn, maar ook andere (met name) jongeren, uit andere etnische groepen, gebruiken het.
Volgens anderen is het uit het Surinaamse Sranan Tongo afkomstig en ook ouder dan hip-hop “you know” teksten, namelijk van “I sabi(e) toch” (letterlijk “je weet toch”).
Mijn talenkennis helpt me “je weet toch” verder te ontleden. Ik ben er niet zo lang geleden achter gekomen dat er een Spaanstalige variant van bestaat, met name in het Caraïbische Spaans (Cuba, Puerto Rico met name): “ya tu sabes” (letterlijk naar Nederlands ”je weet het al”).
“Al” is niet geheel hetzelfde als “toch”, maar er in deze uitdrukking wel zeer sterk in betekenis aan verwant. Het wordt onder meer in reggaeton of salsa nummers gebruikt onder meer in de vage betekenis van “ya’ll know how I do”, zo stelt urbandictionary.com (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ya+tu+sabes)
Een element van opscheppen en bluffen wat in “je weet toch” niet altijd zit, maar soms toch wel. “Ya tu sabes” en “je weet toch” worden eigenlijk grotendeels met dezelfde betekenissen gebruikt.
Ik kwam er ook achter dat er een Jamaicaans Creoolse (of Patois) variant van bestaat: “y(o)u(h) done know”. Voorspelbaar verwarde ik dat met “don’t know”, maar het is afkomstig van het Engelse “done” (gebeurd, gedaan dus), met dus “know”. "You done know" betekent dan “je weet het al”, zoals het Spaanse “ya tu sabes”, en eigenlijk in de praktijk bijna hetzelfde als “je weet toch”.
Het gebruik dat ik van “You done know” ken (in songs en conversaties) lijkt ook zeer sterk op dat van “je weet toch” en “ya tu sabes” (zie hiervoor ook: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ya+done+know.
Interessante vragen: is het echt vertaald, naar al die andere talen, uit hip-hop lingo uit de VS? Vanaf de jaren 80 dus toen hip-hop en rap ontstond. Dan vertegenwoordigt het een recente, internationale invloed vanuit de VS.
Of heeft het gebruik een oudere oorsprong in het Caraïbisch gebied: gezien het voorkomen in zowel het Sranan Tongo, Jamaicaans als ‘t Caraïbische Spaans?
Heeft het wellicht een Afrikaanse oorsprong: zie het zowel voorkomen in Afro-Caraibische als Afro-VS culturen?
Of is het een historisch-linguistische aanpassing aan het leven in een kolonie met slavernij en ongelijkheid: vaagheid als geheimhouding en dus als bescherming?
Of is dat allemaal te ver gezocht?
Interessante vragen. Wie weet krijg ik er ooit een antwoord op..
woensdag 1 september 2010
Rototom 2010
For the first time in my life I went to the Rototom Sunsplash reggae festival, one of the biggest reggae festivals in the world, and the biggest of Europe. The 2010 edition was held in Benicassim, on the Spanish eastern coast somewhat north of Valencia city (province Castellón). From the 21th to the 28th of August.
This was the 17th time it was held, but the place it has been held – the 16 times before it – used to be in northeastern Italy, near Udine, on the foot of the Alpine mountains. The reason for the location change seems to relate to recently more repressive Berlusconian policies against (among other things?) the overt marijuana smoking on the festival.
Now the setting changed to the Spanish Mediterranean coast, but the main ingredients of the festival remained more or less the same. These are 8 days of concerts on larger and smaller stages, debates, sound systems, films, stands, shops, workshops, food…you done know.
The common theme: reggae of course, and related aspects. Rastafari(anism) got understandable attention, but also progressive social movements, such as related to various developing countries, and, well, also marijuana and the desirability of its legalization.
The line-up of artists performing, especially on the main stage, were (mainly Jamaican) reggae artists of note: Anthony B, Bob Andy, Bushman, Marcia Griffiths, the Abyssinians, Pablo Moses, the Mighty Diamonds, Etana, Jah Mason, Fantan Mojah, Max Romeo, Alpha Blondy, Glen Washington, Chuck Fenda, Wayne Wonder, and Busy Signal (and others). Overall to my opinion an adequate mix of old and new roots reggae, as well as dancehall singers and deejays.
I’ve been to many of these concerts and enjoyed most of them. I rocked my body line! Personally I enjoyed most the Abyssinians’ show (on the final day), as well as earlier in the festival Anthony B, Bushman, Pablo Moses, Bob Andy, and Etana. I have for instance never seen Pablo Moses or Bob Andy (photo left/above) live before, so that’s an extra.
On the smaller stages and venues mostly European reggae or ska bands performed, relatively often Spanish and Italian bands, but further from various countries (there was even an European reggae band contest). Some weren’t even that bad. I especially enjoyed the sound of a regional Valencian band, and of 2 Andalusian sisters (named the Real Sisters) who stayed truer to the reggae roots, unlike vague, party vibe bands mixing reggae-like music not always effectively with other genres like salsa or ska.
My primary reason for visiting was my love for reggae music. As an Amsterdam resident finding a place to freely smoke marijuana - if that were my wish - is not that spectacular to me. I don’t judge people who find that important, though. I draw the line at cocaine or excessive strong drink use, both hard drugs in my opinion.
Apart from the music, which had more than enough to offer that I surely liked and loved, I also experienced the vibe, the general atmosphere, observed other visitors, the debates, and the entire organization. Let’s start with the main thing for me, the music. Then comes the rest.
