Adventure Part Five: Jamaica II
On Tuesday evening, we went to see the premiere of ‘Rise Up’, a fascinating new Jamaican film about the country’s music scene. It follows the lives of three young Jamaican musicians, one of whom attempted and succeeded in becoming famous (Turbulence), another of whom tried and has not yet succeeded in becoming famous, and another of whom didn’t especially try to become famous, it seems, and who didn’t become famous either. Before the film started seriously looking at the three protagonists’ lives, it took a much broader survey of the Jamaican music scene, and I was incredibly struck by how much music there is in the country. Everyone there, it seemed, is a musician.
Turbulence’s story is what you would expect, I guess. He wanted to become famous to bring money to his community; he is talented, and the reggae, which is the only music there is in Jamaica, must resonate with who he is, because he makes decent music. Through hard work, he eventually got a music video made, and is now doing really well. The second protagonist was a bloke called Ice Anastacia. He came off as an utter tosspot. He had some talent, but every opportunity he got came from his rich parents’ money or connections, and he was utterly unrepentant of this; unaware, even, of how lucky he was, and of the fact that most reggae fans consider the music hard-won through poverty and strife, and that for him to appropriate it like he did is hugely offensive. I expect and hope that his portrayal in the film will prevent him from ever getting anything material out of his music.
But the really interesting story was that of the girl, Kemoy Reid. Her first appearance in the film was of her sitting in a cheap plastic chair outside her house in the countryside, singing a capella a song she’d written. Her voice was unbelievably beautiful. She sang a lilting, plaintive melody, which leaped all over her range, in and out of falsetto, as is popular in American R ‘n’ B music; but away from all the noise and rhythmic sterility of this style of music, her singing sounded fresh. It reminded me very much of Irish sean nós singing. Her talent was immediately recognised by everyone, and so she was sent off to some famous singer-songwriter, who took all the edge and idiosyncracy off her voice and made her sing along to dull chord progressions hammered out unimaginatively on the singer-songwriter’s piano. She was then sent off to the famous duo of music producers, Lowell “Sly” Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare. This duo, Sly & Robbie, tried to make her sing to some awful thick, syrupy R ‘n’ B textures. Nothing came of all this attention – Reid became pregnant, had a child and decided to put her plans to become famous on hold. I think this was probably the best thing that could have happened her. She didn’t have the self-confidence to say it, or the breadth of musical knowledge to know it, but she was singing in a style that was completely unattuned to her. Judging from her portrayal in the movie, she is sensitive and peaceful; but the music she was singing to is aggressive and loud and crass. I feel that for her to have sung in this style would eventually have destroyed her, and so I’m glad that she’s not doing it. She said that music is with her everywhere, that she sings to herself while washing dishes, feeding the goats, etc.; and so, she thinks, at any rate, that it’s not so bad. She might be right; but I’m sure she would be so much more fulfilled if she met some folk musicians in Ireland, Scotland, or the Southern United States. It’s surely one of the saddest evils of poverty that one can have a spiritual home like this and never know about it, and so can live your entire life surrounded by people and music one doesn’t understand. Of course, the rich can have this problem too; but it’s surely much less common.
Before the movie started, a recording of the Jamaican national anthem was played along with a tasteless film of smiling Jamaicans doing patriotic things such as raising flags and saluting. Everyone stood up out of respect for the duration of the anthem. However, even though, judging by the visuals, there was clearly a moderately large budget for the film, for some reason utterly beyond my ken, the accompanying anthem was – I swear to God – a MIDI file.
For the first weekend, we went, with Amber, my sister, to a beach house owned by a friend of Fiona on the West coast of the island. There we spent a nice, relaxed few days. We swam, lay in hammocks, walked, played cards, read, ate great food and watched the lightning in the distance. We returned to Kingston (where Fiona lives) on Sunday, less Konrad, who made his own way back two days later – he wanted to get to know the area better. I did very little before he came back: I was more interested in being with my mum and sister than exploring the country and its spirit.
The evening he arrived back, Fiona and I went to a modern dance rehearsal (he was too tired to join after his trek across the country). The man leading the class was Fiona’s dance teacher, but she was there qua artist this night: the troupe was going on stage two weeks from then, and he wanted Fiona to do the stage for then; she was going to get a sense of the aesthetic of the dance, and I went because I’d never been to anything like this before, let alone in Jamaica. The dancing itself was very good; the music to which they were dancing was not so good.
But, it being dance, and the material of dance being people’s bodies, I spent a lot of time looking at the dancers. And they rewarded this: they all looked interesting, and some of them looked absolutely fascinating. The way they held themselves, tall and proud, with fierce wide eyes looking dead ahead, bespoke great earnestness and sensitivity, and I wish I could’ve gone somewhere for drinks for a few hours with them, and talked to them and heard their stories. A lot of them, the men especially, appeared to be gay; and that is completely taboo in Jamaica. I guess this must make their lives extremely difficult.
