BUJU BANTON: UNCHAINED SPIRIT
by lizzy brown
“Hac in hora / sine mora / corde pulsum tangite;
Quod per sortem / sternit fortem / Mecum omnes plangite!”
“So at this hour / without delay / pluck the vibrating strings;
since Fate strikes down the strong man, everyone
weep with me!
O Fortuna (Oh Fate)
Give I strength (Inna Heights, 1997)
On the evening of April 22, 1978, the One Love Peace Concert took place at the National Stadium in Kingston, Jamaica. With Bob Marley headlining the show and 16 acts including the controversial musicians Peter Tosh and Jacob Miller appearing, the event was publicised as an attempt to unify the nation, its’ conflicting political parties and it’s associated ‘factions’ through the mystical power of reggae music.
Around 10,000 supporters from both political divides turned out to bear witness to what has become one of the most iconic events in Jamaica’s socio-political history.
Fast forward 40 years later to present day Jamaica. Much has changed and much has remained the same on the island’s undulating cultural and political landscape.
And, once again, the country would bear witness at the same location to another monumental occasion on the nation’s calendar of historic events: Buju Banton’s Long Walk to Freedom Concert.
Monumental, because Buju’s last appearance on stage to a live audience was a little over eight years ago back in January 16, 2011 off home soil, in Miami.
The concert, partly named after what would become his Grammy Award winning album – ‘Before The Dawn’ was unwittingly a swansong of sorts where his destiny would be firmly placed in the fickle hands of The Fates.
Life is a Journey (Track 7, ‘Unchained Spirit’, 1999)
I literally grew up with and in the emerging dancehall of the late ‘80’s. Nourished on a diet of musical genres from the country and western love songs of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton to the pulsating disco rhythms of Donna Summer, the soulful rhythm and blues of The Spinners, the ubiquitous pop sounds of Michael Jackson, and of course the music which represented the pulse of its people – reggae and and it’s transgressive – brother dancehall. By the time I started high school at the age of 10, I had begun to develop a healthy appetite for the latter, as dancehall came into its own at the dawn of the digital age – the 1980’s.
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My Dad, a small business owner in St. Ann, was also a sound system owner and played his ‘set’ actively throughout the deep rural districts of the parish and in his own ‘lawn’ at his club: The Red Barrel in Hampton, Runaway Bay. It was here that I learned so much of what I know today.
Growing up, most kids I knew were sent to the local shop to buy flour and rice. I was sent to the record shop in Ocho Rios to buy whatever the hottest riddims were on 7” vinyl for Dad to play in the dance. As a kid, I also listened keenly to the radio to catch the latest hits and familiarise myself with the hottest riddims surfing the airwaves.
My daily bus ride to school was in a sardine can of a minibus called Disco Wheels. Where I failed in academics, I excelled as a student of the dancehall in this mobile university. This unlikely classroom also proved to be an excellent reference point for identifying hit records. If Disco Wheels played it and the school kids riled to it – then that meant it was a certified A plus.
By the early 90’s I had already graduated from school and Dancehall music had graduated from the streets of Jamaica and started to take it’s hardcore message internationally. And as the genre grew, so did I. I wasn’t a child anymore and I needed to spread my wings further than the confines of the small district where I spent most of my formative years.
So, after being rejected by Irie FM as a trainee Radio DJ, I packed my proverbial bags and with my parents blessings, flew the nest for a life in the North of the country’s capital – Kingston, to search for and hopefully find more fruitful opportunities in media.
At the same time, another kid my age was trying to make his way in the world too – a gangly, gravel voiced teenager, hailing from the West Kingston neighborhood of Salt Lane (just behind Coronation Market, on the other side of Tivoli). This is the area that gave us the late *Mortimo ‘Kummi’ Planno. Planno, well known as one of the Rasta movements most notable key figures and lesser known as the writer of Bob Marley’s Haile Selassie is the Chapel. He also established Local Charter 37 of the Ethiopian World Federation right there on Salt Lane. It is also the area former Prime minister and leader of the JLP, Edward Seaga, sojourned in a room on Salt Lane in the 1950’s while undergoing anthropological research into Jamaican culture.
*I felt that it was important to include this here and expand the narrative of Salt Lane as most of my research has only yielded negative adjectives: ‘impoverished’ ‘garrison’ slum’ are but a few.
And it was from this little area that the son of Benjamin and Merlene Myrie began sprouting his musical roots. Little did they know that their son – Mark Anthony Myrie aka Mr. Mention, aka Gargamel aka Buju Banton would rise up to be one of the most iconic and controversial artistes to ever emerge from the island.
Not An Easy Road (Track 6, ‘Til Shiloh’, 1995)
My own serious interest in music continued in earnest into the very early 90’s on the cusp of a new dawn of another musical era. It was in this time, a young Banton rose swiftly from toasting on the sound-systems, to laying down tracks in the studios. He shone as one it’s brightest stars.
I had just moved to Town and just like most of my friends, I wanted to be independent and create new experiences that could differentiate the boundaries of childhood and adulthood. We were still pretty young, still quite wet behind the airs. But we wanted to have fun – lots of it: Kingston was our playground and many of the Gargamel’s tracks would become the soundtrack to that era and to our youth.
