Reggae Quotes

None but ourselves can free our minds.

You’re that lady,” Leo said. “The one who was named after Caribbean music.” Her eyes glinted murderously. “Caribbean music.” “Yeah. Reggae?” Leo shook his head. “Merengue? Hold on, I’ll get it.” He snapped his fingers. “Calypso!

Reggae is my heart ♥ reggae is my soul

Procrastination is not the problem. It is the solution. It is the universe's way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. Listen to the music. Whoa whoa, listen to the music. Because music makes the people come together, it makes the bourgeois and the rebel. So come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody try to love one another. Because what the world needs now is love, sweet love. And I know that love is a battlefield, but boogie on reggae woman because you're gonna make it after all. So celebrate good times, come on. I've gotta stop I've gotta come to my senses, I've been out riding fences for so long... oops I did it again... um... What I'm trying to say is, if you leave tonight and you don't remember anything else that I've said, leave here and remember this: Procrastinate now, don't put it off.

Everybody just lets the media do their thinking for them... that's why you'll never hear any reggae on the radio!

Sometimes in life confusion tends to arise and only dialogue of dance seems to make sense.

If movements were a spark every dancer would desire to light up in flames.

Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.

Dance as the narration of a magical story; that recites on lips, illuminates imaginations and embraces the most sacred depths of souls.

Dance is the timeless interpretation of life.

Show me a person who found love in his life and did not celebrate it with a dance.

If spirit is the seed, dance is the water of its evolution.

If you opened the dictionary and searched for the meaning of a Goddess, you would find the reflection of a dancing lady.

Don't breathe to survive; dance and feel alive.

Life is an affair of mystery; shared with companions of music, dance and poetry.

Dance to inspire, dance to freedom, life is about experiences so dance and let yourself become free.

Through synergy of intellect, artistry and grace came into existence the blessing of a dancer.

It does not matter how sweet you can sing a song of love. You must know how to dance along with it. You can't dance "salsa dance" on a "reggae song".

DANCE – Defeat All Negativity (via) Creative Expression.

Before long, everyone was giving him answers, and feeling a little superior, because it was really remarkable the number of things Chrestomanci seemed not to know. He had heard of Hitler, though he asked Brian to refresh his memory about him, but he had only the haziest notion about Gandhi or Einstein, and he had never heard of Walt Disney or reggae.

She who is a dancer can only sway the silk of her hair like the summer breeze.

Dance is the ritual of immortality.

One step, two steps, three steps; like winds of time experience joy of centuries, when movements become revelations of the dance of destinies.

This was an era where you were defined by the music you listened to and the clothes you wore. You wouldn’t find a skinhead listening to King Crimson, or a Rocker listening to blue beat or reggae. It wasn’t allowed.

In front of us, the ocean stretched for eternity. Around us, reggae mussy floated through the air. In our drying clothes and still-damp hair, we ate junk food and talked. At some point we finished and went for a long walk in the sand. We picked up shells, laughed, and talked. Before I knew it, the sun was going down and we went back to the van. We lay side by side, stretched out on the blanket. When the sun dropped completely below the horizon, we let the moon illuminate us.

Amy turned to Nellie. "Can you create a diversion to draw the clerk outside?" The au pair was wary. "What kind of diversion?" "You could pretend to be lost," Dan proposed. "The guy comes out to give you directions, and we slip inside." "That's the most sexist idea I've ever heard," Nellie said harshly. "I'm female, so I have to be clueless. He's male, so he's got a great sense of direction." "Maybe you're from out of town," Dan suggested. "Wait–you are from out of town." Nellie stashed their bags under a bench and set Saladin on the seat with a stern "You're the watchcat. Anybody touches those bags, unleash your inner tiger." The Egyptian Mau surveyed the street uncertainly. "Mrrp." Nellie sighed. "Lucky for us there's no one around. Okay, I'm going in there. Be ready." The clerk said something to her–probably May I help you? She smiled apologetically. "I don't speak Italian." "Ah–you are American." His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. "I will assist you." He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. "Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?" "More like a punk/reggae fusion," Nellie replied thoughtfully. "With a country feel. And operatic vocals." The clerk stared in perplexity. Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. "Ah–Artic Monkeys–that's what I'm talking about. And some Bad Brains–from the eighties. Foo Fighters–I'll need a couple from those guys. And don't forget Linkin Park..." He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door.

Remember, this was an era where you were defined by the music you listened to and the clothes you wore. You wouldn’t find a skinhead listening to King Crimson, or a Rocker listening to blue beat or reggae. It wasn’t allowed.

Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance and not breath.

Dance is that delicacy of life radiating every particle of our existence with happiness.

Under the twinkling trees was a table covered with Guatemalan fabric, roses in juice jars, wax rose candles from Tijuana and plates of food — Weetzie's Vegetable Love-Rice, My Secret Agent Lover Man's guacamole, Dirk's homemade pizza, Duck's fig and berry salad and Surfer Surprise Protein Punch, Brandy-Lynn's pink macaroni, Coyote's cornmeal cakes, Ping's mushu plum crepes and Valentine's Jamaican plantain pie. Witch Baby's stomach growled but she didn't leave her hiding place. Instead, she listened to the reggae, surf, soul and salsa, tugged at the snarl balls in her hair and snapped pictures of all the couples.

