African Disneyland? “Fela!” on Broadway, a Response to the New York Times
Words by Ezra Gale
This is in response to Charles Isherwood’s article on the Broadway musical “Fela!” in the New York Times on Sunday, January 28, 2010. I took a special interest in his critical take on the show not only because I recently saw the show- which is set at Fela’s Lagos, Nigeria nightclub the Shrine- and not only because I have been a devotee of Fela Kuti’s music and life story for years, but also because in 2006 I had the unforgettable experience of traveling to Lagos, Nigeria with my band, Aphrodesia, where we played at the Shrine with Fela’s son, Femi.
Mr. Isherwood is to be commended for thinking so critically about the musical. Race is, as he notes in his opening paragraph, an incendiary topic, and those of us involved in any debate on it too often devolve into knee-jerk ‘reactionism,’ often fed by notions of political correctness and white guilt. Mr Isherwood’s thoughtful, lengthy critique in a major American newspaper should be taken by fans of afrobeat and of the musical as the highest compliment (he is also right to urge everyone- as I emphatically do as well- to go and see the show for themselves).
That said, Mr. Isherwood is wrong on the major themes of his article.
He’s right that “Fela!” the musical isn’t perfect. The plot is weak, and character development almost nonexistent. The plot could be accurately summarized as “Fela says he’s leaving Nigeria, then he changes his mind.” And although we are witness to the development of Fela’s life through flashbacks, there are no meaningful changes in the portrayals of the major characters through the passage of the show, as is often the case in Broadway productions.
But- and it’s a big but- that’s not the point. “Fela!” is instead a raucous, bombastic, thrilling and at times touching show that transports the audience to a specific time and place- Fela Kuti’s Lagos nightclub, The Shrine, in the late 1970’s. I am no Broadway musical expert, but I believe the show’s positioning of a radical figure like Fela as the hero, its use of Afrobeat, a previously little-known, stubbornly funky and uncompromising music, as the score, and its celebration of strikingly non-Broadway ideas of showmanship, such as African dance and the inclusion of the audience, is groundbreaking for the Great White Way. In essence, “Fela!” brings a new theatrical and musical tradition to Broadway, and Mr. Isherwood mistakenly judges it by his own standard.
One of Mr. Isherwood’s major complaints, for example, is with the look of the show. In crafting a musical that looks (and sounds, thanks to the expert recreation of Fela’s music by a band that includes members of Antibalas) like Fela’s Shrine, the creators of “Fela!” have built a set that Mr Isherwood dismisses as an “African Disneyland.” Yet I found the set design to be one of the most transporting and authentic elements of the show. I should point out that the Shrine I visited and played with Aphrodesia was not the Shrine of the musical- that Shrine was bulldozed by the Nigerian government soon after Fela’s death in 1997. Rather, the Shrine we experienced was Fela’s son Femi’s recreation of his father’s nightclub, in a different neighborhood of Lagos, which he calls “The New Afrika Shrine.” But although the building is different (much bigger, and, we were told by more than one Nigerian, with a much better sound system), by all accounts the vibe and feel of the place is very much the same. And so I can only assume that the set of “Fela!”, looking much like the Shrine I saw, nails the look of the original Shrine. Mr. Isherwood writes that the set is covered in corrugated metal and “African gee-gaws.” Yet I wonder if he is familiar with the clash of cultures that make up the world of Lagos and much of West Africa, where African religious and cultural icons mesh with appropriations of Christian symbols and elements of western culture. Walk down the street in Lagos or Accra and you will find shacks housing businesses with names like “God is Great Beauty Salon” and “He Is Arisen Electrical Shop;” women in traditional cloth dress sell bags of water next to men in business suits talking on their cell phones. It is this world that gave birth to the Shrine, and so while “Fela!”’s set design may have looked contrived to Mr. Isherwood, to me it looked strikingly authentic. At the New Afrika Shrine the slapdash construction of corrugated metal was covered with objects like a giant map of the world with Africa colored in red and a giant slogan that read ‘Movement Against Second Slavery;’ one corner held a religious shrine to Fela. I can only assume the objects that decorated the walls of the original Shrine held a similar significance. An African Disneyland? No, Mr. Isherwood, that musical was named “The Lion King.” This is simply Africa.
