I'm not one to review concerts. I believed music dead for years.
I had not searched for any music since 2005.
I was unintrigued by the assembly line kitsch that saturated airwaves.
But last night I awoke.
I did not think there was a point to attempting to find Jamaica Avantgarde because Jamaica was interested in something altogether different from true expression... We were chasing something cheaper.
Until last night when I heard one young man's voice belt out through small ambitious speakers in a concert hall at Edna Manley College...
Protoje.
In just two hours, I experienced the full range of human emotions.
They were brought to me by a few artisans on a small stage just working their hands over their craft for no adoration only hoping for acceptance.
I listened to them.
I did not move. I did not speak.
They did not perform.
They initiated an orgy of sounds.
A cornucopia of aural images.
No one's love came from above, no one's fire was anyone's desire. Do you understand me? Music was alive. Jamaica was alive.
I was lifted and moved through time and space to the age of 12 when I heard and understood Bob Marley for the first time. When I heard China man radio speak to me about cornmeal porridge. When I was sitting in Japan man Suzu with my dad.
It was real.
It was transcendental.
And it was music.
I scarcely dared to believe it. But this morning I wake up and remember.
No, it happened. Like one night between lovers. I am changed.
Music lives. Reggae music lives.
Protoje and the Indiggnation.
I had heard of him inuh. But I have heard of a lot of them.
Oft the music friends bring with eyes alight and expecting, searching my face for any life received nothing. So nobody cared anymore. Tonisha was just bitter and angry and hated all things good.
Especially music. Who hates music?
I did. I would say that. I hate music.
What blasphemy I now realize it was.
Music is the sound your soul makes when it decides to be loud.
The 8 Year Affair
Last night I saw youths entranced in the glory of their own making. I was entranced. I hadn't moved a muscle by the time it was over. I realized. I had just been sitting there. I hadn't moved. I hadn't moved. The entire time I had just been sitting, arms folded on my handbag. But what is the physical body to do when the astral body is riveted in rhythm, dancing in ecstasy.
I didn't move.
Protoje and the Indiggnation. The 8 Year Affair.