Then, with the release of his first album ‘Stamina Daddy’ (Techniques) and ‘Mr Mention’ on the legendary Penthouse Label way back in 1992, came a wave of hits…and controversy – a word that continues to define Buju throughout his career. One of those waves was nothing short of a tsunami: ‘Love mi Browning’ on the ‘Feeling Soul’ riddim – a track initially offered to and subsequently refused by reggae artist and Penthouse label mate – Tony Rebel. “The rest…” as Rebel himself said in an interview. “…is history.”
*later released in 1993 in the US on the now defunct Fader Records label
The song grew wings and flew across the uptown / downtown social divides. From Rae Town dances down by the Harbour, the Epiphany nightclub uptown, every radio station across the nation and even the formal lecture halls of academia echoed the signature gruff tone of Buju Banton through debates and intellectual discourse.
It’s lyrics were even cited for the eponymous title for Patricia Mohammed’s (lecturer in Gender development at UWI’s St. Augustine’s campus) article in June 2000 scholarly journal Feminist Review: ‘But most of all mi love me browning’: The Emergence in Eighteenth and Nineteenth-Century Jamaica of the Mulatto Woman as the Desired.’
In response to those who felt betrayed by this song – ‘Love Black Woman’ was released to appease the growing wrath of his female fans “with dark complexion…” The track would then be strategically placed before Brownin’ on the subsequent release of the album. Banton would go on to secure a slew of #1 hits in 1992 despite the dissention.
Give I strength (Track 13, ‘Inna Heights’ 1997)
Blessed with the gift of articulate rhetoric, Buju’s distinctive voice and lyrical content segued effortlessly through the years between the rawness of the dancehall (“Low di buddy”…Stamina Daddy,1992) and the spiritual consciousness that his transition from ‘bald head’ to Rasta would eventually bring (“There ain’t no place that Rasta can’t go…” Before the Dawn, 2010)
The first of five Grammy nominations would come via the seminal ‘Inna Heights’ in 1998 followed by:
Friends for Life, 2003
Too Bad, 2006
Rasta Got Soul, 2009
Before the Dawn, 2010 Winner in the Best Reggae Album category.
World tours from North America to Europe followed. Buju continued to show us his capacity for duality and “that there ain’t nowhere that Rasta can’t go” with an appearance on MTV Def Poetry Jam, not as a musician – but as a poet.
Appearing on Episode 6, Season 4 of the show, Banton eloquently reworked Marcus Garvey’s ‘Up Ye Mighty Race’ with an emotive piece titled ‘How long?’
“How long must the people be that human sacrifice?
Stand up. Defend your rights;
Up up mighty you might race you can accomplish what you will
Stand up. Defend your rights.
In one day they destroyed what took a thousand to build
Stand up. Defend your rights.
They may conquer other Lands but they never kill the will
Stand up. Defend your rights.
Liberty & democracy are truly expensive
Can even cost one’s life
And those who stand for nothing, fall for any little thing
Father…heal the blinded eyes”
I watched it on cable in Jamaica – totally slack jawed. Something about seeing and hearing ‘one of our own’ on international media seems to bring on this surge of electrical pride. Across the country we hooted and hollered from our living rooms just as loudly as anyone in the US audience. This was our son, our Voice of Jamaica. No one could outdo how fiercely proud we were of him.
But wherever Buju went, controversy, run ins with the law and personal matters pursued him like restless, mischievous ghosts. A broken leg in 2001 took him off touring for a year hitting him hard in the pockets. In 2004 he was arrested without charge for an alleged assault. In 2006,years after the release of Boom Bye-Bye, TIME magazine declared Jamaica “The most homophobic place on earth” and pointed an accusatory finger at Banton declaring him “…an avowed homophobe whose song Boom Bye-Bye decrees that gays “haffi dead”
However, his music continued to evolve. Songs became more and more prophetic yet tracks like Fast Lane and Driver A felt too close to tempting the Fates. But with albums like Unchained Spirit and Til Shiloh, Buju seamlessly transformed the musical landscape. Almost gospel like in nature, they focused more on universal themes of love and unity.
Some would say The Gargamel was also simply capitalising on what we his fans desired. And it is true. When he called, we responded, thereby creating a personal and inclusive dialogue between audience and musician. So, whether it was hard core gun tunes like ‘Man fi dead’ on the contrastingly playful ‘Cuss Cuss’ riddim, classic dancing tunes like ‘Bogle’ or the almost tangible pathos of ‘Destiny’ – Buju delivered the goods we demanded every. single. time.
Destiny (Track 4, Inna Heights, 1997)
“Our lives and our destinies are sometimes predestined. But no matter where this journey takes me, remember I fought the good fight.
It was a great man that said: *My head is bloody, but (still) unbowed.
I love you all.
Thank you for your support.
Continue loving God.”