Entrance Gate to the Afrika Shrine, Lagos 2006 (Photo by Ezra Gale)
Another of Mr. Isherwood’s complaints is that in walking and dancing among the audience the performers have broken the “Fourth Wall” that normally places performers on stage and audience members in the seats. I’m not enough of an expert on theater to say if this sacred separation of performer and audience is a European construct; I can say though, that the ‘call and response’ format of much West African music- so integral to Fela’s music and deeply influential in much of today’s pop music as well- is rooted in the involvement of everyone present. A singer ‘calls’ a phrase or sentence, the ‘response’ comes from everyone. Music in West Africa often serves a much more universal function than it unfortunately does here in America, where we are bombarded with background music nearly every minute of our day. As I found while I was there, there are songs to telegraph the news from the next village, there are songs for cooking fish without too much salt, and, as Fela proved, there are songs for calling your government a bunch of thieving oligarchs. All of these songs are meant to include the listener in a way that I would guess stands out from Mr. Isherwood’s previous Broadway experience. It is to this tradition that the practice of sending the dancers and performers among the audience, and of asking the audience to sing, and to dance, as “Fela!” does, belongs.
I think Mr. Isherwood’s critique reveals more about himself, and by extension white American attitudes towards race and Africa, than he does about the show. He accuses the show of ‘fetishizing’ the exotic with flashy song and dance, and yet I’d guess there’s nothing exotic about the song and dance in the show to most West Africans, and certainly not to the ones in the mileu portrayed in “Fela!” In tagging the music and dance in the show as belonging to a ‘spectacle of African culture’ that he says tilts too closely towards ‘minstrelsy,’ Mr. Isherwood makes the mistake he accuses the show of making- he assumes that the ‘ecstatic’ music and dance in the show is somehow beneath the dignity of these characters (it reminds me of the argument that music should be taught in schools because it helps kids with math, to which my response has always been, ‘Really? Maybe we should teach math because it helps kids with music’). I think the music and dance in the show is portrayed, accurately, not as light entertainment in service of some higher goal, but as that higher goal itself. And not incidentally, the music and dance (including the beautiful Nigerian women dancing suggestively all night long) portrayed in the show is pretty damn close to the Shrine as I remember it.
Fela!, Eugene O’Neill Theater, New York 2009
Femi Kuti, Afrika Shrine, Lagos 2006 (Photo by Ezra Gale)
Mr. Isherwood seems to believe the emphasis on music and dance is exploitative, but I’d bet Mr. Ishwerwood dinner at Sardi’s that not a single one of the approximately 150 million-plus Nigerians, given the chance to come to Broadway and see the show, would leave the theater feeling exploited. I bet they’d feel proud that this part of their culture and history was being so lovingly crafted and performed in front of such a mainstream American audience every night. I am reminded of my own experience in West Africa. We were a white band, playing African music, in Africa. Before we left we were bombarded with well-meaning concerns from friends about whether the Africans we met would be insulted by what we were doing, whether they would see us as exploiting their culture. But our experience once in Ghana, Togo, Benin and Nigeria was the opposite- people were almost universally thrilled that we were playing their style of music, that we had taken the time to learn it and that we obviously loved it so much we had traveled all the way to Africa to play it and learn more. The questions of authenticity, exploitation and cultural stereotyping and racism that had confronted us faded away as we met Africans who were- rightly- proud that their music and culture was strong enough to make such an impact on people on the other side of the world. We encountered a much more nuanced (and refreshingly blunt) view of race as well- of course, there is black and white, but there are many shades of each. For me, Mr. Isherwood’s critique represents these type of questions- well-meaning, but naïve as to what really constitutes the difference between exploitation and respectful tribute.
