KING JAMMY pt. 1

To do this justice...I'm gonna break up this book report into several parts.



A few straight up facts about this 7x7 inch (exactly the size of a 45 single in its sleeve), one hundred and fifty two page thick soft cover book (the thickness of my pinkie finger.) It is simply the most massive book of it size. So heavy are the contents that it is like trying to move a mountain every time I pick it up to read.
And read it you will. You’ll find yourself casually skimming through it. But mostly you will find yourself deep in research. It is picture packed and full of facts.

Remember these!

It tells the story of a Prince behind the mixing console in the studio of his boss and mentor KING TUBBY. Once this prince left the security of his former employer he re-emerged newly crowned as KING JAMMY. He ruled the 80’s decade, from a humble home studio in the Kingdom known as WATERHOUSE. This neighborhood was just one among many impoverished parishes in and around the capitol city of KINGSTON.
The world may know of TRENCHTOWN through the words of the late reggae ambassador ROBERT NESTA MARLEY but this WATERHOUSE parish can boast of having more talent per square inch than any place on EARTH except maybe the renaissance of HARLEM in the 1920’s.

All the game changing names passed through his studio doors. The singers, the players of instruments and young mixers that became the next generation masters of sound. JAMMY'S was as much an incubator as it was a music studio...it gave birth to the new digital RIDDIM.

More...

JAMAICAN WARRIORS pt. 3

Okay, time to get to the point here!

First off...this book is not trying to detail the history of Reggae. What this book does try to explain is what ingredients make Reggae a tasty concoction. This book stirs in the Rastafarian beliefs, the ghetto realities and the individual David’s that stood ground against the British Goliath. This book surveys the birth lands and home places of the faith and the music’s founders. Writer Stephen Foehr even walks the same path to Settlement that Thomas Howell did back when he took Marcus Garvey’s preaching to heart and mind. Garvey’s was preaching about the stolen Black Man and the newly crowned king of Ethiopia (Abyssinia). These preachings shaped the beginnings of Rastafarian beliefs. I get the feeling Foehr is an old time roots fan but a disbeliever of the faith. At one point he cautions the reader by comparing strict Rasta ideals to Taliban doctrine. He mentions that dictator Joseph Stalin is responsible for hundreds of deaths due to his nations famine. Then follows that tid-bit of info with Emperor Haile Selassies and his country’s deadly drought. He leaves you to connect the dots.

This book offers bus schedule hints. How to find Jamaica's best-secluded beaches. Where else are you going to get slow drunk on overproof rum and eyeball the bikinied Nubian nubiles? This book covers JA's jerk pork. Not an ital Rasta's favorite. Where to get the best cup of Blue Mountain grown coffee.

This book, which is published in the year 2000, calls modern Dancehall a walking corpse! Foehr even calls a festival spearheaded by Capleton a concert of hate!!! What??? Get over it old man.

I feel Stephen Foehr is an outsider looking in. He definitely equates Reggae with Bob Marley. The book's author also gives me the impression that deep down he feels that real Reggae died on 11 May 1981. I get the feeling he is a tourist when he visits Reggae music. I do recommend this book for those who are new to the music. Stephen Foehr is no dummy; he overstands yard culture and Nyabinghi drumming. He knows his history but seems to have written this book for frat boys planning to go on vacation.

JAMAICAN WARRIORS pt. 2

Lifted directly form his book…
”It makes white kids jump up and down at reggae concerts and shout “Jah”. These same kids would not be caught dead shouting out in praise of God at a rock concert”. (Page 107)

With that sentiment in mind…the time was the early 80’s and the place was Rhode Island’s capitol city, Providence. Back in those ancient times Reggae concerts were exclusively populated by white folks. Mostly deadhead hippie types with a few anarchy punkers tossed in to balance the vibes. Capitol city did have an extremely tiny population of Rastas. Four or five musicians from Jamaica. They either got lost on their way heading to NYC or were lying low from NYC’s finest. I never got the story straight. They were my next-door neighbors and their weed was strong enough to drop a charging bull.
I worked back then day in and day out in ghetto/barrio. Heard lots of great music blasting but never anything from JA. The homies pounded forties to Run DMC and LL Cool Jay. I would ask around about Reggae/Dancehall and the answer was always “that’s black hippy shit” followed by, “and that shit ain’t cool.”
Then a few years slipped by and the West Coast battled the East for supremacy with new styles. One style caught my attention. It was the most bloodshot sound I had yet to hear on the radio. Two words besides "Holy shit"…Cypress Hill. All of a sudden Bob Marley posters started popping up. Fades were starting to grow out. Sure groups like the Deep South’s Arrested Development had already reached into the roots bag but were passed over as fluffy intellectuals. Attitudes change. Styles repeat and after many years, the ghetto gospel of reggae came back home to the ghettos/barrios of the world. Even the Gangsta dropped odes to the Chronic!
Now when I breathe in the second hand ganja smoke of a proper Reggae or Dancehall show, I scan a crowd made up of everybody. Black and white folks. Red, gold and green folks. Both crazy baldheads and plainclothes Rastas. Old and young. Truly reaching that “One Love” ideal. Works for me.



