Roger Steffens Invades Mexico

For those who don't know, Roger (Ras Rojah) Steffens is the world's leading authority on the life and work of Bob Marley. For many years he has toured the world showcasing parts of his world renowned archives with fans new and old. He has long been a friend of REGGAE.com and our REGGAE crew and we look forward to sharing contributions from him here, on the main website (www.REGGAE.com) and on the new Reggae Mobile. Get the MOBILE Version REGGAE.com - text 88704 and enter getreggae.

Now, let me turn you over to Rojah and his tale of the Steffens' Mexican Invasion!

MEXICO CITY, FEB. 18-23, 2010
How to even begin to describe one of the most incredible trips of our lives? Why not the Beginning itself? It came in Calgary, Alberta last August, where we met the Mexican reggae band, Rastrillos, (the Plow, with overtones of stir-it-up radicalism), and its charismatic leader, Xopi Loti. After their well received set, Xopi asked me why I had never done my “Life of Bob Marley” presentation in Mexico. “No one invited me,” I replied. “Well,” he said, with ingratiating assurance, “I’ll organize it for you!”
Six months later, we arrived on a sparkling Thursday evening at Mexico City’s international airport. Meeting us were the two promoters with whom Xopi connected us – a beautiful Portuguese woman named Marta and her partner Guillermo (“Memo”), whose huge smiles made us feel immediately welcome.

We landed about seven p.m., through a clearing storm that colored the tumble of clouds deep orange and…green! A spectacular sight like nothing I’d ever seen before. After clearing customs quickly, we jumped into Memo’s SUV, and headed in heavy traffic into the very heart of the city, the historic Zopolo, filled with five hundred year old churches and public buildings and glorious museums. We were immediately struck by the ubiquitous police presence, one or more seemingly on every street corner, and in cars whose blue and red lights were constantly swirling, emergency or not. It definitely had the feel of a police state, but the upside was that, especially in daytime, the crowded, throbbing avenues were considered safe for everyone. (see attached picture and discover the venue that received the heaviest, most obvious police protection in the entire city!)

Our hotel, the Catedral, was just a couple of minutes from the main plaza, down grey-old narrow streets lined with bookstores and a Museum of Caricature, not to mention the adjoining ancient Aztec ruins, partitioned off by a fence of high iron gratings.
Our first dinner was in a hundred year old, very rococo traditional restaurant, with a six man band in 13th century costumes, complete with tights and poufy knickers in rich burgundy shades, singing like budding Pavarottis beneath huge paintings of Mexican grandees and a convent full of nuns feeding the poor.
Afterwards we were taken to a radio station for a 10 – 11 pm interview with a man who introduced himself as an Ethiopian-Jamaica named Keira, who devoted an hour to promoting our Saturday evening event.
At eight the next morning, Zopi and Marta picked us up and took us to a complex that housed the National Cinematheque and the Public Radio Station for a radio show, a tv taping, and two lengthy press interviews. Mid-afternoon we headed to a popular internet station with a huge Central American audience. At each stop we spoke of the contents of the show, and asked everyone to wear their Marley clothing so I could photograph them for what I hope will be a Great Wall in the reggae museum, where the 3,000 pictures we’ve taken all over the world can be displayed with the names of the locations of each printed on the bottom of each shot.
Our venue was very impressive, the 800 seat Teatro Hildalgo, facing a forest-like park filled with hundreds of vendors, part of an enormous underground economy, with a direct view of Latin America’s tallest building, the Latin America Tower. I felt if we could fill even half of the Hidalgo, I’d consider it a success. Marta said the tickets were going well, however, and not to worry.

The day of the show we returned to the Cinemateque compound to do Zopi’s radio show, “Reggaevolution,” with his posse of heavy reggae lovers. He turned over the whole two hours to me, and prompted me with some probing questions, and we had lots of laughs too. When we offered tickets in a trivia contest, the phones exploded with life. “Zopi is our Moctezuma,” said one of his friends, “He’s the jefe of Mexican Reggae, everybody knows him!” As usual in these opportunities, I played a mixture of unreleased Marley and foreign reggae discoveries, roots amalgams from New Zealand, Tuva and Hawaii among them, to much amused approval. Now, at 2:30 in the afternoon, it took us four times as long to return to the hotel, as it had taken to get to the station that same morning. We saw firsthand the mad gridlock of the city’s infamous streets. People weave in and out but never signal, and horns are a near constant aural presence.

