James Brown and reggae

‘The One : the life and music of James Brown’ (published in 2012) is a biography on James Brown: it digs deep, while staying humorous. It’s loose yet serious. Engagingly written: partly anecdotic but without losing sight of the bigger story and themes. In other words: it’s a kind of biography I like. Now, it is a fact that I have a liking and strong personal interest for certain biographies, and of course especially of musicians I like the work of, but there may be writers out there able to mess up an interesting life story with poor writing or the wrong (research) priorities. This was not the case with this well-written biography.

PSYCHOLOGY

It was engagingly written, and the author, R.J. Smith, seems to have a particular interest for individual psychology of especially Brown, as well as persons around him. He describes this well. Smith is in my opinion less successful in this work in evoking visual images: description of specific places, or venues, landscapes, cityscapes and such. He seems more internally than externally focused. This tips the balance to good writing more than enough, however, so as to engage me throughout. He does this also with a good sense of humour. The inner life and behaviour of Brown, and how this relates to his life philosophy, provide an intriguing read. This is also the case because I knew some things about Brown, heard before through other media: controversies in his life, conflicts with other musicians, his strict discipline for his band, trouble with the law, his controversial support of President Nixon and in part the Republicans, and his belief in do-it-yourself capitalism.

In this book this is put adequately in the proper, broader context. This starts with his growing up in the racially segregated South as relatively dark-skinned, and in poverty, as well as amidst criminals. Indeed Brown himself got involved in petty crime (stealing) as well, and spent as a youngster time in detention. Brown’s growing up and rearing by his family seemed to have variated between negligence, discipline, and violence. Less constant and present were love and lasting care: this must have formed him. More than cynical, this made him distrustful (which is not the same).

SELF-ASSURED

I think that in Brown’s youth a foundation was laid for a crucial - and widely known - trait of Brown: his well-developed ego. His later monikers – most probably coined by himself – “the Hardest Working Man in Show Business” (the adding of “in show business” makes it actually kind of funny..), “Godfather of Soul”, “Soul Brother Number One”, and more, further attest to this. You can call it self-assured, or boastful, even megalomania, but what it essentially comes down to is this: survival. This book made this clear: survival physically, but as well survival of his personhood, of his basic dignity: always threatened to be denied by people around him, both white and black.

Jamaican thinker Marcus Garvey - the early Black Power activist - said that: “Without confidence in self you are twice defeated in the race of life. With confidence you have won even before you have started”. This seems to apply to James Brown. Smith mentions Marcus Garvey further in this work as well. He compares Brown in a sense with Garvey in relation to the several business ventures that Brown started, but that failed due to his mistrust of others he worked with. Smith sees a similarity with Garvey’s ambitious Black Star Liner project in the 1920s, that ultimately also failed.

I think that in line with his other character traits, Brown was indeed often distrustful of people around him. This also developed in his younger days, I suppose. Due to this mistrust, he did not think equal relationships with people would fulfil his personhood, but rather destroy or limit it. Illustrative of this is his expression “Jump back, I wanna kiss myself”. He repeated this in songs and on stage (and was parodied by Eddy Murphy). Brown felt saver detached – and above – other people: above both white and black people.

This was not in any way out of racial shame: neither did he see the white man as more than him, so he had some genuine Black Power ideas “avant la lettre” (the term as such was popularized in the later 1960s by the Black Panthers and Stokeley Carmichael). This was, however, in a very individualistic way: Brown was not a group or collectivist thinker.

At a later stage, when he had become more famous, he put himself on the same level – mentally – as the president of the US. He did not know his place. I myself tend to admire to a degree people going against the grain, ready to face consequences by not knowing their place, not doing what is expected of them. This was also admirable in Brown, and also the reason why he had so much musical influence. For the genres soul as well as funk he was a crucial originating figure, precisely because he took new routes to distinguish himself as a musician.

RHYTHM

A very important, much-used term in this book is “rhythm”. James Brown’s music was relatively rhythm-focussed, and he was also stimulating this, by introducing innovations over time: the accent on the One (of 4/4) for musicians, and the importance of drums. Brown in time started to use two, not one, drummers and two drum kits, on stage and for recording, complementing each other. Related to this is his strong passion for dancing, since he was a child, even performing at a young age as a dancer. It helped make him more self-assured. Just like confidence, dance and music helped him “survive”. The three were interrelated.

The dancing is an interesting parallel with what I read in another biography, by David Katz: of reggae legend Lee “Scratch” Perry (which I discussed elsewhere on this blog, see post of August, 2012). Like Brown, Perry was also a dancer as a youth – even winning dance contests – before he really entered the music business of Jamaica. You know how to make good music - with good rhythms - when you know how to dance to it. Self-evident but nonetheless a truth.

Like in other biographies of musicians, Smith refers to specific songs and their creative context and specific historic importance. That is good reading. Today, with YouTube, these can also be easily checked, adding extra value. He points at songs of Brown considered “early or pre-funk”, songs that pioneered Brown’s rhythmic focus, the latter being his hit song ‘Out of Sight’ from 1964. That song still had some Rhythm & Blues (R&B) characteristics, but also meant a shift. It was in turn a forebode to his even “funkier” song ‘Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag’ (1965).

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JAMES BROWN AND REGGAE

I am primarily a reggae fan myself. I have been so for over 25 years now. This does not mean that it was all I listened too during that time, of course. I listened to some James Brown songs and albums, and liked the funky grooves and soulful singing. There was also some hip-hop I liked, that often recycled elements of James Brown’s music. These share with reggae that they are Black Music genres, but there are more connections between James Brown and reggae.

In the recent biography of Brown by Smith this is not ignored. Smith says on the matter that Bob Marley asked producer Lee “Scratch” Perry to make him sound like James Brown, apparently influencing Jamaican musicians by then (the 1970s). No conflict there, I think, because in David Katz’s biography of Perry it was mentioned that James Brown was also one of the heroes of Perry himself. Before this, also some Jamaican drummers and others since the 1960s were influenced partly by James Brown’s music. Not that surprising in light of the continuous influence from US Black Music on ska, rocksteady, and reggae. While earlier soul groups like the Impressions influenced some Jamaican artists, the edgier, groovy funk influenced other artists later, especially after reggae originated in 1968.

In my previous blog I mentioned that an Afro-Jamaican (percussive) base was another strong influence on Jamaican music. This is one of the reasons that it is wrong to see reggae or other Jamaican genres as Caribbean offshoots of US Black Music. They stand as original by themselves, while absorbing partly some R&B, soul, and funk influences. These were however creatively absorbed in a Caribbean/Jamaican musical context.

That being said: the connections with other, US, Black music genres remained important: related to ethnicity, language, a shared history of slavery, culture, or comparable social positions. Significantly in this light: while blues and rhythm & blues from the South of the US were also popular among the Jamaican populace in the 1950s, when the (“whiter"/country-influenced) offshoot rock & roll became more popular in the US, Jamaicans lost interest and developed their own styles/genres, loosely based on R & B, along with Afro-Jamaican music etcetera: thus they originated ska, to begin with, around 1960. And the rest is history...

Interest in US Black music later shifted among Jamaicans to some soul, and later funk: including James Brown. It is essentially a black connection. Also James Brown’s ‘I’m Black and I’m proud’ message resonated well with the conscious-minded reggae of the Roots Reggae era since around 1972. James Brown influenced a part of the “feel”, more extrovert, of reggae and roots reggae, also musically. I notice this in a funky feel in some songs by different artists. There are however not too many James Brown covers I know of in reggae. I know of some Marvin Gaye covers in reggae, of songs of the Impressions, Curtis Mayfield, other soul singers, for some reason several of Bob Dylan, even of Elvis Presley, and others, but not so much of James Brown. Yet, Brown’s influence was there.

I notice this influence – to give an example - in the musically somewhat funky song ‘Jah Jah gonna get you’ by the Twinkle Brothers, from their album Rasta Pon Top (1975). It has a groove similar to many of James Brown’s tunes.. Funny how lead singer Norman Grant even seems to include some James Brown-ish “screams” into the vocals, but that may be coincidence..

Smith in his biography on Brown also mentions how the record presses of King Records - used for James Brown songs - were after King Records was sold, shipped off to and bought by interested parties in Jamaica: so there is also a musical “hardware” connection.

Interestingly, Smith also wrote that the entire subject of James Brown’s influence on reggae is worthy of a lengthy essay by itself. I for one would be very interested in reading such an essay, which could be written for instance by a reggae historian like David Katz, or by others. Most of what I know about it I wrote in broad lines in this essay you are reading right now. There is probably enough to unearth on this matter for a more detailed study.

In any case: overall I found R.J. Smith’s 2012 biography ‘The One : the life and music of James Brown’ to be a good read: as informative as it is entertaining.

The One : the life and music of James Brown: RJ Smith. – 455 p. – New York : Gotham Books, 2012. ISBN: 978-1592406579

Distant yet near hand drums

PRELUDE

Holguín airport had a “rural” feel. No “hustle and bustle”, no uptight businessmen, neither other travellers willingly or unwillingly transmitting a tense vibe, probably for sensing to be “where it’s happening”, at the center of it all. By contrast: the general atmosphere on this airport in Eastern Cuba was relaxed. No fuss, just doing our job. This was after all not the center of it all, but far removed from the busy spots where more important things happen. Things just went their usual, slow, not very spectacular way.

I found this all in all pleasant. A nice way to start a holiday. I am of the opinion (with the necessary nuances and conditionalities) that big cities – and even some not too big ones - , busy traffic, and busy, modern urban life in the Western world in general make people at least unstable: and often crazy. Rural life can also have its disadvantages, a limited focus, limited options, narrow-mindedness, and a small and closed cultural frame, but this time I found the rural, “easy” feel relaxing and welcome, at and around Holguín airport. Apart from a somewhat annoying customs officer – a relatively strict one – the atmosphere was nice.

The customs officer wanted to have a precise staying address of me in Cuba: by law a requirement for tourists. This perhaps betrays the totalitarianism of the state, but I am not sure if similar laws apply in other (more democratic) countries. Forces who want to control travel probably do not like a nonchalant attitude along the lines of “I’ll look for some hotel in town”, or “I’ll find something”. That is to free for them and those. The respective customs officer responded slightly agitated to the (somewhat vague) way I answered his question of where I stayed in Santiago de Cuba (where I was heading for). I had telephone numbers, and also had an address but that was the home address of a family in Santiago de Cuba I befriended before. I was hesitant to bring them into possible trouble. The Cuban regime “discourages” (with varying intensity and legality) contacts between Cubans and tourists, though not all contact is strictly speaking forbidden, or actively persecuted.

In similar occasions before, I just said that I stayed at a hotel that actually existed, and that was somewhat big. A small bed-and-breakfast – I imagined – would be easier to check upon by an over-zealous bureaucrat: a hotel in central Havana or Santiago de Cuba with over 50 rooms and people of all nationalities would be more difficult to check, I reasoned. That is what authoritarian rule brings people to, I suppose: having to find clever ways to lie, without doing anything immoral.

Anyway, some bad vibe from “Babylon in a communist jacket” was there, but I got through the customs. Outside the airport the rural feel was confirmed. While in other parts of Cuba, such as the biggest cities Havana and Santiago de Cuba, at least the suggestion of a developed infrastructure was present, here I felt to be dropped in rural lands where only resident farming folk knew the way. I exaggerate a bit, because adjacent to the airport there were buses (or better said: bus stops), taxis and some other facilities commonly convenient for international travellers. Because it was getting later in the evening I acquired via via a taxi to take me to Santiago de Cuba. I have taken taxis for longer distances within Cuba before, or paid other people with cars for long distances, so that was not that extraordinary to me. The distance between Holguín airport in the north of East Cuba, to the city Santiago de Cuba, in the south of East Cuba is about 120 kilometres, so a car trip of a few hours was ahead.

It has just become dark outside, since it was close to 20.00 hours (after sunset). The taxi driver was an informal, talkative guy – not untypically Cuban I’d say – and spoke to me about international politics, expressing some temperamental irritation about the foreign policy of the big neighbouring country to the north (regarding Cuba, but also Iraq etcetera). He looked white, of European descent and was from the nearby city of Holguín, the capital of the province of north east Cuba. We stopped a short while in the city of Holguín, because the taxi driver had to get something from his home, while I waited in the taxi. I saw people in the streets and with some I talked. Most people looked mostly white or European. After his return the taxi driver gave some general information about Holguín and the province. He pointed out that the population was different from other parts of Cuba in that most of the inhabitants of Holguín are white, of European descent. You apparently have two East Cubas or “Orientes”. My destination in the South East of Cuba – as said 120 kilometres away -, Santiago de Cuba, is in turn the “blackest” province of Cuba. In the city of Santiago de Cuba (with about 500.000 inhabitants) about 75% of the population is of African descent, of which most also primarily African, although its mixed population is substantial. In Holguín I estimate that 75% is in turn mainly of European, mainly Spanish, descent.

Not far after Holguín city we passed Birán: the birth village of the president Fidel Castro, who of course indeed looks also phenotypically white. Fidel’s father was actually a Spaniard from Galicia, and his mother largely of Canarian descent. Two relatively large groups among Spaniards migrating to Cuba, especially later (even when it was no longer a Spanish colony).

