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Ska, Rocksteady, Reggae: Changing sounds, same views
ROLAND HENRY, Sunday Observer staff reporter
Sunday, August 05, 2007
From ska to rocksteady and reggae to dancehall, Jamaica's music since 1962 has not diverged much from its origin - an indication perhaps, that the sounds may have changed but the sentiments are still the same.
Terms like "resilient, armoured music" used by scholar Dick Hebdige in his work - Reggae, Rasta and Rudies: Style and the Subversion of Form - to describe ska, may still be applicable to contemporary dancehall.
"Music reflects the era, it reflects what is happening in society. every generation needs to find its own voice," says music historian Alvin Campbell, noting that much of what obtained during the early post-Independence period still occurs today.
"In '66, the Festival Song Contest was born. and by that time the music went from ska to rocksteady," Campbell notes, positing that some of the euphoria of Independence had started to wear off because of the looming political tension - the island was on the brink of its first post-colonial general elections which resulted in the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) becoming the leaders of the 'new era'.
The songs of this period, Campbell notes, aptly captured the imagination of the Jamaican and his cultural relationships. He identifies Toots and the Maytals' Bam Bam as a song that spoke to the "rude bwoy" culture, among other things of the sixties.
"People think that things change. nothing no change, is just the weapons that change," the historian notes, "most conflicts were fist to fist or [were dealt with by knife]. a gun was a rarity," argues Campbell.
By the late sixties, as Hebdige points out, the jerky, electric guitar-laden shuffle that is ska slowed pace to become the more erotic rocksteady. This was also the period in which Rastafari - pioneered by acts like Ras Michael and the Sons of Negos - cemented itself to the then popular sound that became known as reggae.
The far-reaching impact of Rastafari through the vehicle of music facilitated a certain aggression and militancy within various songs; and this culminated with the emergence of Bob Marley when he started to deliver a social point of view on-stage.
"Is only when Bob start to locks, the cultural movement in earnest became a Corporate Area phenomenon," says Campbell.
The social commentary of the seventies spoke to issues of classism, racism, apartheid and the struggle with self-hate - an issue which still continues today, manifesting itself in the form of skin bleaching and subsequently, tracks that criticise the practice.
Notwithstanding, Campbell maintains that contemporary acts like Damian 'Junior Gong' Marley and Buju Banton have maintained the militancy of the music, despite being outside of the generation that started it all.
By 1972, Bob Marley had become an international superstar and reggae was the new buzz genre on everyone's LP player. The musical stylings of that era, Campbell says, nurtured sentiments of peace, unity and the type of social conscience that Rastafarians like Luciano and Jah Cure still purport.
Still, the music of any era features a sub-culture, but perhaps the most forthright is dancehall.
"I really don't know when a place where people converged became its own genre," shares Brian 'Bobby T' Angus, a disc jockey for over 40 years.
The emergence of the toasters, Campbell explains, spawned the 'deejay' who charmed with his witty, oft inaudible lyrics and infectious beats that were heaviest along the drum line.
But even though the sound was well-received within inner-city Jamaica, the music industry of the 1980s was plagued with criticism for, as Hebdige writes, supporting, "desertion of the music's local roots for an artificial and soul-less sound shaped by an imported digital technology".
Despite the criticisms, however, its sound was merely an amalgamation of old forms.
Hebdige quotes Chalice front man, Wayne Armond, as saying: "What it (dancehall music) is encompassing is very old Jamaican music - Mento, Poco - all the ethnic music from early Jamaica. Only, this is now being played on a drum machine. The influences are valued. You hear them in dancehall music."
Dr Sonjah Niaah, lecturer at the University of the West Indies and cultural studies expert, believes Armond's statement to be true.
"Dancehall," she says, "is still an indigenous space, even though there is cross-fertilisation with other genres."
The industry is moving back to blurring the lines between selectors, recording artistes and deejays, she says, adding that, "classically Tony Matterhorn becomes the modern version of that way back when U-Roy" who played on the sound system of the late 50s and early 60s.
Though she maintains the dancehall space is cyclical, she notes that within recent years there have been some "new moments". Dancers have gained more prominence and visibility.
"Dancers now have careers and can now have contracts like recording artistes," Niaah says, even though dancer Kid Harold was a feature of early dancehall. The difference, she explains, between the dancing phenomenon of the 1960s and present is that most contemporary steps are created by male street-dancers to be consumed by men as opposed to former years when 'couple dancing' or rub-a-dub was a staple at any party.
Unlike Angus, Niaah believes that the dancehall sound is worthy of genre-status since, "ethno-musicologists have declared this to be true".
"Yes, there are the shifts from ska, to rocksteady to dancehall but the space has remained the same. the street has always been and still continues to be a popular venue for dances."
Niaah notes that the most drastic changes between the post-Independent and contemporary period within the island's musical history are technology and the popularity and proliferation of events.
And what of 'slackness' or overtly-sexual content?
Both Niaah and Campbell assert that, 'slackness' has always been a feature of Jamaican music.
"Slackness is only now amplified because the music has gone abroad in a way that is facilitated by technology," Niaah shares, while Campbell notes, "mento is probably the most sexually explicit genre of music ever to come out of Jamaica".
"When Vybz Kartel says Tek b...y, that is consistent with the kind of songs you'd hear at wakes for Dinki-Mini dancing. it's going way back in the history," the cultural studies expert notes.