Mr. Isherwood says it “seems odd that the only character other than Fela Kuti who has any sustained dialogue is an American.” Actually, it’s not odd: it’s appropriate. Fela’s music was as American as it was African- a synthesis of James Brown funk, American jazz and African Rhythms. And that “brash woman” whom Mr. Isherwood declines to name was Sandra Izadore, who, meeting Fela when he lived in Los Angeles in 1969, introduced him to the politics of the American Black Power movement and the Black Panthers, forever changing his life, music and politics. Far from being the “festive window dressing” Mr. Isherwood accuses the women of Fela of being portrayed as, Ms. Izadore comes across as strong and independent in the musical. Fela is entranced by her, he woos her simplistically, and receives a stack of Black Power literature in return (this portrayal of Ms. Izadore seems correct- I’ve had the priveledge of speaking to her by phone once; she still lives and works in LA, working with community organizations and occaissionally producing afrobeat-themed concerts with local bands like the excellent Afrobeat Down).
I will leave for elsewhere a discussion of Fela’s problematic attitudes towards women (seek out Nkiru Nzegwu’s essay on this in the excellent collection of scholarly articles about Fela, Fela: From West Africa to West Broadway). But the sexuality that Mr. Isherwood seems to find gratuitous and degrading from Fela’s backup dancers and wives in the show (and it was clear to me that they were his wives in the show, perhaps Mr. Isherwood went to the bathroom during the scene when he marries them?) is an accurate portrayal of Fela and his son Femi’s show. The sexuality from the dancers is undeniable; it’s also proud, and I believe here again Mr. Isherwood is imposing his own views and standards uneccesarily.
The “Wives”, Afrika Shrine, Lagos 2006 (photo by Ezra Gale)
Mr. Isherwood discounts the political context given in the show by saying that “you learn more about the sociopolitical situation by reading the newspaper headlines in the video projections on the set.” Actually, Nigerian soldiers’ raid on his compound and the murdering of his mother by them is the main dramatic episode in the show. This event- a reference to the Kalakuta Raid of February 18, 1977- is put in its proper context as a reaction to Fela’s outspoken criticism of the government’s corruption. The episode when Fela was jailed for marijuana possession, but released after several days for lack of evidence (the creative details of which make for one of the more entertaining passages in the show, and which yielded his classic song, “Expensive Shit”), appropriately portrays a government furious at his dissent, yet fearful of confronting his enormous popularity. Yes, there are political elements left out- viewers will have to dig elsewhere to learn about the bloody Biafran War of 1967-70, a civil war estimated to have killed as many as three million people and which shaped the political culture of the Nigeria inhabited by Fela (and perhaps even more importantly, by his politically outspoken mother, too). Absent too is talk to the ethnic tensions within Nigeria between the Igbo and other groups like Fela’s Yoruba, which contributed to that war and were exacerbated by Britain’s colonial administration, itself touched on but not deeply examined in the show.
But a full revealing of these political complexities would turn the show into more of a lecture and less of an entertainment. And that’s what Mr. Isherwood misses in his critique- this is a show, and deservedly so. Fela knew that his politics had to be coupled with his music to gain traction with the population; likewise, the musical “Fela!” would be sorely off-base if it left out the sensual side of its main character.
The show is far from perfect- for that, the plot and narrative would have to match Bill T. Jones’ breathtaking choreography and the irresistible Antibalas-fueled live soundtrack. But what flaws it has do not stem from exploitation or racist assumptions about Africans and African culture.
Tags: Afrobeat, aphrodesia, Broadway, Charlse Isherwood, Ezra Gale, Fela!. Fela Kuti, Femi Kuti, Lagos, New York, New York Times, Nigeria, Shrine, Theater
FREEDOM FIGHTER SERIES: Music and Human Rights, an Interview with Austin Dacey
Dec 7, 2009 Features, Interview
Note: The Freedom Fighter series highlights individuals who have been dedicated to music and its power. For the first installment of the series, we sat down with Austin Dacey, philosopher, human rights activist and organizer of “The Impossible Music Sessions”, an upcoming performance series intending to showcase musicians who have been subject to persecution and censorship.