Finally back at the hotel, we had a quick bite, then met Zopi and grabbed a cab to go to the theater. Our driver, a broad faced man named Luis, let me sit up front with him so I could take pictures. Immediately I noticed “Rastaman” decaled upon his dashboard. “Do you like reggae?” I asked. He pushed a button, an up popped that word on his radio. I reached in my bag, where I always carry some copies of an unreleased Marley dub collection, and gave him a copy of it. He reached into his pocket with a secret smile and handed me a scrap of newspaper folded over several times. I opened it and discovered a rich green bud of “Mota,” the slang word here for ganja. And all this within the first two minutes. Nice omen.
We crept slowly toward the Hildalgo, and when we arrived shortly after six, two hours before the show, and an hour before the doors were scheduled to open, the line already filled the courtyard and was spilling out onto the street. About one out of every three persons was wearing a Marley t-shirt, and once I set up my books to sell in the lobby, I ventured outside to take pictures of the folks in the Marley gear.
I was immediately surrounded by hordes of young people who all wanted autographs and a picture with me, to tell me stories of what Bob meant to them, thanking me for coming. There was an endless stream of “shake the hand that shook the hand of Bob Marley. It took me almost an hour to “work the line,” which now was stretching almost to the end of the block with people arriving in droves! The doors opened, and a new line began to buy the books and magazines I had brought along, including, sadly, the final issue of the Beat, out of business after 28 years. And of course, everyone wanted me to sign the things they bought. Within the first ten minutes everything was sold out – some $700 worth of stuff. So then I had to start signing fliers and all sorts of clothing, sometimes in existential places. Dozens of lovely young senoritas asked if they could hug me. When I looked up again, the line seemed to be 200 people long. For two hours, all I did was greet fans and still I didn’t get to everyone when it came time to start the show. Later Mary told me that as she sat mid-house behind the computer on which our show is stored, waiting for things to begin, she had to sign a bunch of autographs too.

When I walked onstage, the house was filled to the brim, with standing room only, and it seemed that virtually everyone was under 30. The tall, dark-haired Zopi served as a most compassionate emcee and translator, with an impressive capacity to remember large chunks of information as he spoke at my side between the film clips. Together we told Bob’s life story in English and Spanish. The audience’s attention was rapt and deeply respectful, enthusiastic in all the right places, and most of my jokes received ripples of laughter, putting my fear of bi-lingual presentations to rest forever (providing one has a sensitive interlocutor, such as the striking Zopi, of course).

Perhaps the biggest laugh of the night came with the Carlos Santana story, just before the final film clip, the tale of how he had returned about six years ago to Mexico City, the first time he had performed there in 18 years. A man gave him two spliffs after his show (which was presented by our promoters), and Carlos pocketed them without a second thought. Returning to the States through Houston, he was busted. When the city cops arrived to bring him to jail in the city, they turned out to Hispanics, and when they saw who was busted, and for what a pathetically tiny amount, they started cussing out the customs guys something terrible. Carlos told me a couple of days later that when the cop put the handcuffs on him, he was crying and apologizing. And when they put him in the police car and began driving, they wanted to make things a little easier for him so they turned on the radio – and on came Bob Marley…singing “I Shot the Sheriff.” I wish you could have heard the roar!

At the conclusion, the applause was prolonged, and ended in a Zopi-encouraged standing ovation. Then it was back to the lobby, and another swell of hundreds of people all wanting my attention, and it took another hour to satisfy them all. “You don’t understand,” Marta told me, “in Mexico you are a superstar.” Immodestly, I have to admit I certainly never felt anything even slightly approaching that status before this unforgettable evening. The love that was made manifest was truly overwhelming. It took me several minutes to collect myself before the show started, and I ended up leaving in a euphoric state of shock. And understood physically for the first time what it must be like for a rock star to be swallowed up whole by besieging fans, and why Elvis and Michael never went out in public. It was fun and flattering and filled with affection, but it was ultimately a little frightening too. It took me a couple of days to come back to earth, and Mary and I shake our heads when we look back on that evening and wonder how something like that could ever happen to us. But as I said on stage that night, I realized fully that this was a measure of the respect and affection that Mexico has for the Reggae King, and I’m merely a vessel to carry that spirit forward to many nations. Jah knows how this ever came to be, I was caught up in the flow, but the sense of mission is now more urgent than ever. A whole new, Hispanic, world is opening to us, and Memo and Marta are talking about arranging tours of Mexico, as well as Portugal and Spain, in the next year. The gigantic festivals that Memo produces annually draw over one million people, and he has incredible connections all over the world, so maybe it’s time for me to learn Spanish and bring the words and works of the Prophet to a part of the world I’ve never known. The whole South American continent beckons to us, and Marta could be a superb translator for Brazil. The possibilities are endless!