A qui écris-tu? -A toi. En fait, je ne t'écris pas vraiment, j'écris ce que j'ai envie de faire avec toi... Il y avait des feuilles partout. Autour d'elle, à ses pieds, sur le lit. J'en ai pris une au hasard: "...Pique-niquer, faire la sieste au bord d'une rivière, manger des pêches, des crevettes, des croissants, du riz gluant, nager, danser, m'acheter des chaussures, de la lingerie, du parfum, lire le journal, lécher les vitrines, prendre le métro, surveiller l'heure, te pousser quand tu prends toute la place, étendre le linge, aller à l'Opéra, faire des barbecues, râler parce que tu as oublié le charbon, me laver les dents en même temps que toi, t'acheter des caleçons, tondre la pelouse, lire le journal par-dessus ton épaule, t'empêcher de manger trop de cacahuètes, visiter les caves de la Loire, et celles de la Hunter Valley, faire l'idiote, jacasser, cueillir des mûres, cuisiner, jardiner, te réveiller encore parce que tu ronfles, aller au zoo, aux puces, à Paris, à Londres, te chanter des chansons, arrêter de fumer, te demander de me couper les ongles, acheter de la vaisselle, des bêtises, des choses qui ne servent à rien, manger des glaces, regarder les gens, te battre aux échecs, écouter du jazz, du reggae, danser le mambo et le cha-cha-cha, m'ennuyer, faire des caprices, bouder, rire, t'entortiller autour de mon petit doigt, chercher une maison avec vue sur les vaches, remplir d'indécents Caddie, repeindre un plafond, coudre des rideaux, rester des heures à table à discuter avec des gens intéressants, te tenir par la barbichette, te couper les cheveux, enlever les mauvaises herbes, laver la voiture, voir la mer, t'appeler encore, te dire des mots crus, apprendre à tricoter, te tricoter une écharpe, défaire cette horreur, recueillir des chats, des chiens, des perroquets, des éléphants, louer des bicyclettes, ne pas s'en servir, rester dans un hamac, boire des margaritas à l'ombre, tricher, apprendre à me servir d'un fer à repasser, jeter le fer à repasser par la fenêtre, chanter sous la pluie, fuire les touristes, m'enivrer, te dire toute la vérité, me souvenir que toute vérité n'est pas bonne à dire, t'écouter, te donner la main, récupérer mon fer à repasser, écouter les paroles des chansons, mettre le réveil, oublier nos valises, m'arrêter de courir, descendre les poubelles, te demander si tu m'aimes toujours, discuter avec la voisine, te raconter mon enfance, faire des mouillettes, des étiquettes pour les pots de confiture..." Et ça continuais comme ça pendant des pages et des pages...

Transcend the terrestrial; surpass the celestial, from nature’s hands when you receive the sublime pleasures of dance.

When a dancer performs, melody transforms into a carriage, expressions turn into fuel and spirit experiences a journey to a world where passion attains fulfillment.

It's not just the lawlessness. It's the grabbing of a myth and making it theirs, like a reggae singer dropping new lyrics 'pon di old version. And if a western needs an O.K. Corral, an O.K. Corral needs a Dodge City. Kingston, where bodies sometimes drop like flies, fits the description a little too well.

Music is psychology. And if the music does not penetrate the heart, the soul, the mind and the body, then you ain't gonna feel it. Because reggae music is not something you hear, it's something you feel. And if you don't feel it, you can't know it. It is a spiritual music with spiritual ingredients for spiritual purposes.

No man is an island, no man stands alone

Spirit is a child, the tune of dancing feet its lullaby.

Make dance the mission every moment seeks to accomplish.

Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance like breath.

Mr. Bird was an avid hiker, lover of reggae

Once angels get an idea in their head, there’s no arguing with them. Like cops and people who listen to reggae.

La tournée terminée, Tom et Roger pensèrent qu'après le succès de I Shot The Sheriff, ce serait bien de descendre dans les Caraïbes pour continuer sur le thème du reggae. Ils organisèrent un voyage en Jamaïque, où ils jugeaient qu'on pourrait fouiner un peu et puiser dans l'influence roots avant d'enregistrer. Tom croyait fermement au bienfait d'exploiter cette source, et je n'avais rien contre puisque ça voulait dire que Pattie et moi aurions une sorte de lune de miel. Kingston était une ville où il était fantastique de travailler. On entendant de la musique partout où on allait. Tout le monde chantait tout le temps, même les femmes de ménage à l'hotel. Ce rythme me rentrait vraiment dans le sang, mais enregistrer avec les Jamaïcains était une autre paire de manches. Je ne pouvais vraiment pas tenir le rythme de leur consommation de ganja, qui était énorme. Si j'avais essayé de fumer autant ou aussi souvent, je serais tombé dans les pommes ou j'aurais eu des hallucinations. On travaillait aux Dynamic Sound Studios à Kingston. Des gens y entraient et sortaient sans arrêt, tirant sur d'énormes joints en forme de trompette, au point qu'il y avait tant de fumée dans la salle que je ne voyais pas qui était là ou pas. On composait deux chansons avec Peter Tosh qui, affalé sur une chaise, avait l'air inconscient la plupart du temps. Puis, soudain, il se levait et interprétait brillamment son rythme reggae à la pédale wah-wah, le temps d'une piste, puis retombait dans sa transe à la seconde où on s'arrêtait.

