Songs of freedom: Bob Marley's birthday

Redemption...

Wednesday, February 6th. Had he been around today, it would have been Bob Marley's birthday. It was still Bob Marley's birthday. And what better way to celebrate it, than in the company of his band, his friends, the Wailers.

Location: Sacramento's Ace of Spades.

The evening began with Roger Steffens, reggae archivist, radio host and music historian, author of the Reggae Scrapbook, who told stories of Bob Marley, including his own time on tour with the band, and stories Bob had told him; anecdotes of a life, a love and a reason for living. Marijuana and bus drivers, rastamen and national leaders. The audience listened, intent.

And we sang, Happy Birthday, to Bob Marley, Nesta Robert Marley.

Then we waited, in the dark. Gradually, the venue filled. Just not to the brim. I was surprised. I thought it would be bursting at the seams. Where the heck were you? How could you have missed this?

And the Wailers arrived. First number, instrumental. Aston Barrett, Family Man, one of the greatest bass players of all time (don't believe me, see reports of Aston's lifetime achievement award from Bass Player Magazine), humbly at the back of the stage.  But he had his very own spotlight, all night; a warm glow as he played.

They played Survival,  in its entirety, all the songs, end-to-end. Almost-militant, revolutionary; still kind, still meaningful. "Zimbabwe" and "Africa Unite" and "Ride Natty Ride". And that's a show in itself.

Then they left us... waiting for more.

Encore? One more song? Come back!!! Of course, they did.

It was a whole new show: the best of the best of Bob Marley and the Wailers' songs! "Redemption Song", "Stir it Up", "Is this love", "I shot the Sheriff", ... and more. I still love "Redemption Song" first of all... to me it's the best hymn in the world. Seriously... its spiritual. No church involved. Pure spirit.

 
"Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds"

(And how that is still true today)

"Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom"

(And we did, help sing, that is. Whole room, entire venue, singing along.)

 At the end, of course: "Exodus" (with a little "Punky Reggae Party" mixed in). Fantastic.

And is Bob Marley's message still valid, today? One Love, and all that?

Of course it is. More than ever.

One Love.

Peace. Love. Unity.

One blood...

If you want to catch up with The Wailers, the tour continues:  http://wailers.com/tour



More photos from the show on my Flickr 

Jamaica, January 2013: people and places

All the photos are in the Toon's Tunes Jamaica gallery.

Jade and I visited Jamaica, for the first time, in January 2013. This collection of photos is from the area in the north of the country, from Montego Bay to just east of Falmouth. People and places and happy memories.

Time and Place. We had the time: Tony had the place

On the Thursday of our week in Jamaica, we went to Time'N'Place. And it was beautiful.

Imagine a desert island, a beach from "Lost", with hand-built cabins and beach chairs, plus food and drinks if you want them, a few friendly dogs, infinite turquoise sea, blue skies, sun, gentle waves; Bob Marley singing in the background. That's Time'N'Place. Just east of Falmouth, hidden away on the coast.

(There is a "clothing optional" beach right next door, but we'll ignore that and try not to stare at the fat white naked men parading up the little pier to the shower.)

We arrived quite early in the day and the beach was quite empty. So peaceful. I became quite fascinated by the tripod structure in the sand, holding a worn-out hammock which dangled on the sand. A random, artistic sculpture that fit perfectly with the dreamy atmosphere of the place.

A fisherman arrived with his catch of the day, spear-fished; red snapper, a squid and a blue parrot fish.

A couple more people arrived, quietly; they mentioned to me that they were from a cruise ship, and that about fifty more people were on their way. They had a peaceful, quiet thirty minutes before the crowd arrived, together with organizers who announced that there would be buses or taxis back to the beach on the hour, every hour, from 1 pm, and there would be lunch for those who wanted it.

Darn these boat people; how dare they arrive and trample all through our quiet, peaceful day?

"My chocolate is melting." (Who brings chocolate to the beach, 80 degrees Fareheit or more.)

"Why are you walking like that?"

"Because I can't stand sand between my toes!" (Then why the heck walk on a beach? Without sandals? Why come to the beach in the first place???  Grrr.....)

After a while, they settled down; I noticed that not all cruise people were brash and noisy and flabby-white: some sat quietly on the sand, sipping a bottle of Red Stripe. But most were neither quiet nor polite; they didn't say please or thank you, they shouted instead of talking, and I pictured them on an old-fashioned comic seaside postcard, not on a tranquil, peaceful beach like Time'N'Place.

