October 8, 2009
Greetings from the Gaza...?
Once Upon a Time...
My behind was excited by the radio ads that were being shoved down my throat by the urban radio stations on this fair isle. I haven't a clue as to why I was that hyped, but I was very interested in seeing Bounty Killa and Vybz Kartel on the same stage. I wanted to be there to witness the fire ceasing, or ceasing of fires or firing ceases. (wait what?)
Cease Fire promised to be the biggest concert that Trinidad had seen in a while, and the promoters, Jacho Entertainment, spared no expense promoting the event. I use this word loosely because other than the radio, which I am forced to listen to in the car, any evidence of promotion seemed to come directly from other people, who hear from so-and-so that whatshisface goin an be dey and which part to pick up de hottest gears to look bess in de concert.
Right well... I stake my claim, because I have this strange fascination with Jamaican performers. There must be some kind of juju they work on the rest of the world, because they often sport faces only mothers would love, speak in tongues, and have some of the most vile and illogical lyrics the world has ever known. Yet, trust de "I"... go in any club, nay the streets even, and you will find any Trini between the ages of 13 - 30 mouthing the words and twitching their waists to the most recent of the spate of "chunes" imported directly from yard. (ummmm.... yuh gyul included)
Anywho, I look to rally my squad and by the time the dust settled there was not one bredrin in sight. Their words still ringin in my ears though:
"But what a nice little gyul like you want to go dat guntafest for?"
"Make sure to take yuh bullet proof vest eh."
And my personal favorite from my sig. oth. "You think is a joke, a gyul like you in dey, I go hadda be beating men offa your back wid a stick."
If there is anything to be said about me, I shall never be detered from my goals. (Also known as pigheadedness)
FLASH FORWARD to the night of the concert. I had been banned from wearing short pants, but I compensated by wearing skin-tight everything. Now, yuh gyul was already in a sour mood, because Trinidad and Tobago immigration refused to let the Killa in. Prior arrests, drug importation? What? What? Come to find out that the promoter didn't organize the proper work-visa, or somebody bad mind or some shit so. (Strike one)
So via radio updates, we discovered that we would be getting an impotent version of something that was supposed to be a clash. Dais like Muhummad Ali supposed to fight Joe Frazier, but Frazier eh make it, so is Ali in de ring by he self, floatin like a butterfly... but he eh have no target, so he nuh really stingin like no bee. Dais arright, I guh take Kartel in all he glory. De man preety... oooooo eeeee, if he only sing to me in a room (lights off eh) dais it, ah get slaughter. I digress.
Sour wasn't really sour because all of a sudden, I hear dat Anthony B get added to the ticket. And I'ma gyul love ah Anthony B. Although, something wasn't right wid dat move eh Jacho, because I know Anthony doh really war wit no one.
Anyways... backstage passes, so we run through the backstage entrance. Well considering the demographic of the concert, imagine my shock and horror when I see one security guard wit a wand givin de fellas a cursory swipe, and winkin at de gyuls as dey pass through wid not even a lil feel up. Dem doh know ooman does hol dey man weapon fuh dem and hand it over when dey inside de place? (strike two)
Well up to now I doh even know which part backstage was, VIP was or general admission was, because it had gates connecting all three areas and nobody manning them. I doh understand de distinction, because I eh get no preferred parkin, nutting to wet my throat... my only consolation was the knowledge that if I did push my way through the wall of mampies surrounding de stage, I coulda get some ah de sweat offa Kartel balls. Cuz he pants did buss in front, some time during his 15 minute performance. Yeah, you heard me... FIFTEEN MINUTES. After which, Anthony B was no where to be found. As for the representatives of the Gully side, who had promised to represent even though the warlord wasn't there (Future Fambo, Einstein) we saw of them neither hide, nor hair. (strike three... we're out)
I was so hurt. If I had pay money... Ah woulda wanted it back.
Dregs? Maka Diamond is positive proof that money could really buy beauty, and bless to the local performers who came out, including KMC who did mash up de place. I real glad I didn't buy a new kit, or get the hair did for this purported guntafest. Actually it was kinda gunta-less. Quite frankly, I wasn't harassed by anyone and I was actually HOPING for a riot after all dat bad treatment the patrons received.
And in conclusion, I think we should really keep the faith, and hope that Trinidadians ain'treally followin some people who live on a rock in the northern Caribee, yet claim to know what it's like to live in the highly contested strip of land between Israel and Palestine, which has seen hundreds of years of war and devastation, brought about by a feud of Biblical proportions.
Labels: Bounty Killa, Concert, Dancehall, Gaza, Gully, Gunta, Trinidad, Vybez Kartel
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