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Bob Marley called me 'yout' and changed my life forever
Requiem to a lyrical genius
BY CHRIS DEHRING
Thursday, February 10, 2011
WE don't always know why destiny brings us to the paths we take, or the people it propels into our lives. I never formally met Bob Marley. But from the fateful moment of our first encounter, Bob was, and is, an integral part of my life and my identity as a Jamaican.
He had only ever referred to me as 'yout'. And that was on the few privileged occasions when as a young "baller" I got to play scrimmage with him up at Buttercup Park in Mona where I grew up.
Chris Dehring
1/3
"Seeco" Patterson, percussionist in the Wailers band, lived in Mona, and Bob and he would sometimes play football there when he was home from touring. And the extent of Bob's conversation with me, "Yout, yout, pass di ball" is a cherished memory embedded forever in the being of one who idolised him.
Yes, that's right. Bob spoke to me...literally. Even if it was just an admonition for 'hogging' the football and dribbling too much as I tended to do. For that, I consider myself one of the privileged few. I loved his music. I loved his image. I loved what he stood for. As a child growing up in the 70s in Jamaica, Bob was, and still is, a legend. He is, and will forever be, the king.
Aside from his music, it was football that always kept bringing me into proximity. His other good friend "Gilly Dread" played for Real Mona as I did and whenever he was in town, Bob would regularly be on the sidelines at major league matches. As a youngster anxious to perform in front of his idol, I always kept an eye out for that red BMW driving into the park on match day.
And when it purred into view, my pre-match nerves and butterflies approached heart attack proportion. I always looked to see where he was standing in the crowd and made a conscious effort to try not to embarrass myself with a bad pass or worse, "pick up a salad" in front of him. Well, at least I tried. But you have to understand. This was Bob. And we were in the presence of a living legend. Who could perform under such immense pressure?!
In those days, my young life seemed to revolve around his next concert or the release of his next album or "Forty-five" (yes, I bought vinyl records in those days, not CDs or mp3 downloads). And I bought them all; Burning, Catch a Fire, Natty Dread, Rastaman Vibration, among other iconic works of the lyrical genius, often sacrificing lunch money to obtain them. His words and music were life and sustenance.
Of course I remember all his concerts I was fortunate enough to attend. The 1978 One Love Peace Concert -- in my view the greatest show in history -- was in the middle of the Kerry Packer Super-Test at Sabina Park. My father could not understand why I was leaving 'Bina in the middle of the game to walk to the National Stadium for a concert. After all, he knew my love of cricket and here it was that I was pulling up stumps early on Lawrence 'Yagga' Rowe, Michael Holding and other legendary West Indies cricketers at the height of their prowess.
That concert turned out to be a poignant and precipitous moment in our history...not just our musical history... all Jamaican history. Of course, it helped that Dennis Lillee had ended Yagga's innings early (another idol on my sporting side but that's another story) with a bouncer to the head, so what was there to watch at Sabina anyway!
I remember that staggering moment when Bob called our political leaders, Michael Manley and Eddie Seaga on stage and issued the proclamation of what has become our anthem of Jamaican unity...One love, one heart, let's get together and feel alright...I remember the atmosphere, the vibes and this magical moment that I shared with my friends and twenty thousand fellow Jamaicans in the stadium that unforgettable evening. Surely now Jamaica would rise above its pain and shortcomings and fulfill its potential after such an amazing display. Yes, Bob was king. And as king he was commanding his subjects, Michael and Eddie counted among them, to unite for a cause.
As an enthusiastic 15-year-old, I didn't quite know who 'Bucky' Marshall or 'Claudie' Massop were to fully appreciate the real significance of the moment.
And my experience of Trench Town and Tivoli was limited mainly to playing football there and hanging out with my fellow 'ballers'. But I was truly inspired.
And I went everywhere I could to soak up the music and musings of this great man; his mystical performance at the first ever Sunsplash in Montego Bay; his release of the Survival album at the National Arena in honour of the International Year of the Rasta Child (Peter Tosh unveiled his famous 'M16' guitar there too); and an awesome time at the National Stadium with Stevie Wonder.