Saying now something along the lines of “I was traveling from white to black Cuba” (or from Euro-Cuba to Afro-Cuba) may sound rhetorically sharp. Yet in a racially and culturally intensely mixed society as Cuba, this is somewhat simplistic, though it has some truth to it. Rationally, through figures, scientific research, and other reading, I was aware of this cultural and historical difference. This undoubtedly shaped my perspective. On the other hand I sensed, emotionally and intuitively, that the atmosphere began to change. The landscape changed from more plane to mountains and hills around Santiago de Cuba, but also the cultural “vibe” changed, I felt somehow. I have been to Santiago de Cuba before this, so maybe there was an element of recognition here, a renewed connection to the familiar that I also sensed. However: I certainly experienced a difference. On arrival in Santiago de Cuba it was about 22.00 and there were still quite some people on the streets. These looked mostly mulatto or black. I was (again) in one of the main centres of Afro-Cuba.

Left: the central Parque Cespedes square in Santiago de Cuba

BONGOS

Santiago de Cuba and its surrounding province is the main birthplace of the Son music genre, that arose at the end of the 19th c., which in turn strongly influenced Salsa in a later stage. The province Santiago de Cuba and the bordering province Guantánamo to the east (also with mainly inhabitants of African descent) also are the place of origin of the musical instrument known as “Bongos”. This is interrelated: it can be said that the Son and the Bongos mostly developed historically in tandem. The Bongos are attached drums of differing size, commonly used as percussion in son music, but soon also other Cuban music, later on Cuban-derived salsa, and over time also in other Caribbean genres, or even genres in the US and Europe (funk, soul, pop). The bongos also made their way to Brazil. It is said by several musicologists and others that the bongos – along with the Congas (also originally Cuban in that form) – are among the most internationally spread of Caribbean musical instruments, or indeed of all percussion instruments.

ORIGINS

That begs the questions of the origins of the bongos. At least it would among those with a reasonably inquisitive mind. I’ve studied literature on this, and found differing explanations, including contradictions, and revisions. I think I can come to some reasonable conclusions, however.

Fernando Ortiz is a famous early (white) Cuban anthropologist, since about the 1930s. He had some dubious sides to him: in his early “scientific” stage he even believed in Lombroso’s theory that criminal tendency can be seen in physical features. This is, well, plain stupidity. That Ortiz believed in this is almost enough to discredit him, but not entirely, because he corrected himself in a sense and changed his views and general opinions toward more progressive and human, with a detailed interest in Afro-Cuban culture.

He wrote in a work released in 1954 about the bongos that they originated in Cuba and is in that sense a creolized local Cuban invention, albeit based on African models. These African drum models, with one membrane (and hide) and an open bottom are mainly of Congo/Angola origin, just like the conga. The connecting of two drums of differing sizes on the other hand most probably developed for practical purposes in Cuba. The bongos (the instrument is actually called “bongó” in Cuba: the emphasis on the last o and singular) appeared in that form probably since the late 19th c. in South East Cuba, as said in tandem with the development of the Son music genre. It appeared in Havana since 1909, foreboding its wider spread.

Other, later musicologists and anthropologists seem to confirm most of this, though there are some differing opinions. Some trace the origin to the Abakuá secret society among Afro-Cubans origin from the Calabar region (now Nigeria/Cameroon). The fact that slaves from the Congo/Angola region were relatively more common in Eastern Cuba historically makes a deeper Congolese origin of the bongos however more probable. Also the bongos’ partial similarity to specific (historical) drum types in Central Africa/Congo region make that more plausible, although there are certain similarities in percussion and drums throughout sub-Saharan Africa.

It is documented that probably about 40% of the African slaves brought to Cuba came from the Congo/Angola region (or Central Africa). Other substantial percentages came from the Yoruba region in Nigeria, Benin, and from the said Calabar region. Especially Yoruba slaves tended to be concentrated more in the later developed plantation areas in Western Cuba (around Havana, Matanzas), though they were spread all over the island, as were to a degree slaves from the Calabar region. Congo/Angola region slaves, while also spread all over Cuba, were relatively more concentrated in Eastern Cuba, especially in parts where there were many slave imports and plantations: the south eastern region around Santiago de Cuba. Holguín to the north had much less of this plantation slavery, hence the racial difference in the present.

BONGOS AND RITUAL AFRO-CUBAN DRUMMING

The bongos are thus probably (or mainly) of Congo origin, reworked in Cuba. But besides this, other historians and musicologists explained other interesting features of the bongos, especially regarding their relation with other Afro-Cuban percussion. There were, since slavery, other drums used among Afro-Cubans, mostly in religious African rituals of Yoruba, Calabar, Arará, Congo or other origin. These ritual drums have - some point out convincingly - their echoes in the bongos. The latter’s two connected drums of differing size have an inherent flexibility, and a strong emulative potential of the drums used in the Yoruba-based Santeriá religion (called Batá drums), or in other religions/traditions. These drums may have different shapes and sizes, but their sound can be approached or emulated well with the bongos. The bongos thus, so to speak, “translate” Afro-Cuban ritual drum use – with often a direct spiritual aspect - for use in popular or secular music. They thus integrate these in the popular music genre called son. I found this culturally and musically very interesting and significant. Also because this process has parallels in other Caribbean music genres. I will return to that later.

METHOD OF PLAYING

It is of course a hand drum, which was long frowned upon in elite (white) circles in Cuba. Drums played by hand were seen by some as too “African”, preferring a military-type drum hit by sticks, seen as more European (though in fact Africa also has many drums originally hit by sticks). Despite this the bongos were one of the first Afro-Cuban drums to reach broader Cuban, “national” music since the early 20th c. Cuban bongo players point out that most fingers can be used to play the bongos properly, but that the emphasis is on the middle finger. The bongos are mostly held between the knees (slightly bent). The larger drum is traditionally held on the side of the most apt hand (when right-handed on the right or left when left-handed) and is called “hembra”, female, while the smaller drum on the other side is called “varón" (male). Most Cuban bongo players recommend a tight (though not too tight) tuning of the hides.

MUSICAL FUNCTION

To (help) keep the rhythmic timing is the most obvious function of percussion and drums. Indeed this is also from early on, within son, an important function of the bongos. There was of course no modern drum kit back then. Son ensembles tended to include a guitar, a Cuban tres guitar, later on an acoustic bass/double bass, horns, and of course from early on percussion. Percussion included in most cases the bongos, maracas (or other “shakers”), and often also congas, as well as the “clave” (wooden sticks). These clave sticks were most literally and limitedly used for keeping the timing, though not throughout the entire song. There was even an old-time son song, from the 1950s, by the Cuban band Orquesta Aragón named ‘Sin clave y bongo no hay son’ (‘Without the clave and bongos there is no son’).

The function of the bongos was also that of keeping the rhythm, but in a broader sense. Still within the overall timing the bongo players improvised, broadened the rhythm from within, you might say.

TALKING DRUMS

This is related to the historical role of the drums in African music. More specifically the idea of the “talking drum”. Of course there is a specific instrument used in Africa by that name, but the idea of drums that talk, tell stories, is more broadly spread throughout sub-Saharan Africa. Some musicologists found that the principle is also to be found in some cultures outside of sub-Saharan Africa, such as in Asia, but is most common in Africa. Different types of drums “talk” there to some degree, not just the instrument known as Talking Drum. Less elaborate when they lack the capacity to regulate the pitch as the Talking Drum has, but they still “talk”. This can be connected to social or practical functions, as well as spiritual meanings. Especially in the Bantu/Congo area, communicating with (the spirits of) ancestors is often a function of the hand drumming.

Due to this African heritage, from its beginnings in son music, it became known in Cuba that good bongo players should have a good sense of rhythm, know how to keep it. This is self-evident, but not as simple as it sounds (see for instance how some people dance without any regard for the timing). The “martillo” (means “hammer” in Spanish) technique used by bongo players in son, is mostly “built around” the basic rhythmic 3-2 structured timing (indicated by the clave sticks), in turn based on a 12/8 or sometimes 4/4 beat. Beyond this, it became common knowledge among Cuban musicians that good bongo players should also know how to make the bongos “talk”. This almost became a prerequisite for a bongo player. People who know about Cuban son, know that the son style known as “Son Montuno” has a more improvising part at the latter part of songs, when the bongos (and other instruments) start to improvise more, while the vocals turn (again) to call-and-response. Many salsa songs maintain this basic song structure of more improvisation at the end.

During my travels to Santiago de Cuba, roughly between 2001 and 2006, I noticed that there was much live music in the city. Many bands performing in some regular venues (like the Dos Abuelos club and the Casa De La Trova), and outside them, including the streets. These were often acoustic performances, often of traditional son. Several of these bands had the bongos as only or main percussion (at times along with a conga). In electric or fuller ensembles it would “drown” more in the general soundscape (which in itself says nothing about the quality, by the way). More acoustically and sparse, however, - and in a small-scale live setting of course - I could hear better how the bongos kept the rhythm, but also how and when they “talked”, and “told”.

Photos underneath: bongó players in bands in the Los Dos Abuelos club in Santiago de Cuba. I took these in 2006

JAMAICA

I mentioned before how the bongos served as translator of Afro-Cuban ritual drums, translating these to the secular/popular son music genre and related genres. Not too far south of Santiago de Cuba lies the island of Jamaica. Geographically it’s very close, but a different colonizer and other historical differences makes them seem worlds apart. Often just the language barrier sets for many these islands apart, but I speak both English and Spanish, so for me that is not so the case. I have been to Jamaica as well, which I discussed on this blog as well. Furthermore I have learned a lot about reggae since I am a reggae fan for over 25 years now. I have also read much about it, also historical and cultural studies. I have also studied Cuban music. This is not at all to brag, but I have a point with this: I think I am in a position to compare the music cultures of both islands.

There are some historical differences, but also similarities. Both Jamaica and Cuba knew plantation slavery. This was in Jamaica’s case relatively more intense, making that in the present about 85 % of Jamaicans are primarily of African descent. In Cuba only the region around Santiago de Cuba and Guantánamo comes somewhat close (though there was relatively more racial mixture). I think that for the whole of Cuba about 60 % is (partly) of African descent, which includes bi- or tri-racial people.

Slaves that were forcibly brought to Jamaica came, like in the case of Cuba, from several parts of Africa, with certain concentrations. From what is now Ghana (Ashanti, Coromantee) came relatively many, from what is now Nigeria and Benin, some from the Senegambia region, and also from the Congo/Angola region. Some parts that were less common for slaves brought to Cuba, but also similarities. Studies estimate the percentage of slaves from the Congo/Angola region arriving in Jamaica at about 20% of all slaves. More than many would imagine.

This Congolese cultural influence (including from liberated slaves after Britain abolished slavery) is according to studies strongest in eastern parishes/regions from Jamaica: St Thomas and Portland. A remarkable mirroring of the Cuban situation. Slaves of Congo/Angolan descent have further been reported all over Jamaica, but there is some concentration. Like the religion Kumina from St Thomas and surroundings, the Afro-Cuban religion Palo Monte in Eastern Cuba has strong Congo/Bantu influences, thus also in ritual drum use. Yet also other Afro-Jamaican religious systems like Burru – found in central parishes Clarendon and St Catherine - show Congo influences.

DISTANT DRUMS

In light of this I would like to point at an interesting article I read about the influence of hand drums on the originating and developing of Jamaican music genres: from ska, to rocksteady, to reggae. This was published in the scholarly journal Caribbean Quarterly, Volume 56, nr. 4 (2010): the article was titled: ‘Distant drums : the unsung contribution of African-Jamaican percussion to popular music at home and abroad’. It was written by Kenneth Bilby.

I found this article interesting and revealing. Some say a movie like ‘The Matrix’ was life-changing for them. I consider this article in a sense life-changing for me. At the very least it made clearer what I assumed or knew vaguely. Ska and following music genre rocksteady originating in the period 1960-1966, ultimately resulting in reggae arising in 1968, were influenced in their origins in part by US Black music, like R&B and Blues, but also clearly by Afro-Jamaican music and percussion.

This article by Bilby reveals convincingly through interviews with influential Jamaican musicians and percussionists, with intriguing nicknames like Count Ossie, Bongo Herman, Seeco (percussionist for Bob Marley & the Wailers), Sticky, Skully, and Sky Juice. Reggae fans may know these names at least from credits written on the back or inner sleeves of albums, as most have played with many artists during the Roots Reggae era as well. Besides the names known among reggae fans, Bilby also pays homage and gives credits to lesser known – yet influential - hand drummers and percussionists, who were active in Afro-Jamaican cults like the mentioned Burru tradition. Bilby describes Watta King as a crucial link between the Burru hand drumming and the Nyabinghi drumming tradition among African-centered Rastafari-adherents in West-Kingston, in Jamaica’s capital. Watta King taught several (Rastas) there to drum, including Seeco and the mentor of Count Ossie, while serving as a model for other (later) studio musicians/percussionists as well. Interestingly, this Watta King was of Congo descent.

The Nyabinghi tradition thus developed influenced reggae strongly since reggae originated, as well as earlier genres in Jamaica. Drumming patterns eventually helped shape reggae’s rhythmic structure, as the musicians explain in the said article. This includes the “Heart Beat” (one two, one two) one of the drums called “Funde” in the Nyabinghi tradition regularly play. This Funde drum’s basic rhythm, by the way, combines in Nyabinghi with other more “talking” drum patterns. It influenced according to some the One Drop rhythmic structure, but also indirectly the guitar strum (chick! chick!) on the second and fourth count of a 4/4 beat, characterizing reggae. The great Tarrus Riley song One Two Order (from 2006) refers to this “heart beat”, one-two rhythm of Nyabinghi (and includes it at the beginning).