Interview and Words by Ezra Gale, Photos by Quoc Pham
The power of music to incite, liberate, provoke and generally upset the status quo is one that seemingly disparate artists from The Clash to Fela Kuti to Dead Prez have mined for explosive and often political effect. It may be hard for us to picture here in New York and elsewhere in the developed western world- where music is as background as your screen saver- but there are still many places where music is as contraband as dynamite: an uncontrollable substance dangerous to autocratic regimes from Iran to China to Guinea-Bissau who would just as soon banish its potentially subversive effects.
This Wednesday, December 9, marks the start of a performance series at Brooklyn’s Littlefield that aims to showcase banned music from around the globe- music literally declared too dangerous to exist in its home country. Wednesday features Haroon Bacha, forced into exile from his native Pakistan because the encroaching Taliban deemed his lyrics insufficiently puritanical. In 2010 the series will morph into “The Impossible Music Sessions,” a series of performances meant to connect performers here in New York with underground and essentially illegal bands and artists in Iran, Africa and elsewhere. It’s all the brainchild of Austin Dacey, whose vision of combating tyranny includes using music as ammunition, and who has set out to support musicians worldwide doing just that. We sat down to talk with Austin about the upcoming series at Littlefield, and about our favorite subject here at Sound Liberation — the power of music.
So how did you get involved in human rights work, to start?
Well, I’m a philosopher by training, and for the last ten years I’ve worked at doing philosophy in public life. I was working with a non-profit organization that’s interested in freedom of conscience, freedom of expression, freedom of inquiry. It’s called The Center for Inquiry, and it defends the liberty to doubt and question and dissent from orthodoxy, wherever you are and whoever you are. And that brought me to the United Nations, where we were involved in some of the struggles there to try to protect the human right to doubt and question, and to express those doubts.
And so where along the way did music become involved? How did you decide to incorporate that in what you are doing?
Well, since I was a young man, I was a frustrated musician. I was always looking for a way to get back into music. In the last few years, I was working with dissidents and secular voices from the Arab and Muslim world, and I was finding all this amazing music. The first music I really got into was Persian hip-hop from the underground in Iran, and in the Iranian expatriate community. It was great music and it was obviously an exercise of a human right. People were talking about the situation in their country and opposing a totalitarian theocracy with their music. I started looking around to see if there was anyone talking about the human rights of musicians. I found one organization based in Denmark that had been doing that for about ten years, and so I started volunteering for them.
And are you doing that now, working for them?
Yes, I’m an advisor for Freemuse, the World Forum on Music and Censorship. They’re based in Copenhagen. What Reporters Without Borders is for reporters, Freemuse is for musicians.
That’s interesting, because I bet most people wouldn’t put musicians in the same category as persecuted groups like reporters or dissidents.
Human rights are important because we are all vulnerable to exercises of power. Music is as threatening to the powerful because music has a power to move that is autonomous from the other centers of power in society. It doesn’t respond to command–it responds to its own impulses. Music is also a source of community identity for many religious or cultural minorities who threaten the majority or the orthodox. Music is a convenient target for supressing that pluralism. There are cases of cultural repression, for example, societies where women are not allowed to sing before mixed audiences. Or political censorship, in which certain messages are prevented from getting on state-run radio or television, up to outright bans, where particular songs are considered blasphemous. There are many cases of musicians who have been imprisoned and killed for playing a tune.
Do you think there are repressive regimes that are particularly afraid of music? Do you think there is something about the power of music that makes them want to suppress it?
I think that all totalitarian or autocratic governments are tempted to do that. Probably the worst offender right now is the Islamic Republic of Iran, which has been called the biggest prison for journalists in the world. It’s a difficult place for any kind of expression, but in particular for so-called western music forms like hip-hop and rock. Music is very tightly controlled by government ministries. Some of the most beloved rock bands and hip-hop artists in Iran have never played a single show in their country because if they did they would almost certainly be harassed or arrested.