MUSIC
I am more into roots reggae than dancehall, but can enjoy some inventive or well-written dancehall. Especially when it’s not too fast. The concerts I enjoyed most were thus roots, or roots dancehall. Even when accompanied largely by European, white reggae musicians (seemingly making it less authentic), such as from
Switzerland or France, the concerts were outstanding by Bushman and Pablo Moses (photo left). My compliments for the French (from Toulon) musicians of the band No More Babylon for keeping up with real reggae. Anthony B, Bob Andy, Marcia Griffiths, Etana, and the Abyssinians had Jamaican musicians accompanying them, so it’s not all cheapness of the organization, luckily. Anthony B was fire (or: fya)!
The Abyssinians (photo left under) with the Jamaican Live Wya band, had one of the best concerts: good sound, good songs, good vocals, good musicianship. Good show, all in all. I am more or less an Abyssinians fan so I could sing all songs along, while rocking along.
The Mighty Diamonds concert was fine, but main singer, with a beautiful singing voice, Donald Shaw (Tabby Diamond), could not make it (due to “Babylon visa problems”), leaving the performance to the mostly backing singers, Fitzroy Simpson and Lloyd Ferguson. Still, the strength of the songs of the Mighty Diamonds (their main strength I think) shone through. The main songwriter was present, that is Fitzroy Simpson, for me a legend in his own right. Further, Etana also showed to be a talented lady singer.
On the dancehall/deejaying side of things my experiences were varying. I guess jump-up sessions are not my thing, and I find them monotonous. I enjoy dancing more to one-drop or rockers reggae. Others in the audience seemed to like the jump-up sessions: chaqu’un son gout. (or since it was in Spain:
cada uno su gusto).
Fantan Mojah and Chuck Fenda had for that reason – and for too much interruptions – mediocre performances. While Wayne Wonder (photo left/above) also had a dancehall vibe, but to my opinion a nicer (singing, soulful) one. Busy Signal is “digital” heavy dancehall. Let’s just say that this is not my cup of tea. Glen Washington was nice but not spectacular, maybe due to lesser (in this case European) musicians, as well as Jah Mason.
Other concerts (I’ve seen so many) were also solid, such as of Big Youth (though it began somewhat late: about 02.00 at night), Marcia Griffiths (photo left), and newcomer Romain Virgo.
I did not see Italian/Sicilian reggae artist Alborosie, because that was on the only day of the festival I did not go (not even only at evening), so others may judge that.
Like I mentioned there were some interesting European reggae bands, while several sound systems (mostly European) played here and there, but I attended only a few. I guess I focused on the main stage
FESTIVAL
I noticed different remarkable things on the festival terrain. First, there were so many shops and stands.
More than I thought there would be. You can consider this commercial, but some had interesting Rastafari-inspired items or clothes I seldom find elsewhere.
Another thing: I have never seen so many white people with dreadlocks in one place before in my life! Visitors were relatively often Italians (I would say about half, due to the festival’s organizers and former venue), so these white dreads were often Italians, though I encountered quite some Spanish dreads, as well as from France, Germany or elsewhere. Black dreads, be it African or Caribbean, were not absent (apart from genuine artists), but were not too numerous.
Note that I use the word “dreads” for dreadlocked persons, and not Rastas, because Rasta is a mental thing, which goes of course beyond the superficiality of a hairdo. Even if the locks reach to one’s middle or are well-maintained: that does not mean a thing. You have to know a person to know whether he/she is a true, “conscious” Rastaman or Rastawoman.
The audience was not really unified and tended to be divided in separate sections. Friends with friends, Italians with Italians etcetera. This was a pity, but maybe it’s in part because of the language barrier. I hoped for interesting discussions on relative preferences within reggae, how other people came to reggae, such as I have had in the Netherlands, but these remained unfortunately limited.
Maybe the festival context was not the right occasion for that. Many went to party, smoke a lot of weed, and listen to reggae, of which they often even didn’t know too much beyond a few Bob Marley songs, and maybe Max Romeo’s Chase The Devil (a good song, I don’t contest it). But that differs, I think, from person to person, or from age to age maybe, and I must respect differences. Some dreadlocked persons (with also Rasta-like clothing) even did not seem to care what occurred on/came from the stage, even during the outstanding roots concerts, but I’m not in their head. Maybe they were tired, or smoked too much mediocre bush weed.
Maybe they were also annoyed by the hot weather (about 35 degrees Celsius by day), and found it difficult to adapt to after (near to) Alpine Northern Italy.
There was also a Reggae University, which I visited on some occasions. Debates on social movements in Latin America, other developing countries, Berlusconi, activities of NGOs, poverty, press freedom, showing the “reggae scene” as in a sense related to a left-wing, progressive border-crossing alliance.
There were also debates on reggae and reggae history in the strict sense, however, such as on early deejaying in Jamaica, with artists like Big Youth attending, sound systems, dancehall culture and dancing in present-day Jamaica, Rastafari and reggae, with members of the Abyssinians and the Mighty Diamonds participating. I found these discussions interesting, especially the one with the Abyssinians and Mighty Diamonds (photo left above). I did not know that Mighty Diamonds member Lloyd Ferguson was a founding member of the Twelve Tribes group within Rastafari (back in 1968). Abyssinians member Donald Manning explained what Rastafari meant to him, and
argued justly that Rastafari is about knowledge, and not just about hair. Veteran deejay Big Youth explained how he was early in starting to deejay about “conscious” Rastafari themes, and related about the Jamaican music scene, e.g. how many producers (“criminals”) tricked artists like him.
