Pushing consumerism?

Okay something on an optimistic note...Ebreggae is selling off it's Jetstar back catalogue at some give away prices! They are also running a .99 cent Penthouse Records sale. Not all the goodies tho. Management's brians must be baking in the Kali sun. Link-http://www.ebreggae.com/
Pretend this recession is just your imagination and spread a little wealth around.

A Tale Of Two Men

I have a story coming up about these two gentlemen. Funny, they were both charged with committing the same crime, but the well known White business man never sat behind bars. The Black Rasta man has been rotting away in a cage while waiting for his "fair trial."



John Delorean is a well respected auto industry giant therefore he must be innocent. Besides he's a white collar white man.



The Maroon descended Mark Myrie aka Buju Banton is a crazed fag bashing dope smoking dread. He is a Black man therefore assumed guilty. What color is the collar of a Reggae legend? Red, gold and green?

BUJU BANTON

Speaking of training with Dancehall in my ears, I always have Buju Banton cued on my MP3 player. In fact, I have come to associate BuJu music with only running. Especially when I cover long distances. The riddims beat away in my ears as my feet pound the pavement. When I am about to drop dead from exhaustion, Buju's Too Bad, his rowdy return as the Dancehall king, is like a power switch in me being flipped back to on. I have worn out the soles of many running shoes listening to the righteous soul of Buju's Inna Heights or Til Shiloh. Both record selections are perfect in every way. They are the perfect balance of music and words. Perfect balance of art and life.



Necessary



Like breathing

FOOTBALL pt. 2

Safe to say I am never gonna get around to finishing up that BLACK UHURU review. It is also safe to say that as an Italian American (on my Dad's side)-I watched in horror as Italy embrassed themselves in their match against New Zealand. NZ are ranked 78th and Italy 5th. If the ref did not cry foul infavor of the Team Italia, New Zealand would of spanked them right out of the Cup Challenge. It was a hollow draw for the former World Cup Champs. As an after thought- I feel worse for the 7 to zero disgrace the North Korean team faces when reporting back to Supreme Leader Kim Jong-il. That team will either be imprisoned for life or executed for treason. What does this have to do with sweet Reggae music?
Nothing directly, but to expend some pent up aggression I kicked the football around my yard. I was feeling expiremental, so I propped the speakers in my window so I could play along to Scientist Wins The World Cup. First off, I love Scientist, but I must admit this record be a bit heady to pace a good defense against. It is better suited to celebrate a win with. I imagine I could play a mean game with the Elephant Man blasting out my speakers. Fueled by the "Energy God".



This man, Usain Bolt, claims he trains on home grown sweet potatoes and fills his ears with Dancehall for motivation. I have been chowing down on sweet potatoes for years and I have been spinning dancehall for decades- so how come I run like molasses being dripped compared to this human blur? It has to be his shoes-

FOOTBALL

I researched through the FIFA files and there was no offical score stating that Scientist won the world cup in 1982. But...



Scientist maneuvers past the goalie and firmly places this disc square in the net. What this Henry Junjo Lawes head coached and Greensleeves endorsed record did score with was the fleet footed tunes, Ten Dangerous Matches (parts 1-10). The 2002 CD release tacked on the tunes Extra TIme (1-5) and Golden Goal. The original record was a dub version of some Hugh Mundell, Wayne Jarrett and Johnny Osbourne tunes. The band laying down the riddims were the seasoned players, the Roots Radics. All this was refereed by King Tubby. Scientist was tops at this time. Kicking out one great Greensleeves release after another. I am still astounded that America tied England two days ago. What the #$%& ? Blimey, 'eads will roll!

SPIDERS AND MAD COBRAS

I was about to enjoy my morning coffee when blurred movement caught my half crusted shut eyes. Bumba clot! It was like a huge antfarm was smashed all over my kitchen tiles this morning. They were skittering everywhere. They had purpose. So I suppose they were leaving their chemical trail for others to follow. But to where? Drippings down the side of a canesugar syrup bottle stashed behind a two hundred year old box of pancake mix was the where. Enough breakfast to feed the main colony. A quick trash bin fix. I have been over run with critters of all sizes and fear inducing shapes. Do not go down in the basement. Right? Every horror flic teaches ya that- but I have too, half my home is there. This 12 year old Frankensteined together computer that I am blogging from is plugged in down there stuffed into a corner. Spiders will drop from the ceiling. I will feel a a tickle on my arm and a fuzzy eight legged little monster will be looking up at me. The wife usually lets out a small scream and then pulverizes the suckers. Me I vacuum them up by the dozens then dump the basket out the back door. I have raccoons nesting in the rafters. I have feral cats screeching all night. I found a coyote skull in a clump of grass. My home and garage is a wild life rufuge but no snakes. I always caught snakes in my backyard as a youth. No reptiles in 2010? All right- there was a Mad Cobra in the CD player.



I remember this youth when he tried to stand shoulder to shoulder with the big boys. That was around the time that the Dancehall Rub-A-Dub was turning gangsta thug for life American style. I remember this youth standing next to the huge Ninjaman all ghetto blasting hollow point gun talk. The youth was even standing tall next to the world playa top ten chart conquering gaint Shabba Ranks. To be honest, I thought that slackest of tune Flex was a Shabba smash. Yep, Mad Cobra could- talk circles around his lyrical prey, rhyme crime and shoot his mouth off like he was emptying a full clip. But for all that punnany bragging, it was just a puffed up chest display. Mad Cobra seemed like the politest rude bwoy. Sure Monday thru Friday was raging hormones around the ladies but Sunday was bible day. Mad Cobra always seemed like the kid brother trying to show off in front of the big brother's friends. Gun talk not from the streets but from big screen westerns. Gundelero. Exactly! To be fair Mad Cobra made a few bad career choices. Those records for what they are, I still enjoy them. If I am not mistaking, he was positioned to make a come back. Sadly gun talk turned into violent reality.