The state-run media in China have prevented some Tibetan-language artists from being heard, so that’s another problem area. And the most outrageous repression of music we’ve seen in recent years was under the Taliban in Afghanistan.
Yeah, I was going to say, they banned music completely, right?
That’s right. Which they considered any singing, except their own. They have a traditional style of hymns, using tunes borrowed, incidentally, from popular music of the Pashtun ethnic group, from which most of the Taliban come. After the jihad in Afghanistan against the Soviets and then against the US-led invasion of the country, thousands of these religious extremists have been displaced into northwest Pakistan, where they’ve been regrouping. In fact, this past year they made a bid to take over the region. The first wave of the campaign by the Taliban in northwest Pakistan was an assault on music. And so there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of Pashto, singers, dancers, composers, who were either forced to leave the country or were intimidated by threats of deadly violence.
And so what they ended up with was essentially a world without music? It’s kind of hard for us to imagine I think.
It is hard for us to imagine. Of course, as the manager of Swat Cinema, a movie theater in the Swat Valley, which was the epicenter of this war between Pakistan the Taliban, said to the BBC not long ago, “We also reserve the right to sing, laugh, and to express ourselves.” Even in Afghanistan under the Taliban, drivers would play popular music until they came to a checkpoint, at which point they would stick in a cassette of a Taliban singer wailing away at his hymns. People will find a way to make music. And in fact they have the support of international human rights law in doing so. Music most certainly falls under the kind of expression that’s protected under article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. One of the things that Freemuse intends to do in coming years is to bring this issue to more attention and begin raising the question of the human rights of musicians within the international community, at the United Nations Human Rights Council and elsewhere.
So tell me a little bit about the Impossible Music Sessions, how did that grow out of this human rights work?
I realized that around the world in places where music is really not fully free, there were these thriving underground scenes, some of which are producing really great stuff. And at the same time in places like New York and San Francisco and Berlin and London and Tokyo there were huge audiences of music lovers, musical youth cultures, and they didn’t know about each other. You know, people in New York who love underground music had no idea about the great underground bands that were playing in Tehran in people’s basements. I thought they would be natural allies, they would be interested in musical relationships, and maybe some community would develop. So I wanted a way to bring together these underground communities that would help get some of this great music out there but also of course raise the profile of these censored artists, hopefully to contribute to the debates within their own societies about pushing the envelope forward for freedom of expression.
And so what’s happening this Wednesday at Littlefield?
We have one of Pakistan’s most beloved Pashto singers, and one of the victims of this Taliban campaign in northwest Pakistan. Haroon Bacha fled the country last year after death threats to him and his family. He was granted asylum in the US and is now looking to re-launch his career here, and has been working with a radio service, an affiliate of Radio Free Europe, broadcasting Pashto language cultural programs back home. He’s going to be playing his own original compositions. It’s these lyrics, he claims, that got him in trouble back. He sings of pluralism, of toleration, of resistance to war, and of the ordinary concerns of people who work, fall in love, and get drunk.
He’ll be performing on the harmonium, which is a beautiful traditional instrument, and he’ll be accompanied by two masters of the tabla and rubab, a lute-like instrument.
Austin Dacey with Haroon Bacha
And in the future you want to showcase more artists like this as well? And maybe even some collaborations with artists who are based here?
The idea for the series is that censored artists will collaborate with artists here, and they will actually perform on behalf of the artists who cannot appear, whose music cannot be played in their homeland. So right now we’re creating some partnerships between hip-hop artists based in New York, and hip-hop artists based in the West African nation of Guinea-Bissau who are currently confined to the underground by political violence and threats there. We’re going to be connecting a band here with an underground band in Tehran, and hopefully they can work out some stuff together. We’ll be getting them on the line and talking to them that night, creating an audience for their music here in New York.
Sounds like really a testament to the power of music.
Yes. Music will not be silenced.