There were also movies shown at the House of Rastafari, some of which I’ve seen already, or at the cultural centre.
All in all the debates and other things I attended added to an overall enjoyable experience for me at the festival, along with going to several great concerts.
(See also my YouTube page - http://www.youtube.nl/MichelConci - for video fragments I recorded of concerts)
This was the 17th time it was held, but the place it has been held – the 16 times before it – used to be in northeastern Italy, near Udine, on the foot of the Alpine mountains. The reason for the location change seems to relate to recently more repressive Berlusconian policies against (among other things?) the overt marijuana smoking on the festival.
Now the setting changed to the Spanish Mediterranean coast, but the main ingredients of the festival remained more or less the same. These are 8 days of concerts on larger and smaller stages, debates, sound systems, films, stands, shops, workshops, food…you done know.
The common theme: reggae of course, and related aspects. Rastafari(anism) got understandable attention, but also progressive social movements, such as related to various developing countries, and, well, also marijuana and the desirability of its legalization.
The line-up of artists performing, especially on the main stage, were (mainly Jamaican) reggae artists of note: Anthony B, Bob Andy, Bushman, Marcia Griffiths, the Abyssinians, Pablo Moses, the Mighty Diamonds, Etana, Jah Mason, Fantan Mojah, Max Romeo, Alpha Blondy, Glen Washington, Chuck Fenda, Wayne Wonder, and Busy Signal (and others). Overall to my opinion an adequate mix of old and new roots reggae, as well as dancehall singers and deejays.
I’ve been to many of these concerts and enjoyed most of them. I rocked my body line! Personally I enjoyed most the Abyssinians’ show (on the final day), as well as earlier in the festival Anthony B, Bushman, Pablo Moses, Bob Andy, and Etana. I have for instance never seen Pablo Moses or Bob Andy (photo left/above) live before, so that’s an extra.
On the smaller stages and venues mostly European reggae or ska bands performed, relatively often Spanish and Italian bands, but further from various countries (there was even an European reggae band contest). Some weren’t even that bad. I especially enjoyed the sound of a regional Valencian band, and of 2 Andalusian sisters (named the Real Sisters) who stayed truer to the reggae roots, unlike vague, party vibe bands mixing reggae-like music not always effectively with other genres like salsa or ska.
My primary reason for visiting was my love for reggae music. As an Amsterdam resident finding a place to freely smoke marijuana - if that were my wish - is not that spectacular to me. I don’t judge people who find that important, though. I draw the line at cocaine or excessive strong drink use, both hard drugs in my opinion.
Apart from the music, which had more than enough to offer that I surely liked and loved, I also experienced the vibe, the general atmosphere, observed other visitors, the debates, and the entire organization. Let’s start with the main thing for me, the music. Then comes the rest.
MUSIC
I am more into roots reggae than dancehall, but can enjoy some inventive or well-written dancehall. Especially when it’s not too fast. The concerts I enjoyed most were thus roots, or roots dancehall. Even when accompanied largely by European, white reggae musicians (seemingly making it less authentic), such as from
Switzerland or France, the concerts were outstanding by Bushman and Pablo Moses (photo left). My compliments for the French (from Toulon) musicians of the band No More Babylon for keeping up with real reggae. Anthony B, Bob Andy, Marcia Griffiths, Etana, and the Abyssinians had Jamaican musicians accompanying them, so it’s not all cheapness of the organization, luckily. Anthony B was fire (or: fya)!
The Abyssinians (photo left under) with the Jamaican Live Wya band, had one of the best concerts: good sound, good songs, good vocals, good musicianship. Good show, all in all. I am more or less an Abyssinians fan so I could sing all songs along, while rocking along.
The Mighty Diamonds concert was fine, but main singer, with a beautiful singing voice, Donald Shaw (Tabby Diamond), could not make it (due to “Babylon visa problems”), leaving the performance to the mostly backing singers, Fitzroy Simpson and Lloyd Ferguson. Still, the strength of the songs of the Mighty Diamonds (their main strength I think) shone through. The main songwriter was present, that is Fitzroy Simpson, for me a legend in his own right. Further, Etana also showed to be a talented lady singer.
On the dancehall/deejaying side of things my experiences were varying. I guess jump-up sessions are not my thing, and I find them monotonous. I enjoy dancing more to one-drop or rockers reggae. Others in the audience seemed to like the jump-up sessions: chaqu’un son gout. (or since it was in Spain:
cada uno su gusto).Fantan Mojah and Chuck Fenda had for that reason – and for too much interruptions – mediocre performances. While Wayne Wonder (photo left/above) also had a dancehall vibe, but to my opinion a nicer (singing, soulful) one. Busy Signal is “digital” heavy dancehall. Let’s just say that this is not my cup of tea. Glen Washington was nice but not spectacular, maybe due to lesser (in this case European) musicians, as well as Jah Mason.
Other concerts (I’ve seen so many) were also solid, such as of Big Youth (though it began somewhat late: about 02.00 at night), Marcia Griffiths (photo left), and newcomer Romain Virgo.
I did not see Italian/Sicilian reggae artist Alborosie, because that was on the only day of the festival I did not go (not even only at evening), so others may judge that.
