Doobie Doo
Veteran
Modern reggae has a cultural appropriation problem
A genre rooted in rebellion and activism is now more about chill vibes and fashion
by Jeff Terich
Photo by Anders Junger
Slightly Stoopid
If anyone ever wants to see me cringe while contorting myself into various states of discomfort, just play the first few seconds of Sublime’s “Badfish” for me. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with it—just the sounds of an acoustic guitar strumming over the sounds of indecipherable crowd banter. It’s actually almost downright pleasant, to be honest, but it still makes me want to crawl out of my skin for two reasons: 1.) I know what’s coming next, and; 2.) It’s the sound of every puka-shell necklace-wearing, soul-patch dude with an acoustic guitar at an open-mic in San Diego.
San Diego loves reggae. Actually, let me rephrase: San Diego loves Bob Marley, and a bunch of white dudes who attempt to sound like Bob Marley. This town has its share of homegrown, pseudo-hippie fluff passing for reggae, including one of our biggest success stories, Slightly Stoopid, who really sound more like Dave Matthews Band affecting patois. Big Mountain scored a national hit in 1994 with, of all fukking things, a cover of Peter Frampton’s “Baby, I Love Your Way,” as featured on the Reality Bites soundtrack. And there’s a good chance if you turn on the radio you’ll hear two stations playing the same 311 or Dirty Heads song at the same time. Whenever someone from another city asks me about music in San Diego, the conversation inevitably, embarrassingly, if unintentionally, turns to fratty white guys playing reggae. I’m often left with no option but to admit that we might have a problem with privileged white artists appropriating the music of marginalized people. Because, at the end of the day, the sun’s always out and we essentially live in a paradise of sorts, so we apparently just can’t get enough of those “island” vibes.
The thing is, it’s not just San Diego that’s afflicted with its own diluted brand of reggae. In fact, reggae is pretty universally popular worldwide, but the catch is that many of the most popular artists aren’t actually from Jamaica, nor have much of a connection to reggae’s roots at all. Three albums by Hasidic reggae sensation Matisyahu have gone gold in the U.S., and one of the most popular reggae artists in Europe is Alborosie, who originally hails from Italy. For decades, dabbling in reggae has been on the itinerary of many genre tourists, from Culture Club to Paris Hilton. I’m even a little surprised Taylor Swift hasn’t found a way to scrape the bottom of the #nobaddays barrel.
Tampa Bay Times writer Amber McDonald, defending contemporary reggae bands such as Rebelution and Pepper, is an interesting twist of irony. She describes in one sentence what’s actually frustrating about where reggae is now: “Attend a show by any of these bands, and you will experience an island vacation, complete with flip-flop fashion and carefree sensations.” While there’s no rule that says reggae can’t be more lighthearted, the roots reggae of the ’70s had a heavy activist streak reflecting both Rastafarian politics and the class inequality of a newly independent Jamaica.
Photo by Turiya Mareya
Makeda “Dread” Cheatom
It’s hard to square how music that was once concerned with genuine struggle becoming the sound of privilege. Makeda “Dread” Cheatom, executive director of the World Beat Center and founder of the Bob Marley Day Festival in San Diego, says that because of cultural appropriation, reggae has become too detached from its activist roots.
“Reggae music wasn’t easy back in the day,” she says. “It appealed to people that were oppressed and suffering. Bob Marley and Peter Tosh got beaten up. Bob Marley almost got killed. It wasn’t fun and games.
“I brought Frankie Paul to San Diego, and he was onstage with only one leg,” she adds. “All those guys died poor.”
The evolution of reggae being repackaged into the safe, apolitical, whitewashed version we hear today didn’t happen overnight, but it has been a long time coming. Eric Clapton is one of the earliest and perhaps most egregious examples of cultural appropriation in reggae. In 1974, the rich British musician made a bigger hit out of “I Shot the Sheriff” than Bob Marley did, reaping bigger rewards despite having never experienced injustice in Trenchtown firsthand. A more ambiguous case might be made of The Police, who adopted a reggae-rock sound but arguably showed more respect to Jamaican artists, having toured with the likes of Steel Pulse and Burning Spear. Shaggy also gave praise to The Police for bringing reggae to a wider audience, but that also might seem dubious coming from an artist whose best defense was “it wasn’t me.”
Cheatom says that reggae’s similar to other forms of Black music, in that eventually white people will want to take a piece of it.
“Bob Marley said ‘who feels it, knows it,’” she says. “But it happens just like with hip-hop or jazz—it gets colonized. You have to really feel it, and there are even Jamaican artists who have lost it. It’s white privilege. They took it, and that’s what they play on the radio.”
A look at the Billboard reggae chart this week illustrates how far we’ve strayed from the genre’s roots. The number one album is by Jamaican dancehall artist Romain Virgo, but the rest of the chart is occupied by artists such as South Carolina’s The Dubplates, Virginia reggae rock group SOJA and something called Tropical House Cruises to Jamaica that features, of all people, Ed Sheeran. There’s no question that reggae has a broad appeal, but if someone wants to go about making reggae music in a culturally sensitive manner, Cheatom has some advice worth heeding.
“Always know the history,” she says. “If they’re really serious, they should go to Jamaica. To get that vibe back is really hard if you don’t have that grounding, that spirituality. Know your roots. Don’t play watered-down music. Music is the weapon of the future.”
I can’t claim to know the intent of a band such as Slightly Stoopid or Pepper, and they may very well have the best of intentions. But as far as whether it’s genuine homage or cultural appropriation, I’ll paraphrase former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart: I might not be able to easily define cultural appropriation, but I know it when I see it.
