RIPTON J. HYLTON!

The 6 foot 6 inch Mighty Mouse

Ripton J. Hylton released two go nowhere singles while still in college. After a complete transformation of name and production team, Eek-A-Mouse arrived to the cheers of Dancehall fans. If you are new to the Mouse the best place to start would be at the Junjo Lawes produced and Roots Radic backed debut. Tunes like "Wa-Do-Dem" and "Ganja Smuggling" introduced us listeners to whole new style. For lack of a better name it was simply called SingJay. Barrington Levy could drop in some extremely flexable vocal techniques, but the Mouse, he performed vocal gymnastics. Gold medal stuff. Thirty years later and nobody can cop his style. The second best addition to your Mouse selection would be the Linval Thompson produced and yet again, Roots Radic backed "Mouseketeer." All originally pressed on Greensleeves vinyl.



Or if your not as committed a fan, shame on you, you could chose this 12 track collection of Mouse maddness that culls together the cream from his first 3 releases. Better yet...10 of the tunes are the 12" mixes. I have all three records but I still couldn't pass this one up. For whatever reason Shanachie took over his past discography but it appears to be back safely in Greensleeves hands where they add extra tunes and better mastering.

Both of my daughters when they where young in age used to dance like crazy to the Mouse. Kids love him and parents approve.

DON'T HAFFI DREAD

A few semesters back while I was sitting face to face with an administrator type hoping to figure out my educational path, she pointed to the nest I called a hairstyle. She politely mentioned that my tangled snarls would have to go bye-bye. Entrance to the X-ray program is based on scoring the highest grades. That and medical professionals look presentable. I know the deal.
I froze in front of the mirror and reluctantly started to buzz my brain basket down to peach fuzz. Flashes of Army daze came rushing up in my face. I watched as years and years of spiritual growth dropped to the floor.

A fucking normal Joe was staring back at me! I’m a crazy baldhead!

I felt naked and weak. Like when a beguiling Delilah sheared off Samson’s seven locks. But damn-I betrayed myself! That’s the price one pays for a brighter future. Well that and state tuition. Besides hair has this habit of growing back so no big end of the world. In an effort to cheer me up…my wife claimed it made me look a lot younger. All the gray was chopped off and swept into the dustbin. My friends that are challenged by disappearing hair follicles were horrified that I hadn’t waited till I was sure I passed all those prerequisite classes.
This buzz cut became a test of faith. It also re-enforced my ambition to push myself. No slacking…no easy ways. I sat in the front row under the professor’s nose because I’m almost blind and completely deaf. Plus sitting there under the professor’s nose there would be no added girlie distractions to tempt my attention. Otherwise, the loss of righteous hair and expensive for me anyway, state tuition, would be in vain.
So Don’t Haffi Dread by Morgan Heritage became my personal anthem. Pencil pushing in class dressed in plainclothes. Not dressed as a Soldier of JAH.
Dreads do give you instant Rasta cred, but ultimately it is what in your heart that matters, and how you treat your fellow man while you go about your daily doings. Yep...don't haffi dread to be RASTA!


The high camp Hollywood version of 1949 that I grew up with. Where's Samson's seven locks?

For years record companies and critics looked for the next Bob Marley. Every rising star might be the next international breakout and the majors were in frenzy to sign ‘em. They weren’t done squeezing enough money out of the music. Black Uhuru came closest and was the first Reggae entity to win a Grammy. Not impressed, lead voice Michael Rose left the group, leaving a young Jr. Reid to fill the void. Bob’s kids Ziggy and the Melody Makers weren’t taken as serious artists yet. The rest of the obvious heir apparent children weren’t of age. (Now that they are, lets just say that their sound is too URBAN. Think of Damain Marley’s rap cross over. Scares ‘em.) That was years ago-maybe now the record companies are searching for the next Buju or Sizzla.
Denroy Morgan’s heirs could have been the answer to that dumb question. Who else has that complex layer after layer of textured sound? Fat bass accompanied by pounding drums sweetened by harmony as thick as cane sugar syrup. Add epic guitar leads when necessary but not enough to dilute the Reggae vibe. Filter in washes of keyboard fills and percussion swells. Morgan Heritage sings songs with universal lyrics that speak to the cart pusher (always going uphill) in Kingston or to the suburban skate rat from an upper-middleclass neighborhood.
Morgan Heritage speaks to me. This whole album tells me a story that I want to hear. Start to finish I’m all ears.

While visiting my wife’s baby brother in the burn ward at Bridgewater Hospital in Connecticut a DREAD passed me dressed in scrubs. He was a working MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL! Granted his dreads were well manicured and tied back neatly. They were real dreads and not some hair extensions. So there is hope that I’ll be able to LOCKS -UP one more time before old age buries me. And no I wasn't alive in 1949!

3 Monkey's Sitting Under A Coconut Tree...

The opening track is an extreme ministry of Righteous word play. Imagine Bunny Wailer and Bounty Killer breathing in the same smoke! Naught by Nature's Treach drops a nicely delivered rhyme.