"What fish did I just eat?" (As if the staff could identify the fish from its bones. At least the visitor enjoyed it, even if they didn't know if it was the snapper or the blue parrot fish.)

Hour by hour, the boat people headed back to the cruise, or to places more touristy for souvenirs, to prepare for a few hours on another island the next day, or two days back to Fort Lauderdale. And the beach became peaceful again.

It's a paradise.

Tony made us laugh. He'd thought we'd missed our boat, until we explained where we were staying, in Greenwood, at Emerald View. He gave us a tour of the cabins. He built them all himself. You can stay in your own little paradise, waking to the sound of gentle waves; walk on the beach at dawn, or dusk. Enjoy the bonfire in the early-falling night. Drink coconut milk from a nut picked fresh from the tree.

We stayed until dusk began to fall. One day, I'd love to stay in this heavenly place.

More photos from Jamaica: http://www.alisontoon.com/-/galleries/places/jamaica

Falmouth, Jamaica

One of Jamaica's oldest towns, Falmouth, founded in 1769, is today a place of contrasts. Old and broken-down: cleaned-up and new. One of the first places with town water, earlier than New York: bustling traffic with nowhere to park: quiet streets, with only sleeping dogs for company. Hundreds of American tourists on one short street: a beach with fishing boats and a few ocean-weathered men.

Huge cruise ships dock very close to the town's renovated Water Square, and for several hours the streets are thronged with white-or-sunburned tourists, and local street vendors, selling all kinds of souvenirs: brightly-coloured clothing, carved wooden fish and animals, rasta beads, Usain Bolt t-shirts. The street from the dock to the centre is massed with people. Tourist police in white pith hats ask if you're going to the ship, or not. The cruise ships tower over the town, like floating city blocks, mobile skyscrapers, huge. I have to wonder what it is like, to rely on an influx of strange people, several days a week, for income. The cruise ships bring revenue, and are helping the town financially; but how strange it must be, to have your home streets full of strangers for a few hours, a few days a week, and then go back to your own private lives.

But within a couple of short blocks, the boat people seem to have disappeared: whisked away by bus, or taxi, to some tourist destination, busily spending their on-shore seven-or-so hours rafting, or snorkling, or sitting on a beach somewhere else?


Water Square is renovated and restful and clean and beautiful. We stopped at a tiny restaurant for coffee. Jade had a sandwich, and we both sampled Otaheit Apple. It's delicious

The town is being restored. The cruise dock is very recent: money from the cruise company is helping rebuild. "Three years ago it was a ghost town... now it's a police state!", we heard, told with a grin, and referring only to the new parking laws that mandate one-way streets and the purchase of a ticket when you stop your car.
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We wandered away from the centre, checking out the Wednesday flea market, and walking through streets of Georgian-style homes and simple bungalows, some restored, some awaiting help. Dogs lay in the shade, sleeping through the midday. Away from the tourist streets, the town is quiet, sleepy, the homes small and reserved, pastel in the sun. Ackee fruit ripen on the trees. Bouganvillea overflows garden fences.

At the beach, fishing boats lay on the sand, and the pile of conch shells was enormous. A brown pelican perched on a boat; a family of white egrets stalked the beach. The sea was, as usual, limpid blue. Boys played football close by the beach at lunchtime.

Back in the town, we sat street-side at a restaurant, watching the world go by. Young men sat closest to the street, taking advantage of wireless for laptop and phone. A few cruise people ate inside, in the dark.

It's hot. People rest in the shade, rooflines extended to give shelter, narrow dark alleys. I bought a bag of jerk chicken necks from a man with an oil-drum barbeque. They were good. A man gave Jade a gap-toothed grin and a love-sign. My friend with the orange T-shirt and a tennis racquet kept appearing, cheerful greetings. Schoolgirls and boys walk past in uniform. Little girls with braids and beads in their hair. People who smile, and say hello.

I liked Falmouth, very much.

More photos: http://www.alisontoon.com/-/galleries/places/jamaica/jamaica-falmouth

Downtown MoBay, and Rastaman Freddie

This is Rastaman (or as we later knew, Freddie), who knows just about everyone in Montego Bay. He guided us through downtown MoBay, showing us places that we probably wouldn’t have reached unaided.