PARALLELS

The parallels between the Cuban and Jamaican situations are evident: especially with regard to the “translation” of African-based ritual (hand) drumming to percussion and rhythmic structures in popular music genres. Both include a Congo/Angola original influence as well, through Watta King and Kumina on the one hand, and son and the bongos on the other.

The musical worlds of Cuba and Jamaica are not so far apart when looking at origins and essence. Not just in their shared (part) African-based origins – which a wider public already may know - , but also how these influences actually developed, with “hand drums” being the key term. At least frowned upon, but often also conscribed or actively limited by colonial and later elites, this African-based hand drumming nonetheless survived and thus helped maintain African musical traditions through the centuries. Up to the present.

POSTSCRIPT

I myself took up playing the bongos not too long ago. Mainly to practice, I have improvised on some reggae riddims. This originally Afro-Cuban instrument does not seem or “feel” at all out of place - and is in fact occasionally used - within reggae. This is in line with the connecting of musical cultures of this post.

I’ve uploaded my bongo improvisations on my YouTube account: on the Real Rock Riddim I focus more on “rhythmic base”, while on the Columbus Riddim I “talk” more: of course with the rhythm in mind as well. I also tried to use some Nyabinghi patterns, especially in my improvisation on the Columbus Riddim. For the improvistation on the Columbus Riddim the drums were tuned tighter, as one can hear. I still haven't figured out of what animal the hides are from, but they are definitely animal skin (and not synthetic). The manufacturer of similar bongos, the Germany-based Meinl company, tends to use most commonly buffalo hides, so it could be that.

These videos can be seen underneath, or on my YouTube Channel..

The genius of Scratch

Lee “Scratch” Perry (also nicknamed “the Upsetter”) has been a very influential figure within reggae music. Noticing the relative paucity of biographies of reggae artists or producers, – other than Bob Marley –, I was therefore pleased to know that a biography of Perry has appeared. This was written by US-born reggae journalist/writer David Katz, and is called ‘People Funny Boy’, subtitled ‘The genius of Lee “Scratch”Perry’. It first appeared in 2000, and a revised edition in 2006 (the latter one I read). I not only knew of its existence, but actually owned it for a while before I found time to read it. It is quite voluminous (around 540 pages), and has much eye for detail.

Perry or Scratch (as I will call him from now on) was a producer as well as a musical artist, and he worked with many artists in Kingston (Jamaica) studios: studios of others, such as Clement Coxsone Dodd’s Studio One, and later, since 1973, his own Black Ark studio, which was housed adjacent to where Scratch lived with his family in the Washington Gardens area, somewhat outside the ghetto areas, in Kingston.

For many reggae fans the Black Ark studio was almost a sacred spot, where the pinnacle of Roots Reggae in the 1970s was reached. Scratch likewise is seen as even more iconic than other icons within Jamaican music. Scratch’s magic touch shaped reggae and other directions in Jamaican music, and launched or at least stimulated - the careers of the Wailers, Max Romeo, the Congos, Junior Murvin and others. He was a producer who was considered by many a genius; he got out of artists and songs what other producers in Jamaica could not. The said book relates adequately the why and how of this, while detailing Scratch’s life.

To put it shortly: I enjoyed this biography ‘People Funny Boy’ very much. The above significance for reggae was explained with detail, but also Scratch’s life, so you get to know the person behind the producer well. Recommendable for anyone interested in reggae and/or Scratch. I don’t think it is translated in many other languages though: I read it in the original English.

While it was a good read, of course some points of critique can be articulated. Yet I think that all in all the balance tips to the good. I assume that there were certain aspects that even intensive investigative journalism could not uncover. The writer Katz, an experienced reggae writer, interviewed Perry, who was quite open, it seemed. Whereas Jimmy Cliff, on whom Katz wrote another biography, was more reserved in giving personal information, Scratch seemed to keep less secrets.

Thus, several interesting details came to the fore, of which I will not betray too much to keep it interesting for the prospective readers. I will, however, selectively highlight certain aspects from Scratch’s life story which I consider relevant for my view on reggae’s history.

DANCING

In his younger days, while still living in the Jamaican country area of Clarendon, Scratch loved to dance at parties, and became even known widely for his dancing. My opinion is that the genius of Scratch, his magic touch with reggae, relates to this: he was used to feel the music (back then it was not reggae yet, but still) with his whole essence and body/structure. Later in his Black Ark studio he danced while recording/producing songs, thus helping to shape these songs. He probably danced while writing songs himself as well. His productions became popular with the public, often (not always) more than those of other producers (Coxsone Dodd, Duke Reid, Joe Gibbs and others), maybe because he “felt” the music better while dancing.

Another crucial aspect in Scratch’s role in reggae is his openness to Rastafari adherents and messages in his recording and studio. Unlike some other producers who distanced themselves from Rastafari personally, while allowing artists nonetheless to record such messages, albeit hesitantly, such as Coxsone, Scratch actually sympathized with the Rastas and seemed like-minded and similarly rebellious, also personally. At least initially.

The “Deep Roots” recorded at the Black Ark, such as by the Congos, the Rastafari message of Max Romeo’s War Ina Babylon album (and several others by different artists), testifies to that.

DREADS

Yet as time progressed, the story of Scratch became more enigmatic. He was called a musical genius by several artists who respected him for bringing out the best in them and their songs. His role for the Wailers was crucial, albeit not without conflicts. As it seemed, while Scratch and Bob Marley went along well as good friends or “bredren” until Bob’s end, the relationship between Bunny Wailer and Scratch was much more tense and not always amicable.

At the end of the 1970s, Scratch’s behaviour became more “crazy”, mad, and erratic. He even seemed to radically shift his views. He got in a conflict with the Congos, and more broadly complained about the Rastas, the Dreads hanging around the studio, bringing, as he states, “unclean spirits” in it. He seemed to consider those as unreal, false Rastas, but why becomes less clear.

What I got out of the book is that the conflicts focused on money: many people wanted something from Scratch, especially that he would help finance and maintain associated artists, among them many “dreads” apparently having burdensome requests. This seemed to be too much for Scratch, and there’s the suggestion of money scams, foul play, though not too much concrete events and cases were explained. Thus, the Congos fell out of favour with Scratch, as did other artists or musicians hanging around the studio.

Combined with other madness this made Scratch (probably himself) burn the Black Ark studio in 1983. In his mind it was too polluted with bad spirits (again, without becoming quite clear in what way), disturbing what Scratch once envisioned as a righteous, Rastafari “Ark of the Covenant”.

Following this, Scratch made bold, seemingly irrational statements that he didn’t want to work with dreadlocked artists and Rastas any more. Later in his career he - a black man himself of course - even tried to avoid working with black musicians. He was not too consistent in this: he later still worked and socialized with Rastas and black people whom he still considered friends.

Over time he also got to share the stage with the same Congos he was once in conflict with, such as at the 2011 Summerjam festival in Germany, so they patched things up apparently. It nonetheless may seem odd for reggae fans to know about this tension, as many hold the Congos-Scratch combination for the Heart of the Congos album (1977), recorded at the Black Ark, as one of the most iconic moments in Rastafari-inspired Roots Reggae.

Scratch’s mad behaviour: drawing and painting on everything (walls, loose items), throwing liquids on studio equipment, the said burning of the studio, suddenly shocking people, seemed however more calculated than thought. He acted mad and crazy to “keep people off his back”, keep them away from him, those people who wanted money and favours. This “mad” behaviour continued throughout the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s. While his musical genius was still acknowledged - even by artists who he had quarrelled with - he thus became even more known as a ”mad genius”. Enigmatic, odd, and not always totally clear were the causes of such conflicts and quarrels (what did these “dreads” at the studio actually do?, or how much money did they ask?). They however are fascinating stories in some sense, and are related engagingly in Katz’s book on Scratch.

A FOREIGN

The latter part of the work deals more with Perry abroad (“a foreign” as they say in Jamaican) since the 1980s, where he went to reside, seemingly escaping the hassle he perceived in Jamaica. It discusses how Scratch developed his career in Britain, the Netherlands (during the peak of his Pipecock Jacksone persona), the US, and elsewhere. Further, the artists (reggae and other) he worked with, such as Mad Professor, Adrian Sherwood, the Beastie Boys, and eventually his meeting of Mireille, his future Swiss wife, and his taking up residence in Switzerland, where he worked with more artists, such as Yello.

He over time had relationships with some other women as well. Earlier is his life, in Jamaica, he and his earlier Jamaican wife, Pauline, got separated. Pauline at that time got in a relationship with a member of the band the Meditations. And yes, that was a “dread”. The work is thus even detailed regarding Scratch’s intimate relationships, such as in the elaborating on temporary conflicts with his wife/partners and marital problems. But in fact that is quite in line with the rest of the book: also other relationships, with his children, musicians, former partners, other family members etcetera, tend to get much attention. Quite different therefore than the less personal “extended discographies” (even if nominally biographies) I have also discussed on my blog.

MUSICAL CHANGES

Especially in the latter part of the book Scratch’s performing in Europe and elsewhere is discussed, describing the vocally improvising, free-floating style of Scratch. On stage as well as in studios, where he voiced tracks/instrumentals this way, sometimes lyrically absurd. That is maybe one manifestation of his penchant for constant innovation and experimentation, a deterrence of being “fixed” in formulae.

It is maybe here, in part, where his musical genius also lies. In the Black Ark days he used to shift course once in a while, and innovated more than other producers. Scratch’s famed song ‘People Funny Boy’, also one of the earliest reggae songs, from 1968, used the crying of babies (his own children), as well as Afro-folk religious Pocomania church rhythms and musicality. Also on the Congos’ album and other albums he used inventive studio techniques – often despite limited means and relatively dated equipment - contributing to a specific Black Ark ”sound”, which seasoned reggae fans probably can dream (echoed guitar chops, among other things).

Scratch did not invent reggae - that was an organic process including several people -, not even dub - which can be credited mainly to King Tubby -, but he certainly did help to shape and develop both reggae and dub since their early stages.

This knack for constant innovation makes another episode from the book’s latter part all the more interesting. Scratch (also) got in a temporary conflict with white British producer Adrian Sherwood. Scratch accused Sherwood once for being evil, and for limiting him, “keeping him – Scratch – in the past”, musically. Sherwood apparently while working with Scratch indicated he wanted Scratch’s Black Ark sound revived, which Scratch found too confining. This reminds of the all too common, quasi-anthropological “freezing in the past”, Westerners sometimes like to do with cherished exotic cultures..

DOCUMENTARY

Not long after finishing the book by Katz I saw a recently (2011) appeared documentary on Scratch, called ‘The Upsetter’, subtitled ‘The life and music of Lee Scratch Perry’, made by Ethan Higbee and Adam Bhala Lough. Years after the book was published, so I wondered how the book and documentary interrelated.

Again, I try not to betray too much for people anxious to view this documentary, but I can say that I only recognized selective parts of the book in the documentary. Scratch himself is seen being interviewed, as well as in his daily activities, which adds much that a written work can’t show. Here the visual complements, rather than distracts from, the content. There were, however, also lesser, or too superficial aspects in the documentary, but overall it is certainly worth a watch, and is informative and engaging. Also after having read the book.

Some information is repeated more or less from the book, but there is also (partly) new information in this 2011 documentary 'The Upsetter'. His beef with the, according to him, polluting, unreal Rastas or dreads in the later Black Ark days, is discussed again. Further, his ideas on himself, the world, and music, Scratch expressed throughout the documentary, prove insightful and entertaining. His statements vary from inventive, to odd, to excentric, or crazy, but clearly have a vision behind them. Scratch’s vision of life comes across as spiritual and religious, or Biblical in some sense, Rastafari-derived as well, but in an own, distinct way that is as individualistic as it is free. Difficult to “nail down”, “fix”, or categorize. Indeed similar to other people who are considered geniuses. Some people for instance compare Scratch (also in the book) in this sense with Salvador Dali.

CONCERT

I myself have visited, as I write this – and if I recall well -, 4 concerts of Lee “Scratch” Perry, of which one was a shorter one at a festival in Amsterdam. The other 3 times were in concert halls the Melkweg and Paradiso, in Amsterdam as well, and were longer in duration. I’ve seen him both with a white Swiss backing band, and with black British musicians and Mad Professor (who was not on stage). The latter was the last time I saw him, in early 2012, in Paradiso.

I enjoyed all these concerts, and understood soon not to expect too much “clear-cut” songs on forehand. Scratch started improvising around his known songs and on his riddims vocally. Crucially, he did this very well and engaging. Almost naturally he added much to the mostly good music with both his singing (or chatting/toasting), and his lyrical associations, in what can be called “free musical poetry”. It lifted the music up. Maybe his extravagant attire, painted hair (red and short, the last time I saw him), and hat with mirrors on it, helped somehow in experiencing it.

In light of the earlier mentioned conflicts with some dreads - and his short, punky hair - it may seem remarkable that he made during this 2012 Amsterdam concert many references to Rastafari and Jah in a positive sense, as part of his “free musical poetry”. Although I already assumed he somehow was still a Rastafari-sympathizer, from recent interviews and lyrics.

I already had gathered rationally from documented/written Reggae History that Scratch’s creative talent or genius is outstanding and real, not just a hype. During this fantastic 2012 concert I got to “sense” it as well.