Listening to their argument made me aware of how empty my life was, and I hated the life I was living all the more. It was quite obvious to me this lady was deeply in love, for she was fighting for what she thought to be hers. Even though I was dating two females at the time, and stringing a third one along, yet I’ve yet to discover that kind of love. I guess this was why my favorite song was ‘I wane be love’, by the Jamaican reggae super star Buru Banton.

L'AQUILONE C'è qualcosa di nuovo oggi nel sole, anzi d'antico: io vivo altrove, e sento che sono intorno nate le viole. Son nate nella selva del convento dei cappuccini, tra le morte foglie che al ceppo delle quercie agita il vento. Si respira una dolce aria che scioglie le dure zolle, e visita le chiese di campagna, ch'erbose hanno le soglie: un'aria d'altro luogo e d'altro mese e d'altra vita: un'aria celestina che regga molte bianche ali sospese... sì, gli aquiloni! È questa una mattina che non c'è scuola. Siamo usciti a schiera tra le siepi di rovo e d'albaspina. Le siepi erano brulle, irte; ma c'era d'autunno ancora qualche mazzo rosso di bacche, e qualche fior di primavera bianco; e sui rami nudi il pettirosso saltava, e la lucertola il capino mostrava tra le foglie aspre del fosso. Or siamo fermi: abbiamo in faccia Urbino ventoso: ognuno manda da una balza la sua cometa per il ciel turchino. Ed ecco ondeggia, pencola, urta, sbalza, risale, prende il vento; ecco pian piano tra un lungo dei fanciulli urlo s'inalza. S'inalza; e ruba il filo dalla mano, come un fiore che fugga su lo stelo esile, e vada a rifiorir lontano. S'inalza; e i piedi trepidi e l'anelo petto del bimbo e l'avida pupilla e il viso e il cuore, porta tutto in cielo. Più su, più su: già come un punto brilla lassù lassù... Ma ecco una ventata di sbieco, ecco uno strillo alto... - Chi strilla? Sono le voci della camerata mia: le conosco tutte all'improvviso, una dolce, una acuta, una velata... A uno a uno tutti vi ravviso, o miei compagni! e te, sì, che abbandoni su l'omero il pallor muto del viso. Sì: dissi sopra te l'orazïoni, e piansi: eppur, felice te che al vento non vedesti cader che gli aquiloni! Tu eri tutto bianco, io mi rammento. solo avevi del rosso nei ginocchi, per quel nostro pregar sul pavimento. Oh! te felice che chiudesti gli occhi persuaso, stringendoti sul cuore il più caro dei tuoi cari balocchi! Oh! dolcemente, so ben io, si muore la sua stringendo fanciullezza al petto, come i candidi suoi pètali un fiore ancora in boccia! O morto giovinetto, anch'io presto verrò sotto le zolle là dove dormi placido e soletto... Meglio venirci ansante, roseo, molle di sudor, come dopo una gioconda corsa di gara per salire un colle! Meglio venirci con la testa bionda, che poi che fredda giacque sul guanciale, ti pettinò co' bei capelli a onda tua madre... adagio, per non farti male.

If the door frames aren't rattlin', it ain't loud enough.

Live the life you love. Love the life you live.

Limit not to only five, when the divine gifts the supreme sixth; the sense of dance

the women of Babylon keep their men forever weak by filling their minds with lustful thoughts.

Trip Advisor: Travel the World with Haiku [D] Jerusalem, Israel Jews pray motionless and the Western Wall shakes. It's all relative. Capetown, South Africa And the coloured girls say, 'We're not Africaans, we're English.' In a total Africaans accent. Bulls Bay, Jamaica Weed, rum, guava jelly, Reggae, Marley, Red Stripe beer, O Baby, jerk that chicken. Istanbul, Turkey I asked my driver, 'Why do you believe in Allah?' He answers: 'If not, He hit me!' Cairo, Egypt Cairo International Airport, Porter drops my bags six times. Descendents of the Pharaohs, my ass. Santorini Island, Greece Greeks are like the current, They push you over and then Try to suck you in. Christiania, Denmark One thousand drug dealers, Five hundred thousand tourists. Alway$ Chri$tma$ here.*

En eso soy como el Cantante porque a él también le encanta hablar, hasta cuando toma la guitarra y crea sus rimas con «ismo» y «cisma» lo que está haciendo es hablar. Y hasta cuando rima «ismo» con «cisma» está esperando que le contestes porque lo que aquí hacemos es conversar. El reggae no es más que un hombre que habla y conversa con otro hombre, conversando por ambos laos, como digo yo.

