STATE OF PARANOIA

Realtors have a catch phrase when marketing a house for sale; they call it CURB APPEAL. First impressions are everything, so when you roll up to a property that's for sale, how the front yard is groomed has to make you feel welcome. Maybe give you that warm and fuzzy feeling like your going to Grandma's for milk and cookies. 


Obviously this package that was delivered to my front door this morning shot my property value sky-high. Contains solid gold selections.

Umm, the back yard...

“You’re throwing your life away.”

Yep, one industrial sized dumpster at a time.

This makes dumpster number seven!  I’m cleaning house and clearing my mind. I inherited what amounts too a junkyard. And in today’s busted economy somebody’s junk is nobody’s treasure. My Dad developed a fever for hording after is first run in with death. He beat terminal cancer in round one.  He would say every little nut and bolt had a purpose and then store 'em in tin cans according to size.

Now the soul crushing responsibility of erasing my late Father from his castle falls on me. Yeah guilt.

I’m bringing the property back to its former glory so it can be sold. Comes down too fucking money as usual. I can’t afford to buy out my sibling’s share and vice versa. I’m facing what I hope is the solution to my, “Me against the State legal troubles.” My big sis is facing a nickel behind bars if found guilty. 

Shit. Did ya read my last post on Studio 1? If ya did crumple it up and toss it in the trash. I just peeled off the plastic wrap protecting the jewel case of JACKIE MITTOO'S NOW released by STUDIO 1. They've forsaken the back catalog ad. The insert now offers new insight into the massive historical importance that the keyboard wizard had on JAMAICA'S music. Umm...you knew that about JACKIE right?

I hate to make excuses as to why my love affair with my blog has been cooling off. Between a big mess to clean up and an even bigger legal mess, my mind is elsewhere these daze. Those troubles of mine-

For the past few years I’ve been performing a dance routine with the State Of Rhode Island Family Court. The dance we’ve been doing is called the Rhode Island Shakedown. It is a two-step two-faced snappy little number. They issue arrest warrants and I show up with positive proof of support. They seize my assets and freeze my bank accounts. I slap back with indisputable proof of support. They illegally pull my drivers license and I push back harder with conclusive evidence that all my child support has been paid in full.

What really set me off a few months back was when the State extorted my tax return money without representation. (Hey didn’t this country take up arms with Briton’s King over that shit?) The government stole the money for the daughter’s prom dress and shoes! So I two-step shuffled myself in front of a JUDGE yesterday to “plead” my case. I casually mentioned that I had received a bill for $37 thousand dollars from them. Five years ago it was an insane amount. Something like $140,000. My hair turned white! The powers that be of course denied it. Their records show that I only owed them a mere $7000.  It is not polite to lie too my face. I waved my copy of the bill like a victory flag. The Judge asked to see it. His “Your Honor” said I was right and what does the State have to say about that? Probably just a typo.

Believe it or not the liaison for Family Court Child Support lost the paper in a matter of moments. In the walking space between the Judges bench and the Defendants table my copy of the bill was misplaced. When I asked about getting it back. The powers that be were dumbfounded and mumbled that they had handed it back. A big fat nope. My big mouth then took on a life of it’s own (No surprise there!) I accused the Family Court as being a circus run by clowns. Sad clowns. Inept individuals drunk with power. 


It is a fine line between being right and being in contempt of court. The many happily divorced couples waiting at the rear of the room for their turn at “justice” laughed. Even the Judge chuckled at the liaison’s expense. I won round one.

Okay… let me rewind the story. Several years back the State lost me in the system. Gone was every Alimony check. Five years worth in fact. Gone was every Child support payment. Ten years worth in fact. So they made out a bill starting from the beginning and tacked on interest that would make some Sicilian Business men blush.

 I brought them a suitcase filled with every pay stub, (automatic garnishment of my pay.) I brought them every returned personal check paid directly to my ex-wife. I even brought them my ex-wife as my corroborating witness!

 Every time they say sorry for the inconvenience and every payment is now updated into the system. You, Mr. Nico’s Big Mouth are all set. A few years quietly pass then BOOM outta nowhere the State drops the same bomb on me. “You owe us blood from a stone.”

When you’re a male of the species and you walk into Family Court, you are automatically profiled as a dead-beat dad. And the powers the be treat you like a mangy dog. They take advantage of their power over you. They fuck with ya!