Mr COOL RULER!

No waxing poetics today. No picking up the pieces today. Just rolling the stone nice and lazy like. Not an ounce of animosity shaking my bones. Today is a hazy humid day overshadowed by a thunder head leering off in the distance. I got my fingers crossed it blows in soon. I am hoping it splits open the sky above my home. That would be a sigh of relief. The much needed rain bouncing off my roof.



Extra Classic is an album's worth of A side singles and their flip B side dubs. Each tune is gold spun from different producers controlling different studios. If you have never heard a Gregory Isaacs record before then prepare to slow time down. Not stop it, just lay the groove so far back that the clock seems to tic the minutes off a few seconds late. Gregory delivers his words with the patience of a Saint. Gregory sings songs filled with love. Deepest affection for Jah. Brotherly respect for his fellow sufferah, and big romantic gestures towards the ladies. Gregory could be called a Rastaman cupid-his arrows strike their bullseyes straight thru the heart, but his arrows float in the air a little longer than gravity usually allows. That is Gregory's gift. Defying laws graciously.

Nuh Kill No More Artists

Mad Cobra



Voicemail-O'neil in the middle



Capleton cut Nuh Kill No More Artists on the Flash Forward Riddim in regards to the shooting of Mad Cobra and Voicemail's O'neil (may 28th)

Aways back I posted a sad day for Reggae list up on Amazon. It was a fans epitaph for fallen heroes. I was struck by how long the list was. Being a Reggae artist is most dangerous. The stars musical stature makes them a target for politic agendas, simple greed or pure cowardice. To many Reggae heroes have entered the Gates Of Zion by unnatural causes. I withdrew the list because it was downpressing.

CULTIVATING HERBALISTS

Listening with new ears. The crazy thing about Culture is that this record sounds more unique today than when new. I remember thinking that Joseph Hill and gang were roots to a fault. No hooks and gimmicks to catch the listeners ears. Just a simple smooth continuous riff for Joseph to drift his voice over. I was wrong, sure the vibe is like a drive thru the country, but the band and back-up harmonies block the whole road. They just do it without big city road rage.

Okay, I pinched this from my earlier Amazon review. I have always loved Joseph Hill's Culture but as I get older, I hold their music even closer to my heart. I blame it on maturity. Certainly not herb itself. I was smoking some intense Vietnam export back in the olden days. Then, is it true, am I getting wiser as I get older?

CULTURED BUT NOT PASTEURIZED!

Yesterday, I did something I used to be able to do with my eyes closed- I picked up my paint brushes. Roughly three calendar years passed me by and not even a stick figure scribble, but yesterday I started a series of portraits. I came across a shoebox of old photos. In that box was pictures of my dad with his hair all slicked back and wearing a wife beater to show off his thug muscles. He was posing cool for the camera sitting atop his Harley. That was the late fifties. My dad never made it to high school. He fought his way through life.

Why the three year Sabbatical? Going thru a nasty divorce can make a person pick up all sorts of bad habits. I picked up a few of the usuals. Cigarettes seem to calm the nerves when your ex is pushing ya into wanting to commit murder. Booze, well booze is a cheap way to go numb. Eventually my ex-wife became a distant ugly memory so I figured if I could not leave Babylon personally, I would make it leave me. So I quit the pack a day and stopped drowning myself in oceans of wine. A neighborhood crack head said the only difference between me and a wino was that I painted! I started beating the pavement with my face (army's cute way of saying push-ups) and covering many miles of running trails. Fresh air!
Only problem was I associated painting with bad habits. An incredible painter I know said he had gotten to the point where he could not even stretch a canvas without killing a six pack first. Every time I smelled turpentine, long lost cravings for nicotine would flood my mind. The cliche images of French painters with a glass of wine in one hand and a lit cigarette dangling from their lips. Yeah, and the nude model stashed away in the studio. That was my life. I had to put the brush down till my mind completely cleared.

Babylon was a Mesopotamian problem during Old Testament times but no other place on this planet qualifies more for the title of new Babylon than America. I mean entire cities like Las Vegas cater to the 7 Deadly Sins. Of course New York is the big apple. Boasting more temptation per square inch than the apple tree in the Garden Of Eden. Where is this story going? In circles- Culture is described as the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively. A sinner is a person who transgresses against divine law. Somehow culture and sin can not exist without each other.



The original work in words of defiance and songs of praise!

This Culture is best described as a trio of mighty foot soldiers for the Most High Jah Rastafari. Joseph may only weigh 90 pounds but he's fearsome! The other two skinny guys, they got Joseph's back. Culture uses their music to march on Babylon. Every tune puts the boot to Babylon. Their art is pious indignation set to roots rockers. And rock the one drop it does. Joseph Hill, Kenneth Dayes and Joseph's cousin Albert Walker face impossible odds but Rastaman face it upbeat and optimistic. That is what I love best about Reggae. It's unconquerable spirit!



The deluxed remastered and therefore more dangerous edition!

Another sucessfull record review where I actually avoid talking about the record I am reviewing. Not so tuff being a critic.