(Buju Banton, February 2011)
*paraphrased from the poem ‘Invictus’ by William Ernest Henley. It is worth noting the Latin translation of Invictus: Unconquered
In February 2011, Mark Anthony Myrie aka Buju Banton, was found guilty by a 12 panel jury in Tampa, Florida of three federal charges.
From the comfort of my sofa, I tensely watched the news playout on TV like a surreal soap opera. His friends Wayne Wonder, Delly Ranks, Gramps Morgan each gave a mixture of impassioned and subdued statements of disbelief to the reporters. Wayne Wonder in particular looked like a broken man, wringing his hands in despair, helpless and distraught.
It would be another eight years before the Voice of Jamaica would be heard again…
Unchained Spirit (2000)
December 7th, 2018. Buju was finally released from incarceration in the US and returned home days later to Jamaica – quietly, without pomp and circumstance.
Releasing a statement on social media, he made it clear that music would continue to be his priority.
Shortly thereafter, an announcement was made: The Long Walk To Freedom Concert would commence on March 16, 2019 at the National Stadium.
The wait was officially over.
Fans from every continent were now preparing to make what could only be described as a pilgrimage to the Mecca of reggae music – Jamaica, to welcome Buju back home.
Voice of Jamaica (1993)
I arrived in Kingston a couple of days before the show. I felt like I had come full circle on this journey. More than 25 years had passed since I first came to Town and 25 years had also passed since Buju, barely out his teens, released the superb album: ‘Voice of Jamaica’ The timing was perfect.
As I walked through the streets on the eve of the show, the energy in the city was magnetised and electrified by the buzz generated by his PR team, radio stations and news agencies. I and everyone else could feel it echo deep in our bones. We were going to experience a historical moment in time.
On the night of the show, sections of Mountain View and Deanery Road were closed off as part of traffic control measures and to facilitate shuttle buses taking patrons from National Heroes Circle to the National Stadium. Even the fans found themselves journeying on their own Long Walk…albeit just to the Stadium.
The show began on time, and as anticipated, several label mates and close friends served as opening acts, including one of his sons Jahziel Myrie. From Wayne Marshall, Delly Ranks, Ghost, LUST and Cocoa Tea to Etana, Chris Martin, Romaine Virgo and Agent Sasco. From Koffee to Chronixx – the first half of the show was a musical melting pot of the past and present with each giving a stellar performance.
Horace Chang, Jamaica’s Minister of National Security was quoted in the UK Guardian as saying “We can’t give him a hero’s welcome…”
Yet, as I looked around the stadium – filled with thousands of fans anticipating Banton’s triumphant return to the stage, I couldn’t help think of how redundant his statement was.
And at 11 pm, with the primeval sounds of O Fortuna, a musical piece issuing a warning about the power of luck and fate bellowing dramatically across the grandstands, Banton finally entered the stage with no need for introduction. The rapturous applause of 35,000 thundered across the venue, a fitting greeting to a man who had weathered many storms.
Reunited with his Shiloh band and backing singers, Buju, symbolically dressed in full white, entered the stage with a reverential, commanding and purposeful walk.
Clasping his microphone as if in prayer, he fell to his knees and sang, surprisingly, a sombre hymn – “Lamb of God, Have Mercy On Me”
Banton then exploded to life with knees high in the air, his locks whipping in all directions as his familiar and long awaited growl roared ‘Not An Easy Road’
It was if he had not been away from a stage or a microphone for even one day. The fans were enraptured.
Buju then took us on a dynamic musical journey, segueing from dancehall classics like ‘Champion’ ‘ Big it Up’ employing the ever familiar call and response to fully engage his audience. With more introspective tracks like ‘Untold Stories’ he allowed the fans to become his voice – a 35,000 strong choir.
Carefully curated collaborations reflected those who have been steadfast with Buju from the early days at Penthouse and in his personal life. Marcia Griffiths, Beres Hammond, Wayne Wonder and Gramps Morgan all gave stellar performances.
An unexpected guest on the stage was British hip hop/ dancehall artiste Stefflon Don. However, the stand out moment for the night would be the collab with Beres and Buju. Their moving, intimate exchange showed their relationship was more than simply collaborating on songs. They are friends for life.
As the night drew to a climatic end, Buju, his skin glistening with beads of perspiration , but showing no signs of exhaustion, ended his spirited set with a high energy rendition of ‘African Pride’ (Til Shiloh).
This was an evening that should be remembered not only as an hour of entertaining old favourites but as an exploration of the paradoxical experiences of the human condition: the capacity for good and evil. Of understanding that we are all conflicted and imperfect. That there are no moral absolutes. That Fate can be malevolent. We explored the conflict of transgressive and spiritual dimensions in our behaviour as we released our inhibitions with every raunchy song, with every deeply spiritual song.
Buju knew we were not there to judge. He had done his time “eight years, six months, 27 days, 13 hours, five minutes and 26 seconds”
Yet through his extensive oeuvre, he chose to testify to us through his music. These were his redemption songs, his songs of freedom, not just some standard set list.
And with explosions of colourful fireworks exploding across the ebony black sky, our brightest star exited the stage.
The long walk was finally over, the journey had come full circle.
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