I’ve done the right thing from the beginning but the State is out ta persecute me. I’ve never defaulted on my Child Support obligations. Whether I’m working or unemployed my daughter’s needs always come first.  So the State in all their infinite wisdom sees fit too punish the good one. Punish the responsible one. Make an example out of me.

I don’t make money with my big mouth but I can definitely save a few bucks using my big mouth. I always represent myself in a court of LAW. I simply inform the Judge that with the three grand I’m saving... I would rather it put towards my daughter’s future than give it to a Lawyer for his monthly Mercedes payment.

Oh, and doing business in the State of Rhode Island…it pays to be paranoid. 

STUDIO 1

Smell that? 


Yeah...my post went rancid. I left this post out uncooked for over a month! 


Popped into the microwave and here it is...

I spent all day tearing down a stockade style fence that I installed over twenty-five years ago. My dad offered to paint and do the bodywork on my first car if I put up the fence. My dad led me to believe that it was an even deal. He picked at my car on and off for a few weeks till he was finished. No sweat. Me? I spent over two weeks just digging out the post-holes. The whole project took me the whole summer of that year. My dad taught me a very valuable lesson...never trust anyone! 

Speaking of not being able to trust someone...

Back in the day JAMAICA was spilt into two warring political factions. Still basically a two party system today. Bustamante's Jamaica Labour Party and Manley Senior’s People's National Party. Each boasted better life for all walks of folks. The usual rhetoric. So no matter who is in the drivers seat... the poor always end up walking. 

Clement "Sir Coxsone" Dodd

Back in the day JAMAICA had two studios that ruled the scene. Duke Reid's Treasure Isle Studio and Coxone Dodd's Studio One. Sworn enemies during their reign but they retired as friends. Unlike their political counter-parts who kept the poor down trodden, these guys put boogie in your shoes. These studio’s provided the soundtrack to the SUFFERAH’S cause. Hell, the music pouring out of these studios could put a smile on your face.

It's funny how many roots snobs snub the new stuff and accuse today’s young LIONS of ripping off the riffs and clipping the words or stealing the soul of their 1970’s heroes.

But even back then big studio groups like the Aggravators or The Revolutionaries were already pilfering the “old” riddims. So everything these folks hold dear to their heart were recycled! Most of these roots rockers riddims were already begged, borrowed and stolen from the golden Rocksteady era!

 If I was eavesdropping in on an argument between these two giants, I would pick Coxone’s side. So this post will defend STUDIO ONE. This record label’s legacy is well represented by several different record companies.

Heartbeat out of a cold and concrete Boston Massachusetts puts together some nice deluxe editions. They re-release actual albums and tie together all the loose singles and bonus b-sides. A history of what your holding in your hand is explained in the linear notes. Premium goods at a knock off price.

London's SOUL JAZZ is not a label run by businessmen pushing units. You know the type…it makes no difference if their selling hotdogs or Reggae music, as long as their supply meets a money demand.  SOUL JAZZ is a label produced by a group of fans with the means. They release records that they themselves wanna hear. Thankfully these folks also have top choice taste.

Sadly these labels are disappearing like drops of precious water inna drought. BLOOD and FIRE and MAKASOUND are drying up.

SOUL JAZZ has a great run going on different themed compilations like Studio One Rockers, Studio One Soul, Studio One Scorcher Instrumentals and Studio One...you get the idea. All necessary goodies to complete your selection. The best way to get these riddims stuck in your conscious is to stuff these sounds in your ear till ya head expands. It is like knowledge…the best place too store it is in your mind.

Okay, last but not least is the facsimile label itself. The re-releases they offer up, offer no new linear notes packed with new insights into the music. The CD booklet opens into what is essentially an advertisement for their other product releases. Not necessarily a bad thing tho, because it reminds me that I need, not want, but need two more JACKIE MITTOO discs to satisfy my collection. Remember JACKIE? You should!

 Okay a brief background biography usually a short paragraph long is tacked on last page.  Like an after thought.

Although limited frills meet the eyes; great music still greets the ears. In the end it is about the music anyway. I’m just thankful it's back in print. Their catalog boasts both Dennis Brown's and Horace Andy's debuts. Big stuff right there! 


Oh and my first car...

My 73 didn't have the cool hatch-back feature but it was orange. Concerning the ladies? Thank JAH I had great hair!