bloodclaat selassie

So… This post is going to talk about music (specifically, the change from reggae to modern dance hall). After all, I can only obsess about so many things {read – one thing} at a time), but the aspect of the music that it will address is also somewhat heavy and polarizing. I would hope that if you disagree with me, that you are not put off from reading my thoughts. However, I am familiar with your ilk, and I know that some of you will be put off.

So be it.

Let’s talk about Rastafari, which we often imagine when we think of Jamaica over here in the States. But you didn’t know, in the ska era, this dread head culture was not as popular or yet established. When the 70’s came and ska fell out, roots brought a lot of new themes. Many of them were positively aimed, with less commentary on criminal violence, but… I will argue that not all of the themes are positive. There is often commentary made with a different kind of violence; that is, the constant objective superiority and moral elitism inherent in all Abrahamic religions and most of the reformations that is asserted to the extermination of other ideas.

To be honest, the songs about bloodclaat Selassie would be fucking laughable if not for the fact that it’s so sad, that Abrahamic religions were brought to slaves on colonies where they were deprived in education and placed in positions of spiritual desperation.

I mean like, as a modern atheist of Britain’s spread of white people into the world, I just can’t help but see ┬áthose religions as ideas that are not needed and unnecessarily negative when the benefits of religions, spirituality, and the lack thereof are possible without it. If you can’t wrap your mind around that one, let me know and I’ll give it a second thought. But I’ve pretty consistently and strongly felt that way for a while.

And so, I can overlook a song that’s about coping with poverty and invoking the name of a story meant to help them only because… I do not blame them for their lack of educations. I blame my ancestors and how greedy the human race (of all colors, one) is, seen in its alphas males and females.

Of course people of the Americas, England, Australia, Canada (and all people who are inside whatever else, still British) do not receive the same understanding in the appreciation of their arts. If you’re from London or from NYC and your music is produced in 2017, then you cannot praise the name of Yahweh and earn my respect.

The word Christ is a huge deal breaker that makes you basically like… (and this is not hatred of you, but for your ideas that you cannot let go of and burden others with) …you’re faced with not looking at yourself as the chosen holy righteous who get love from the wonderful god that all others are wrong and Satan worshipers to be burned with their books so that any possibility of our god not being thrust down your throat is impossible.

That vile book that you call, “the good book,” is like a book of death and horrible things to illustrate that god intentionally made you so that he could watch you fuck up and then be forever in debt to him as the little bitch who better do what I say or… it won’t be good. Then… Because that makes so much less than zero sense, over time the religions had to reform so that now God is a guy who’s totally changed and feels like you’ve died and suffered enough for petty, petty shit. Shit that makes you be like, “Do we really even want this guy in charge?” No.

Thankfully, life is much better than made somehow okay with God to say so. No, life is good because man (and woman) have the power to make their life mean whatever they would make it be. That no man is correct is the blessing we all have. We can live our lives ourselves and not disturb the integrity of our ideas or anyone else’s ideas.

And so, I do enjoy the themes of reggae that express positive vybz and an outlook on life that feels good about it self… because I truly feel that way, but I don’t have to place myself in a light of goodness that must be cosmic or the world is too painful to endure. I can seek out “good” things, things that benefit mankind, like the reform of your religions again to admit there are usable parts and other parts to be omitted. (See, unlike you, I wouldn’t exterminate your culture. But you’re going to allow mankind to progress in science, philosophy, and the possibility of non extinction without smoking out the world with your ignorance — and pitifully weak spirits).

But… I say this as a white person who knows that we need to remember that… our educations, even our working class educations, and our history of “whatever it is we do that’s so great”, does not make us more correct in how we live or think than others who we see as wrong. This includes the three unholy religions of Abraham (as I affectionately call them). See, what’s correct, true, holy, or righteous are all concepts that are not necessarily unquestionable. See, in the interest of positive vybz, it’s better to force yourself to experience things that you are unfamiliar with and possibly make you uncomfortable, permit them, possibly take interest or not, and live without offense taken or made on others of different values, for the understanding that… none of us are correct, we could never possibly know for certain any thing. The Socratic admission that one is not wise is somehow wise, similar to how…. evil doesn’t exist and only things that proclaim they are most good are the most awful.

This is a topic I think about a lot because I listen to not just ska or reggae. I also listen to modern reggae dance hall, which is basically just a more hip hop version of reggae with what I would call more often less “roots” themes. Modern dance hall artists are more produced in the way of all modern pop music genres everywhere — they have several faces, they’re very manufactured, and based around capitalism — in almost exactly the same way as the American rapper, but with a history of roots reggae that is… well, modern dance hall might like to think it was still pretty roots, but nuh. It ain’t as roots as say… the roots, for what that’s worth. But it’s still characterized by reggae riddims.

For example, these are two songs by Popcaan — a very yute-ful sort of yute — and, one of them coming from 2016 and the other 2017, you will pree what I mean to say about the stereotypical dance hall prince (as I call them). There would be argument in Jamaica about who was the dominant dance hall artist after the fall of the World Boss, but as far as to who is the king of spreading Dance hall out of Jamaica, it is undeniably Popcaan.

This is most likely due to his association with the artist, Drake, who mi a tell you dis straight up: I’m not sure if I’ve ever once listened to one of his songs. I just know he’s popular I guess? I don’t know, man, I listen to strange shit too much to have time to waste on top40 on purpose (which, isn’t always bad or anything. … but yeah, nuh time fi that inna real life. If I’mma listen to shamelessly manufactured pop music, it’s at least going to be from an interesting island somewhere else.