Tags: brooklyn, Freedom Fighter Series, Human rights, Interview, Littlefield
Dance Gets Nice Again: Lord Tippatone Hifi with Selector Jah Wise in Brooklyn 11/20/09
Nov 27, 2009 Features, Reviews
Words and Photos by Quoc Pham
As I am writing this post over thanksgiving, I realize that we should be thankful for all the artists, musicians and individuals who helped shape our musical culture and affected many of us in a personal way. With the passing of Alton Ellis and Michael Jackson just to name a few, this year has been especially tough and it reminds us why we should appreciate those who remain as living legacies of musical eras which must not be forgotten. Last Friday, I was fortunate to attend a dancehall party in Brooklyn called “Dance Gets Nice Again”. The dance featured legendary selector Jah Wise from Tippatone Hifi, one of the most important sound system of the early reggae era. Held in a small venue called the Culture Barn – essentially someone’s garage – the party had an intimate feel with an eclectic audience of old timers alongside hip kids vibing to the sound of pure foundation reggae music.
The late 60’s were undoubtedly one of the most prolific period in modern Jamaican history. The blooming of the local recording industry and a string of international successes in the charts set the stage for Reggae to become a bonafide world class music. During this transition period, sound systems were naturally at the center of the action. As the dominance of the previous decade’s two giants – Coxsone’s Downbeat and Duke Reid’s Trojan – started to fade, a new generation of sound systems arose and competed fiercely for the island’s sonic supremacy. Among these, Lord Tippatone Hifi emerged as one of the top two sounds, rivaled only by King Tubby’s Hometown Hifi. With Jah Wise at the control and Big Youth on the mic, Tippatone ruled the dances from its home turf of Spanish Town to the island’s countryside where the sound would regularly travel.
Well into his fifties and with a deep musical knowledge that emanates from his enigmatic personna, Jah wise is the quintessential sound system man. His record collection is legendary and he allegedly owns the world’s two most exclusive specials: Bob Marley’s only known recorded dubplates in praise to a sound system. Jah Wise first joined the Tippatone crew as the “boxboy” – the kid transporting speakers and equipment – before quickly becoming the sound’s top selector and eventually its ambassador. Besides his musical career, Jah Wise is also a renowned artist whose artwork can be seen gracing many landmarks including the facade of Lee Perry’s infamous Black Ark studio. He also appears painting Horsemouth’s motorbike in the 1978 feature film “Rockers”.
That night, I had the opportunity to meet an individual who has had a profound influence on an entire musical culture. It was a humbling experience and this is what I’m thankful for this year.
If you recently had a similar experience worth to be thankful for, please share in the comment section.
Tags: Brookyln, Dancehall, Events, Quoc Pham, Reggae, Sound system, Tipppatone
Reeewind: A Journey into Sound System Culture, 10/03/09 – New York
Oct 12, 2009 Features, Reviews
Story and Photos by Quoc Pham
A show at the Amazura is like an expedition into another musical world, far from the spotlights of mainstream media. This time, I was able to rally a crew of hardcore sound system fans despite my usual inability to convince any of my friends to take the trip deep into Queens and shell out fifty bucks for events that usually start after most venues’ last call. With its smoky and stuffy atmosphere, deafening sound system and overbearing intensity, a major event at the Amazura literally requires mental and physical preparation.
Irish and Chin have been notorious for staging mega productions worldwide, the most legendary being their prestigious world clash series held in New York, London, Jamaica and Antigua. With “Reewind: past meets the present”, their concept was to combine a vintage rub a dub show headlined by the legendary King Sturgav Hifi with the star power of popular contemporary artists such as Capleton, Luciano and Beenie Man. The bill also advertised U-Roy, Brigadier Jerry, Charlie Chaplin, General Trees (all of whom were affiliated with the sound in its heyday) and Mighty Crown Sound who was entrusted with the task of warming up the audience. With such a stellar lineup, this was undoubtedly the most anticipated dancehall event of the year and it was clear that it was going to be a memorable night.
