Note To Self(-ves)

Image courtesy Fenny Kuo.

Soundscapes

One last gush about Jamaica and then I'll stop...

Another thing I loved about Jamaica is the constantly blurring soundscape. A cab going by blaring old school Byron Lee, a promoter's car with speakers mounted on the roof jabbering about the best party ever, a random lady singing while carrying a load on her head, an army of roosters announcing the time, a sound system party with a bunch of people standing around giant stacks of speakers under a tree on a dirt road, a group of men slapping dominoes down and yelling "don't rob yourself" at each other, lots of honking, shouting, laughing... all of it at once.

I'm not a giant reggae fan at all, and the irony of middle class America's consumption of it is not lost on me one bit... but for the first time in a long time I kind of get its magic and appreciate its earnestness and purity.

So I'm going to play selector and share some of the stuff I heard and liked enough to come home and find; you can click the arrow and it should just play, or you can right click it and keep it for yourself (or go buy it from either eMusic and iTunes if you want to support the artistes):

Dancehall Lovers Rock by Da'Ville

Oh What A Feeling by Warrior King

See Dem Coming by Gentleman

Serenity by Gentleman

Protect Yu Neck by Tarrus Riley

Be Free by Pressure

In Your Arms by Munga

Roots by Etana

PS - If anyone gets a hold of the pussy song by Etana, send it to me or tell me where to get it... Can't find it nowheres.

Ya Mon - Pics from Jamaica

Click here to go check out my pics and stories.

She's Royal

I'm back from Jamaica with a ton of stories and pictures but I'm pooped for now and need a coupla days to recover. In the meantime, I'll share this song by Tarrus Riley that seems to follow a person around wherever they go. Video is cheesy but song is great.

I Think I Like It Here. Blessed Be, Jamaica

Irie I. So early last Saturday morning I packed up some stuff and put it and myself in a plane bound for Jamaica. One hour-long, death-defying cab ride later I was here. I'm here helping to build a self-sustaining healing center out of recycled materials with an architect from New Mexico and his crack-team of globetrotting guerilla construction artists. About two days ago, three days into the back-breaking work, I was throwing a concoction of mud plaster and straw at the walls and suddenly it hit me; I'm working on a giant sculpture that also happens to be completely livable and off-the-grid. It feels... amazing.

We pretty much work all day up in a place called Orange Hill with a Jamaican crew that a guy named Shaggy in full camouflage up here hired to pitch in. Everyone in Jamaica has two names -- one given name, and one "pet name". I am learning to dance and sing with buckets of water and dirt on my head from my new friend Ruby and swimming after work everyday near the cliffs in Negril in a futile attempt to get the concrete and dirt out of my hair.

If you feel like coming by, here's some directions since there dont seem to be any addresses or street names here: Jump on a plane bound for Montego Bay; take a taxi to the roundabout in Negril and head up Sheffield Road a few miles into the hills. Make a sharp right at Negril Stop convenience store and bump along the road for about three miles; you'll know you've reached Blessed Be by the spray painted sign on the cinderblock wall. Watch out for goats and motorcycle taxis. You'll pass a tin-roof shack with a sign that says ""Bar" on your left; that's our lunch spot. Go to the bottom of the hill until it flattens out for a second and make a left into the dirt driveway that has a dumptruck, a big orange container full of plastic bags and bottles, a big stack of cardboard boxes, and four local girls sitting under a palm tree sorting it all out.