Audience of angels descend in the ambiance reciting praises in your glory, when you wear your dance shoes, when you arrive at the stage and with every step you take beneath your feet heaven moves. That is the power of dance.

Apartment windows are cracked open to the cold to balance overzealous radiators, and there's comfort in the sounds drifting out. Each window Amelia passes hints at the warmth inside: people talking, people laughing, kitchen sounds, the steady pulse of music. Now salsa, now reggae. Now opera, now rock. voices in English, in Spanish in Korean, in junkie gibberish. And she's a part of it, at least as long as the sounds of all those lives wash over her.

I wanted to think I gave the Professor and his chubby granddaughter and my librarian friend a little happiness. Could I have given happiness to anyone else? There wasn’t much time left, and I doubted anyone would dispute those rights after I was gone, but how about the Police-reggae taxi driver? He’d let us ride in his cab, mud and all. He deserved his share of happiness. He was probably behind the wheel right now, cruising around to his rock cassettes.

Aggressive music has always been a liberator for me; however, hard tunes with no soul quickly wear thin. H.R. exhibited soul where it could not be found previously. His lyrics contributed an urgency fueled by spirituality and a call to social justice, which substantiated the ferocity of the Bad Brains’ earth-shattering soundscapes. This included the instances when Bad Brains broke it down to a mesmerizing, skank-drenched reggae rhythm. H.R.’s vocal style was otherworldly; ever vacillating between combative and graceful expression; all the while thrusting forth a righteous dose of rebellion served with a side of hope.  

Y sin embargo, cuando llego aquí, por primera vez después de un año, lo único que suena por la radio es More More More, How Do you Like It How Do you Like It, y yo pienso: este pincha es una mierda. ¡Cambio de emisora y suena «Ma Baker» de Boney M! ¡Cambio a la FM y suena «Fly Robin Fly» de Silver Convention! Le pregunto a un ayudante de camarero del hotel: ¿dónde puedo escuchar a los Mighty Diamonds o a Dillinger? Y él se me queda mirando como si le acabara de pedir que me dejara chuparle la polla y me dice: señor, no todos los jamaicanos vendemos hierba. Hasta Abba suena más que el reggae por aquí. He oído «Dancing Queen»tantas veces que creo que me estoy volviendo maricón.

Back in Russia, where they’re still getting acclimated to the whole capitalism thing, most TV advertising took a straightforward approach to persuasion. Thus, even though I don’t speak Russian, I had no trouble understanding Russian ads. They were all along the lines o: “Oh, no, there’s a stain on the tablecloth! What will Mom do? Thank goodness for this effective detergent!” Not so in Japan, where sophisticated consumers have grown bored with simple persuasion, forcing advertisers to get wildly inventive. Japanese TV ads have at this point evolved into an abstract mishmash of symbols and sounds. Your average thirty-second Japanese commercial is something like: Here’s a man holding a giraffe. Now the giraffe morphs into a rainbow. The rainbow is friends with a talking pencil, and they live together on a spaceship. A few seconds of laughter! A snippet of loud reggae music! Fad out. At least half the time, I have no idea what the product being advertised is or what it does. And yet I very much enjoy the ads. They’re like short-acting hallucinogens.

This guy! I plead the fifth. This guy is nuts.” - Eminem “Dope questions, man. Very insightful, very thoughtful.” - Guru (Gang Starr) “You like a Psychiatrist or some shit? This shit is just coming out but go ahead.” - Mary J. Blige “Definitely a real interview! Digging deep up in there, man. Not afraid to ask questions!” - K-Ci Hailey (Jodeci) “The Wizard asked me for a copy of your magazine.” - Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo (Daft Punk) “You didn’t wear your glasses and you haven’t carried your hearing aid. What else is wrong with you?” - Bushwick Bill “Peace and blessing, Brother Harris. Thank you for inspiring my words. Keep ‘yo balance.” - Erykah Badu “Can I see that pen?” - Bobby Brown “What else do you want to know? Talk to me.” - Aaliyah