[That is of course what I like about Dance hall — it’s foreign qualities. Rude boys, ska people, and and 70’s skinheads might drop their haw to hear me say that I liked modern dance hall and ska in the same sentence, but… I have an open mind, and that’s what I’m trying to really get at in this post as I criticize what you possible believe about your own cosmic correctness]

Anyway, in Never Sober and in Where We Come From, you’re going to notice more similarities to a rapper than to Bob Marley, in the ideas expressed. This is how I mean it’s not roots.

But I will say for it… that it’s what made me fall in love with Patwah speech in songs. I find that it’s far more pronounced than I’ve ever heard coming from Jamaican music, which I still cannot understand why that is, Maybe it’s in my imagination because I can think of no reason for that that makes any sense. For example, you can follow the thoughts of Bob Marley easily. Were you able to follow Popcaan below? I definitely didn’t understand a word he said at first. It’s possible that Bob was just a bit more educate than Poppy (lol).


Interestingly enough, modern dance hall and ska dance hall are similarly unlike reggae in the same way; the rude boy is now the badman. The Rasta is somewhat less commonly seen emphasized if at all. Most go for a look that says, “I have money,” not, “I am close to God.” And, in ska and in modern dance hall, the needing (or having) of money and the possibly (and certainly) going to jail and narrowly avoiding death and how difficult it is to get by with so much violence going on are all the most common themes.

(Although I would say, in the ska days, there were less fake ass little bitches pretending to be bad and it was more real ass people addressing the real problem where rude boys and police were a constantly dangerous combination at any sound system)

When a dance hall artist names god or whatever, it’s usually to express that he has the favor of that god by virtue of his money. It’s very rarely ever more spiritually complex than that, like in roots.

And lastly, what’s really odd… is the track by Prince Buster called 10 Commandments

Either one of two things are happening in this sort of joke track, and possibly both: 1) Prince Buster, in 1967, was framing Christianity in a comical absurdity that was intended to make one ask, “How is it that we even take this book seriously” ; or, 2) He was using the “good book” to validate his militant sexism and belief that man should utterly dominate the woman in every way possible.

And the latter is most possibly my least favorite characteristic of Jamaican men. And I’ll conclude that, I think it’s for the best that we stop celebrating the dangerous, destructive religious ideas of Abraham. Case in point. I will not tell you what good is, but I can tell you what it is not. This is not good.

And though I feel that way, I still enjoy the music that celebrates the ignorance of the “Holy Land,” because I must not make the mistake of being as forceful with an idea of my correctness as they have been and still are.

A beautiful song and some inspiring notions… and yet, invoking the name of that awful entity from the old books.

named laughing boy

I haven’t made time to even think about what I would write if I had the leftover energy and attention after everything to really do it. It’s been an exhausting last week, through the weekend, and into this week — the entire span of days has been pretty hectic. Even now that I’m doing it, I’m barely maintaining the concentration to finish one sentence and begin the next. But, I guess it’s not like my body and mind hasn’t been coping with sleep issues for ever. So, it’s whatever.

I just got off work. I have to be back in 8 hours. I’m tired but restless enough to be writing about it. There’s a little pink pill that I probably should take… but that I hate taking so much that I don’t do it, put it off, and sometimes take it a bit too late to not be a groggy mess trying to come out of it and wake up.

It’s just a Benadryl. For desperate need of sleep and allergy relief, I sometimes have to take that awful pink fucker. But I definitely avoid it if I can, even if I need to get the best rest I can get in the shortest amount of time, and I know it’s the best way I have available. It just feels too gross to want to will myself to swallow the thing, and I endure instead being awake.

Speaking of that, let’s not forget my alarm clock needs to be set — now. And there; it has informed me that this is in fact more like seven hours and eight minutes. It’s always good to know the damage.

See… I could possibly lie here in bed all night restful in the body and relatively motionless but still barely awake but for a possible time of unconsciousness that might have been an hour or more maybe? Who can be sure. And if you’re familiar with managing that problem. you know what I mean.

But I don’t despair on the matter. It can be difficult to not get enough sleep sometimes and then have to function somehow while you’re half dead and falling asleep finally on your feet. Every moment of downtime is magnetically held to the bed or wherever else is more convenient. I’m actually, as I said, fairly mentally and physically equipped to cope with sleep deprivation. And I really only have the problem for a while before I swing hard the opposite direction and eventually stabilize — and, of course, eventually remember the familiar feeling of the opposite extremes.

So we’re going to play a random song that just occurred to me. Aside from work and Dragon Ball Z and sleep, what I’ve been doing mostly is listening to music again and a lot of it has been 50’s rocksteady, 60’s ska, 2-tone, and the occasional punk band from my youth. And, I’ve been digesting large quantities of this music. Most of the early Jamaican stuff was very new to me. I obviously knew how ska had affected punk rockers and how it emerged in America, but I didn’t really know the roots of it — which is funny, because ska from 60’s is the roots of the roots if you’re referring to the type of reggae.

And… I really like it. There’s so many songs I want to talk about and post but I’m starting to lose my energy. I’m either going to take this pill…. or… I’m not going to. And I don’t have much left in me at the moment. But I never know what’s going to happen, really, as far as that goes. I deal with it without letting it get to me, too bad.

So instead of talking about any of that music, I’m just going to put on the B side to the 1997 album that started my obsession with said band from like 2001-2005, if not longer, because the title describes me rather well.

A manic depressive named Laughing Boy by Modest Mouse.

And oh, how I can still jam this shit hard. It’s been a long time. I’ll see you guys if you come back. I’m just not used to doing this anymore.