Reggae band full of fun, short on substance
By Dini S. Djalal
JAKARTA (JP): My college friend Paul is a Bob Marley disciple. Paul came from a wealthy Jewish background, but abandoned the privileged life for summers in Jamaica and winters following reggae bands across Canada. By the time he finished his dissertation on Marley's contribution to Jamaican politics, his blond dreadlocks hung past his shoulders.
Despite the similarities between Paul and American reggae group Big Mountain, Paul would have watched the Big Mountain concert at M-Club, Blok M Plaza, South Jakarta, on Wednesday with a grimace.
In the years since Marley's death in 1981, reggae has become entrenched as mainstream popular music. No longer is it background music at ganja sessions among Caribbean Rastafarians. Reggae is now the music world's symbol of universal peace, brotherhood, and all-around good times.
Marley would be proud of reggae's achievements, as he wanted nothing more than to manifest the One Love and Positive Vibrations of his feel-good songs. Yet for every light-hearted ditty Marley produced, there was a darker, politically-charged anthem to neutralize the euphoria. And his music varied with his moods. Redemption Song, for example, abandoned a booming bass and simplistic harmonies for a melancholic acoustic guitar and sober heartfelt vocals.
Not so with Big Mountain. During their hour-and-a-half set, their music never lost its cheer. Lead singer Quino shouted to the audience, "Reggae music is happy music." To the millions of Jamaicans who relied on reggae during their struggle for democracy and justice, Quino's statement would seem tactless. In retaliation, Quino offers his equality-oriented lyrics as proof of his political correctness. Quino's heart is in the right place. Pity his music is off the mark.
The concert hall was packed with anxious teenagers hours before the band took to the stage. Despite its teenybopper reputation, M-Club's cavernous interior makes it an appropriate concert venue.
A shortage of live musical events in Jakarta intensified the crowd's excitement, which peaked when the band appeared. Quino's newly-shorn hairdo made it easier for the audience to distinguish him from the other blond-dreadlocked musicians. Quino even plays the guitar, betraying his teen-idol role in the video for Baby I Love Your Way (made famous by Winona Ryder's wiggling hips in the film Reality Bites). Yet it is Quino's voice -- a smooth, resilient, albeit nasal, serenade -- which rescues the saccharine songs.
Just barely. In the liner notes of Unity, their recent album, Big Mountain writes about "the survival of our native cultures". In concert, Quino reminds us of his Mexican-American native culture and advises that we be proud of ours. Unfortunately, Quino follows this with over-produced sentimental ballads and uninspired choruses about "freedom" and "equality". At its core, Big Mountain's songs lack a vital sensitivity, which fueled Marley's music and that of other reggae artists.
To Big Mountain's managers, sensitivity is perhaps superfluous. Big Mountain is simply marketing genius. Prior to the recent reggae craze headed by Shabba Ranks and Chaka Demus, England's biggest reggae group was the mostly-Caucasian UB40. The music industry is sensitive to the smell of a cash cow, and when Big Mountain -- a group of good-looking Caucasian young men singing happy songs in a now-profitable reggae beat -- arrived, record producers must have jumped at the prospects. There are dozens of non-Caucasian reggae bands across the world, including a few in Indonesia, who never make it. Big Mountain is basically a dreadlocked Take That or New Kids on the Block: marketably poppy, peppy and pretty.
In Indonesia, this formula works. The audience loved every stanza of Big Mountain's simple songs (sample lyric: always treat your family extra good) and every minute of their hand-swaying gestures. The simpler the song, such as the repetitive I would Find A Way or Mr. Chatterbox, the louder the reception. It's doubtful the audience will remember lyrics such as remember the poor man dying, or revolution is eating up the nation, as they drive home in their air-conditioned sedans.
Ultimately, it really doesn't matter what Big Mountain is singing, as the beat remained indistinguishable from song to song. No surprises here, just a continuous drone of dance hall melodies. The crowd didn't even seem to mind the sharp pitch of the sound, which, uncharacteristically for a reggae concert, subdued the bass and spiked up the treble.
The crowd almost seemed determined NOT to be disappointed. It is encouraging to see more musical acts perform in Indonesia, as teenagers here seem to be desperate for live music. Concerts are vital for a vibrant youth culture. Regardless of musical styles, concerts make everybody happy. The kid uninhibitedly dancing behind me certainly was -- whether from the music, or hallucinogens, I am not so sure.
It's not a matter of expertise. The band can play, from percussionist James McWhinney, to bassist Lynn Copeland and guitarist Tony Chin ("direct from Kingston, Jamaica," Quino reminded everyone). They are, in fact, a better band than their hit remake of Peter Frampton's Baby I Love Your Way reveals. There's a thought: How does a group of Bob Marley devotees feel about their fame being indebted to a disco-era teen idol?
It's a thought my friend Paul would chuckle over. "Just reward for clumsy cultural appropriation," I can hear him smugly say. Paul's passion for reggae was motivated by a vision of equality, where his favorite Jamaican bands, and not only white-washed wanna-bes, would receive the accolades they deserve. Big Mountain may share Paul's desires, but they are now on the other side of the prosperity fence. For all the messages of brotherhood that reggae expounds, divisions still run deep among those who strive to carry on Marley's legacy.