dance, stanley, dance!

Being an occasional know-it-all, an expert on all things relating to life, I had firmly understood this about reggae music: every song sounded exactly the same as the previous one and the rhythm never deviated from the bum-chacha-bum-chacha-bum-chacha-bum-chacha-bum pattern of every other reggae song. So I dismissed an entire genre of music as being one dimensional and worthless.

But then after going to Jamaica I realized that the only thing worthless was my opinion.

You see, what I failed to realize is that we all have a little Rastaman inside our hearts. He sleeps most of the time, but if you play reggae music for a long while, the little Rastaman starts dancing around. And when the little Rastaman starts dancing around inside your heart, the end result is always happiness.

I've named my little Rastaman Stanley in honor of the wood-carving, ganja smoking & selling wiseman who lived in a tree by the ocean. Everything about the previous sentence might seem like one giant lie, but I'm going to ask you to take a leap of faith and trust me on this one.

You see, I was once was lame. But now I'm found, uptight but now I see. I can't exactly pinpoint for you the exact moment when the enlightenment came. Perhaps it was the seventh time I heard "One Love" while breathing deep the salty breeze. Perhaps it was the 50th time. I don't know definitively when it happened. You see, Jamaicans are forever listening to reggae music. And if they're near tourists, they're listening to Bob Marley because they think that's what we want to hear (and they're right). Your average Jamaican hears the song "One Love" approximately three times every day, and amazingly they show no sign of exhaustion.

If you want to use the word "brainwash" then by all means, be my guest. But you're not going to convince me that reggae isn't beautiful. Because here's the thing: that repetitive percussion is critical to the Jamaican experience. The steady pulse of the music keeps time for the island like a heartbeat. And once you allow the flow to wash all over you, you end up feeling like you're coasting on a perpetual motion device, a perfect loop with no discernible beginning or end. Eventually you become lost in Jamaica's hypnotizing spell.

I know the cynics amongst us will fear that the Jamaicans are up to something devious with all this hypnotizing. But believe me, they just want us to relax and enjoy life. That is the reason God made Jamaica, I think - to teach the world how to relax. You could even make an argument that reggae music is the meaning of life, in an indirect sort of way.














I was going to conclude this piece with my thoughts on how reggae music relates to racism and September 11th, but it turns out my editor thought it better that I not. He thinks those elements would bring this piece down, which, he said, was not the point of reggae music. I said I knew that already, and that I didn't need him telling me what to think about things. "You're nothing without me! I made you!" I shouted at him, to which he shrugged and said, "Write about whatever," followed by some self-righteous remarks that I didn't appreciate. Sometimes I wish my editor would accidentally drink a cup of acid.

But my point is that reggae music is great no matter what your demographic makeup is. Because no matter your color or religion, you have a little Rastaman sleeping in your heart. And all he really wants to do is dance around and sing the words delivered to us by three little birds: "Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry. Singin' don't worry about a thing."

Makes sense, right?

About as much sense as a Jamaican bobsledder.