photos: Rawle Patterson
I am addicted to my retirement lifestyle of being aboard by sunset, early to bed, rising around first light, and avoiding crowds and loud music. But this is Ky-Mani Marley, a son of the Legend, a first, perhaps biggest, for Carriacou, and a benefit for causes that I support.
The paddle ashore begins after dark, even though I am early. A mini-bus appears at a time arranged by others, two of whom, a couple who have been visiting Carriacou for twelve years, are already aboard. The bus loads at seven-thirty even though the concert “begins” at eight. I’ve heard the actual schedule, DJ music from eight to nine, local musicians until ten, more DJ until eleven, then Ky-Mani until half twelve, zero hours thirty... way past my bedtime. Pretty much on time, I was told to expect, with Ky-Mani coming on about midnight. Then DJ music ‘til whenever, sometime after my usual waking time. I declare my limit to be midnight, even if the son hasn’t yet come on.
More passengers board along the way, one a local who will also be going to the concert, but not yet. He wonders why we visitors are going so early? The driver makes a clear and logical excuse for us about finding good seats ahead of the crowd. While that might make sense to visitors, it would be nonsense to a West Indian. But Carriacou is polite to visitors so nothing more is said – respect.
Our driver grew up with Bob Marley’s music, a kid in a poor family. Marley spoke to him and his people. But he also tells us that Marley spoke to everyone, rich and poor. He was a prophet of Rasta with a message for all. One Love. Will our driver go to the concert? There is reverence in his reply. This is Bob Marley’s son. Yes, he will see him perform.
We arrive at Heritage Village, venue for the show and for other local events including Maroon’s String Band Music Festival (April), Carriacou Regatta’s Queen Show (August), and Parang (December). We are not the first, but among them. We are the punctual, mostly foreigners, visitors, even habit-bound expats who should know better. For my part, I’ll just say that I can’t help it and usually regard it as a virtue. Allison, stunning in her Rasta-colors outfit, and Olando are handling admission, I am greeted by friends. The DJ is already at work and his music is loud and clear at the gate.
The stage is alive in dancing lights of many colors and patterns, music is booming from stacks of large speakers on either side. For now that is the show that most of the early birds are watching. But the music is loud and clear everywhere, so I wander the grounds looking for, as our driver suggested, the best spots. There is a path between the food stands leading a short way down the slope away from the lights to where the treetops open to a large view of the starry sky and the sound of the big speakers is significantly less, where a couple of locals are having a smoke. Another zone of relatively low volume is in the shadow of the former plantation greathouse, which is lighted here and there in various changing colors, a subtle light show that makes no attempt to compete with the stage. Here also are three small buildings with wooden steps that make comfortable seats. They are two gingerbread houses and the Village Bar, used by vendors at other cultural events. The lampposts along the paths are two legged stick figures of pipe, each in a different stance, standing in a pool of light from their heads under which I write my notes.
Braving a close look at the stage, I pass within feet of speakers that are pounding the air into waves that make my chest throb and that my fingers can feel in the fabric of my shirt. The sound, almost unhearably loud, is clean and clear. These are good speakers operating within their intended range. I slowly walk close in front of the stage pausing to see what I can of the set and the lighting. Then I roam the amphitheater, a cleared slope up the hillside backed by a forest of straight and stately trees. Centered on the stage halfway up the slope is a small, covered pavilion full of high tech controls and instrumentation, which I presume controls the lights. The audience, now perhaps two hundred strong, is scattered between there and the stage watching the light show, listening to the music.
Behind the crowd are several police keeping an eye on things – that is their job. Being a sailor, I usually carry a sharp knife but left it at home tonight – I’m on their side. Peace officers. Respect.
Compared to most places I hear of, Carriacou is peaceful anyway.
At nine-thirty the DJ announces that the show is about to begin. His music has transitioned from mellow for the early visitors to more energetic for the gathering local audience. The DJ says, “Respect to all true Rasta man inside.”
Xtrak, the local band, comes on amid smoky vapors that have been added to the light show. Then the local artistes each take their turn backed by Xtrak, the warm-up show, Kestor, Gold’n, Major Dickson, Shanda, and Super Star.
“Big up Charlie!” is mixed into the announcements. He’s the one who put this together. Charlie Kingsman, Free House Music.
After the local talent warms up the audience, the DJ, Carriacou’s “DJ Specialist”, comes back to keep us moving until Ky-Mani and his band come on. By now the audience is perhaps a thousand and growing. Though midnight, the curfew I had declared, I stay through the show and the encore... but not for the hours of DJ partying that follow.
Ky-Mani’s band plays a rousing fanfare, a piece of length and intensity. Then Ky-Mani comes on with Rasta talk and no pause, the show is rolling, the message has already begun, and the energy of the performance is amazing.
During the performance I discover a viewing point much better than trying to see out of or over the crowd, a place where I am alone but close, beside the stage looking over the soundman and his controls with a side view of the lights and action. Being so close to the right speakers the sound is seriously loud and monaural. This is also a good vantage point for the part of the light show that is playing on the audience and the trees behind them.
The energy is amazing. It ends with “Redemption Song”, with which I sing along, though unable to hear any trace of my own voice against the speakers. “We sing it everywhere!” Ky-Mani declares at the end of the song, “Everywhere we go!”
Does the audience want more? The crowd makes noise. Really? The crowd makes more noise. The encore begins with “Armed and Dangerous” and includes an incredibly fast rap by KJ, Ky-Mani’s son. The set ends with “One Love”.
The DJ takes over the party as those who came for the show begin to stream out.
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The concert was scheduled for shortly after Bequia Easter Regatta, so I’d expected Tyrrel Bay to fill with yachts come for the big event. Not so. High season in the Grenadines ends several days after Easter Regatta. I suspect that many of the would-haves were bound by the bane of modern man, schedule.
Merlin, however, a magical little cutter, home to the Brown family and pets, sailed up from Grenada. Martin (saxophone) and young Adam (guitar) do gigs with Barracuda. Bela, who makes beautifully fun drawings for some of my stories, is learning to play bass. They came for the concert. Martin’s assessment: “Really excellent!”
I have since re-listened to my CD, “Legend” (Tuff Gong, his label), a compilation of original Bob Marley, from his own mouth, in his own style. “No Woman No Cry” is a live performance, audience singing along. How long since I’d really heard the lyrics of “Get Up Stand Up”? Then “Stir It Up”, its exotic music (for back then) followed by “One Love”, the mantra that Marley imprinted upon Rasta, contagious in other cultures. “Redemption Song” is just Bob and a couple of guitars, folk music that can be played around the fire.
Marley the Legend rose from Trench Town, a ghetto of Kingston, Jamaica, where life was hard. Ky-Mani the son grew up in a Miami ghetto where life is harder. Bob was nearly my age. Ky-Mani’s concert was for the current age. Ky-Mani also does hip hop and rap and writes his own songs, but most of his songs for us were the works of the Legend.
Caribbean Compass, July ‘13