I put Junior Gong’s Half Way Tree CD on for some background music. Yeah…stupid choice to make ‘cause that release demands both ears perked straight up when played. I put it louder and chanted along to “Educated Fools”. Figured the times right to tackle that nagging debate on Evolution verses Adam and Eve. I know my Book of Genesis and I am well aware of what Darwin’s Theory based science claims. From personal experience, I would say both are correct. Primordial ooze is ancient pond scum. Right? Yeah…that notion would explain of few of my friends. I don’t even have ta squint one eye ta see that their forefathers crawled out of the slime. Their morals are so corrupted that if you shake hands with them you feel violated. Most of my friends though are going smoothly along according to Jah’s divine plan. They abide by the daily bread and by the daily grind to support their nuclear family values. Those friends are living out a full life fulling Scriptures. Whether they’re meek enough to inherit the Lord’s Earth; well that’s a different story.



The third track..."IT WAS WRITTEN" featuring Marley big brother Stephen and welcomed guest Capleton slow burn with Fyah so intense it makes the hair on my knuckles stand up!

COMING NEXT...

When I lose faith in humanity, Cocoa Tea is my go to guy for upliftment.

A few Christmases ago my wife Krispy, (not her actual name but more like a description), asked me what do I want for a gift and I told her Buju’s new CD, Rasta Got Soul. That would bring some holiday cheer. My daughter then asked me what do I want and it was a simple answer- if your step-mom doesn’t get me Rasta Got Soul, you could get it for me. Of course I got socks or something wearable. So I bought it for myself last week. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m gonna wrap it up real pretty like and put it under the tree for myself. I might even feign surprise, “See …Santa must got my letter.”


Yes, I am aware that I am two behind.

I tease my wife that I like to start the shopping madness by buying myself something first. It kinda warms me up. You know…puts me in the spirit of gift giving.
So I ordered what seems like boxes full of Riddim CD's from Ernie B's. At .49,.79,.99 cents I coudn't resist. Check their sale out.
An Alexander Hamilton goes way further than ya think...

DO I NEED A REASON?

Nope. After my last post though...this is the best way to change the subject.

AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT-I PRESS PUBLISH

I debated whether I should mention the reason why author Stephen Foehr called the Capleton concert a concert of hate, but I will. It was because of the Fyahman’s anti- batty boy lyrics. To further put the boots to it… Mr. Boom Bye Bye Buju Banton was also on the bill.

I don’t wish to be pigeon holed as that “controversial” blogger. I hope I offer some constructive criticism. I mean…am I Reggae’s Jerry Springer? Lol. My wife insists I was born without that part of the brain that regulates speech.

I’m not shy when it comes to talk’n ‘bout politics and race, but one taboo that shuts me up like a slammed door is sexual preference.
Many moons ago, back when I was a hormone driven youth-man, the boys and me were sitting around drinking beer and playing cards. The cliché question of what lady singers we thought were hot was asked. I casually tossed out Diana Ross’s name. I am talking the smoking album cover/poster and not her 80’s musical content!
Ya think I came outta the closet or something judging by everybody’s reaction! Remember this was back in 1980 or 1981. Explain to me how wanting to f**k this hot older superstar chick makes me a twinkle toes?
It wasn’t her looks but her gay disco following that earned me that moment of scorn. I thank JAH I didn’t say Donna Summer!

“F**king f**gots!” I mumbled, “Yep...no thanks to them it’s not even safe to admit that I’d love to knock boots with Diana Ross.”


Racy stuff back in analog days!

So that was the first time uttered a hateful slur. I usually reserve the hateful slurs for the person that signs my paycheck. I live in a very straight world filled with wives and ex-wives and crying babies, so I know nothing about the heterosexually challenged population. I don't give homophobia much thought. They leave me alone and I won’t watch American Idol in return. Fair enough. I figure it is Jah’s place to pass judgment and not my humble human opinion.

WHITE MICE

To answer the who part of the question I asked a few post ago. Who? White Mice.



There is a strong chance ya never heard of him. I knew almost nothing about him and what I do know; I learned only recently. I used to haunt the capitol city's hippest record stores and I was never graced with the presence of his "True Love" LP. The magazine rack had issue after issue of underground rock music but stocked no Reggae magazines. At best you could thumb across a random article on Reggae. I never found a printed word about White Mice. Remember this was pre-internet days. I found out about him from Beth Lessor's mighty King Jammy/Dancehall books. Google him now and you'll be informed by the same variation of the linear notes. He faded away quietly and quickly by his own device. Nobody knows why. If he continued laying down tracks he would definitely been a huge star. With a unique technique he rode some first class riddims. Lyrical content covered serious concerns. Everybody talks about the 70's being the golden era of reggae. A fact I won't refute, but by the end of the decade everybody was building their career from the Bob Marley and the Wailers blueprint. The 80's saw a new architect in King Jammy. The ghetto didn’t wanna make Reggae for white British college kids anymore; they wanted to create a homegrown soundtrack for themselves. Apparently the producer Junior Delgado working at Jammy’s studio baited White Mice with a piece of cheese just long enough to capture a full CD's worth killer tracks. Released on Basic Replay outta Germany.



White Mice was born Allan Crichton and the original vinyl was released on his brother Blemo's Intelitec label based in Miami. While searching for some photographs to cut and paste I came across this info…he resurfaced as Ras Iwa. Maybe it’s him-the intel seemed sketchy.