ROLAND HENRY, Sunday Observer staff reporter
Sunday, August 05, 2007
From ska to rocksteady and reggae to dancehall, Jamaica's music since 1962 has not diverged much from its origin - an indication perhaps, that the sounds may have changed but the sentiments are still the same.
Terms like "resilient, armoured music" used by scholar Dick Hebdige in his work - Reggae, Rasta and Rudies: Style and the Subversion of Form - to describe ska, may still be applicable to contemporary dancehall.
"Music reflects the era, it reflects what is happening in society. every generation needs to find its own voice," says music historian Alvin Campbell, noting that much of what obtained during the early post-Independence period still occurs today.
"In '66, the Festival Song Contest was born. and by that time the music went from ska to rocksteady," Campbell notes, positing that some of the euphoria of Independence had started to wear off because of the looming political tension - the island was on the brink of its first post-colonial general elections which resulted in the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) becoming the leaders of the 'new era'.
The songs of this period, Campbell notes, aptly captured the imagination of the Jamaican and his cultural relationships. He identifies Toots and the Maytals' Bam Bam as a song that spoke to the "rude bwoy" culture, among other things of the sixties.
"People think that things change. nothing no change, is just the weapons that change," the historian notes, "most conflicts were fist to fist or [were dealt with by knife]. a gun was a rarity," argues Campbell.
By the late sixties, as Hebdige points out, the jerky, electric guitar-laden shuffle that is ska slowed pace to become the more erotic rocksteady. This was also the period in which Rastafari - pioneered by acts like Ras Michael and the Sons of Negos - cemented itself to the then popular sound that became known as reggae.
The far-reaching impact of Rastafari through the vehicle of music facilitated a certain aggression and militancy within various songs; and this culminated with the emergence of Bob Marley when he started to deliver a social point of view on-stage.
"Is only when Bob start to locks, the cultural movement in earnest became a Corporate Area phenomenon," says Campbell.
The social commentary of the seventies spoke to issues of classism, racism, apartheid and the struggle with self-hate - an issue which still continues today, manifesting itself in the form of skin bleaching and subsequently, tracks that criticise the practice.
Notwithstanding, Campbell maintains that contemporary acts like Damian 'Junior Gong' Marley and Buju Banton have maintained the militancy of the music, despite being outside of the generation that started it all.
By 1972, Bob Marley had become an international superstar and reggae was the new buzz genre on everyone's LP player. The musical stylings of that era, Campbell says, nurtured sentiments of peace, unity and the type of social conscience that Rastafarians like Luciano and Jah Cure still purport.
Still, the music of any era features a sub-culture, but perhaps the most forthright is dancehall.
"I really don't know when a place where people converged became its own genre," shares Brian 'Bobby T' Angus, a disc jockey for over 40 years.
The emergence of the toasters, Campbell explains, spawned the 'deejay' who charmed with his witty, oft inaudible lyrics and infectious beats that were heaviest along the drum line.
But even though the sound was well-received within inner-city Jamaica, the music industry of the 1980s was plagued with criticism for, as Hebdige writes, supporting, "desertion of the music's local roots for an artificial and soul-less sound shaped by an imported digital technology".
Despite the criticisms, however, its sound was merely an amalgamation of old forms.
Hebdige quotes Chalice front man, Wayne Armond, as saying: "What it (dancehall music) is encompassing is very old Jamaican music - Mento, Poco - all the ethnic music from early Jamaica. Only, this is now being played on a drum machine. The influences are valued. You hear them in dancehall music."
Dr Sonjah Niaah, lecturer at the University of the West Indies and cultural studies expert, believes Armond's statement to be true.
"Dancehall," she says, "is still an indigenous space, even though there is cross-fertilisation with other genres."
The industry is moving back to blurring the lines between selectors, recording artistes and deejays, she says, adding that, "classically Tony Matterhorn becomes the modern version of that way back when U-Roy" who played on the sound system of the late 50s and early 60s.
Though she maintains the dancehall space is cyclical, she notes that within recent years there have been some "new moments". Dancers have gained more prominence and visibility.
"Dancers now have careers and can now have contracts like recording artistes," Niaah says, even though dancer Kid Harold was a feature of early dancehall. The difference, she explains, between the dancing phenomenon of the 1960s and present is that most contemporary steps are created by male street-dancers to be consumed by men as opposed to former years when 'couple dancing' or rub-a-dub was a staple at any party.
Unlike Angus, Niaah believes that the dancehall sound is worthy of genre-status since, "ethno-musicologists have declared this to be true".
"Yes, there are the shifts from ska, to rocksteady to dancehall but the space has remained the same. the street has always been and still continues to be a popular venue for dances."
Niaah notes that the most drastic changes between the post-Independent and contemporary period within the island's musical history are technology and the popularity and proliferation of events.
And what of 'slackness' or overtly-sexual content?
Both Niaah and Campbell assert that, 'slackness' has always been a feature of Jamaican music.
"Slackness is only now amplified because the music has gone abroad in a way that is facilitated by technology," Niaah shares, while Campbell notes, "mento is probably the most sexually explicit genre of music ever to come out of Jamaica".
"When Vybz Kartel says Tek b...y, that is consistent with the kind of songs you'd hear at wakes for Dinki-Mini dancing. it's going way back in the history," the cultural studies expert notes.
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