People Funny Boy : the genius of Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry: David Katz . – 542 p. – London [etc.] : Omnibus Press, 2006 (revised edition). ISBN: 978-1846094439

The tragedy of race : the documentary 'Marley' (2012)

Something seemed dubious to me from the start. The very first time I heard about the then upcoming documentary on Bob Marley, called ‘Marley’ – to be released in 2012 –, directed by Kevin MacDonald (known for among other things the movie ‘The last king of Scotland’), I had an unpleasant feeling about it. This feeling combined confusion and fear. It is in a way similar to meeting persons involved in criminality: you sense that something is not communicated. No eye contact, no open communication, you encounter subtle intimidation or what can be termed “avoidance behaviour”. In the same way I thought there was something tricky going on with this newest documentary on Bob Marley.

DEFINITIVE?

My mistrust was triggered by a few things. Not the least of these was the word “definitive” used in promoting the documentary film ‘Marley’: “the definitive Bob Marley story”. This is annoyingly arrogant, but can be excusable when this statement can actually be backed up somehow. The term “definitive” is however vague. Regarding Bob Marley you can ask whether “definitive” applies to the person Bob Marley, then what aspects of him and his life? Or definitive regarding him as person but also as musician, as well as his location within Jamaica and reggae music? And within Rastafari? Can it really be definitive in all these fuller senses, and can this be impartially measured? I doubt it. Does it really add that much to earlier documentaries on Marley? Or are we dealing here with commercial tricks?

I understood that the main makers of the documentary were not really reggae experts (though they were advised by some), which makes the boast “definitive” all the more astonishing. It is comparable to when, for instance, a white, non hip-hopper – an outsider not having lived the culture – would say he will make the “definitive hip-hop song”. Thereby insulting much of the scene. This is I guess the difference between a sense of superiority and a (healthy) sense of competition.

NEW INSIGHT?

I had these feelings of unease, but had not seen the documentary itself as yet. So I still tried to look at it impartially. Is it really that new and good? Do I really get a new, insightful perspective on Bob Marley after having seen the documentary film? It was relatively lengthy - close to two and a half hours -, so maybe there’s a lot of new information.

I’ve covered the topic of Bob Marley, his image, and his role in reggae’s internationalization before on my – this - blog, so I could let it rest. It was, however, exactly the boastful propaganda and apparently extensive marketing surrounding the documentary that made me decide to review this documentary. I will among other things broadly (in my own mind!) compare with (some) other documentaries on Bob Marley, of which there have appeared several already, as well as with was has been written about Bob up to now. Like with documentaries – I think “biopics” is a word some people use – several written, biographical books/works have also appeared on Bob Marley (and unfortunately very few on other reggae artists).

This latest documentary ‘Marley’ (2012) is different from earlier ones on Bob in that it is aimed at the cinema and movie theatres, whereas most other documentaries may have been shown in theatres, but were intended for television or video/DVD. This suggests another, broader target audience of this latest ‘Marley’ movie, which seems to confirm my fear of excessive commercialism. Yet it is premature to assume that on forehand, so I’ll just start analyzing the documentary/movie.

INTERVIEWS

The format chosen is of a sequence of interchanging people connected to Bob Marley being interviewed. Most probably this is edited in a certain way, as is common in many documentaries. Somehow exceptional is that there is no “narrative voice” as such. Then there are many photographs, as part of the visual aspects, shown according to the makers for the first time. This way the close to two and a half hours were filled.

These aspects in themselves do not make a good documentary. Yet, the list of people interviewed seems relevant and interesting: Bunny Wailer, Rita Marley, Ziggy Marley and his other children, girlfriend Cindy Breakspeare, other reggae musicians, producers, friends, family and others. I think his children (now older since earlier documentaries) are relatively “new” in Marley documentaries, and potentially most insightful. Not just potentially, as I viewed the film I found it was relatively more newsworthy what Bob's children (like Ziggy and Cedella) had to say, though some of the others interviewed had interesting stories and facts as well, such as Bunny Wailer. Also Rita Marley had interesting portions and stories.

The information on Bob’s white father – early in the documentary - was hardly new. The age difference with Bob’s mother of Bob’s father during the “conception” (an older, 60 years-old white man thus slept with a black girl/young woman of 18 years old) was even bigger than told earlier, but that also has been known already years before this documentary.

I hate to admit it but I had an unpleasant feeling about Cindy Breakspeare, the once Miss Jamaica who became Bob’s girlfriend (while Bob was married to Rita), and accompanied him on tour as well. She spoke relatively often in the documentary, and indeed knew him intimately. I felt a certain irritation and mistrust about her, maybe irrationally. Not because she was a “home wrecker”, since Bob had several girlfriends “on the side”. It was more her general demeanour and subdued arrogance that told me she had something to hide. “Everybody wants the girl” (if she’s a beauty contest winner?) she said without modesty about Bob’s interest in her. I am almost certain that she chose him – subtly of course – not the other way around, even if she presents it that way. But maybe she is a good person, I don’t know. Why the winner of a beauty contest in a predominantly black country should be a light mulatto type like Breakspeare is also beyond me, but that’s another issue.

SUPERFICIALITY

The pace of interviews and of the changing of speaking people in the film were kept high and kept entertaining me, I must admit, even throughout the relatively lengthy documentary. In this I notice the hand of a feature film/fiction movie director – Kevin MacDonald – rather than a documentary maker’s. The pace was high, the suspense always there, and there was excitement, ”action”. Yet a disadvantage of such an approach became clearer to me as the film progressed: superficiality. Most things said I heard already in other documentaries on Bob, some even as public as nowadays viewable on YouTube. Some of the things were written before in books. Okay, maybe it is meant for another target audience (who have not seen the other documentaries, nor read those books), but still... This way it does not lead to new or even deeper insight.

Occasionally a remarkable comment was made, such as when the early Wailers manager Danny Sims stated that Bob was “chosen” to be the famous front man by record label Island amongst the original Wailers band (which also included Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer), probably because of his (lighter) colour. Those suspicions were longer around, but seemed confirmed here! Unfortunately this was not followed upon in the documentary. The subject was changed (read: abandoned), following the time line of Bob’s life. My opinion is that this is too interesting and socially relevant to not discuss in more detail.

RACE

The reason why further delving on this is avoided may be to spare Bob, and not give him a bad name. Racially privileged, yet presenting himself as the black rebel in Jamaica and world wide. But one thing I respect about Bob is the absence of this hypocrisy. Having read and heard much about Bob’s career and life – and knowing most of his songs - my conclusion is this: Bob was genuinely a pro-black rebel (not just pretending to be), a real proponent of black rights and freedom (and of all people), and at the same time – ironically – he was in a later stage privileged over blacker musicians or “rebels” around him, because he looked more European. But this was mostly later in his life and beyond Bob’s control: international, commercial interests dictated this.

It was confirmed by Peter Tosh in an earlier documentary that the group the Wailers was “one/united” from the start (i.e. when it were up to Bob). Another interesting anecdote is also illustrative in this regard: Bob used shoe polish to make his hair blacker, and to not stand out too much in Kingston’s ghetto Trench Town. Other stories relate about some negative remarks he got because of his lighter colour among blacks in Trench Town.

One of the tragedies of Bob’s life is thus race. A defining tragedy, that was beyond his control. It excluded him (sometimes) from people around him, while he was just as poor, and it made him be favoured without really wanting, ultimately resulting in distance from his old friends Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer, who left the Wailers. Had he been white he never would have grown up in the Trench Town ghetto. Had he been fully black, he probably would not be as (internationally) famous, and would have not internationalized reggae and Rastafari as much. Yet he never sold out, and kept true to his message. This is admirable.

This philosophical, sociological theme and contradiction could have been a major thread in the documentary, raising its intellectual level. It also would have shown how strong a personality Bob Marley was. Unfortunately the makers chose a thrill-based, Hollywood-like approach, too superficial for such deeper dilemmas. Bob was revered in the documentary as above human, larger than life, but in the insincere, superficial way of superstardom. More like Prince or Bruce Springsteen than like Martin Luther King.

REGGAE

Bob Marley was presented as somehow above ”reggae”, as the unreachable top of reggae. As I argued elsewhere on my blog: Bob had several good songs, good lyrics, charisma, and certain talents for music. But the same applies to several other reggae artists in Jamaica! He was essentially just another talented reggae artist, no more no less. With, maybe, the difference of relatively more commercial influences in his work, and better connections. I know there are other documentaries more dealing with reggae than with just Bob Marley, but you simply cannot make a documentary about Bob which is not substantially about reggae and Jamaican music. The same applies to the Rastafari philosophy and beliefs, which were very important for Bob.

This makes it extra troublesome that one of the more ignored aspects related to Bob in the documentary was his place within reggae, within the broader reggae scene. There was some attention to Rastafari – though not as adequate as it could have been. Reggae producer Lee “Scratch” Perry appeared for a while, without much substance, as well as Clement “Coxsone” Dodd, but not so long.

An interesting fact, for instance, that one does not get to know from this documentary, neither from other documentaries I must add, is this: there were US soul artists, like the Impressions, who influenced Bob musically and vocally, that is more widely known. The main Jamaican vocal influence on him is not mentioned. According to Bob himself this was Little Roy (b. Earl Lowe), a Rastafari-inspired singer with soulful, anguished vocals, active since the 1960s. One listen to a Little Roy song would make this similarity apparent. Bob was influenced by him, not the other way around. Bob himself in turn would later inevitably influence later singers. Apart from his sons (which may have genetic reasons), newer artist Nasio Fontaine sounds vocally “Marley-esque”. So do several other artists, especially outside of Jamaica. Marley’s vocals sound rather “Little Roy-esque”. You dig?

One of the people interviewed about Bob, especially telling about his Trench Town years, was Lloyd “Bread” MacDonald, member of the roots harmony reggae band the Wailing Souls: a band – I dare to argue – with as much an excellent body of work as Bob Marley & the Wailers. But the documentary aims to revere Bob well above reggae, it seems, as international star in a broad sense. His place within reggae and Jamaican music is unjustly sidelined.

I contend that the reggae scene defined Bob more than a sensationalistic aspect the documentary partly focused on: the fact that Bob had children with several women, had several girl friends and affairs while being married to Rita.

Regrettable, maybe, and probably inconsiderate toward Rita, but not saying too much about his personality. He was often approached by women, not the other way around, as said by some in the documentary (and as my common sense makes me assume). He was a heterosexual and the women were willing adults. Not so extraordinary, neither very immoral (essentially). At most irresponsible.

I think, for instance, that what is at least equally relevant is the question whether he ate meat: many Rastas opine that Rastas should not eat meat (who call it “deadas”); some say Bob ate chicken sometimes, so he seemed (if this is true) to take it loosely, and share part of his diet with common Jamaicans. He also criticizes meat-eating in his own (strong) song ‘We and Dem’ on the album Uprising. I assume that womanizing is probably considered more sensational for a broad public than dietary traditions.

Like I said, the stories and comments by his children were among the more interesting, including on how he was a distant father because they had to “share Bob with the world”, and he had always plenty people around him. Also the story of his cancer treatment in Germany was interesting, though not much new information was given. Also the coming death and actual dying of Marley in 1981 was related movingly, I must admit. This for a change included some new information, namely on how Bob and the other musicians lived the concert given in Zimbabwe in 1981, when the cancer was already strongly affecting Bob’s body. This was at least “new” in the sense of “expanding” on what we know.

Marley novices probably learned more from this documentary, but still not as much as they could have. They are in a few aspects even misled, I argue, though often the information was correct, if superficial. If the target audience indeed included Marley novices or newbies, some more information on reggae could have been given. Now its origins were sketched so broadly that it was almost the same as saying: you have funk, soul, jazz, and in Jamaica originated reggae, after rocksteady and ska. Okay, it was explained a bit more than that, and I also liked how Bunny Wailer describes reggae. However: the quick, too concise way reggae was overall treated made it seem like an irrelevant side path to Bob. I do beg to differ..

Rastafari was more or less explained, especially what it meant to Bob, but also quite superficially, in line with the rest of the documentary.

CHRIS BLACKWELL

After the documentary the end credits rolled, which showed the name of (record label) Island producer/strongman Chris Blackwell as also involved in the documentary. That explains certain choices, I think. Blackwell had some merits for reggae, especially internationally, but I also am very critical toward his commercial watering-down of reggae, which was too excessive up to the point that it violated authenticity. I’ve argued this before on my blog. He was relatively influential, so his choices in commercializing and “whitening” reggae were likewise influential. Ultimately this contributed to almost permanent damage to reggae’s authenticity and international image. Just because Chris Blackwell wanted to make money. Placing Bob above and not within reggae is part of that, and is unfortunately also the norm in this documentary ‘Marley’. As a true reggae fan, and being very knowledgeable on Bob Marley, I can only deplore this. But maybe true reggae fans were not the target audience of the documentary.

Despite all this, I was entertained and “kept busy” during the documentary, and it had its outstanding moments. Nonetheless, after it was finished I asked myself: what have I learned about Bob that I did not know before? Not very much, I am sad to conclude.

