Reggae Sumfest
Contributed by Tas Banton

Late legend, Bob Marley once noted that "..one good thing about music is, when it hits you feel no pain.” Nearly thirty years later the audience experienced the truth behind his words attending Reggae Sumfest 2001 in Montego Bay, Jamaica. I was alone, leaving Wexford on Gloucester Avenue, Montego Bay’s ‘Hip Strip’, and headed for Catherine Hall, the site of this year's Sumfest. Slightly apprehensively because, although I've attended festivals and concerts unescorted in the States, this was, after all, a Third World country. A first visit to Jamaica --the same week of the Sumfest, was no accident. The first order of business was to read the lineup for the shows.

I was elated to see that Reggae pioneer, Bunny Wailer, was scheduled to perform International Night 2, the final night; Sunday would not be sacrificed, still giddy as a five year old going through the turnstile at Chuck E. Cheese. It was still early, and the ground was speckled with locals and tourists alike. They milled about the field, some stopping at one or more of the no less than 75 vendors.

At the fence separating the field from the V.I.P. section, instinctively, I was among friends, with a love for music --the universal language. The MC stepped up calling it the ‘sexiest night of all’, opening the show on schedule. The first four acts were all Jamaican. The Fourth Street Sisters, a talented, high energy, group of female singers, opened the show. They were followed by solo female singer and former Jamaican radio personality, Heather Cummings, who also sang backup during the night and was, better suited for that role.

By the time TOK, an especially talented male reggae group, left the stage, the crowd was pumped up and ready for more. I stood between an old Rastaman seated in a patio chair, his three children, and a young woman separated temporarily from her friend. It was as though we'd come to the concert together; we smiled and swayed to the rhythm of the bass and drum beat. Midway, we were treated to an unscheduled performance by Bounty Killer. His performance Thursday (Dancehall Night) was cancelled after a dispute onstage between he and Beenie Man. Bounty Killer, who was invited on stage by Richie Stephens, a local singer and MC, spent several minutes lamenting the injustice done to him onstage. He was tactfully interrupted by Stephens and they spent the remainder of the act thrilling the crowd as they alternated roles of MC and singer.

The air was thick with excitement. Lovely actress Sheryl Lee Ralph (introduced as Moesha’s mom) graced the stage and greeted the crowd. Though we were promised short breaks while the stage was being prepared, they grew longer and longer. I was undaunted however, and remained glued to what was now, a two by two space at the fence.

Blu Cantrell was the first performer from the States and, try as she might, the crowd didn’t seem to find her particularly exhilarating. They used this time to mill around, relight their ganja, and visit restrooms and vendors. My neighbors at the fence moved a few times, with the exception of the Rastaman seated beside me. I was tempted to leave and check out Stall #26 where Sharon Marley, daughter of the late, Bob Marley sold natural juices. It would've been nice to request a photo with her, but fear of losing my small space kept me rooted. Directly behind, a man’s bag was plundered as it hung from his shoulder, by a tall, intimidating character wearing an orange bandana. He appeared to be pushing through the crowd, randomly ransacking others' bags and taking what he wanted.

I happened to turn around just as he was asking a horrified young man,

“What in heah, what you got in heah?”

Our eyes met, before turning quickly for fear of what he might do. He left quietly, forcing his way through the crowd. On the advice of several witnesses, the young man left in search of Security. Once again, I struggled with leaving the spot. This time, to report the incident when it dawned-- all the man need do, was remove the bandana --and he couldn't be distinguished from the Chief of Police!

I continued to bounce at the fence in anticipation of the music. During a longer break, the MC explained the delay. He addressed journalists, imploring omission of Thursday night's altercation, as not necessary for printing; asking the crowd if they agreed.

I found my voice and yelled over the commotion: “The truth, that’s what you write!” Needless to say, he didn’t hear me.

The rough, gravelly voice of Ja Rule boomed clearly as he rapped lyrics from Buju Banton’s song ‘Murderer’. The crowd went wild! Audience participation surged. To his delight, they knew every word. It was intriguing to hear scores of young, feminine, Jamaican voices singing in unison, “yeah, yeah, and I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I can’t go on without you…”

During his performance, I felt pride because he's African American, and embarrassment, because he used the ‘N’ word and ‘F you’, repeatedly. Then, the old Rastaman was genuinely perplexed and asked, “What he do so?”

I asked him to repeat over the noise and he said “Why de girls scream fe him so?”

I shrugged and replied, “I don’t know cause he can’t sing,” feeling hypocritical because I'd bounced and screamed, as much as the young girls. During the next stage change, the crowd was so motionless that I was reminded of the lyrics of popular Reggae artist, Yellowman, “Nobody move, nobody get hurt”.

Soon, the crowd roared when Shaggy appeared, immediately capturing the crowd with his smooth baritone voice. He commented on Dancehall Night; and was his sexy, sensual, winding and grinding best.

Dawn unfurled over the dwindling crowd-- hugging the fence now, was the Rasta and me. The moment finally arrived: the great Bunny Wailer danced onstage, to the tune of ‘The Electric Slide’ accompanied by several young dancers. He also bashed Dancehall acts then, leaned back, gyrated his hips said, “What is dis? Dis is not dancing!”

Though his beautiful voice is fading, Bunny Wailer then sang vintage tunes from his album ‘Blackheart Man’, including some early Wailers. He successfully recalled spirits of Bob and Peter; and I was happily skanking with the crowd. I wanted to hear ‘This Train”, so stood through another fifteen minutes of Bunny preaching on everything from modern music to raising children. The few remaining roots fans were making their way to the front, and I got the feeling that I wasn't alone in disappointment.

At the gate I realized I'd been on my feet for more than nine hours.
“Bunny” I whispered, “I’ll have to remember you as you were.”

Published with generous permission of Tas Banton,
currently busy on her novella, Kiss it up to God.

©2003 R K Puma    rk@rkpuma.com
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