In Jamaica, sound systems were more than just entertainment, they were literally community institutions at the center of local economy and popular culture. Ever since the early Ska days, they have been the driving force behind the birth and evolution of the Jamaican recording industry and played a crucial role in developing artists from local poor communities. With the explosion of Dancehall in the wake of Bob Marley’s Death in 1981, a new generation of sound systems spearheaded by the likes of Stone Love, Killamanjaro, and King Jammy’s took center stage and dominated the Jamaican music industry over the next two decades.
During the Dancehall era, sound system performances known as “Rub A Dub” dances were widely popular. These dances typically featured multiple deejays (the Jamaican equivalent of MCs in hip hop culture) consecutively showing off their lyrical skills in an attempt to seek out respect and recognition from the often unforgiving crowd. Spontaneous and competitive by nature, they were good indicators of raw talent and became the location of choice for scouting and developing new artists. Being a feature deejay on one of the island’s major sound systems was a sure path for popular success and an eventual recording career. To this day, most well known recording artists begin their career by earning respect and proving themselves in the “Zinc fence jungle”.
King Sturgav Sound System, also known as Sturgav Hifi was the brainchild of the illustrious deejay U-Roy. Also known as “the originator”, he is widely credited for pioneering and popularizing “toasting”, a vocal style which consists of jive talking and rapping over popular records during sound system dances. After a stint deejaying on Duke Reid’s Trojan Sound in the late 60s, he gained notoriety later on King Tubby’s Hometown Hifi- Tubby’s sonic experimentation and dub aesthetics proving the perfect support for the development of his unique vocal style. By transforming the art of animating a sound system dance into a musical form in its own right, U-Roy laid the foundation for an entire new generation of artists and became a major influence on the early rap scene (Disco/Electro/Break Beat) and the later American hip-hop movement. When he created Sturgav sound, it became defacto one of the top deejay academies on the island.
With so much history in perspective, I had very high expectations for this event. When we arrived at the Amazura, the place was already packed which was a pleasant surprise given the relatively early time (by Jamaican Standard). The night started with the incomparable Mighty Crown from Yokohama, Japan. The “Mad Japanese” definitely have a knack for captivating a crowd with their wicked selection, unique charisma and flawless execution. It is not hard to understand why they are considered one of the best sound systems in the world today, and since they were just the opener it was an indicator of the high caliber of the event.
In front of an enthusiastic crowd, King sturgav then took the stage. For the next three hours, the audience witnessed an overwhelming array of artists consecutively blessing the mic. Beenie man announced himself as the host for the night, controlling the mic and interacting with the audience while General Trees kept patrons smiling with his comical interjections and entertaining performance.
Since I am used to seeing Capleton perform with a live band , I was curious to see how his style would translate in a sound system format. Capleton has an aura few other artists carry. I caught his expression while he was standing backstage before his performance, staring at the crowd in deep concentration. Minutes later, he brought the entire place down with renditions of his anthems Jah Jah City, Who Dem, That Day Will Come and countless others over foundation riddims. Without surprises, the prophet did not fail to mesmerize the crowd with his notorious intensity and charisma.
To my surprise, I learned that U-Roy, Luciano and Charlie Chaplin were not going to be present due to visa issues. There was a lot of disappointment in the crowd. The last part of the event still featured standout performances by Brigadier Jerry and Sugar Minott, who came as a surprise guest. Both artists unleashed a series of forwards when performing their respective trademark hits.
Despite the absence of a few key performers, it was still a night of historic proportions and above all a night of great entertainment by some of the industry’s most prominent figures. It was all about class and respect between artists in honor of sound system culture and history. The event as a whole left the crowd ecstatic and it was nice to see that it was relevant to a younger audience as well. I can only hope to see more of this type of productions in the future. In the meantime, I will be going back to listening to bootleg rub a dub tapes on my iPod, longing for my next journey into sound system culture.
Tags: Amazura, Beenie Man, Capleton, Dancehall, Irish and Chin, Queens, Quoc Pham, Reggae, Sound system, Soundclash, U Roy