OTHER DOCUMENTARIES

As the reader may have noticed, I did in the above text not compare “in detail” with earlier documentaries that were specifically on Bob Marley. And yet, in a way I did. I departed from what I have learned already from earlier documentaries – and on what has been written - , and then analysed from that perspective the documentary ‘Marley’. It seems only fair to say what documentary on Bob Marley’s life and career I have seen has been the most insightful for me: it was ‘Rebel Music : the Bob Marley story’ from 2001, directed by Jeremy Marre. This was partly an Island production, but was luckily no “Chris Blackwell show”: it was interesting, with relevant people being interviewed, relevant information given, well-structured, entertaining, and educational: information given was then mostly new. The recent documentary ‘Marley’ adds little to this. (Hereunder a link to 'Rebel Music').

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dr3O5MFVjBE

The documentary ‘Catch A Fire’, which I discussed elsewhere on my blog, mainly dealt with Bob Marley’s breakthrough album ‘Catch A Fire’ and was more superficial than ‘Rebel Music’, and of overall lesser quality, I argue.

There are of course several other documentaries on Bob Marley, especially when taking into account television documentaries. Some of these can be found in their entirety on YouTube. Some seem comparable in quality to ‘Rebel Music’, though not everything related is new. Information and stories seem to be repeated from documentary to documentary. You can even speak of recurring “Bob Marley documentary clichés” . At times, though, documentaries expand on known information. Perspectives can also differ, such as through different people interviewed on the same matters.

Not that the earlier documentary ‘Rebel Music’ was flawless – neither was it “definitive” -, but overall it was good and informative. ‘Marley' on the other hand was entertaining, but overall mediocre, and – after other documentaries and books – very limitedly informative.

Reggae music lovers (in the Netherlands): Abenet

INTRODUCTION

How people got to be reggae music lovers or fans has always fascinated me. Maybe partly because reggae still is off/outside the mainstream, also in the Netherlands. It is not found that easily, let’s just say. It requires (to a degree) an extraordinary life path: that is, different from copying the masses, or simply following what’s commonly on television or the radio.

Reggae has of course since decades gone international and widened its fan base, but I have known individually quite different reggae fans within the Netherlands. Black and white (and Asian, or mixed etc.). Males and females. Old and young. Some with little education, some highly educated. Of different class backgrounds. Some combine liking reggae quite equally with other genres (e.g.: some with African, funk, soul, some with hip-hop, some even with non-black music genres), while others on the other hand adhere almost “strictly” to reggae music, and do not get into much else. Some like roots reggae more than dancehall or vice versa. There are even reggae fans – believe it or not - who do not smoke the “ganja herb”. Furthermore, some have an interest or sympathy for the related subject of Rastafari, some do not, or even despise it. The latter, despise, I find somewhat odd since Rastafari is not the same as reggae, but is nonetheless connected to it.

These differences (and similarities) between and among reggae fans/lovers intrigue me, also in relation to personal backgrounds. That’s the reason why I would like to interview specific individuals who love reggae.

ABENET

I start with my “bredda” (= Jamaican Patois for “brother”, but also means “friend”, or “mate”) Abenet, full name Abenet Bakker: a Dutch citizen with an Ethiopian background. He is now in his late 20s.

I first met Abenet in a reggae-minded place in the centre of Amsterdam, about 8 years ago. I soon found out he had an interesting background. He was eloquent and intellectual. He looked Ethiopian and wore dreadlocks then. He spoke Dutch fluently, without an accent (like me). In my case – though my parents were not Dutch - this can be attributed to the fact that I was born in the Netherlands, like languages, and did relatively well in school. In Abenet’s case (besides that he may have some things in common with me: doing well in school, good in languages etc.), this was partly also for another reason, he told me: he has been adopted by Dutch parents as an Ethiopian child.

(Photo left: Abenet in 2011 on the Dutch North Sea coast..)




I soon understood that he liked reggae, confirmed by the fact that I also encountered him, on another occasion, at a Sizzla concert in Amsterdam, some years ago. He later said he told his interesting life story to a Dutch author (Roland van Reenen: also a reggae fan, I understood), hoping this would result in an equally interesting (auto)biographical book, expected to be published, and which would include attention to his Ethiopian background. This book has yet to be published. Abenet said to me that, in relation to this, “going public” on my blog did not worry him so much, since it is in a sense no longer new for him.

All this provided me with reasons why I chose Abenet to start – hopefully! - a series on reggae fans in the Netherlands on my blog.

REGGAE SINCE..

Abenet says he has been listening to reggae regularly since he was 17 years old (about 10 years ago). Yet he heard it already before this age, such as through his mother. He listened to UB40 and Bob Marley since he was about 8 years old.

What appealed to him when he was 8 years old - he explains - was the mere mentioning of the word ‘Ethiopia’. This word indeed recurs throughout lyrics of Bob Marley, of course due to Bob’s Rastafari beliefs.

Around the age of 17 he also, alongside reggae, began listening to soul and hip-hop, and furthermore a variety of genres.

He points out that there has not been an essential change in his music preference since then.

IDENTITY AND CONNECTIONS

I asked Abenet whether he felt more Ethiopian or more Dutch. Thus I entered into the complex - and often burdened - issue of identity.

Abenet answered that he does not really feel to be Dutch, neither really Ethiopian. In the Netherlands this is mainly because of his colour, in Ethiopia because of his “Dutch mentality”. He moreover has lived in several parts of the world - and among various cultures - and sees himself in essence as a ”global citizen”.

He earlier has told me that he has “returned” for a year to live in Ethiopia, about 5 years ago. He was then about 23 years of age. He points out to me that he felt at home there that year, but in fact already felt at home the first time he returned.

That year in Ethiopia did change him totally, he emphasizes. Not so much his lifestyle, as his entire way of thinking. He thus learned a lot about his culture, as well as his own perspective.

Abenet further states that the Rastafari message in the full sense does not appeal to him so much, but that Rastafari contains elements – present partly also in other religions – that he does find appealing, and which he can relate to himself and his Ethiopian background.

ETHIOPIA

He noted in Ethiopia that local music genres were more popular than foreign ones. He attributes this to language issues. Relatively more international music influences he noted among richer people as well as young people in Ethiopia.

He found reggae music to be here and there present in Ethiopia and to be used by local Ethiopian musicians, giving the example of artist Eyob Mekonen, who makes reggae-influenced music.

Abenet explained how he also visited a concert by Jamaican reggae singer Luciano, at the central Meskel square in Addis Ababa. Luciano performed there - along with other artists (Mikey General, Afrikan Simba and others) – in 2007. Incidentally, the entry fee was the equivalent of 2 euros here.

Regarding Rastafari and dreadlocks the general opinion in Ethiopia seemed overall a bit less positive, Abenet noted. Rastafari-adherents (therefore?) tend to remain mostly within the Shasamane area within Ethiopia (land Emperor Haile Selassie once granted to Rastafari-adherents desiring repatriation-MC).

CONCLUSION

While Abenet’s “way of thinking” had according to himself over time in a deep sense changed - especially also because of his year living in Ethiopia - his music preferences did not really change since he was 17. He in the present continues to listen to and like reggae, and especially loves it when it is “positive”, such as lyrically. He for instance likes the band Morgan Heritage.

He further listens presently, besides to reggae, also to African, Ethiopian, jazz and other music, upholding more or less the same criteria: the music should be positive and “made with feeling”.

Dreader Than Dread

There is a connection between dreadlocks and reggae music, which of course is very superficial and also indirect. More direct is the connection between the Rastafari movement and wearing dreadlocks: Rastafari adherents are generally recognized by their dreadlocks, functioning as a sign of identity. Some Rastas argue – including through Biblical references – that ideally the locks should never be cut, nor the beard shaven. It is therefore obvious that because the Rastafari movement played an important role within reggae music, and the dreadlocks are a part of Rastafari, that the connection between dreadlocks and reggae is being made.

It is however important to point out - perhaps superfluous – that the three terms – reggae, Rastafari, and dreadlocks – are not synonymous, neither necessarily interrelated. Obvious as this may seem to some, I however in this post would like to elaborate on precisely this point. I do this especially by analyzing reggae lyrics, in the same vein as I did in relation to other subjects on this blog (reggae lyrics on slavery, Joe Grine, homophobia).

I, I-SELF and I

I myself wear dreadlocks, as I write this, for over 2 years now (since early 2010). I am a South European, white man, and I originally had dark and wavy/slightly curly hair so a “perm” was to a degree necessary, but the processing further went with as much natural products as possible. In the early stage – with so-called “baby dreads” - it was recommended not to wash my hair for at least a week, which caused itches, but once more formed, the washing frequency could increase to two or three times a week (or even more). This seems healthy and natural, and I got used to it.

I got used to my hair, how and how much to wash it, and also to the sometimes detailed maintenance to avoid (too much) “outgrow”, i.e. loose hairs between the dreadlocks themselves. I chose somewhat thick locks to avoid a “spaghetti-look” (though on the Masai in East Africa the thin locks look quite good). Anyhow, I soon got used to my dreadlocks and their maintenance, and do not consider it as excessive in time nor attention.

All this might make me appear like a vane, fashion-conscious person, but in fact I started to wear dreadlocks to accentuate my identity, beliefs, and cultural preferences. Not for fashion reasons.

Before this, for instance, I hardly ever followed any fashion (neither in clothing nor hair), and though I before regularly used gel for my hair, it had more to do with the “unbalancing” cowlicks (I had to look up this word) I sought to even out. Looking better for myself, and not for others (okay, maybe a bit), mainly. This is still the case now, albeit that I would like to show the world my interest in Rastafari and my identity. Others may find this pretentious, I consider it as sincere.

In time the locks grew more or less “natural” on me, and I felt good with them. I was somewhat surprised about the changed attitudes of some people toward me as my dreadlocks grew longer. Sometimes this was appropriate: some stated an assumed connection of me with Rastafari and, less automatic but understandable, reggae music, and rightly so. This was often positive, at times also negative. Negative stereotypes due to my hair – unfounded prejudice connecting dreadlocks somehow with simplicity, bad manners, drugs, or even criminality - were there. I regularly noted this (so I interpreted it) in unpleasant jokes on my hair and me.

Somewhat understandable - and expected by me - was the reaction of black people who pointed at the Rastafari movement being in essence (still!) a Black Power movement, while I happen to be white (South European), but these reactions and comments were seldom bad-minded. Some of these black persons questioning this were even my friends (even intimate partners), who knew that I actually knew a lot about Rastafari, Marcus Garvey, Haile Selassie, Africa, and black history (and reggae). This compensated somehow. Furthermore, many were probably accustomed to the existence of white Rastafari-adherents or –sympathizers. In fact, the Twelve Tribes of Israel mansion within Rastafari, founded in 1968 by Vernon Carrington – Prophet Gad - , in Jamaica, did not exclude white people from joining Rastafari. Not on forehand, anyway. In 1968 – when the Black Power movement was relatively influential - such a move was quite controversial.

Also the Bobo Ashanti – another, stricter mansion within Rastafari - do not have that absolute a view on this matter anymore. Some Bobo Ashanti in more recent times accept that white people – under certain conditions of course – can be Rastas, or even Bobo Ashanti. There is still some discussion and hesitancy among members of both these mansions, depending on individual viewpoints, but it seems that the racial barrier has partly come down.

That is why I met, ironically, less criticism from black people – including Rastas – than from white people of whom some had unfounded prejudices, I imagine, while in other instances I sensed to catch some “bad vibe” that made me think that they saw me as “pretentious” due to my hair. Of course I can be mistaken, but that was how I sensed it. Also annoying were non-Rastas, some even white, who doubted my sincerity, which is somewhat strange, since they hardly knew me. Too many in this world want to associate with what is perceived to be “cool” just verbally.

But enough about me…

DREADLOCKS WITHIN RASTAFARI

According to documented history the first Rastafari-adherents started wearing dreadlocks, matted hair and beards, since (estimated) the early 1950s. More specifically the Young Black Faith group within the Rastafari movement, that by then had members in certain urban and rural parts of Jamaica, started to differentiate somehow from older members, by not shaving (at first) but later also by not cutting their hair and wearing them as dreadlocks. They thus adopted a so-called “dreader” image. Interestingly, it is said that this image was specifically adopted to create more distance from society (and thus oppressive Babylon system).

The older members before them – the Rastafari movement originated in the 1930s - tended to follow the hairstyle of Haile Selassie. Since the 1950s the dreadlocks became however more closely associated with the Rastafari movement as such, meaning a clear shift in appearance. Dreadlocks since the 1950s then became a sign of Rasta identity, and also recognizable as such. Unfortunately also recognizable for oppressing authorities in Jamaica, seeking to repress this rebellious group. Dreadlocks were part of a rebellious image, conservative Jamaican society long frowned upon, and oppressed. This decreased since the 1970s, but also today there are still reports of harassment of Rastas in Jamaica, based on appearance.

Still, Rastafari was not – and still is not – particularly known to have many strict prescriptions for adherents, though there are core ideas and values. Dreadlocks are therefore not really sensed as obliged and necessary by and for Rastafari-adherents, but more a – quite courageous! – sign of belonging to the movement and of identity. It’s the inside not the outside that counts, to use an appropriate cliché.

Members of the Bobo Ashanti group within Rastafari have the custom to cover their hair in public, especially the male members, using for this turbans. Among the other groups (Nyahbinghi, Twelve Tribes of Israel) this is much less common, other than for practical purposes.

