Here's the problem with reggae : its primary adherents in North America are hippies. Upper-class white kids with belabored dreadlocks. You know, morons. We don't much cotton to hippies here at Latewire, so therefore we don't really listen to reggae. Calypso, ska, rocksteady, dub, dancehall, jungle, yes. Reggae no. In case you hadn't noticed, it's not standard procedure here to 'lively up oneself.'
Recently, I've begin to reexamine this prejudice. In a car I rented recently, there was the newfangled satellite radio, so I tuned to the reggae station (called, of course, "the Joint" BAAAARF). I heard, in rapid succession, gritty, forboding tunes by Max Romeo, Culture, and Peter Tosh that I realized were not only non-hippie, but also objectively good. I began to think : why do I readily accept reggae as a part of a rap tune (cf. KRS-One, Ice Cube, Run-DMC) or neopsychedelia (Massive Attack, Tricky), but refuse to countenance it on its own? It's because hippies stink. But I realized that it's not th' fault of th' reggae artists themselves that their Stateside champions are these kinds of RABS poser slime :
So after coming to grips with this simple PR disaster, I gave a bunch of reggae tunes a listen and liked many of them. Toots, Max Romeo ("Lucifer!"), Dennis Brown, and th' standard output of Horace Andy all met with my approval. I've been a fan of Damian Marley since his breakout hit "Welcome to Jamrock," and I guess that while I've considered him dancehall because of his toasting style, th' music has more to do with traditional reggae than I was willing to admit to myself. One thing about Jamaican music (best typified in dub, which is always great) is that it nearly always includes crushingly heavy bass, which is something we could all use more of in our lives.
So, take some Thorazine, stay in yr house, and give some real dire Jamaican reggae a listen. Not any kind of bullcrap California pansy stoner rubbish, either. You might find as I did that reggae isn't just for $%&holes any more.
As a special treat, here's the original (rocksteady) version of one of everybody's favorite Massive Attack cover tune, "Man Next Door." This gem written by John Holt (also of "The Tide Is High" fame) is here performed by his group the Paragons. Nice wailing stuff.
For crying out loud though -- can anybody give me a reasonably sane explanation of what in blazes "Tu Sheng Peng" is?
BONUS! Here's the hard-to-find uncensored version of "Welcome to Jamrock." Funnyman a get dropped like a bad habit, apparently.
This is a public service announcement to let all Latewire readers know that English producer Burial is the best music artist of the milennium.
On Burial's two records, "Burial" and "Untrue," switchblade trebles and gut-shifting bass duke it out in a spare reverberating mix, while plaintive samples moan and wail. The musical style is often called "dubstep," a direct descendent of another non-crummy UK music genre, drum + bass. But where drum + bass is rapid and and cerebral, Burial and the best dubstep are wobbly, 140-bpm lacerations that are at least as suited to solo-dolo sulking about as they are dancefloors. The tunes are simultaneously soothing and jarring, and their gloomy crispness makes any day feel like a March rain. Like, imagine if drum + bass had a kid with early Massive Attack, and you're getting there.
SPACEAPE
Burial's music has more feeling and creativity in one phrase than all th' garbage emo-metal and faceless Starbucks drug-casualty music put together. Chill them #$%^&* out and listen to this music now. It will help.
Here's another tune that saves lives in a very different way -- 2006's "Yeah Yeah" by Bodyrox. Beware prudes! Sex and nudity within, also amplifier desecration.
STOP DYING IT'S NOT TOO LATE TO GET YOUR SHAPE BACK (7,474)
There's a thundering hailstorm in Phoenix today, sending drops of frozen hate clattering across the skylight and beating the life out of weak trees. On the outskirts of my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of something white and jagged -- the future.
Life as a human right now is akin to having woken up inside the chute of a woodchipper. We may not even recall how we got inside the woodchipper in the first place. The one thing that is clear : the inevitability of the blades.
A feeling like saws chewing into my neck. The sounds of weeping just outside my door. And a cold light knife into my pupil reminds me : This is a world divorced from hope.
When facing a suffocated reality of nonexistent future, what do you do? Here are some options :
1) Lie down and wait quietly for the ice weasels to come. 2) Cry until you're too tired to cry any longer, then die. 3) Fight until death. 4) Put on heavy metal records and rock out for as long as possible.
Now, I don't know which of these sounds most attractive, or which you, the reader, may already be doing. I choose option #4. Here's why :
* Metal music is brain floss. * Metal music improves blood flow to the face. * Metal music is not a norm. * Metal music has no sympathy for your suffering. * Metal music remembers when you were only an animal. * Metal music hasn't heard about your regrets, but it can drench them in molten @#$%^& * Metal music will survive long after the Universe is toast. * Metal music recognizes your true form and can restore it if lost. * Metal music connects you with that aspect of youself that you forgot about. * Metal music is truth erupting from a sea of lies.
There's no future. But with metal music, the present can be made to rock. In these bleak and doomed days, everybody looks for help. Some go to shrinks, some watch TV, and some try in futility to numb the pain with drugs. Well, you all are welcome to your 'cheese' heroin, 'lean,' and amphetamines. I'm an Earache man myself. (17,442)
Occupation: Dr. McNasty earned his medical degree from the illustrious Detroit School of Veterinary and Medical sciences.
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If they do not have a website listed, you can always Register and contact the user through the Forum. (27,623)
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