This album cover is the most aggressive advertising campaign ever undertaken by a non-government agency. Like drawing in a lung full of righteous smoke this album cover drew thousands of curious seekers to Reggae.

JAMAICAN WARRIORS pt. 1

I know I promised a review of Beth Lesser’s two incredible reads on Dance Hall but I haven’t found any words fitting yet, so while Stephen Foehr’s Jamaican Warriors is fresh in the frontal lobes….

Lifted directly form his book...
...“However, expecting DJ fans to give equal loyalty to burning spear, for example, is akin to believing that hardcore Metallica fans will spend equal money buying Johnny Mathis CDs.” (page 231)

It is not what he wrote that made me angry; he's right!

This post is going to be demographically and politically incorrect. I have been educated to fact that the youth that drops his cash on the latest Vybz Kartel smash could give a Red Rat’s ass about the latest Augustus Pablo reissue. Boring old man music he is supposed to say. Grandma used to hum those Riddims. Polar opposites claim those scholars in the know. Today’s music comes from a completely different world. Huh? I am confused. A Google map shows the same Kingston Parishes, right? Some of the same yards even. Why the split then. Is it that old secular verses sacred argument? No.

Stranger still…most of the world thinks Reggae comes from only one man. This one man is universally accepted as the human embodiment of Reggae Music itself…His name ladies and gentleman-Robert Nesta Marley.
More adventurous souls will find Peter Tosh along their way. Those individuals that completely abandon common sense may even come across Bunny Wailer’s solo work. I absolutely love Bob. Been listening to him for over 25 years but he is only one of million. Come on people take chances. This rant only applies to the age impaired. Or those individuals with challenged common sense.


(my personal trainer!)

I hit the treadmill with Elephant Man threatening to blow up my speakers. I go about daily chores to Tenor Saw. He informs me to ring the alarm cause another sound is dying. Actually many sounds have died only to be resurrected again. So many of today’s Riddims started life during the late 60's Rocksteady daze. When I need to make sense of this mad world that surrounds me, I reason Rastafarian teachings through Burning Spear. Yes.


(my spiritual advisor!)

I fall deep into dreamland to King Tubby exploring sonic possibilities.


(my sleep agent to the dream world!)

Why can I not enjoy all of ‘em. There is Dancehall music to motivate. There is Reggae music to contemplate. There is Dub music to meditate. Life cannot be Fyah and Brimstone all the time. I consider myself to be serious minded so I should snub my nose at Alaine and her silly little love songs? Hell no, there is music to hold your lady tight. (Or ladies to hold your mister tight.)


(my dream girl!)

Therefore I am theoretically wrong for enjoying all variations. I must narrow my mind. Reach for a one-dimensional approach. My TASTE should reflect my AGE. My mid-forty something experience tells me to choose safe and be afraid of the young Black man holding the microphone. Not because he is Black dummy but because his generation is gonna push me out and put me in an old age home!

THE PRINTED WORD part 1.

Books! Don't burn 'em...read 'em or at least check out the pictures!


The original British edition. Snagged me a copy cheap from Amazon.


The version sold to Americans. I guess the publishers figured we would confuse the title, Bass Culture, with Hillbilly fishing.


and finally... inna Latin (Italian) tongue. I believe all three to be the same book. Different covers and titles for different demographics.

LLoyd gives us the tricks in politics that shaped the sufferah's music. He gives us the number crunches in economics that kept the ghettos dry. Unless you were a street corner salesman, money was not flowing. Sports or big upping the dancehall was your only exit out. Lloyd is obvious. He starts the story at the beginning. Lloyd reaches even further back into history than 1962's Independence Day. Remember mento? He chronologically reveals the truths without playing favorites. Lloyd tells of the music's pioneers. The Skatalites and Prince Busters. He writes about stateside Detroit and Memphis Soul influences. Lloyd writes inna wordy way but not enough to clog up your eyes. Paragraphs read easily. He doesn't waste words or fluff facts. At times he gets a bit British centric, the place of his coming of age; but it is true... London youths bought Reggae records, not Jamaica's poor. So yeah, back then, the reggae market/music bizz was tailor fitted for the English wallet. Trojan, Greensleeves or Island Records anyone? Attack or Jetstar Records? Yep, point proven.

This book only glances at the newer sounds. up till this point, this is some strong story telling. He fan favors the classic 70's roots and 80's dancehall era. Luciano does factor in plot wise during the last chapter but Lloyd by this time is only reporting the news of a younger generation. This one is for reading. Only a few photos decorate the pages. Although a little weak at the finish, this book contains massive substance. Mandatory for Reggae knowledge. Possibly tie with Reggae Bloodlines for the second best book on all things Reggae. Oh... his next book in conjunction with the BBC steals the top honor.



This book is sun ripened fruit. This book is why our brains perform sensory comprehension. This book is the reason carpenters craft coffee tables. I don't care how you furnish your home, if this book is not in your possesion, your living space is empty! A well worn copy of the Old Testament should also be bedside. More on this later....