1000 Words Isn't Enough

Is anyone else struggling to keep to the 1000 word maximum? Granted, I can be a chatterbox (not literally, but the writer-equivalent to that). But somehow, one thousand words for my piece seems to scratch the surface of my topic (How to Buy Reggae). I can't wait to get some feedback tomorrow. This is my first draft and I haven't done any heavy editing, so I'm all ears and eyes. Although I feel like my idea is simple enough, clearly I still need to trim the fat if I can't fit it within the limit.

Main Topic: Dancehall Reggae (as narration, commentary, and storytelling)
Organizing Principle: Plotlines and Characters
Client: Vibe magazine

How to Buy Reggae: A Guide to the Unknown
by LaDonna LaGuerre

Reggae.

What five words come to mind first? Bob Marley and the Wailers?

Bob bares the responsibility of representing a basic, mainstream image of reggae—a genre largely understood as a one-dimensional continuation of drums. He croons softly in the backdrop of tourism commercials. His name always comes up first when asked, 'Hey, do you like reggae?" The natural response: "Yeah, Bob Marley's cool."

We knew reggae as jolly, positive music that seeped out of Jamaica in the 1960s, irrigated throughout the world, yes, thanks to Bob's legendary music. Unfortunately, for Bob, reggae has moved on. While peace music and slave songs will never die, modern subgenres, like dancehall, infuse and entrance a new generation of music lovers. Reggae got over dub plates and steel drums

and got into riddim riders, DJs, and dance moves, creating a fresh, 21^st-century Jamaican sound.

One problem: Dancehall can boggle the mind. Fast-flowing rhymes, a clamorous bass line, Jamaican patois, and rich, allegorical lyrics can turn off the layperson listener, or even the traditional reggae fan, from getting into this genre of music—too many barriers. A true dancehall fanatic can attest to its exclusive, almost cult-like feel.

Vibe knocks the wall down between hardcore dancehall and the average person with an interest in, and possibly an intimidation of, reggae. Before you go fishing for download sites or hit up your local music shop, read on. Learn how to buy reggae (and, maybe, how to understand the music you are buying, to which you'd be listening nonstop after pressing play on the first track).

Now you know: reggae used to mean Bob Marley and now takes on an inclusive and more contemporary definition. It's hip, energetic, and, cool—but who knew also complex? Your dancehall lesson does not end with a historical timeline.

Making your dancehall purchase always starts with format selection: DJ mix or an artist recording? The novice listener generally feels more comfortable with the latter; with experience, you move on to understand the significance and pleasure of the DJ mix—deejays sometimes have greater impact on the dancehall scene than the artist, who often cannot gain popularity without them (tabled for lesson two).

Now, to the important questions that will define your purchase:

Are you feeling tough?

Think you're a bad ass bitch?

Depressed?

Love pussy?

Need something familiar?

Hate your government?

Remember, complexity and dancehall go hand in hand. Reggae consumers do not just buy reggae—they often invest in the messages, points of view, or paradigms of the artist writing and performing the lyrics. A tough guy will buy a different type of dancehall than someone wanting to overthrow the government. Dancehall tells stories of the multi-faceted Jamaican experience, one that could involve everything: from street violence, poverty, marijuana, and self-pride, to Jah (a God-like figure), women, humor, and homophobia. These songs speak to all those plots, and others, constructing vibrant Jamaican characters (and caricatures)—which needs analysis and consideration before making a move to checkout.

Plot: Mi Bust Mi Gun

Character: The Rude Bwoy

Back in the day, in a famous reggae classic, the artist tells you: "Six million ways to die—choose one," followed up with a demonic laugh and a head-bobbing beat. Buying Badman brings you to the dangerous streets of Jamaica, the garrison, like a musical version of The Wire. Sample Badman lyrics: Bawl, Mama, bawl now. Hey Mama, buy a wreath for your son, 'cause he fucked around, now he's gonna die by my gun. And now you're gonna cry when you come, when you see his body on the ground.

Plot: Catfight

Character: The Bad Gyal

For a female to make it in a male-dominated profession, she must find an edge to be a cut-above the rest. She needs to claw her way for respect and recognition from her peers. So what if her claws dig into the faces of fellow female artists? A Bad Gyal purchase, a lyrical catfight, not only uncovers the competitive nature of the dancehall industry, but also the daily reality for Jamaicans who compete on the island for basic resources and life necessities. Sample Bad Gyal lyrics: Excuse me, miss, make me teach you some tricks. Just like a doggy, me mek him sit. Gal yuh man a lust after my kibbles and bits, 'cause me have the tactics fi ease his spirits. Watch me—make me upgrade yuh man. Me will sen him bak in better condition. When I'm done with him he'll be my likkle Superman. A nuh my fault make yuh man lust afta me.

Plot: Depression and the Black Man

Character: The Deep Brother

Peel away Jamaica's shiny façade of sand, beaches, Hedonism, Spring Break, and honeymoons and what do you find? Well, after the weed—what do you find? Shanty towns with tin roof houses. Parents working hard like slaves to feed and educate children. Frustration, poverty, and depression. Listening to the Deep Brother talk about his hard times requires empathy, passion, and possibly a drive to change the world. Sample Deep Brother lyrics: Exercise every day and I'm still not fit. My kids are hungry and I ain't got shit. What I'm gonna do, what I'm gonna do? What would you do?

[Note: I want to continue my classification to touch upon each of the question defining questions above, but last check I was at 984 words, so I'm forced to stop with a clear, finalized piece.]

(Conclusion)

Almost out of the first 21^st-century decade and, finally, dancehall has omnipresence. It's everywhere—and I don't mean Brooklyn, NY. Once upon a time, reggae acted as a backdrop to fruity cocktails, beach trips, or as the faceless bong mate. Today in the U.S., reggae blasts out of commercial radio stations, saves the night at a typical hip-hop club venue with patrons don't dance, and recognized by cable television conglomerates as viable sources of new content. Most importantly, reggae can now be a part of your music collection, chosen deliberately, carefully, and with confidence. Tomorrow, it can be pumping out of your iPod headphones.

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I see you bubbling all over the place -- you're yeasty, and I think it's grand!