Modern reggae has a cultural appropriation problem
A genre rooted in rebellion and activism is now more about chill vibes and fashion
by Jeff Terich
Photo by Anders Junger
Slightly Stoopid
If anyone ever wants to see me cringe while contorting myself into various states of discomfort, just play the first few seconds of Sublime’s “Badfish” for me. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with it—just the sounds of an acoustic guitar strumming over the sounds of indecipherable crowd banter. It’s actually almost downright pleasant, to be honest, but it still makes me want to crawl out of my skin for two reasons: 1.) I know what’s coming next, and; 2.) It’s the sound of every puka-shell necklace-wearing, soul-patch dude with an acoustic guitar at an open-mic in San Diego.
San Diego loves reggae. Actually, let me rephrase: San Diego loves Bob Marley, and a bunch of white dudes who attempt to sound like Bob Marley. This town has its share of homegrown, pseudo-hippie fluff passing for reggae, including one of our biggest success stories, Slightly Stoopid, who really sound more like Dave Matthews Band affecting patois. Big Mountain scored a national hit in 1994 with, of all fukking things, a cover of Peter Frampton’s “Baby, I Love Your Way,” as featured on the Reality Bites soundtrack. And there’s a good chance if you turn on the radio you’ll hear two stations playing the same 311 or Dirty Heads song at the same time. Whenever someone from another city asks me about music in San Diego, the conversation inevitably, embarrassingly, if unintentionally, turns to fratty white guys playing reggae. I’m often left with no option but to admit that we might have a problem with privileged white artists appropriating the music of marginalized people. Because, at the end of the day, the sun’s always out and we essentially live in a paradise of sorts, so we apparently just can’t get enough of those “island” vibes.
The thing is, it’s not just San Diego that’s afflicted with its own diluted brand of reggae. In fact, reggae is pretty universally popular worldwide, but the catch is that many of the most popular artists aren’t actually from Jamaica, nor have much of a connection to reggae’s roots at all. Three albums by Hasidic reggae sensation Matisyahu have gone gold in the U.S., and one of the most popular reggae artists in Europe is Alborosie, who originally hails from Italy. For decades, dabbling in reggae has been on the itinerary of many genre tourists, from Culture Club to Paris Hilton. I’m even a little surprised Taylor Swift hasn’t found a way to scrape the bottom of the #nobaddays barrel.
Tampa Bay Times writer Amber McDonald, defending contemporary reggae bands such as Rebelution and Pepper, is an interesting twist of irony. She describes in one sentence what’s actually frustrating about where reggae is now: “Attend a show by any of these bands, and you will experience an island vacation, complete with flip-flop fashion and carefree sensations.” While there’s no rule that says reggae can’t be more lighthearted, the roots reggae of the ’70s had a heavy activist streak reflecting both Rastafarian politics and the class inequality of a newly independent Jamaica.
Photo by Turiya Mareya
Makeda “Dread” Cheatom
It’s hard to square how music that was once concerned with genuine struggle becoming the sound of privilege. Makeda “Dread” Cheatom, executive director of the World Beat Center and founder of the Bob Marley Day Festival in San Diego, says that because of cultural appropriation, reggae has become too detached from its activist roots.
“Reggae music wasn’t easy back in the day,” she says. “It appealed to people that were oppressed and suffering. Bob Marley and Peter Tosh got beaten up. Bob Marley almost got killed. It wasn’t fun and games.
“I brought Frankie Paul to San Diego, and he was onstage with only one leg,” she adds. “All those guys died poor.”
The evolution of reggae being repackaged into the safe, apolitical, whitewashed version we hear today didn’t happen overnight, but it has been a long time coming. Eric Clapton is one of the earliest and perhaps most egregious examples of cultural appropriation in reggae. In 1974, the rich British musician made a bigger hit out of “I Shot the Sheriff” than Bob Marley did, reaping bigger rewards despite having never experienced injustice in Trenchtown firsthand. A more ambiguous case might be made of The Police, who adopted a reggae-rock sound but arguably showed more respect to Jamaican artists, having toured with the likes of Steel Pulse and Burning Spear. Shaggy also gave praise to The Police for bringing reggae to a wider audience, but that also might seem dubious coming from an artist whose best defense was “it wasn’t me.”
Cheatom says that reggae’s similar to other forms of Black music, in that eventually white people will want to take a piece of it.
“Bob Marley said ‘who feels it, knows it,’” she says. “But it happens just like with hip-hop or jazz—it gets colonized. You have to really feel it, and there are even Jamaican artists who have lost it. It’s white privilege. They took it, and that’s what they play on the radio.”
A look at the Billboard reggae chart this week illustrates how far we’ve strayed from the genre’s roots. The number one album is by Jamaican dancehall artist Romain Virgo, but the rest of the chart is occupied by artists such as South Carolina’s The Dubplates, Virginia reggae rock group SOJA and something called Tropical House Cruises to Jamaica that features, of all people, Ed Sheeran. There’s no question that reggae has a broad appeal, but if someone wants to go about making reggae music in a culturally sensitive manner, Cheatom has some advice worth heeding.
“Always know the history,” she says. “If they’re really serious, they should go to Jamaica. To get that vibe back is really hard if you don’t have that grounding, that spirituality. Know your roots. Don’t play watered-down music. Music is the weapon of the future.”
I can’t claim to know the intent of a band such as Slightly Stoopid or Pepper, and they may very well have the best of intentions. But as far as whether it’s genuine homage or cultural appropriation, I’ll paraphrase former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart: I might not be able to easily define cultural appropriation, but I know it when I see it.
Modern reggae has a cultural appropriation problem