SYMBOLICALLY AND INTERNATIONALLY

Why was especially that hairdo chosen by that group within Rastafari, especially since the 1950s? Not just long hair, but uncombed and in that specific form? While it grows easier from frizzy, Afro hair, - when compared to straight hair of Europeans or Asians for instance - it still does not grow automatically. The most common historical explanation is that it was a mimicking of Kenyan Mau Mau warriors rebelling against the British colonialists in the 1940s, who hid in woodlands and wore dreadlocks. Images of these black rebels in Kenya were shown all over the world, also in Jamaica, serving probably as a model. But other explanations are given as well.

The African connection is for black Jamaicans self-evident (as African descendants and African-based movement), but also other races, religions, and cultures knew the phenomena of dreadlocks for centuries. This can also be read on Wikipedia. In India, within Hinduism, dreadlock wearers included certain monks, ascetic people with special spiritual statuses and connections - holy men - , and this same “spiritual connection” with dreadlocks is found among other cultures (even among Buddhists in Tibet, now known for shaven heads).

Throughout Africa several groups traditionally wore and wear dreadlocks for centuries (e.g. Masai – thin locks, Himba, northern Namibia –thicker locks) for somewhat varying reasons, but often with spiritual connections. Interestingly, the Himba originally live not far south of Angola, where many slaves were taken from to the West. (Photo underneath is of a Himba woman)

The Baye Fall are also interesting because it is a group within local, Sufi-influenced (Marabout-) Islam in Senegal and surroundings, and are formally Muslims, but with a difference, including added local, mystical aspects. The Baye Fall traditionally wear dreadlocks, while other Muslims don’t, or even frown upon it (there is some occurrence among alternative Sufi Muslim groups). Beyond the hair, the Baye Fall’s combination of both the grounded (folk movement, localized, Africanized Islam) and the mystical, is in a general sense also to be found within Rastafari (folk movement, African-oriented religion/Christianity/Bible, and the mystic), as it developed in Jamaica, and later world wide. Interesting parallels..

Also the "spiritual" status of dreadlock-(like) wearers in India or among Orthodox Jews seems to have a parallel with the Rastaman.

Within Rastafari in Jamaica dreadlocks became part of a wider rebellious, “dread”, somewhat wild image, also as opposition to colonial values. Then there are metaphoric, symbolic associations with dreadlocks. The locks as spiritual “antennas”, (as a connection to Jah), or even the locks as a just, chastising “whip” of sorts. The manes of a lion – the Lion Of Judah associated with Haile Selassie - are also connected to dreadlocks symbolically.

In academic and other circles other symbolism is associated with the locks, some of which I find far-fetched, or even ideologically driven. Some (like Barry Chevannes) even see the locks as a phallic symbol (far-fetched as well as odd as they seldom get erect or hard), thus confirming a patriarchy and male-centeredness associated with the movement. I think that also the work (collective volume) ‘Chanting Down Babylon : the Rastafari reader’ (edited by Nathaniel Samuel Murrell, William David Spencer, and Adrian Anthony McFarlane) from 1998, overstates this patriarchy or male-centeredness. I think that “machismo”/patriarchy is not so crucial in Rastafari’s development or values as stated; at most it sometimes continued Christian patriarchical customs that members were before socialized in. But that’s another issue.

REGGAE LYRICS

I think it would be interesting to discuss how all these issues and associations surrounding dreadlocks reflect in the music genre internationally most associated with the hairdo: reggae music.

Dreads or dreadlock-wearers tend to call short-haired, neat, conservative Jamaicans (in their view participating in/with the oppressive Babylon system) “baldhead(s)”. This term is very common throughout especially roots reggae. The song ‘Crazy Baldheads’ of Bob Marley is perhaps best known internationally. The band Culture even had an album (and a song) in 1978 with the title ‘Baldhead Bridge’ (lyric: “Baldhead bridge is falling down..”), The first hit song in Jamaica that in its lyrics referenced the Rastafari movement was by Little Roy, and was the song ‘Bongo Nyah’, a hit in 1969 in Jamaica. It included a reference to the role of dreadlocks in the crucial lyric: “how can you resist Jah, when you have a baldhead”. Thus the term ‘baldhead’’ has been used early on, specifically as opposed to Dreadlock Rastas. As a way to oppose Uncle Toms (baldheads) to Rasta rebels, so to speak.

The Mighty Diamonds sing on ‘Dreadlocks Time’ (from the great Deeper Roots: back to the channel’ album from 1979: “Dread dread dread natty dreadlocks time..baldhead haffe stay behind”…The tables seem to have turned.

There are further several contrasts sketched between natty dreadlocks and baldheads, by both singers and deejays, from the 1970s to recent decades. The Itals sing ‘Run Baldhead Run’ (ca’ natty dread a come) in the 1970s. Bunny Wailer sings on ‘Baldheaded woman’ that he does not want a baldheaded (not literally but meaning non-Rasta) woman in his life.

Somewhat in the same vein, several lyrics evoke the Biblical story of Samson, whose wife Delilah (albeit asked by others) cuts his locks off to remove his strength that were in these locks.

Peter Tosh relates about baldhead Christians trying to convert him on ‘Stand Firm’ (1978). There are countless other examples within reggae. Yet also: the Lee Perry song: ‘Don’t Blame The Baldhead’. Perry by the way mainly sympathized with Rastafari.

Other lyrics focus on the symbolic strength of wearing dreadlocks. Rastafari reggae artists sing about “not cutting their dreadlocks to please no man” (Roots Radics: ‘Everywhere Natty Go’), letting the locks grow "till it reach to the ground" (Culture), “watch de youth dem a knot up: culture time!” (Michael Rose, ‘Give A Little’, 1999).

Besides this, another common theme in many reggae songs is the oppression or rejection that dreadlock-wearers face. These include authorities in Babylon system. Max Romeo bemoans that natty dreadlocks are imprisoned and that there their locks are cut off (on ‘Revelation Time’, 1970s), while Joseph Hill of Culture relates of an inspirational Rastaman (‘Why Am I a Rastaman’, 2000) also trimmed in prison and was sent back as a baldhead man, but that did not change him. Israel Vibration discusses an incident of harsh oppression by forces in 1976 in ‘Licks & Kicks’ on their seminal Same Song album (1978). Of this subtheme there are countless examples as well. ‘Ride Natty Ride’is a nice example from the well-known Bob Marley, for instance. Recently, Chezidek has a good song on the topic ‘Dem A Fight We’ (2006), on the great Take A Ride riddim.

Case in point, the Gladiators sang “You gotta have guts to be a natty dreadlocks” (on ‘Guts’) because at the very least they will harass you. The classic Mighty Diamonds song 'Natural Natty' (1976) is one of my favourite songs on this topic: for musical and lyrical purposes: about how they fight the Rastaman, because “they don’t like is just some locks on his head”.

WOLVES IN SHEEP CLOTHING

Besides all this, there is of course a nuance. A hairdo is of course superficial. It can be an important sign of identity, but it is in itself apart from the inner person. Fake Rastas are a problem within Rastafari since its beginning. Some take on the hairdo without sincerity and even for bad intentions. Criminality, presenting a certain image but living another, or even for fighting or limiting other Rastas. Rastas refer to this as “wolves in sheep clothing”. This is another important subtheme within Rastafari-inspired reggae music. There are many songs on these fake Rastas. Due to the disturbing aspect of it, those with bad intentions are criticized most. Somewhat less also the mere “fashion dreads”, who lack knowledge on Marcus Garvey or Selassie for instance, are criticized.

Hugh Mundell’s ‘Why Do Black Men Fuss and Fight’ (1978) is an example, Fred Locks has a song on this theme called ‘Wolves’ (1976).

There are several other songs comparing the True Rastaman to the fakers or wolves. Other examples: ‘Who De Man A Deal Wid’ (1980) by Winston McAnuff. More recently Junior Kelly’s ‘Rasta Should Be Deeper’ more or less deals with the topic

A wider critique – including the “Fashion Dread” - by veteran Burning Spear is on the song ‘Rasta Business’ (1995).

I can name other examples, but it is maybe best to conclude that it is a recurring lyrical subtheme within (Rastafari-inspired) Roots Reggae. In my opinion positive and a sign of intelligence of the movement is the fact that this criticism is well-motivated, dealing with issues like sincerity, criminality, unity, war, social injustice, and not the following of certain prescriptions or formal rules. It is broader (or: deeper), philosophical. While eating meat, especially pork, is by many Rastas seen as a thing not to do for Rastas, it is not just the eating of chicken in itself that is vilified, mostly, but the fact that you eat once living animals. “Rastafari is life and of this I’m sure” (lyric by I-Wayne).

Lack of prescription - in a sense characteristic of the Rastafari movement - has therefore the positive effect that it results in a deeper understanding/overstanding of core values and their meaning. These reggae lyrics attest to this deeper truth. Dreadlocks thus help to reveal this truth.

De invloeden van Jamaicaanse reggae op Doe Maar

De Nederlandse muziekband Doe Maar begon in 1978, en had een topperiode in voornamelijk Nederland – met meerdere hits – in de vroege jaren 80 van de 20ste eeuw. De eerste bezetting van de band Doe Maar kende onder anderen als lid Ernst Jansz (zang en toetsen) en Jan Hendriks (zang en gitaar). In deze eerste formatie – met ook Piet Dekker, Carel Copier en andere leden - werd een album opgenomen en in 1979 uitgebracht. Zoals met wel meer bands ontstonden er wrijvingen en formatiewisselingen. Dekker ging weg en de resterende bandleden zochten in hun netwerk naar een vervangende bassist. Jansz had toen al eens met Henny Vrienten gespeeld. Als nieuwe drummer kwam na het volgende album ‘Skunk’ (nog met Carel Copier) eerst René van Collem (later vervangen door Jan Pijnenburg), en op de bas en zang uiteindelijk Henny Vrienten.

Vanaf ongeveer 1980 ontstonden er ook muzikale wijzigingen. Het verhaal wil dat de “feestmuziek” en allegaartje van stijlen van het eerdere Doe Maar - nog op het titelloze album van 1979 - min of meer verlaten werd voor een welhaast exclusieve focus op reggae en ska. Blijkbaar was reggae/Jamaicaanse muziek geliefd bij meerdere bandleden, onder meer Vrienten. Enigszins tegen de verwachting in – in ieder geval van de platenmaatschappij – werd Doe Maar juist vanaf toen een stuk populairder bij een breed publiek in Nederland, met meerdere hooggenoteerde hits van de albums Skunk (1981), ‘Doris Day & Andere Stukken’ (1982) en ‘4us/Virus’ (1983). ‘32 Jaar’ was de eerste hit, en later kwamen ook onder meer ‘Is Dit Alles’, ‘Doris Day’, ‘De Bom’, ’Pa’, ‘1 Nacht Alleen’, ‘Macho’ hoog in de Nederlandse hitparade. Daarnaast gold ‘Nederwiet’ (van Skunk) als een soort culthit. Toen het hen allemaal teveel werd, stopte de band in 1984, zoals bij velen bekend zal zijn. Velen vonden – en vinden – Doe Maar de leukste Nederlandstalige band ooit.

Op onderstaande beelden uit 1981 drumt Carel Copier nog:



Op de beelden hieronder uit 1982 is de drummer inmiddels René van Collem:



Als reggae-fan vond ik Doe Maar ook leuk. Ik begon reggae te luisteren vanaf ongeveer 1984: eerst Bob Marley, dan Wailing Souls en vervolgens vrijwel alle reggae. Dit was na die piektijd van Doe Maar, maar wat verlaat begon ik in de latere jaren 80 hun liedjes te luisteren. Blijkbaar hielden de Doe Maar-bandleden ook van reggae net als ik, bedacht ik. Coole band! Leuke muziek, grappige teksten en interessante persoonlijkheden. Catchy songs ook wel. Wat reggae betreft hoefden ze mij natuurlijk niets te vertellen, maar ik vond het leuk dat ze als Nederlanders reggae probeerden te maken.

In het vervolg zal ik de songs van Doe Maar analyseren, vanuit het perspectief van degene die ik uiteindelijk ben geworden: een reggae-kenner. Intrigerend is de vraag of de reggae (en ska)-aspecten in de muziek van Doe Maar bijgedragen hebben aan hun relatief grote populariteit. Dat zou opvallend zijn omdat reggae eigenlijk altijd buiten de commerciële en gepromote mainstream is gebleven. Reggae bleef en blijft derhalve voornamelijk alternatief, hoewel internationaal populair. Dat kan aan de maatschappijkritische, vaak Rastafari-songteksten liggen en niet zozeer aan de muziektechnische kenmerken, maar ook de - echte, ongepolijste! - instrumentale reggae-muziek kan niet bepaald het lieverdje van de mainstream media genoemd worden. Toch werd Doe Maar begin jaren 80 populair. Vooral bij pubermeisjes, wil het cliché, wat mij niet zoveel zegt en ik zelfs positief vind, maar anderen zien dat blijkbaar als een diskwalificatie (misschien een vervelend zusje gehad?).

Een goede song is een goede song, van welk genre dan ook, en Vrienten en Jansz konden leuke liedjes schrijven, en ook goed spelen. Jansz en Vrienten hadden ook iets aantrekkelijks in hun uiterlijk, en als geheel straalde Doe Maar iets luchtigs/vrolijks en toch spannends uit. Dit alles, los van het genre, kan de populariteit verklaren, maar het onderscheidende kenmerk van Doe Maar – ten opzichte van andere Nederlandse bands bijvoorbeeld – was toch die reggae-invloed (en van ska: oudere Jamaicaanse muziek dus). Mogelijk was die reggae-invloed zelfs de basis van het succes.