But I especially remember Bob's highly charged and miraculous performance at National Heroes Park just a few nights after the assassination attempt on his life. How dare these people try to take our king from us? Despite the obvious dangers and extremely hostile political environment, I would not be denied. I had to be there, downtown, showing those who had tried to end his life that the movement that was Bob could never be stopped by a mere bullet. I remember when he sang, arm bandaged from the gunshot wound... "Woman hold her head and cry as her son had been shot down in the street and died..." and the special meaning so soon after his brush with death. Here was an exceptional man who despite it all and the natural fear for his own life, would not be denied the place in history he was destined for. Here indeed was a hero.
Not that my parents approved of me going to these shows, or frankly, even approved of Bob. Quite the opposite, in fact. I would have to wait until they had gone to bed to sneak out of the house to go to a Bob concert. My father once gave me his clearest thoughts on the topic when he unceremoniously ripped a poster of Bob (which had come pre-packaged in the Kaya album) from my bedroom wall and ordered that never again should a picture of this 'dutty' Rastaman appear in his house.
You see, parents in those days feared one thing, that their sons would 'tun Rasta', smoke ganja and become 'wutless'. Bob's immense influence and popularity was terrifying to them. He inspired us to wear our 'ites', green and gold belts and tams (only when I'd left the house of course) and Rasta was definitely cool. I went to 'JahLove' dances and occasionally if you got lucky, Bob would put in an appearance. Mickey Mowatt (brother of Judy Mowatt of I-Three fame) who controlled JahLoveMuzik lived in Mona too (also played with me for Real Mona) and my friends and I would spend hours at his house copying music to cassettes (thankfully technology had moved on from just vinyl records). I even remember getting some original Bob recordings, some that I don't think have ever been published -- or at least I've never seen them on any album. How I wish I could find those tapes now!
Looking back and remembering how influential Bob was, I totally understand my parents' fear of him. But like the world over, they would eventually come around, and I even heard my dad arguing with one of his friends a few years before he passed away, about how much of a prophet Bob was and how he should be made a national hero. My father had by then become a Bob aficionado; My! How the world turns!
But that was due in large part to Bob's immense popularity globally. He made us all proud to be Jamaican everywhere in the world we went. It didn't matter whether you were in Sydney, Mumbai or Timbuktu. Mention that you were Jamaican and the only point of reference for further conversation...was Bob. In fact, at any T-shirt stand in any city in the world, there are only two images that you are guaranteed to find -- Bob and Che (Guevara) -- the unmistakable global images of revolution and change. Believe me, I've checked.
His popularity almost 30 years after his death speaks volumes. Drop a 'Bob' during a party and even today's youngsters who were born years well after his death break out singing word for word, 'Get up Stand Up', or 'Buffalo Soldier" as if they were the latest release from Kartel or Mavado (dare I use their names in the same article!). Internationally, Bob still outsells any other Jamaican artiste and is loved globally even in death. To foreigners, he is Bob Marley — international reggae icon. To us, he was, and is, simply...Bob.
I remember that devastating announcement and the hollow feeling it left in me.
It was May 11, 1981 and I was working at my first job as a clerk at Island Life Insurance Company for the princely sum of J$5,200 per annum! The radio announcer interrupted the music to tell me that the king was dead. Knowing what he had meant to me, my friends called and offered condolences as if he was my relative. I couldn't face the funeral at the National Arena. I wanted to remember him as I knew him...smiling, playing ball, smoking a 'spliff' and sitting on the grass after a game of football; chanting down Babylon one more time on a stage.
I was going off to college that year and I took with me his music and his message. And of course, since I was moving out of my parent's house and could do what I wanted in my own dorm room, I also took his poster.
Yes, on his 66th 'earth strong' Bob and I have come a long way together...almost 50 years now. I never formally met him. But he referred to me as 'yout', just like every other innocuous Jamaican youngster whom he inspired at the time. But he spoke to me. And his voice still reverberates through my being, my life, my identity...as a Jamaican.