Like I mentioned there were some interesting European reggae bands, while several sound systems (mostly European) played here and there, but I attended only a few. I guess I focused on the main stage
FESTIVAL
I noticed different remarkable things on the festival terrain. First, there were so many shops and stands.
More than I thought there would be. You can consider this commercial, but some had interesting Rastafari-inspired items or clothes I seldom find elsewhere.
Another thing: I have never seen so many white people with dreadlocks in one place before in my life! Visitors were relatively often Italians (I would say about half, due to the festival’s organizers and former venue), so these white dreads were often Italians, though I encountered quite some Spanish dreads, as well as from France, Germany or elsewhere. Black dreads, be it African or Caribbean, were not absent (apart from genuine artists), but were not too numerous.
Note that I use the word “dreads” for dreadlocked persons, and not Rastas, because Rasta is a mental thing, which goes of course beyond the superficiality of a hairdo. Even if the locks reach to one’s middle or are well-maintained: that does not mean a thing. You have to know a person to know whether he/she is a true, “conscious” Rastaman or Rastawoman.
The audience was not really unified and tended to be divided in separate sections. Friends with friends, Italians with Italians etcetera. This was a pity, but maybe it’s in part because of the language barrier. I hoped for interesting discussions on relative preferences within reggae, how other people came to reggae, such as I have had in the Netherlands, but these remained unfortunately limited.
Maybe the festival context was not the right occasion for that. Many went to party, smoke a lot of weed, and listen to reggae, of which they often even didn’t know too much beyond a few Bob Marley songs, and maybe Max Romeo’s Chase The Devil (a good song, I don’t contest it). But that differs, I think, from person to person, or from age to age maybe, and I must respect differences. Some dreadlocked persons (with also Rasta-like clothing) even did not seem to care what occurred on/came from the stage, even during the outstanding roots concerts, but I’m not in their head. Maybe they were tired, or smoked too much mediocre bush weed.
Maybe they were also annoyed by the hot weather (about 35 degrees Celsius by day), and found it difficult to adapt to after (near to) Alpine Northern Italy.
There was also a Reggae University, which I visited on some occasions. Debates on social movements in Latin America, other developing countries, Berlusconi, activities of NGOs, poverty, press freedom, showing the “reggae scene” as in a sense related to a left-wing, progressive border-crossing alliance.
There were also debates on reggae and reggae history in the strict sense, however, such as on early deejaying in Jamaica, with artists like Big Youth attending, sound systems, dancehall culture and dancing in present-day Jamaica, Rastafari and reggae, with members of the Abyssinians and the Mighty Diamonds participating. I found these discussions interesting, especially the one with the Abyssinians and Mighty Diamonds (photo left above). I did not know that Mighty Diamonds member Lloyd Ferguson was a founding member of the Twelve Tribes group within Rastafari (back in 1968). Abyssinians member Donald Manning explained what Rastafari meant to him, and
argued justly that Rastafari is about knowledge, and not just about hair. Veteran deejay Big Youth explained how he was early in starting to deejay about “conscious” Rastafari themes, and related about the Jamaican music scene, e.g. how many producers (“criminals”) tricked artists like him.There were also movies shown at the House of Rastafari, some of which I’ve seen already, or at the cultural centre.
All in all the debates and other things I attended added to an overall enjoyable experience for me at the festival, along with going to several great concerts.
(See also my YouTube page - http://www.youtube.nl/MichelConci - for video fragments I recorded of concerts)
woensdag 14 juli 2010
De Kom en Garvey relatief
Voor mijn werk bij het KITLV schreef ik een persbericht voor de Neder-L website (elektronisch tijdschrift voor de neerlandistiek) over Anton de Kom en diens werk ‘Wij slaven van Suriname’ (1934). Dit was in ‘t bulletin van de site van april 2010, naar aanleiding van de ook op de caraibischeletteren.blogspot.com besproken aflevering van tijdschrift OSO (april 2010) (zie: http://caraibischeletteren.blogspot.com/2010/06/de-turbulente-biografie-van-een-boek.html).
Zie voor persbericht:
http://www.neder-l.nl/bulletin/2010/04/100412.html
Een goede manier om OSO en KITLV te promoten/onder de aandacht te brengen. Dat was natuurlijk het doel.
Zoals het een professional behoort te betamen probeerde ik een correcte, zorgvuldige, en goed leesbare tekst te schrijven.
In ieder geval koos ik mijn woorden zorgvuldig, en ik heb het herhaaldelijk gelezen.
Ik wil nu één zin eruit halen waarbij ik Anton de Kom niet alleen in een breder Surinaams of historisch kader plaatste, maar tevens in een breder Caraïbisch kader. Het betreft de zin:
“Als aanklacht tegen koloniale onderdrukking en slavernij, pleitte de schrijver Anton de Kom verder voor zwart zelfbewustzijn, organisatie, en proletarische eenheid. Met zijn aanklachten was De Kom er relatief vroeg bij en past daarom in het rijtje van Caraïbische voorvechters van bevrijding en zelfrespect, zoals Marcus Garvey, C.L.R. James, Eric Williams en Aimé Césaire”.
“Er relatief vroeg bij” klinkt genuanceerd en is ook zo bedoeld. Woorden als “relatief” - Wikipedia-beheerders/redacteuren noemen dergelijke termen hardvochtig “weasel words” - ondermijnen de stelligheid van het geschrevene, waardoor de tekst wat minder pakkend wordt, maar in een wetenschappelijke context leek mij dat minder bezwaarlijk.