Nas, Damian Marley and K'naan Making Good Vibes

Nas & Damian Marley Make A Surprise Appearance With K'naan At NYC's Irving Plaza

The Distant Relatives shocked the audience by joining K'naan on stage for his show at Irving Plaza last night in New York. The duo performed "As We Enter", which is the lead single from their upcoming collaborative project Nas & Damian "Jr Gong" Marley are Distant Relatives (in stores May 18).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyfZipQG6Rc

Watch the official Distant Relatives album trailer below

Go in the studio with two musical legends as they explore their common African ancestry through their music. Oliver Stone makes a surprise appearance as he joined the pair in studio to offer his insight. Additional commentary is provided by Busta Rhymes, Ethiopian Hip-Hop sensation K'Naan, & the prolific poet Saul Williams.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAgV-EIIby4

SKA ROCKSTEADY REGGAE: History of REGGAE Music Pt 3

Part Two: SKA ROCKSTEADY REGGAE

Ska's large brass ensembles gave way to smaller groups and the debt to American Soul music became greater as Ska morphed into Rocksteady. Vocals came to the fore, and the tempo slowed; perhaps, as local folklore says, because the especially hot summer of 1966 led dancers to call for slower songs. Sam Cooke and Curtis Mayfield's Impressions were almost godlike in their influence. Many younger artists, like Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, and Toots Hibbert, made their first recordings dur­ing the Ska era, but only came into their own with Rocksteady.

Rocksteady was over almost before it began, but its artistic flowering produced many great records in a com­pressed time span. By 1968, Rocksteady was giving way to Reggae, but pinpointing the first Reggae record is no easier than pinpointing the first Ska or Rocksteady record. Unlike its predeces­sors, Reggae owed little to Fats Domino, the Impressions, or any American music. It was the heartbeat of an island just seventeen degrees from the equator, and it was the sound of country come to town. "Ivan Martin," played by Jimmy Cliff in the film The Harder They Come, was. the quintessential country boy adrift in Kingston 's mean streets. "Until Reggae," said producer lee Perry, who was himself from the country, "it was all Kingston , Kingston , Kingston . Then the country people come to town and they bring the earth, the trees, the mountains. That's when Reggae music come back to the earth."

Rocksteady, like Soul music, had the commercial discipline of white pop music, but Reggae rejected that discipline, and its retrieval of the Africanness in Afro-Caribbean music went hand-in­hand with the rise of Rastafari. The Burrus, who'd lived communally in Jamaica since slavery and held fast to their African roots, shared housing in the low-rent west Kingston district of Dungle with the Rastafarians, who believed that a black king would be crowned in Africa and lead the lost tribes out of Babylon . The music, the beliefs, and the dress of the Rastas influenced the sound, the spiritual agenda, and the look of Reggae.

The music played out against a disinte­grating social backdrop. Jamaica had become independent from Great Britain in 1962, but, as the promise of Independence faded, Reggae became politicized and angry. By the time this set closes in 1975, the music was past making compromises with the tourist trade and long past hoping to get on American radio.

The Trojan Records collection "Dawning of a New Era" chronicles a time during the late 60's when Ska, Rock Steady and Reggae were all blending and evolving, drawing in new fans worldwide. The 2-disc set pulls together prime records from 1968-69, a period when Skinheads were still largely an underground youth movement and not a violent newspaper headline.

The great thing about this set of tracks is you don't get stuck with more copies of Desmond Dekker's hits but rather, you get rare and in demand records. Many of the tracks on this set have never been issued since their original small pressings nearly thirty-five years ago. And with artists of the caliber of Rico Rodriquez, Lloyd Charmers, The Tennors, Lester Sterling, the Ethiopians and Tommy McCook featured, this collection is a great addition to your collection if you like Ska and the Skinhead sound.

The Skinheads were a youth movement that sprang up from the working class youth in Britain. They were seasoned with some angst that came from tough neighborhoods and they choose the Ska beat and Reggae sounds coming out of the West Indies and Black neighborhoods as their own. The beat suited their aggressive and sometimes angry attitude and here are the roots of bands like The Clash and punk rock. The Skinhead interest in Reggae in particular pushed the music into the awareness of the public at large and helped many Reggae artists break into the Pop charts in England. The Skinhead Movement only lasted about four years but it was an important key to mainstream success for Reggae Music.