Not long after I learned about Frozen, I went to see a friend of mine who works in the music industry. We sat in his living room on the Upper East Side, facing each other in easy chairs, as he worked his way through a mountain of CDs. He played “Angel,” by the reggae singer Shaggy, and then “The Joker,” by the Steve Miller Band, and told me to listen very carefully to the similarity in bass lines. He played Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” and then Muddy Waters’s “You Need Love,” to show the extent to which Led Zeppelin had mined the blues for inspiration. He played “Twice My Age,” by Shabba Ranks and Krystal, and then the saccharine ’70s pop standard “Seasons in the Sun,” until I could hear the echoes of the second song in the first. He played “Last Christmas,” by Wham! followed by Barry Manilow’s “Can’t Smile Without You” to explain why Manilow might have been startled when he first heard that song, and then “Joanna,” by Kool and the Gang, because, in a different way, “Last Christmas” was an homage to Kool and the Gang as well. “That sound you hear in Nirvana,” my friend said at one point, “that soft and then loud kind of exploding thing, a lot of that was inspired by the Pixies. Yet Kurt Cobain” — Nirvana’s lead singer and songwriter — “was such a genius that he managed to make it his own. And ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?” — here he was referring to perhaps the best-known Nirvana song. “That’s Boston’s ‘More Than a Feeling.’ ” He began to hum the riff of the Boston hit, and said, “The first time I heard ‘Teen Spirit,’ I said, ‘That guitar lick is from “More Than a Feeling.” ’ But it was different — it was urgent and brilliant and new.” He played another CD. It was Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” a huge hit from the 1970s. The chorus has a distinctive, catchy hook — the kind of tune that millions of Americans probably hummed in the shower the year it came out. Then he put on “Taj Mahal,” by the Brazilian artist Jorge Ben Jor, which was recorded several years before the Rod Stewart song. In his twenties, my friend was a DJ at various downtown clubs, and at some point he’d become interested in world music. “I caught it back then,” he said. A small, sly smile spread across his face. The opening bars of “Taj Mahal” were very South American, a world away from what we had just listened to. And then I heard it. It was so obvious and unambiguous that I laughed out loud; virtually note for note, it was the hook from “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” It was possible that Rod Stewart had independently come up with that riff, because resemblance is not proof of influence. It was also possible that he’d been in Brazil, listened to some local music, and liked what he heard.

For colour’s sake alone, Purletta Johnson belonged to the Jamaican bourgeoisie. She was fair-skinned, had light grey eyes, and worse, she spoke the kind of upper-St Andrew English culled from the BBC news which radios in middle- and upper-class Jamaican houses were always tuned to. In America at the time they would have described her as ‘yellow’. In Jamaica, she had been ‘red’. In a future England they would call her mixed-race, but at the time Purletta arrived in the country there was no such denominator, so she was simply coloured. Only briefly did this new assignment of class and race disturb her. Others in her position did everything to pass for white; they straightened their hair even more and then lightened it; they bleached their faces. These young women would have counselled Purletta to do the same, arguing that she had a distinct advantage with her grey eyes. She had arrived in England in the late 1960s, burdened by her mother’s idea that she should live there long enough to transform the UK-Right of Abode stamped into her Jamaican Passport (a gift from her father who was a citizen), into a full UK passport. No doubt Purletta’s mother also wanted her daughter to come back a cultivated English woman. But Purletta did the opposite. In the land of the BBC she suddenly abandoned her BBC accent. Away from Jamaica, she learned to talk Jamaican. She braided her hair close to her scalp and thereafter gave in to every possible stereotype, whether negative or positive. She became loud and colourful. Learned how to laugh from her gut, clapping her hands, leaning over and placing the palms of her hands on her thighs, shouting wooooooooiiii. She became fat and started to walk a kind of walk that was all hips. She got a gold tooth. Then she transformed herself into the kind of person who, as they said in Jamaica, any pan knock she was there!, so she started to go to every reggae show and would boogie all night until she was sticky with sweat. Purletta began to grow ganja on her balcony. She smoked, especially on evenings when she was getting ready to go out, and this would make her even louder, even more outrageous. A bona

born Rastafari," but had "assumed the posture" in the late seventies or early eighties after being exposed to reggae music.

his carpentry skills put him in demand building speaker cabinets.

slave revolts, especially in Jamaica, were a far more regular feature of life in the colonies than history books have ever cared to reflect. Indeed, Christianity was eventually accepted for no other reason than it was the only route to literacy, as the Bible was the only book slaves were allowed, and in order to read it they had to be taught to read. However, the first black preachers immediately adapted the scriptures to acknowledge both their people's sufferation and their resolution to remain independent. And as for manner of worship, it was going to be as gloriously, vibrantly African as possible.

In 2015 the American Jewish pop star Matisyahu was disinvited from appearing at Rototom Sunsplash, an annual international reggae music festival held in Spain that was, ironically, devoted to “the promotion of peace, equality, human rights and social justice.”12 He was told by festival organizers that the pressure to disinvite him came from BDS members, and that if he made a public statement in support of Palestinian statehood and against Israeli “war crimes,” he would be able to perform.13 When he refused to do so, his performance was canceled and Rototom Sunsplash issued the following statement: Rototom Sunsplash, after having repeatedly sought dialogue in the face of the artist’s unavailability to give a clear statement against war and on the right of the Palestinian people to their own state, has decided to cancel [his] concert. Even though Rototom Sunsplash’s other goals included examining the “rise in Islamophobia in Western countries, as well as the situation of the prisoners in Guantánamo,” no European performers were required to denounce expressions of Islamophobia in their countries, and American performers were not required to share their views on the United States policy toward prisoners in Guantánamo. After an international outcry at the festival’s assertion that an American Jewish musician was answerable for Israeli government policy, the invitation was reinstated.