Bovendien is het correct. Kenners van de Caraïbische geschiedenis zullen weten dat sommige van de genoemde namen er zelfs - hoewel niet veel - “later” bij waren: hun emancipatorische, zwart bewustzijn “standaard” werken verschenen later dan ‘Wij Slaven van Suriname’ van De Kom.
Interessant is echter dat De Kom op zijn beurt meldde beïnvloed te zijn door Marcus Garvey. Deze was er wel “eerder bij”. Garvey leidde een volksbeweging van zwarte Amerikanen in de VS die snel groeide vanaf ongeveer 1917, met internationale vertakkingen (ook in Suriname). Garvey’s organisatie - de Univeral Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) - wees qua naam al op het internationale karakter en oogmerk ervan.
Op de beïnvloeding van De Kom door Marcus Garvey – hoewel zeer interessant – ga ik hier verder niet op in. Dat kunnen anderen beter onderzoeken of inschatten op basis van reeds verricht onderzoek.
Marcus Garvey wilde de positie van zwarten in de Amerika’s verbeteren door organisatie, het vergroten van zelfrespect, maar ook door middel van een focus op het moederland Afrika: dat moest bevrijd worden van kolonialisme om een plek te worden waarnaar de zwarten konden terugkeren (repatriëring), en om als machtsbasis in de wereld te dienen. Garvey heeft zeker analytisch nagedacht over de geopolitieke component hiervan, zodat het niet alleen als een romantische droom betiteld kan worden.
Als reggae-fan kwam ik de naam Marcus Garvey al vaker tegen in reggae-teksten: Bob Marley, Burning Spear, Culture, Mighty Diamonds en andere artiesten verwezen naar Garvey, die overigens ook een national hero van Jamaica is. Zijn rol in het leiden van zwarte mensen, pleiten voor terugkeer naar Afrika, en zwart zelfrespect werd mij al jong in grote lijnen duidelijk, ook door achtergrondinformatie (toen nog via de openbare bibliotheek in plaats van Internet).
Die persoonlijke interesse - los ook van het professionele – bleef bij mij, mede door mijn gebleven interesse (vooruit: liefde) voor reggae muziek en Rastafari-gerelateerde thema’s.
Een zeer goed leesbare biografie van Marcus Garvey verscheen in 2008, ‘Negro with a hat : the rise and fall of Marcus Garvey’ door Colin Grant, een Brit van Jamaicaanse afkomst.
Ik heb dit boek met veel plezier gelezen. Grant heeft een plezierige, verhelderende schrijftrant met een subtiel gevoel voor humor en ironie. Hij plaatst Garvey’s leven en activiteiten naar mijn idee goed in verschillende contexten. Hoe Garvey als Jamaicaanse immigrant in de VS vanaf 1917 een grote beweging van zwarten in de VS kon leiden, zijn ambitieuze plannen en ondernemingen die soms mislukten, inhoudelijke en persoonlijke conflicten met andere zwarte en gekleurde leiders als W.E.B. Dubois. Zijn visie op andere stromingen in de tijd (wit racisme, maar ook communisme, gelijke rechten in de VS, de arbeidersbeweging etcetera). Al dit levert fascinerende informatie op, en een goed beeld van tegenstellingen.
Het zegt echter ook veel over de persoon Marcus Garvey, en het pleit voor de biograaf Grant dat hij die persoonlijke aspecten geenszins schuwt. Je komt veel over Garvey als persoon te weten en niet alleen als ideoloog of “denker”. Die zaken scheiden krijgt immers al snel iets onechts.
Aandacht geeft Grant aan Garvey’s vroege jeugd in het Jamaicaanse stadje St Ann’s Bay, armoede, contacten, hoe hij veel kon lezen in bibliotheken. Zijn latere vertrek naar de hoofdstad Kingston, en nog latere reizen door Centraal-Amerika, het Caraïbisch gebied, en meerdere Europese landen. Hoe al dit hem levenslessen bood en zijn denkbeelden deed vormen. Het deed Garvey vooral de noodzaak inzien van een verbetering van de internationale positie van onderdrukte zwarten.
Zoals elk mens herbergde Garvey verder ook tegenstrijdigheden en twijfels in zich, “blinde vlekken” en wellicht ook obsessies. Hij kon ook af en toe wantrouwend, rancuneus of verongelijkt zijn, ondanks zijn streven naar een zekere rationaliteit. Juist dit maakte hem menselijker en dus sympathieker als persoon. En begrijpelijker.
Zijn fulmineren tegen Europees kolonialisme liet bijvoorbeeld onverlet dat zijn onderwijs in Jamaica – wat hij dus meekreeg – wel erg Brits-koloniaal en Eurocentrisch was. Jamaica was toen immers nog een Britse kolonie. Garvey werd daar onvermijdelijk door beïnvloed, maar groeide er ook overheen. Hij bewonderde in zekere zin Napoleon Bonaparte, maar later ook Toussaint Louverture. Hij respecteerde echter ook blanke “self-made men”, zelfs met dubieuze denkbeelden, zoals Henry Ford.
Dat ongrijpbare komt goed over in het boek. Een vat vol tegenstrijdigheden was Garvey wellicht te noemen. Dit stond echter los van zijn constante redeneringen op een aantal belangrijke punten.