Much of this "history" is included in the notes for "This is Reggae Music: The Golden Era 1960-1975" - a four CD set that provides a great musical overview of the genre - the selections and sound quality are excellent through out - a vital Ras John Reggae.com Pick! From the booklet included with the four CD box set, "This Is Reggae Music: The Golden Era" (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00064LOV4?tag=sistamaureesrast&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=B00064LOV4&adid=1PDH24Y48547AAWJJB4H&)

Day-O: History of Reggae Pt. 1

The following is from the booklet included with the box set, "This Is Reggae Music: The Golden Era" (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00064LOV4?tag=sistamaureesrast&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=B00064LOV4&adid=1PDH24Y48547AAWJJB4H&)

Nineteen-fifty-seven. The United States was in the grip of Calypsomania. and some were even going so far as. to predict that the calypso would soon eclipse Rock n’ Roll. Before it all blew over, Robert Mitchum, Maya Angelou the Norman Luboff Choir, and many others had made Calypso albums. Calypso, of course, was Trinidadian, but the two big Calypso era hits, "Banana Boat Song” and "Jamaican Farewell," were Jamaican; so Calypso was reckoned to come from Jamaica.

As the craze subsided, a Billboard magazine reporter sniffed out a free vacation and went to Kingston to see what the Jamaicans liked. To his surprise, it was rare R&B; not Calypso. "Local observers,” he wrote, "note that the local musical product is developing into a hybrid in which the strongest elements are calypso and rock & roll.” Understandably, the writer missed the pan-African underground springing up in Kingston’s slums, but ten years later pan-Africanism would merge with American R&B and Caribbean music in those same back alleys to forever change global music.
Around 1960, Ska evolved from Jamaican R&B. The Billboard article mentioned that Fats Domino was the most in demand artist on the island, so it was probably no coincidence that Ska arrived on the heels of three influential American releases: Fats Domino's "Be My Guest" (1959), Wilbert Harrison's "Kansas City" (also 1959), and Rosco Gordon's "Surely I Love You" (1960). All three worked the offbeat for all it was worth. Bill Black's Combo figured some­where in the equation, too. Black's greasy instrumental hits featured a hugely upfront four-to-the-bar beat, and sold so well in Jamaica that he toured there - to the surprise of many who found out that he was white.

It's axiomatic that there are no facts in Jamaica , only opinions, so no one knows what "Ska" means and no one agrees on what was the first Ska record. But around 1960, Jamaican drummers began hitting the second and fourth beats in unison with the piano and guitar, while the bass played walking quarter-notes. That was Ska. Local musicians called it "Upside-down R&B." It had an under­ground following in England, but not in the United States. One giant Ska hit, Millie's "My Boy Lollipop," rode into the charts on the back of the British Invasion, and when it exited, Ska exited along with it.

'Whatever was happening in Jamaica didn't go away when Millie hit the remainder bins. The local industry was building inexorably. The 1951 Billboard article mentioned that there was just one record press on the island (not one pressing plant, but one press) although local entrepreneur Ken Khouri claimed to have two presses running by 1954· Around 1957; Khouri built a studio, and Dada Tawari opened the Caribbean Record Company with mastering facilities. From that point, the Jamaican industry was self-sufficient, albeit geared toward faux calypso LP’s for tourists.

"Alongside the tiny manufacturing industry, there were open-air deejays known as sound systems. “A cliff face of speaker boxes, each big enough to raise a family in, powered by amplification of intercontinental capability," is the way journalist Lloyd Bradley described them. There was life-and-death competition among the system operators to source the rarest American R&B and the best technology.

The systems were essential to the dissemination of music because the island’s two radio stations, RJR (launched in 1950 as a branch of British Rediffusion) and the government's JBC (which started in 1959), played it as safe as the BBC mothership; The payoff for the sound system operators, came in prestige and drink sales. Three sound system men ruled the early Sixties: Duke Reid, Clement "Coxsone" Dodd, and Prince Buster. Both Reid and Dodd began operating from family liquor stores. The idea of producing records occurred first to Reid, who cut some instrumentals at Khouri's studio circa 1957. Around the same time, Dodd realized that Jamaicans didn't like rock 'n' roll, and began recording the kind of R&B that the Americans were no longer producing. In 1958, Chris Blackwell launched R&B Records (the precursor of Island ) and future Jamaican Prime Minister Edward Seaga launched WIRL (West Indies Records Ltd.).

From the booklet included with the four CD box set, "This Is Reggae Music: The Golden Era" (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00064LOV4?tag=sistamaureesrast&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=B00064LOV4&adid=1PDH24Y48547AAWJJB4H&)