In het vervolg van dit bericht wil ik daarom de volgende vraag nader onderzoeken en analyseren: hoe verhoudt Doe Maar zich tot de echte reggae (en andere Jamaicaanse muziek)? Ik heb het dan over de authentieke reggae uit Jamaica van ongeveer de tijd van hun successen, en wat eerder. Is de invloed van deze echte reggae verwaterd binnen Doe Maar gekomen of komt het zelfs in de buurt van “the real thing”?

Reggae werd internationaal populair, met name door de bekendheid van Bob Marley, sinds de jaren 70 van de 20ste eeuw. Aan het einde van de jaren 60 ontstonden er in Groot-Brittannie en al snel ook andere Europese landen reggae-scenes, in ieder geval veel mensen die het gingen luisteren. Bij een deel van de Nederlandse reggae-fans was er - dit cliché is een beetje waar - een connectie met marijuana en de coffeeshop-cultuur.

De jaren 70, met name vanaf ongeveer 1972, waren de toptijd van de vaak Rastafari-geïnspireerde "roots reggae" in Jamaica. Bob Marley werd toen internationaal het bekendst, maar meerdere talentvolle artiesten en bands op Jamaica bereikten internationaal liefhebbers. Goede zangers en songwriters, goed gespeelde muziek, innovatieve producers. Een creatieve piek, die tot in de jaren 80 voortduurde. Echte reggae-fans begonnen ook Jamaicaanse harmony vocals groepen als the Wailing Souls, the Itals, Israel Vibration en Culture te waarderen, evenals individuele zangers als Burning Spear, Dennis Brown, Gregory Isaacs, Ijahman Levi, Jacob Miller, Hugh Mundell, en vernieuwers als Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry en King Tubby. Deze laatste kan de uitvinder van de dub worden genoemd. Zowel vocaal als instrumentaal gebeurde er veel interessants op Jamaica, ook gevolgd door reggae-fans in Nederland sinds eind jaren 60.

Toen kwam rond 1980 Doe Maar ten tonele. Ze moeten ook door de genoemde artiesten beïnvloed zijn, of werden ze dat toch vooral door de bekende Bob Marley?

Ik ga dat vergelijkenderwijs na door een aantal redelijk representatieve songs en de albums van Doe Maar af te zetten tegen de Jamaicaanse standaard van de tijd (en iets eerder). Ik heb hierbij vooral een descriptief en niet zozeer een normatief doel. Doe Maar wilde gewoon leuke liedjes maken met wat reggae-invloeden. Bij mijn weten presenteerden ze zich niet als echte reggae-groep. Toch ga ik die eventuele reggae-invloeden onderzoeken. Allereerst in de (instrumentale) muziek.

MUZIEK

Reggae op dezelfde instrumenten klinkt buiten Jamaica toch vaak anders, minder “puur”. Dat geldt ook voor Doe Maar. Soms komt hun sound wat dichter bij de Jamaicaanse sound, maar zelden helemaal. Muziektechnisch zijn de meeste Doe Maar songs hoe dan ook als reggae of ska te karakteriseren, soms deels (gemengd met andere genres). Puur muziektechnisch, maar ook wel de creativiteit erom heen.

De “schoolboekjes” van reggae spelen onderwijzen aldus: drum heeft nadruk op de 3e tel van een vierkwartsmaat, veelal aangegeven door de snare drum. De bas speelt daarop semi-melodische en afgesloten (syncopische) patronen, en de (ritme)gitaar heeft de bekende “strum” (chick! chick!) op de tweede en vierde tel van de maat. Zo heb je al snel een basale reggae-achtige groove, zeker als strak genoeg gespeeld. Goede, creatieve musici tillen dit nog meer omhoog tot een nog boeiender geheel. De Jamaicanen Sly Dunbar (drums) & Robbie Shakespeare (bas) kunnen dat.

Daarbij vergeleken zijn de Doe Maar leden mindere goden (in de reggae-wereld), maar goede, getrainde musici met een leuke creativiteit waren het nog wel. Dat was hoorbaar. Ik vind de drums van Carel Copier (op het album Skunk) en van René van Collem (op Doris Day & Andere Stukken e.a.) ook zeker niet slecht: zeker niet voor Nederlanders. Strak en redelijk creatief. Hetzelfde geldt vaak – niet altijd - voor Vrienten’s baslijnen. De basgitaar mist wel dat doffe en lage van echte Jamaicaanse reggae en klinkt wat te hoog, maar dat is dan Doe Maar’s eigen draai eraan, zou je kunnen zeggen.

Doe Maar verschilde verder ook in dat het minder droevige, mineur - of "militante" sferen op riep, zoals meer gangbaar in de protest- en ghetto-muziek die roots reggae toch was en is. Doe Maar leek meer voor een iets vrolijkere sound te gaan, maar dat verschilde ook per nummer. "Spirituele" of "mystieke" sferen die een deel van de Rastafari-geïnspireerde roots reggae kenmerken riepen Doe Maar's nummers ook zelden op. Het bleef veelal vrolijk en "springerig" (for lack of a better word..). Rastafari-teksten hadden ze dan ook niet: de teksten van Doe Maar gaven veelal een grappige, soms beschouwende kijk op alledaagse dingen als relaties, sex, maar ook wel de bredere maatschappij.

DOE MAAR ZELF

Ik heb gegoogled naar wat de Doe Maar-leden zelf over hun beïnvloeding door Jamaicaanse muziek zeggen, in interviews bijvoorbeeld. Dit leek mij wel goed om mijn vergelijkende analyse beter te funderen. Anders krijg je een “ze zullen wel..” teneur. Speculatie dus. Ik streef op zijn minst naar gefundeerde, beargumenteerde speculatie.

Afijn, het volgende interview (zie link) in 2008 voor een Belgische reggae-website met de bandleden is wat dat betreft wel informatief. Ze zeggen dat ze weinig met de Rastafari-connectie met reggae hebben (anders dan ikzelf, bijvoorbeeld), wat min of meer blijkt uit hun teksten. Daarnaast zeggen ze in de jaren 70 door verschillende “grote namen” van de Jamaicaanse ska en reggae beïnvloed te zijn, maar blijkbaar vooral door de “early reggae” (1968-tot ong. 1972) van Toots & the Maytals – die wat sneller was dan de roots reggae vanaf ong. 1973 - , en ook door Lee “Scratch” Perry. Wat betreft de bas schijnt de invloed van early reggae als van Toots & the Maytals vooral groot te zijn geweest. In een vorige band coverde Vrienten ook nummers van Toots & the Maytals.
http://www.reggae.be/magazine/interviews/column/292

Dat verklaart mijn eerdere constatering van de wat hogere, minder doffe basgitaar in Doe Maar: dat is zo vergeleken met de “doffere” en lagere basgitaar in roots reggae (ontwikkeld in de loop van de jaren 70). Inderdaad is die invloed van Toots & the Maytals muzikaal hoorbaar in Doe Maar nummers, zeker in de bas.



Toch betoog ik dat er ook andere invloeden hoorbaar zijn in Doe Maar songs. In dat interview houdt Doe Maar hun invloeden ook enigszins vaag, en noemen als invloed verder nog specifiek Lee “Scratch” Perry die ook in de roots reggae tijd erg actief was (al sinds de ska en vroege reggae tijd ook, maar goed..), en die wel Rastafari-beïnvloed was. Die invloeden ga ik verder na in - onder meer - de drum en ritmepatronen.

RITMEPATRONEN

De drum is belangrijk in reggae. De “One Drop” drumstijl – deels bedacht door Bob Marley’s drummer, de Wailer Carlton Barret, begin jaren 70 - was internationaal redelijk bekend. Het woord zegt het eigenlijk al. De eerste tel van de vierkwartsmaat is leeg gelaten door de drum waardoor er een gat lijkt te vallen en het accent (met drum) verschuift naar de derde tel. Die derde tel is vanouds benadrukt in de reggae en haar voorlopers, maar met de One Drop drumstijl werd die nadruk sterker. Zo krijg je een leuk soort swing: dus: 1: niets/hi-hat, 2: niets/hi-hat (maar ritmegitaar “chick!”),3: snare drum (met bass drum)-TOEK!, en op 4: niets/hi-hat en chick!/ritmegitaar. Chick-TOEK!-chick..hoor je als het ware.

Dit One Drop ritme verschilde soms van Toots & the Maytals-achtige reggae. maar hoor je op veel van Doe Maar’s nummers. Hun eerste hit in Nederland, ‘32 Jaar (Sinds 1 dag of 2)’, was deels reggae met min of meer een snelle variant van het One Drop patroon (bij de “ooh la la la la la”-sectie). Sommige van de grote hits, zoals 'Is Dit Alles' waren muzikaal ook One Drop-reggae. Ook een nummer als ‘Nix Voor Jou’ op Skunk is duidelijk een One Drop drumpatroon, waarin ik (muzikaal) echo’s van sommige Bob Marley & the Wailers’ nummers meen te horen. Ook nummers als ‘Okee’ en ‘Radeloos’ hadden een One Drop patroon. Op 4US heeft bijvoorbeeld 'Zoek het zelf maar uit' een duidelijk One Drop-patroon (en ik meen erop weer een Bob Marley-invloed te horen).

Men stelde dat Skunk meer ska kende dan het erop volgende album, toch was er heel wat reggae (met One Drop patroon dus) op te horen. Ook was er ska op het erna komende album Doris Day & Andere Stukken, trouwens. 'Heroine' op 4US is ook ska.



Voor het oudere Jamaicaanse genre ska, ontstaan rond 1960 - reggae bestaat sinds ongeveer 1968 - geldt hetzelfde: drumtechnisch lijkt ska op One Drop, alleen is het sneller. Daarnaast kent ska een ander, “lopend” basgitaar-patroon. Dit is hoorbaar in de op ska-gebaseerde Doe Maar songs ‘Smoorverliefd’ en ‘Liever Dan Lief’ (beide op Skunk). Wel klinkt de bas hier vaak wat anders en harder omdat het een elektrische bas betreft: in de oude Jamaicaanse ska werd nog een contrabas gebruikt. Ska komt verder regelmatig terug in Doe Maar nummers, zoals gezegd ook ná het album Skunk, soms gecombineerd met reggae in één en hetzelfde nummer.

ROCKERS

In Jamaica veranderde het drumpatroon in de reggae wat in de loop van de jaren 70. Vanaf ongeveer 1977 kwam de bass drum vaker terug, en veelal op de eerste tel (van een vierkwartsmaat) naast dus de nadruk met de snare drum op de derde tel. Dit zorgde voor een wat anders ritmisch gevoel (“rocking”), vandaar dat dit ritme de naam “Rockers” kreeg. Nog meer bass drum – op elke tel - kwam er soms ook bij, waardoor het iets “militairs” kreeg, naast die nadruk op de derde tel: dit werd “Steppers” genoemd. Bob Marley’s song ‘Exodus’ is daar een voorbeeld van.

Ook Rockers en Steppers drumpatronen komen in sommige nummers van Doe Maar terug. Iets meer in de “modernere” laatste plaat 4us, maar ook daarvoor al. ‘Nederwiet’ (op Skunk) is bijvoorbeeld meer Rockers (bass drum op eerste tel) dan One Drop, wat wel past bij de "rocking flow” van dit nummer. 'Nederwiet' heeft al met al een redelijk geslaagde rootsy “vibe” en komt hierdoor muzikaal enigszins in de buurt van echte Jamaicaanse reggae. Het latere nummer ‘Macho’ heeft ook een - zij het moderner - Rockers drumpatroon.



Steppers is te horen in bijvoorbeeld het nummer ‘Een Nacht Alleen’, Jansz’s drum bass-rijke ‘Nachtmerrrie (Op Hol)’ – alsmede in het meer recente nummer ‘Watje’ (hoewel de drum soms “Rockers” trekken heeft), van het comeback-album ‘Klaar’ (2000). ‘Als Niet Als’, ook op Klaar, heeft weer een One Drop drumpatroon, maar switcht deels naar Rockers en Steppers op hetzelfde nummer.

Zo bleef Doe Maar interessant variëren en enigszins experimenteren, tussen én binnen nummers: tussen ska en reggae (en af en toe andere stijlen), maar ook tussen standaard reggae-drumpatronen dus. De basispatronen zelf werden weinig veranderd en redelijk getrouw gevolgd.

Die variatie kende niet echt een tijdspatroon. Relatief iets oudere One Drop-patronen komen ook in de latere opnames van Doe Maar terug. Hierbij is de song ‘Nachtzuster’ (op 4US, uit 1983) een interessante casus. Door de titel vermoed ik een invloed van Gregory Isaacs’ (in reggae-kringen) bekende reggae-song ‘Night Nurse’ (uit 1982) op Doe Maar. Isaacs’ song heeft een redelijk typisch Rockers ritmepatroon, wat “zwoeler” gemaakt door onder meer toetsen, passend bij de tekst van de song.



Doe Maar’s ‘Nachtzuster’ heeft daarentegen een One Drop patroon, wat toch een andere, springerige en minder zwoele “feel” geeft dan de Isaacs’ song met dezelfde titel. Ook de bas is bij Doe Maar anders: inderdaad meer Toots & the Maytals-achtig. Qua songtekst zijn er veel overeenkomsten, en zelfs qua melodie van het refrein zijn er vage overeenkomsten tussen ‘Nachtzuster’ en ‘Night Nurse’, maar mogelijk niet zo direct dat men van plagiaat door Doe Maar kan spreken. Mogelijk hebben Vrienten en Isaacs daarover contact gehad, weet ik veel. Een invloed vermoed ik in ieder geval wel.