Rastafari-aanhangers, voor wie Garvey als een belangrijke profeet geldt, waarderen de meeste van zijn acties en ideeën, maar zullen sommige acties en uitingen wellicht minder waarderen. Garvey was eerst lovend over de in 1930 gekroonde Ethiopische keizer Haile Selassie, ook als voorbeeld voor zwart Afrika, en zei dat deze waardige vorst veel gunstiger afstak dan de Italiaanse fascistische leider en “bully” Mussolini, die Ethiopië in 1935 bruut binnenviel. Later echter werd hij kritischer over Selassie en bekritiseerde zijn slappe houding tegenover Mussolini’s invasie, en het feit dat Selassie zich teveel verbond met Europese leiders en te weinig breder zwart en Afrikaans verzet organiseerde. Het deed hem zelfs positieve opmerkingen over de “bully” Mussolini maken, die tenminste “manhood” toonde met de invasie.
Er zullen ook Rastafari zijn die Garvey’s aanhangen van het rooms-katholicisme niet helemaal zullen kunnen volgen, hoewel Garvey tegelijkertijd ook kritisch was en bleef over de “blanke” geschiedvervalsing en interpretatie van het Christendom.
In de VS leidde zijn geuite waardering voor de “eerlijkheid” (open in plaats van verborgen racisme) van de Klu Klux Klan (en verwante racisten) tot onbegrip bij een deel van de zwarten. Garvey zou zelfs een ontmoeting hebben gehad met de Klu Klux Klan-leider voor een “mutually beneficial” geografische scheiding van wit en zwart.
In zijn persoonlijk leven waren er echter relatief weinig wangedragingen bekend geworden. Zelfs in die mate dat FBI-leider J. Edgar Hoover - hevig op zoek naar iets illegaals om de lastpost Garvey op te kunnen pakken - tot zijn frustratie niets onwettelijks vond om de man zonder VS-paspoort (hij was Brits onderdaan) te kunnen arresteren en uitzetten naar Jamaica. Dat lukte pas in een later stadium.
Garvey was twee keer getrouwd met intellectuele en zelfstandige vrouwen (wat naar mijn idee voor hem pleit) - ook uit “de beweging” - en het eerste huwelijk ging mis. Conservatieve, Victoriaanse huwelijkswaarden waren er nog wel bij Garvey tijdens het eerste huwelijk, maar dat is een klein, en gezien zijn opleiding begrijpelijk defect. Het macho-denken bij Garvey leek al met al - in tekst en daad - relatief beperkt, ondanks zijn prijzen van “manhood” bij dubieuze mannen als Mussolini.
Werk en “the Black cause” gingen bij Garvey echter wel vaak voor het gezin en ook andere familie. Men vond bijvoorbeeld in Jamaica dat Garvey te weinig voor zijn verarmde, ouder wordende vader in Jamaica zorgde, financieel gezien. “Mijn vader heeft ook niets voor mij gedaan”, was zijn verontwaardigde respons. Wellicht onbehoorlijk in conservatieve oren, maar wel weer menselijk.
Zijn moeder was voordat Marcus migreerde al overleden: aan een hersenbloeding. Daaraan zou ook Marcus later zelf overlijden, op 52-jarige leeftijd, in 1940. Garvey woonde toen zo’n vijf jaar in Londen en zijn invloed was inmiddels beperkter.
Na zijn opsluiting in en later (in 1927) uitzetting uit de VS (uiteindelijk gepakt op “mail fraud”), ontplooide hij wat initiatieven in Jamaica, richtte een politieke partij op, maar bereikte minder dan hij wilde. Hij werd ook tegengewerkt. Hij verhuisde toen maar naar Londen, in 1935.
Hij had toen echter al vele mensen beïnvloed, en het zwart bewustzijn en Pan-Afrikaanse denken doen toenemen. Die invloed bleek blijvend en wereldwijd: bij Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Kwame Nkrumah, onafhankelijkheidsbewegingen in Afrika, sommige sociale bewegingen in het Caraïbisch gebied, de Rastafari, maar ook dus Anton de Kom die naast door communisme (waar Garvey minder in geloofde) eerder al door Garvey was beïnvloed..
Deze biografie van Garvey, getiteld ‘Negro with a hat’ (de wat merkwaardige titel wordt al lezende verklaard), van Colin Grant, is hoe dan ook een aanrader. Het geeft een goed beeld van zowel een interessante intellectueel, een historisch vernieuwend en invloedrijk gedachtegoed, alsmede van een boeiende persoonlijkheid.
BOEKGEGEVENS:
Negro with a hat : the rise and fall of Marcus Garvey: Colin Grant . – 530 p. – Oxford : Oxford University Press, 2008. ISBN: 0-19-536794-4, 978-0-19-536794-2
Zie voor persbericht:
http://www.neder-l.nl/bulletin/2010/04/100412.html
Een goede manier om OSO en KITLV te promoten/onder de aandacht te brengen. Dat was natuurlijk het doel.
Zoals het een professional behoort te betamen probeerde ik een correcte, zorgvuldige, en goed leesbare tekst te schrijven.
In ieder geval koos ik mijn woorden zorgvuldig, en ik heb het herhaaldelijk gelezen.