When one is screening raw footage of people in costume tripping on mushrooms and dancing sloppily to a reggae band, a little goes a long way,

One of the best ways to visualize this is to think of our genome as a grand piano.13 Each gene is a key. Each key produces a note. And from instrument to instrument, depending on the maker, the materials, and the circumstances of manufacturing, each will sound a bit different, even if played the exact same way. These are our genes. We have about 20,000 of them, give or take a few thousand.14 Each key can also be played pianissimo (soft) or forte (with force). The notes can be tenuto (held) or allegretto (played quickly). For master pianists, there are hundreds of ways to play each individual key and endless ways to play the keys together, in chords and combinations that create music we know as jazz, ragtime, rock, reggae, waltzes, whatever. The pianist that makes this happen is the epigenome.

The wind and breaking waves are drowned by a dull symphony of locker doors and hidden stores swaying and banging in the surging waters within Rose-Noëlle’s hull—gush-ding-thump-bump-claptack-thump-crack-slosh-ding-ting-glump-bumpbump. . . . The noises create what we call audio mirages. Voices spring from our subconscious, lulling us into daydreams and slumber in which the clamor of our prison becomes background conversations, soft sweet singing, announcers on the radio, the beat of reggae.

Back in Munich. Gerhardt and the Mergers. Mostly German-language covers, but we had original numbers too. We were regarded as being one of the best reggae and rocksteady crews on the Bavarian financial scene.

Bob Marley gave Reggae music new meaning. The super-talented Jamaican singer did not just sing; he chanted. Highly spiritual, his music has cadences of subterranean intrigues wholesome for the human psyche. He loved mankind and stood for the oppressed. Bob has been dead now for many years, but his good music lives right on.

Bob Marley gave Reggae music new meaning. The super-talented Jamaican singer did not just sing; he chanted with the eloquence of a queenly lark. Highly spiritual, his music has cadences of subterranean intrigues. A legend of our time, Bob loved mankind and stood for the oppressed. I’ve never for once stopped viewing him as an ambassador of freedom. He really was.

Preamble The Klassik Era was a cultural and musical revolution that swept through Kenya and East Africa in the early 2010s. It was a time of bold experimentation, fearless expression, and unapologetic individuality that challenged the norms of mainstream music and culture. For the first time, young people from the ghettos and slums of Nairobi, Mombasa, and Kisumu could see themselves represented and celebrated in the music and arts scene, and their voices and stories were given a platform like never before. The Klassik Era was characterized by a fusion of different musical genres and styles, from hip-hop and reggae to dancehall and afro-pop, to create a sound that was uniquely Kenyan and African. It was a time when young artists and producers like Blame It On Don (DON SANTO), Kingpheezle, Jilly Beatz, Tonnie Tosh, Kenny Rush, and many others came together under Klassik Nation, a record label that would change the face of Kenyan music forever. The Klassik Era was also marked by a sense of community and camaraderie, with young people from all walks of life coming together to support each other's art and creativity. It was a time when collaborations and features were the norm, and when artists and producers worked together to create something new and exciting. But the Klassik Era was not without its challenges and controversies. It was a time when the Kenyan music industry was dominated by a few powerful players who controlled the airwaves and the mainstream narrative, and who were resistant to change and innovation. It was a time when artists and producers had to fight tooth and nail to get their music played on the radio and to gain recognition and respect from their peers. Despite these challenges, the Klassik Era left an indelible mark on the Kenyan music industry and on the cultural landscape of Africa. It was a time of creativity, passion, and rebellion that inspired a generation of young people to dream big and to believe that anything was possible. This book is a tribute to that era and to the artists and producers who made it all possible.

Jimmy Cliff was crooning “I can see clearly now,” the reggae song by Johnny Nash he’d remade and performed far better than the original. There wasn’t an

Can I speak to the Upsetter? No, he's busy! Arranging his reggae: revolutionary poetry that is taking over from the heads of government...

One young man who had a tattoo of a bumblebee on his arm (the symbol of his favorite reggae group) was identified as a gang member. The gang was identified as the "Killer Bee Gang." According to Department of Corrections records, the Killer Bees were a gang of one.

The reggae reference was lost on Slidell, whose musical taste ran to C&W and sixties rock and roll. Barrow

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being and dance are one.

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being becomes dance.

Just have coffee with me. With an old friend.” He wanted to say no, but the past had too strong a pull. He nodded, afraid to speak. They drove in silence to Starbucks and ordered their complicated coffees from an artist-wannabe barista with more attitude than the guy who works at the local record store. They added whatever condiments at the little stand, playing a game of Twister by reaching across one another for the nonfat milk or Equal. They sat down in metal chairs with too-low backs. The sound system was playing reggae music, a CD entitled Jamaican Me Crazy. Emily

Zatímco v jedné části světa dodává Marley sílu utiskovaným, v jiné je vnímán méně plasticky. Může za to zdánlivá pohodovost reggae, která tu je chápaná více jako známka apatie než hojivosti. „Většina studentů přichází na mé přednášky s tím, že Bob Marley je jen nějaký zhulený týpek z ostrova, kde všichni hrají hudbu a povalují se,“ tvrdí pro BBC profesor Matt Jenson z bostonské Berklee College of Music, specialista na Marleyho, jemuž věnuje celé kurzy. Jak Jenson vysvětluje, Marleyho texty jsou angažovaným a rozhořčeným voláním po rovnosti. Teprve když posluchač projde vztekem, nachází čas na hudbu, jejíž rytmus mu dá zapomenout na nespravedlnost i bolest.