‘Bang’, op hetzelfde album 4US, heeft wel een Rockers-achtig drumpatroon – hoewel het door meerdere bass drums per maat richting Steppers gaat - waardoor het ironisch (muzikaal) in het couplet-gedeelte wat meer op Gregory Isaacs’s ‘Night Nurse’ lijkt dan ‘Nachtzuster’. De bas op 'Bang' is echter aanmerkelijk minder complex. (Het lijkt trouwens ook niet meer echt op Toots & the Maytals-achtige reggae.)



De invloed van Jamaicaanse muziek en muziekpatronen is dus zeer duidelijk in muzikaal opzicht, in de meeste songs van Doe Maar. Die invloed kwam mijns inziens hoorbaar lang niet alleen van Toots & the Maytals of Lee “Scratch” Perry, maar had meerdere bronnen. Er zijn daarnaast ook verschillen: Jamaicaanse roots reggae gebruikte gemiddeld genomen veel meer percussie (bongos, e.a.) dan Doe Maar, en ook wat vaker blazers, maar dat heeft wellicht ook praktische redenen. Daarnaast is dat enigszins bijzonder omdat de oorspronkelijke Jamaicaanse ska gekenmerkt werd door het vele gebruik van blazers (maar latere Britse en VS ska ook minder, dus..)

Ik vind het jammer dat Doe Maar wel teruggrijpt naar de ska, maar een andere voorloper van de reggae, de rocksteady (ontstaan rond 1966), nauwelijks speelt. De basgitaar is belangrijker in rocksteady dan in ska, bijvoorbeeld. Ikzelf heb over het algemeen meer met rocksteady dan met ska, maar dat is een persoonlijke voorkeur. De enige nummers waarin ik een rocksteady-echo meen te bespeuren zijn ‘Vergeet Me’ en – met name in de bas van - ‘Okee’, beide geschreven door Vrienten, die overigens al vóór zijn toetreden tot Doe Maar rocksteady-nummers maakte, zoals het grappige (Engelstalige) ‘If You Love Me’.



VOCALEN

Ik had het eerder over harmony vocal/harmoniezang-groepen: een belangrijk subgenre in de Jamaicaanse roots reggae: veel achtergrond- en combinatiezang met drie of soms vier zangers, veelal met maatschappijkritische en Rastafari-teksten. De harmoniezang klinkt vaak doordacht en goed. Op zijn best kan aan deze roots harmonies – met de juiste muziek erbij natuurlijk – wat mij betreft weinig tippen. Ik denk aan fantastische albums van the Wailing Souls, the Abyssinians, en the Mighty Diamonds. Nummers die naar mijn mening ook goed “blijven”, en tot de klassieke canon van de reggae behoren: ’I Need A Roof’ van the Mighty Diamonds, ‘Lift Up Your Conscience’ van Israel Vibration, ‘A Fool Will Fall’ van the Wailing Souls en andere “big tunes”.

Nu maakte Doe Maar ook in de meeste nummers gebruik van harmoniezang en achtergrondzang. Ook het principe van afwisselende lead zangers, zoals de Jamaicaanse groepen vaak doen, paste Doe Maar toe. Zoals bekend wisselden qua lead zang Jansz en Vrienten elkaar meestal af met af en toe iemand anders (Joost Belinfante op ‘Nederwiet’). De zangers waren veelal ook de schrijvers van de betreffende songs, zoals ook voor sommige Jamaicaanse bands gold/geldt. Andere Jamaicaanse bands hadden/hebben weer wel een belangrijkste zanger en soms ook zangers die niet alle nummers schrijven (een ander bandlid bijvoorbeeld), maar dat gold niet voor Doe Maar: Vrienten zong veelal nummers van hemzelf, evenals Jansz.

Daarbij was er ook achtergrondzang, harmonie zowel als “call-and-response”. Deze herhaalde soms teksten, soms voegde het teksten of kreten (ratata!, ooh ooh) toe.

Net als bij de muziek is hier een Jamaicaanse invloed merkbaar op Doe Maar. Die lijkt soms minder eenduidig, omdat dergelijke zang ook in andere genres (soul, funk, Latin) lang gangbaar was. Toch bemerk ik specifieke reggae-invloeden in Doe Maar songs, ook wat betreft deze zang.

Het is evenwel wat complexer. De groepszang bekend als call-and-response – of “roep” en (in koor) “antwoord” -, die ook Doe Maar hanteerde, heeft een lange traditie in de zwarte muziek, teruggaand tot de Afrikaanse wortels. Call-and-response is historisch een onderdeel van Afrikaanse muziek, ook vóór Afrikanen gedwongen naar de West werden versleept; de voorouders dus van de meeste Jamaicanen en anderen. Kaseko, calypso, Afro-Cubaanse muziek, Afro-Braziliaanse muziek, soul, funk, blues: allen kende ze call-and-response in een bepaalde vorm. Dit geldt ook voor lokale, (“pre-ska”) Afro-Jamaicaanse stijlen (zoals folk religious music en mento). Jamaicaanse reggae muziek is echter vanaf zeker de jaren 60 van de 20ste eeuw sterk beïnvloed door zwarte Amerikaanse muziek uit de VS: eerst R&B en blues, later soul en funk. Bij de Mighty Diamonds en wat andere groepen hoor je de invloed van (soft-) soul van the O’Jays uit Chicago of van the Delfonics uit Philadelpia.

Nu kan Doe Maar ook door die soul-traditie beïnvloed zijn, door Surinaamse kaseko of door Latijns-Amerikaanse muziek als salsa, maar ik acht een directe Jamaicaanse invloed waarschijnlijker. Niet alleen omdat de muziek al grotendeels Jamaicaans beïnvloed is, maar ik hoor het ook direct aan de vocalen in meerdere songs van Doe Maar.

De achtergrondzang op 'Nederwiet' bijvoorbeeld doet wel heel erg denken aan de achtergrondzang van nummers van de Jamaicaanse groep the Wailing Souls. Leg bijvoorbeeld de song ‘Bredda Gravalicious’ hieronder - uit 1976 - van the Wailing Souls naast ‘Nederwiet’ (eerder ingesloten in dit bericht, of houd YouTube open) uit 1981, en let op de achtergrondzang.



Qua muziek verschilt het wel wat omdat the Wailing Souls hier een One Drop patroon gebruiken (hun latere albums hadden vooral de Rockers groove), terwijl ‘Nederwiet’ Rockers is te noemen. Ook op andere nummers van Doe Maar hoor je in de vocalen overeenkomsten met bijvoorbeeld de Wailing Souls.

De invloed van “softere”, meer soul-achtige Mighty Diamonds achtergrondzang hoor je ook wel in nummers als ‘Liever dan Lief’: de achtergrondzang: “ik heb het wel gezegd ik heb het wel gezegd zeg” lijkt haast een kopie van wat de Mighty Diamonds in sommige nummers doet (ja, al vóór Doe Maar). Als voorbeeld kun je naar de gelijkende achtergrondzang op ‘I Need A Roof’ (1976) luisteren van the Mighty Diamonds, hoe dan ook een magistraal nummer..

‘Liever Dan Lief’ is muzikaal ska, en dat verschilt weer van de Mighty Diamonds die na de ska-tijd begonnen en voornamelijk reggae en soms rocksteady maakten, vanaf ongeveer 1967.

Ik weet het niet zeker, maar als ‘Bredda Gravalicious’ (1976) van de Wailing Souls en ‘I Need A Roof’ (1976) van de Mighty Diamonds mede als voorbeeld voor Doe Maar dienden, dan kennen ze in ieder geval hun reggae-klassieken. Wel kunnen de songs dan alleen maar minder zijn dan die originele norm. Dat zijn de Doe Maar nummers ook – vergeleken met deze klassieke roots reggae - , maar ze zijn nog wel leuk en zeker niet slecht.

Dan is er tekstueel strikt genomen betekenisloze achtergrondzang, zoals “Ratata!” op ‘Doris Day’. Dat is er ook wel in de soul, trouwens, maar ook in reggae. Op ‘Doris Day’ hoor je dat, op ’32 Jaar’, maar er zijn meer voorbeelden in Doe Maar songs (bijv.“Oediediewoep-woep” op ‘De Laatste X’) Ik vermoed hier een Bob Marley & the Wailers-invloed en ook van een groep als the Meditations (die op hun beurt weer beïnvloed zijn door de Wailers). Luister maar eens naar ‘Babylon Trap Them’ (uit 1975) van the Meditations.

Dan hoor ik ook de invloed van de groep Israel Vibration, inclusief iets van “vibratie” in de achtergrondzang, bijvoorbeeld op het nummer ‘Tijd Genoeg’. Onderstaande nummer 'Prophet Has Arise' komt uit 1978. Ook roots groepen als the Abyssinians lijken van invloed op Doe Maar.



Rastafari-geïnspireerde en "diepe roots" groepen als de Wailing Souls, Israel Vibration, the Mighty Diamonds, en de Abyssinians neigen gemiddeld wel in hun zang meer naar mineur en treurige, spirituele, – of serieuze/militante - sferen dan het gemiddeld wat vrolijkere en "springerige" geluid van Doe Maar.



Door het hele oeuvre heen van Doe Maar bemerk je evenwel zeker in technische zin die Jamaicaanse “roots harmony”-invloed. Zoveel dat specifieke voorbeelden bijna niet meer te geven zijn. Bovendien kan iedereen ook zelf zoeken naar nummers om dit te beluisteren (het verbaast mij bijvoorbeeld elke keer hoeveel er toch op YouTube is te vinden). Ik moet al met al zeggen dat Doe Maar die achtergrondzang meestal goed inzette, hoewel niet consistent goed. In sommige nummers doet het wat geforceerd aan, of leidt het zelfs af, maar vaker voegt die achtergrondzang wel degelijk wat leuks toe aan de Doe Maar-nummers.

Een verwijt is dat eventuele nabootsen overigens niet. Reggae is namelijk ook deels beïnvloed door zwarte Amerikaanse muziek. Vanaf het ontstaan deels, maar dat was niet zozeer nabootsen als wel laten beïnvloeden, om het vervolgens een eigen draai te geven met lokale invloeden en muziek. In enige mate heeft ook Doe Maar dat gedaan, maar ze hebben verre van een nieuw genre bedacht, dat ook weer niet. Doe Maar baseerde zich grotendeels op bestaande, Jamaicaanse muziekgrenres.

LEAD ZANG

In de lead zang is een Jamaicaanse invloed minder aanwijsbaar. Vrienten en Jansz zingen/zongen doorgaans met hun natuurlijke stemmen. Deze zijn niet slecht, maar ook niet bijzonder getraind. Ze zingen ook in het standaard-Nederlands, dan wel met een Tilburgs/Brabants accent. De “soul” die veel zwarte zangers in hun zang leggen bereiken de meeste blanke/Europese zangers niet, ook niet met wat Aziatisch bloed, zoals Jansz. Vaak zelfs niet als ze al heel lang met zwarte muziek bezig zijn. Zo zit het nu eenmaal, heel algemeen gesteld natuurlijk. Een kwestie van cultuur en levenservaring, maatschappelijke positie wellicht, en mogelijk zelfs genen.

Natuurlijk en adequaat zingen - en menen wat je zingt - lijkt mij dan het minst geforceerd over komen. Dat lukt Doe Maar redelijk. Er kan dan zelfs, bij emotionele thema’s, toch iets van oprechte “soul” in de lead zang komen, zoals in Vrienten’s ‘Radeloos’ of ‘De Laatste X’, of Jansz’ interessante song over zijn Indo-achtergrond ‘Rumah Saya’. Jansz en Vrienten lijken als goede musici hun zangstemmen verder goed te kennen en over het algemeen ook goed te gebruiken.

TER AFSLUITING

De Jamaicaanse reggae en ska-invloed is groot op Doe Maar. Zo groot dat hun hele “sound” er in belangrijke mate door beïnvloed is: muzikaal maar ook deels vocaal. Het zijn deze reggae-aspecten die Doe Maar hielpen populair te worden. Ze wisten zelfs reggae enigszins bij de mainstream in Nederland te krijgen, zij het in een wat aangepaste, verwaterde "luchtige" vorm, doch niet zo aangepast als had gekund. Hun populariteit leek soms vergelijkbaar met die van de Beatles destijds, zij het beperkt tot voornamelijk Nederland. Ook de Beatles waren meer door zwarte muziek beïnvloed dan bij velen bekend is, dus dat is een overeenkomst, al leek Doe Maar daar tenminste wat opener in te zijn.

Doe Maar maakte wel zelf de catchy, goede songs - vocaal en instrumentaal -, en dat is hun eigen prestatie. Maar waren die songs op zichzelf genoeg? Ik betwijfel het. Frank Boeijen had bijvoorbeeld ook goede songs. Doe Maar klonk zoals het was doordat ze sterk beïnvloed waren door Jamaicaanse muzikale artiesten. In die zin was die invloed meer dan een bijzaak en uiteindelijk medebepalend. Dat geeft verder niet, maar ik denk toch even “credit where credit is due”...