Ik wil nu één zin eruit halen waarbij ik Anton de Kom niet alleen in een breder Surinaams of historisch kader plaatste, maar tevens in een breder Caraïbisch kader. Het betreft de zin:
“Als aanklacht tegen koloniale onderdrukking en slavernij, pleitte de schrijver Anton de Kom verder voor zwart zelfbewustzijn, organisatie, en proletarische eenheid. Met zijn aanklachten was De Kom er relatief vroeg bij en past daarom in het rijtje van Caraïbische voorvechters van bevrijding en zelfrespect, zoals Marcus Garvey, C.L.R. James, Eric Williams en Aimé Césaire”.
“Er relatief vroeg bij” klinkt genuanceerd en is ook zo bedoeld. Woorden als “relatief” - Wikipedia-beheerders/redacteuren noemen dergelijke termen hardvochtig “weasel words” - ondermijnen de stelligheid van het geschrevene, waardoor de tekst wat minder pakkend wordt, maar in een wetenschappelijke context leek mij dat minder bezwaarlijk.
Bovendien is het correct. Kenners van de Caraïbische geschiedenis zullen weten dat sommige van de genoemde namen er zelfs - hoewel niet veel - “later” bij waren: hun emancipatorische, zwart bewustzijn “standaard” werken verschenen later dan ‘Wij Slaven van Suriname’ van De Kom.
Interessant is echter dat De Kom op zijn beurt meldde beïnvloed te zijn door Marcus Garvey. Deze was er wel “eerder bij”. Garvey leidde een volksbeweging van zwarte Amerikanen in de VS die snel groeide vanaf ongeveer 1917, met internationale vertakkingen (ook in Suriname). Garvey’s organisatie - de Univeral Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) - wees qua naam al op het internationale karakter en oogmerk ervan.
Op de beïnvloeding van De Kom door Marcus Garvey – hoewel zeer interessant – ga ik hier verder niet op in. Dat kunnen anderen beter onderzoeken of inschatten op basis van reeds verricht onderzoek.
Marcus Garvey wilde de positie van zwarten in de Amerika’s verbeteren door organisatie, het vergroten van zelfrespect, maar ook door middel van een focus op het moederland Afrika: dat moest bevrijd worden van kolonialisme om een plek te worden waarnaar de zwarten konden terugkeren (repatriëring), en om als machtsbasis in de wereld te dienen. Garvey heeft zeker analytisch nagedacht over de geopolitieke component hiervan, zodat het niet alleen als een romantische droom betiteld kan worden.
Als reggae-fan kwam ik de naam Marcus Garvey al vaker tegen in reggae-teksten: Bob Marley, Burning Spear, Culture, Mighty Diamonds en andere artiesten verwezen naar Garvey, die overigens ook een national hero van Jamaica is. Zijn rol in het leiden van zwarte mensen, pleiten voor terugkeer naar Afrika, en zwart zelfrespect werd mij al jong in grote lijnen duidelijk, ook door achtergrondinformatie (toen nog via de openbare bibliotheek in plaats van Internet).
Die persoonlijke interesse - los ook van het professionele – bleef bij mij, mede door mijn gebleven interesse (vooruit: liefde) voor reggae muziek en Rastafari-gerelateerde thema’s.
Een zeer goed leesbare biografie van Marcus Garvey verscheen in 2008, ‘Negro with a hat : the rise and fall of Marcus Garvey’ door Colin Grant, een Brit van Jamaicaanse afkomst.
Ik heb dit boek met veel plezier gelezen. Grant heeft een plezierige, verhelderende schrijftrant met een subtiel gevoel voor humor en ironie. Hij plaatst Garvey’s leven en activiteiten naar mijn idee goed in verschillende contexten. Hoe Garvey als Jamaicaanse immigrant in de VS vanaf 1917 een grote beweging van zwarten in de VS kon leiden, zijn ambitieuze plannen en ondernemingen die soms mislukten, inhoudelijke en persoonlijke conflicten met andere zwarte en gekleurde leiders als W.E.B. Dubois. Zijn visie op andere stromingen in de tijd (wit racisme, maar ook communisme, gelijke rechten in de VS, de arbeidersbeweging etcetera). Al dit levert fascinerende informatie op, en een goed beeld van tegenstellingen.
Het zegt echter ook veel over de persoon Marcus Garvey, en het pleit voor de biograaf Grant dat hij die persoonlijke aspecten geenszins schuwt. Je komt veel over Garvey als persoon te weten en niet alleen als ideoloog of “denker”. Die zaken scheiden krijgt immers al snel iets onechts.
Aandacht geeft Grant aan Garvey’s vroege jeugd in het Jamaicaanse stadje St Ann’s Bay, armoede, contacten, hoe hij veel kon lezen in bibliotheken. Zijn latere vertrek naar de hoofdstad Kingston, en nog latere reizen door Centraal-Amerika, het Caraïbisch gebied, en meerdere Europese landen. Hoe al dit hem levenslessen bood en zijn denkbeelden deed vormen. Het deed Garvey vooral de noodzaak inzien van een verbetering van de internationale positie van onderdrukte zwarten.
Zoals elk mens herbergde Garvey verder ook tegenstrijdigheden en twijfels in zich, “blinde vlekken” en wellicht ook obsessies. Hij kon ook af en toe wantrouwend, rancuneus of verongelijkt zijn, ondanks zijn streven naar een zekere rationaliteit. Juist dit maakte hem menselijker en dus sympathieker als persoon. En begrijpelijker.