Cuando haces algo, lo que sea, tienes que tener confianza en que va a salir perfecto, así lo haces todo con una conciencia clara y sabes que vas a intentar crear algo. Luego, lo único que está en tu mano es darle la oportunidad a ver qué pasa. Es verdad que Jammy siempre estaba tratando de avanzar, pero la verdad es que nunca sabes si va a funcionar cuando pruebas algo nuevo.

El abuso de los ordenadores acabó con todo eso. Aparte del hecho de que los productores trabajaran ahora de manera cada vez más aislada, el hardware y el software eran productos de consumo masivo y el hecho de que utilizaran el mismo programa de ordenador con un equipo idéntico (que funcionaba de manera idéntica) impedía que ningún estudio fuera más allá de los límites establecidos. O que se lograran sonidos nuevos a base de probar y cometer errores. O que hubiera sorpresas en general. Y por si todo esto no bastara, podías utilizar los mismos samples que otro disco que hubiera sido un éxito. Con la tecnología se facilitaba muchísimo la reproducción de las pistas rítmicas de éxito.

¿Cuál sería la denominación de un dread, es decir un rasta, que vive como un yuppie? ¿Un duppie [fantasma]?

Porque aquí el objetivo no era hacer dinero o hacer discos que fueran directamente a las tiendas o a la radio, era como siempre había sido. Los sound systems recibían primero el disco y así es como llegaba a la gente, antes de que se publicara. Y entonces la radio lo ponía porque la gente lo pedía. Los sound systems dieron el primer paso con la música roots, antes que las radios, así llegó directamente a la gente y así se puso en movimiento. No importaba que la radio o los sound systems muy grandes no le hicieran caso al principio, porque había sitios más pequeños en casi todas las esquinas, por todo el país, que lo ponían. Y la gente iba en tropel, porque en la historia de la música jamaicana siempre han querido oír música que les represente. El reggae ha sido su música siempre.

La música caribeña siempre ha hablado de la gente y siempre ha servido para que la gente se comunique. Se puede decir sin temor a equivocarse que la música es el periódico del gueto. El calypso y el mento trataban de eso; el ska y el rocksteady reflejan la época rude boy. El reggae inicial celebraba la independencia y el optimismo de la época, mientras que el movimiento rasta y la música roots mostraban el descontento generalizado por lo que pasaba.

Cuando Big Youth se refería a U-Roy como «papá U-Roy» no lo decía a la ligera. Hace mucho que se proclamó a U-Roy como padre fundador del estilo moderno de toasting, debido en gran parte a su habilidad para cabalgar sobre un ritmo –acompasarse al ritmo, trabajando por dentro y por fuera para embellecer de manera espectacular lo que ya había allí– en lugar de soltar gritos por encima de manera aparentemente aleatoria.

Todo esto hizo que la música siguiera siendo un asunto de los barrios bajos durante mucho tiempo, porque la gente no sabía nada de que hubiera un mercado mundial más allá de su espacio más inmediato. En aquel momento, la gente que hacía música, que tenía la creatividad y la visión artística, no era consciente de cómo era de grande el mercado fuera de Jamaica. No habían viajado, a diferencia de otros que estaban antes, así que no buscaban complacer a nadie más que a su gente.

La política del Gobierno afecta enseguida nuestra vida en Jamaica, porque es un país tan pequeño, con tan poca gente, que cualquier cosa que decidan se nota pronto. Los ánimos se contagian con tanta rapidez que es imposible no enterarse de lo que está pasando. O al menos ese es el caso de los pobres, porque los ricos pueden aislarse de la política y no verse afectados por los cambios en el país. Y como es la gente pobre la que hace casi toda la música buena, se nota la influencia.

BayFestSD.com hosts the San Diego Bayfest and Mission Bayfest, premier music festivals in San Diego known for featuring top reggae and alternative rock artists. Held at scenic venues like Waterfront Park, these festivals showcase renowned acts such as Sublime, Atmosphere, and Goldfinger. Our mission is to create unforgettable experiences through well-organized events, VIP offerings, diverse food vendors, and exclusive merchandise, enriching San Diego’s cultural landscape with live music.

Hacerse ricos y conquistar el mercado mundial no formaba parte del plan. Recuerda que para muchos de nosotros resultaba casi imposible creer que nos iban a pagar por cantar, porque cantar era algo que solíamos hacer mientras íbamos andando por la calle. De hecho, nos impresionó que la música se hiciera famosa en todo el mundo así, que la gente lo quisiera comprar en Inglaterra, Alemania, Estados Unidos o donde fuera. Nunca pensamos que la gente apreciara la música en esos sitios.