The following day Konrad and I attended Fiona’s art class, and visited one of her students’ houses to play a real piano (Fiona has an electronic piano, and although it’s better than nothing, it’s nothing to the richness and realness of a real piano with real strings and a real echo chamber, and Konrad and I were both beginning to go slightly mad from lack of these things). We took it easy for the rest of that day, I think going out for dinner that evening. As we were going to climb the tallest mountain in the Caribbean the following day, this seemed reasonable.
Turbulence’s story is what you would expect, I guess. He wanted to become famous to bring money to his community; he is talented, and the reggae, which is the only music there is in Jamaica, must resonate with who he is, because he makes decent music. Through hard work, he eventually got a music video made, and is now doing really well. The second protagonist was a bloke called Ice Anastacia. He came off as an utter tosspot. He had some talent, but every opportunity he got came from his rich parents’ money or connections, and he was utterly unrepentant of this; unaware, even, of how lucky he was, and of the fact that most reggae fans consider the music hard-won through poverty and strife, and that for him to appropriate it like he did is hugely offensive. I expect and hope that his portrayal in the film will prevent him from ever getting anything material out of his music.
But the really interesting story was that of the girl, Kemoy Reid. Her first appearance in the film was of her sitting in a cheap plastic chair outside her house in the countryside, singing a capella a song she’d written. Her voice was unbelievably beautiful. She sang a lilting, plaintive melody, which leaped all over her range, in and out of falsetto, as is popular in American R ‘n’ B music; but away from all the noise and rhythmic sterility of this style of music, her singing sounded fresh. It reminded me very much of Irish sean nós singing. Her talent was immediately recognised by everyone, and so she was sent off to some famous singer-songwriter, who took all the edge and idiosyncracy off her voice and made her sing along to dull chord progressions hammered out unimaginatively on the singer-songwriter’s piano. She was then sent off to the famous duo of music producers, Lowell “Sly” Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare. This duo, Sly & Robbie, tried to make her sing to some awful thick, syrupy R ‘n’ B textures. Nothing came of all this attention – Reid became pregnant, had a child and decided to put her plans to become famous on hold. I think this was probably the best thing that could have happened her. She didn’t have the self-confidence to say it, or the breadth of musical knowledge to know it, but she was singing in a style that was completely unattuned to her. Judging from her portrayal in the movie, she is sensitive and peaceful; but the music she was singing to is aggressive and loud and crass. I feel that for her to have sung in this style would eventually have destroyed her, and so I’m glad that she’s not doing it. She said that music is with her everywhere, that she sings to herself while washing dishes, feeding the goats, etc.; and so, she thinks, at any rate, that it’s not so bad. She might be right; but I’m sure she would be so much more fulfilled if she met some folk musicians in Ireland, Scotland, or the Southern United States. It’s surely one of the saddest evils of poverty that one can have a spiritual home like this and never know about it, and so can live your entire life surrounded by people and music one doesn’t understand. Of course, the rich can have this problem too; but it’s surely much less common.
Before the movie started, a recording of the Jamaican national anthem was played along with a tasteless film of smiling Jamaicans doing patriotic things such as raising flags and saluting. Everyone stood up out of respect for the duration of the anthem. However, even though, judging by the visuals, there was clearly a moderately large budget for the film, for some reason utterly beyond my ken, the accompanying anthem was – I swear to God – a MIDI file.
For the first weekend, we went, with Amber, my sister, to a beach house owned by a friend of Fiona on the West coast of the island. There we spent a nice, relaxed few days. We swam, lay in hammocks, walked, played cards, read, ate great food and watched the lightning in the distance. We returned to Kingston (where Fiona lives) on Sunday, less Konrad, who made his own way back two days later – he wanted to get to know the area better. I did very little before he came back: I was more interested in being with my mum and sister than exploring the country and its spirit.
The evening he arrived back, Fiona and I went to a modern dance rehearsal (he was too tired to join after his trek across the country). The man leading the class was Fiona’s dance teacher, but she was there qua artist this night: the troupe was going on stage two weeks from then, and he wanted Fiona to do the stage for then; she was going to get a sense of the aesthetic of the dance, and I went because I’d never been to anything like this before, let alone in Jamaica. The dancing itself was very good; the music to which they were dancing was not so good.
But, it being dance, and the material of dance being people’s bodies, I spent a lot of time looking at the dancers. And they rewarded this: they all looked interesting, and some of them looked absolutely fascinating. The way they held themselves, tall and proud, with fierce wide eyes looking dead ahead, bespoke great earnestness and sensitivity, and I wish I could’ve gone somewhere for drinks for a few hours with them, and talked to them and heard their stories. A lot of them, the men especially, appeared to be gay; and that is completely taboo in Jamaica. I guess this must make their lives extremely difficult.
The following day Konrad and I attended Fiona’s art class, and visited one of her students’ houses to play a real piano (Fiona has an electronic piano, and although it’s better than nothing, it’s nothing to the richness and realness of a real piano with real strings and a real echo chamber, and Konrad and I were both beginning to go slightly mad from lack of these things). We took it easy for the rest of that day, I think going out for dinner that evening. As we were going to climb the tallest mountain in the Caribbean the following day, this seemed reasonable.