To begin at the beginning: we decided to alternate days on the beach, with days seeing a little more of Jamaican life. On Friday, we headed to downtown MoBay. My intention was to just wander around, mingle with the townpeople, take photos, hang out. A couple of minutes after being dropped off in front of the civic center, it was obvious that this wouldn’t be easy.

“Hello hello! Do you remember me? We met at the airport! I was your baggage handler! It’s my day off today!!!”, said a very-friendly, red-shirted man, shaking my hand, as I’m thinking, strange, we wheeled our own suitcases, I don’t think I met you… He was very-very friendly and wanted to show us around town, but we managed to disengage and headed over towards The Cage, a tiny, cramped building, now a souvenir and phone card shop, previously the town lockup for vagabonds, thieves, and slaves who had exceeded their stay in town past 3 p.m., and to see the statues of Sam Sharpe and others.

“Did he tell you he knew you from the airport? He’s a liar! A liar!” Another man, being helpful, big grin, not offensive. And he started to tell us that the man in the red shirt uses that trick every day … but then Rastaman appeared, and started to talk about Sam Sharpe, the Christmas Rebellion (1831), and the history of Montego Bay.

Part of me wanted to resist, to explore on our own… yet Rastaman’s calmness, stature and presence inspired trust.

He said he would show us the parish church, and led us to St James’, past a school with murals of famous Jamaican sportsmen and women (and Bob Marley), and Jamaica's National Heroes: Marcus Garvey, George William Gordon, Paul Bogle, Nanny, Sir Alexander Bustamante, Sam Sharpe, and Norman Washington Manley.

Then we cut through the church hall, and up the main street. Full of people and traffic and noise and music: loud sound system blasting from outside a store. Colour and sound and people and thank goodness I didn’t hire a car.

“Do you want to see the vegetable and fruit market?”, Rastaman asked. Yes please, we said.

We walked down Barnett Street, then Fustic Avenue, to the market.

On the way, Freddie was meeting friends, greeting with fist bumps and a big grin. He taught us Love, Peace, Unity: One Blood! (fist, fist, fist, shoulder bump!) We met his daughter, and a grandson: very cute and rather shy. We passed the Rastafarian Ital Millenium Victory restaurant and juice bar on Barnett Street  (“we will eat lunch there”), and headed to the market, past the people who lined the street, sitting on the kerb, goods spread on blankets or bags or in baskets or stacked in the back of pickup trucks, all the way along the street from the town center. Everyone trying to make a little money, to feed the family, to buy a school uniform or textbooks.

The market was full of exotic (to us) fruits and vegetables and herbs. Cinnamon leaves! Giant yams! Ackee fruit! Sugar cane! Roselle! Scotch Bonnet peppers! And, of course, many more of Rastaman Freddie’s friends, who all said hello.

A little girl ran after us, calling to Jade and I, “Hello Chinese! Hello Chinese!”. Everyone within earshot cracked up, laughing. (Some of the “wholesale” supermarkets are run by people from China, and they may have been this little girl’s only reference when she saw our pale skin.) I realized only then how much we must have stood out… and how few other visitors to Jamaica care to visit places other than private beaches, resorts and tourist attractions. It’s a darn shame. 

People everywhere. Boys pushing a big cart. A man, pushing another cart, this one with a sound system, playing loud music. Let's dance, in the street.

After the market, we headed back to the Rastafarian restaurant. Wonderful, wonderful fresh juice: carrot and ginger, beet and carrot and ginger. Curried tofu, yams, breadfruit, vegetables. Truly delicious. (I am finding out more about Ital cuisine; it suits my way of thinking.)

("Be kind to animals", it says on the wall, "Don't eat them")

Later, Freddie guided us back through the town, making sure we’d know where we were when he left us. He was a true gentleman, and I am so glad that we met him, and spent time with him. I value the insight that he gave us into the lives of the people of Montego Bay. I am sure that there is a frustration, a sadness, that more visitors to Jamaica do not take the time to see, and do not spend their vacation cash in a way that would help the people, rather than the multinational resorts.

Personally, I think it’s sad that so many travel guides and tour organizations give dire warnings about safety, so much so that you rarely see tourists outside of the resorts or the “tourist attractions”. Jamaica is very obviously a beautiful country, with happy, generous and caring people. The people in the market were friendly, but shy of the camera. I would love to go back one day, and learn more of their stories. Maybe I can ask Freddie to help. I hope so, one day.

More photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alisontoon/sets/72157632674230688/