Zijn fulmineren tegen Europees kolonialisme liet bijvoorbeeld onverlet dat zijn onderwijs in Jamaica – wat hij dus meekreeg – wel erg Brits-koloniaal en Eurocentrisch was. Jamaica was toen immers nog een Britse kolonie. Garvey werd daar onvermijdelijk door beïnvloed, maar groeide er ook overheen. Hij bewonderde in zekere zin Napoleon Bonaparte, maar later ook Toussaint Louverture. Hij respecteerde echter ook blanke “self-made men”, zelfs met dubieuze denkbeelden, zoals Henry Ford.
Dat ongrijpbare komt goed over in het boek. Een vat vol tegenstrijdigheden was Garvey wellicht te noemen. Dit stond echter los van zijn constante redeneringen op een aantal belangrijke punten.
Rastafari-aanhangers, voor wie Garvey als een belangrijke profeet geldt, waarderen de meeste van zijn acties en ideeën, maar zullen sommige acties en uitingen wellicht minder waarderen. Garvey was eerst lovend over de in 1930 gekroonde Ethiopische keizer Haile Selassie, ook als voorbeeld voor zwart Afrika, en zei dat deze waardige vorst veel gunstiger afstak dan de Italiaanse fascistische leider en “bully” Mussolini, die Ethiopië in 1935 bruut binnenviel. Later echter werd hij kritischer over Selassie en bekritiseerde zijn slappe houding tegenover Mussolini’s invasie, en het feit dat Selassie zich teveel verbond met Europese leiders en te weinig breder zwart en Afrikaans verzet organiseerde. Het deed hem zelfs positieve opmerkingen over de “bully” Mussolini maken, die tenminste “manhood” toonde met de invasie.
Er zullen ook Rastafari zijn die Garvey’s aanhangen van het rooms-katholicisme niet helemaal zullen kunnen volgen, hoewel Garvey tegelijkertijd ook kritisch was en bleef over de “blanke” geschiedvervalsing en interpretatie van het Christendom.
In de VS leidde zijn geuite waardering voor de “eerlijkheid” (open in plaats van verborgen racisme) van de Klu Klux Klan (en verwante racisten) tot onbegrip bij een deel van de zwarten. Garvey zou zelfs een ontmoeting hebben gehad met de Klu Klux Klan-leider voor een “mutually beneficial” geografische scheiding van wit en zwart.
In zijn persoonlijk leven waren er echter relatief weinig wangedragingen bekend geworden. Zelfs in die mate dat FBI-leider J. Edgar Hoover - hevig op zoek naar iets illegaals om de lastpost Garvey op te kunnen pakken - tot zijn frustratie niets onwettelijks vond om de man zonder VS-paspoort (hij was Brits onderdaan) te kunnen arresteren en uitzetten naar Jamaica. Dat lukte pas in een later stadium.
Garvey was twee keer getrouwd met intellectuele en zelfstandige vrouwen (wat naar mijn idee voor hem pleit) - ook uit “de beweging” - en het eerste huwelijk ging mis. Conservatieve, Victoriaanse huwelijkswaarden waren er nog wel bij Garvey tijdens het eerste huwelijk, maar dat is een klein, en gezien zijn opleiding begrijpelijk defect. Het macho-denken bij Garvey leek al met al - in tekst en daad - relatief beperkt, ondanks zijn prijzen van “manhood” bij dubieuze mannen als Mussolini.
Werk en “the Black cause” gingen bij Garvey echter wel vaak voor het gezin en ook andere familie. Men vond bijvoorbeeld in Jamaica dat Garvey te weinig voor zijn verarmde, ouder wordende vader in Jamaica zorgde, financieel gezien. “Mijn vader heeft ook niets voor mij gedaan”, was zijn verontwaardigde respons. Wellicht onbehoorlijk in conservatieve oren, maar wel weer menselijk.
Zijn moeder was voordat Marcus migreerde al overleden: aan een hersenbloeding. Daaraan zou ook Marcus later zelf overlijden, op 52-jarige leeftijd, in 1940. Garvey woonde toen zo’n vijf jaar in Londen en zijn invloed was inmiddels beperkter.
Na zijn opsluiting in en later (in 1927) uitzetting uit de VS (uiteindelijk gepakt op “mail fraud”), ontplooide hij wat initiatieven in Jamaica, richtte een politieke partij op, maar bereikte minder dan hij wilde. Hij werd ook tegengewerkt. Hij verhuisde toen maar naar Londen, in 1935.
Hij had toen echter al vele mensen beïnvloed, en het zwart bewustzijn en Pan-Afrikaanse denken doen toenemen. Die invloed bleek blijvend en wereldwijd: bij Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Kwame Nkrumah, onafhankelijkheidsbewegingen in Afrika, sommige sociale bewegingen in het Caraïbisch gebied, de Rastafari, maar ook dus Anton de Kom die naast door communisme (waar Garvey minder in geloofde) eerder al door Garvey was beïnvloed..
Deze biografie van Garvey, getiteld ‘Negro with a hat’ (de wat merkwaardige titel wordt al lezende verklaard), van Colin Grant, is hoe dan ook een aanrader. Het geeft een goed beeld van zowel een interessante intellectueel, een historisch vernieuwend en invloedrijk gedachtegoed, alsmede van een boeiende persoonlijkheid.
BOEKGEGEVENS:
Negro with a hat : the rise and fall of Marcus Garvey: Colin Grant . – 530 p. – Oxford : Oxford University Press, 2008. ISBN: 0-19-536794-4, 978-0-19-536794-2
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