Fue The Harder They Come lo que abrió el mercado internacional, ya que hasta entonces no creo que la música roots pudiera tener sentido para mucha gente fuera de Jamaica. Porque era sincera, te decía cómo era la vida en Jamaica. Está basada en un delincuente de verdad, Rhygin, el primer gran forajido de Jamaica. De pequeño nos contaban historias sobre Rhygin. Rhygin es una palabra en jamaicano que significa «malo», la gente decía «es un hombre rhygin, no le molestes ni le mires». Pero Rhygin estaba con el pueblo, era una especie de Robin Hood, creo que se le puede llamar así.

Porter’s next new Hollywood work, MGM’s High Society (1956), was second-division Porter. It hit his characteristic points—the Latin rhythm number in “Mind If I Make Love To You,” the charm song full of syncopation and “wrong” notes in “You’re Sensational.” Porter even turned himself inside out in two numbers for Louis Armstrong, “High Society Calypso” (the Afro-Caribbean anticipation of reggae had just begun to trend in America) and, in duet with Bing Crosby, “Now You Has Jazz.” And the film’s hit, “True Love,” is a waltz so simple neither the vocal nor the chorus has any syncopation whatever. This is smooth Porter, the Tin Pan Alley Porter who wants everyone to like him, even the tourists. Everything about High Society is smooth—to a fault. Armstrong gives it flair, but everyone else is so relaxed he or she might be bantering between acts on a telethon. These are pale replicas of the characters so memorably portrayed in MGM’s first go at this material, The Philadelphia Story, especially by Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. In their first moment, the two are in mid-fight; she breaks his golf clubs and he starts to take a swing at her, recalls himself to manly grace, and simply shoves her self-satisfied mug out of shot. This is not tough love. It’s real anger, and while Philip Barry, who wrote the Broadway Philadelphia Story, is remembered only as a boulevardier, he was in fact a deeply religious writer who interspersed romantic comedies with allegories on the human condition, much as Cole Porter moved between popular and elite composition. Underneath Barry’s Society folderol, provocative relationships undergo scrutiny as if in Christian parable; his characters are likable but worrisome—and, from First Couple Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly on down, there is nothing worrisome in this High Society.

Folk music passes along stories and allegories. Blues talks about the conditions of life. Jazz operates through mostly wordless intellect. Soul is all about relationships. Rock has substance and the ability to communicate it worldwide. And that includes its greatest hybrid, Reggae. Bob Marley was the ultimate example. Got to be neck and neck with Muhammad Ali for most well-known human on the planet. Get Tim White’s book on Marley. Incredible. I mentioned it once earlier, but I want you to remember it.

Peter Tosh came through a few months later, saying grudgingly that at least Bob’s death would make room for other artists to be noticed—a belligerent stance that cost him the support of many of his fans. But he had a very warm and humorous side to him too, and over the next seven years we grew close and I interviewed him several times for Reggae Beat

Mama says that some people can take three showers in a day and they still come out dirty

rebel soldiers. Whereas only 250 “new” slaves, most of them Igbo, participated in the rebellion of 1815, already in 1824, 1,200 slaves from plantations took part in an uprising. By Christmas of 1831, this number had risen to 20,000, and the rebellion included creoles. Ideologically, it prefigured the rise of a culturally complex “nationalism” in Jamaica, whose more recent manifestations include the Rastafari movement, based on Ethiopian traditions but with completely modern cultural components including reggae. Despite its defeat, then, the rebellion sealed the fate of slaveholders in Jamaica, and paved the way for eventual abolition.

Mama's room is like a tiny Jamaica you can put right in your pocket

Regardless of whatever, you must keep moving forward

We have to look into the mirror to see our scars and wrinkles. This is how we go forward. This is how we learn and teach our kids.

I showed her the Mobb Deep song “Shook Ones Part II” in the first days or weeks when we got together. Now, all of a sudden, she was excited, showing me a video of some pool party where the crowd was puzzled when the DJ played a little childlike tune with very few notes and sounds. Until they recognized the sampled song being played with the original piano tune of Herbie Hancock underneath, called “Jessica”, she was acting like she was teaching me something or something I didn't know beforehand. She was acting like she was smarter than me, or as if I didn't know anything about music, hip hop, or rap. It was very odd. Who could have shown her that track, that video, and Herbie Hancock? I wondered. So, I played the next song myself - Bob Marley's “Forever Loving Jah”. Then, she played Jonathan Richmann's “Something about Mary”. So, I played the song “Jah is One” from Mosh Ben Ari and certain members of Shotei Hanevua to see her reaction to Israeli reggae music. So she played Notorious BIG and the Junior Mafia’s song: “Get money.” She was singing the chorus shaking her boot. Then I played Tupac Shakur's “Hit 'Em Up.” She played Notorious BIG’s song “Juicy.” So I played his song called “Somebody Gotta Die.” She then played the Moldy Peaches, „We are not those kids, sitting on the couch” So I played Mad Child's “Night Vision” to see if she knew it.

when people tell the truth people get quiet

It's vital that we know our roots