Chris Dehring is currently the chairman of LIME Jamaica, one of the country's leading telecommunications providers. A respected Jamaican business executive, entrepreneur and a retired but active athlete, he was a member of Jamaica's national football and cricket teams at under 19 level, and is a passionate fan of reggae and dancehall music.
Read more: http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/...#ixzz1DaTKPwaY
Requiem to a lyrical genius
BY CHRIS DEHRING
Thursday, February 10, 2011
WE don't always know why destiny brings us to the paths we take, or the people it propels into our lives. I never formally met Bob Marley. But from the fateful moment of our first encounter, Bob was, and is, an integral part of my life and my identity as a Jamaican.
He had only ever referred to me as 'yout'. And that was on the few privileged occasions when as a young "baller" I got to play scrimmage with him up at Buttercup Park in Mona where I grew up.
Chris Dehring
1/3
"Seeco" Patterson, percussionist in the Wailers band, lived in Mona, and Bob and he would sometimes play football there when he was home from touring. And the extent of Bob's conversation with me, "Yout, yout, pass di ball" is a cherished memory embedded forever in the being of one who idolised him.
Yes, that's right. Bob spoke to me...literally. Even if it was just an admonition for 'hogging' the football and dribbling too much as I tended to do. For that, I consider myself one of the privileged few. I loved his music. I loved his image. I loved what he stood for. As a child growing up in the 70s in Jamaica, Bob was, and still is, a legend. He is, and will forever be, the king.
Aside from his music, it was football that always kept bringing me into proximity. His other good friend "Gilly Dread" played for Real Mona as I did and whenever he was in town, Bob would regularly be on the sidelines at major league matches. As a youngster anxious to perform in front of his idol, I always kept an eye out for that red BMW driving into the park on match day.
And when it purred into view, my pre-match nerves and butterflies approached heart attack proportion. I always looked to see where he was standing in the crowd and made a conscious effort to try not to embarrass myself with a bad pass or worse, "pick up a salad" in front of him. Well, at least I tried. But you have to understand. This was Bob. And we were in the presence of a living legend. Who could perform under such immense pressure?!
In those days, my young life seemed to revolve around his next concert or the release of his next album or "Forty-five" (yes, I bought vinyl records in those days, not CDs or mp3 downloads). And I bought them all; Burning, Catch a Fire, Natty Dread, Rastaman Vibration, among other iconic works of the lyrical genius, often sacrificing lunch money to obtain them. His words and music were life and sustenance.
Of course I remember all his concerts I was fortunate enough to attend. The 1978 One Love Peace Concert -- in my view the greatest show in history -- was in the middle of the Kerry Packer Super-Test at Sabina Park. My father could not understand why I was leaving 'Bina in the middle of the game to walk to the National Stadium for a concert. After all, he knew my love of cricket and here it was that I was pulling up stumps early on Lawrence 'Yagga' Rowe, Michael Holding and other legendary West Indies cricketers at the height of their prowess.
That concert turned out to be a poignant and precipitous moment in our history...not just our musical history... all Jamaican history. Of course, it helped that Dennis Lillee had ended Yagga's innings early (another idol on my sporting side but that's another story) with a bouncer to the head, so what was there to watch at Sabina anyway!
I remember that staggering moment when Bob called our political leaders, Michael Manley and Eddie Seaga on stage and issued the proclamation of what has become our anthem of Jamaican unity...One love, one heart, let's get together and feel alright...I remember the atmosphere, the vibes and this magical moment that I shared with my friends and twenty thousand fellow Jamaicans in the stadium that unforgettable evening. Surely now Jamaica would rise above its pain and shortcomings and fulfill its potential after such an amazing display. Yes, Bob was king. And as king he was commanding his subjects, Michael and Eddie counted among them, to unite for a cause.
As an enthusiastic 15-year-old, I didn't quite know who 'Bucky' Marshall or 'Claudie' Massop were to fully appreciate the real significance of the moment.
And my experience of Trench Town and Tivoli was limited mainly to playing football there and hanging out with my fellow 'ballers'. But I was truly inspired.
And I went everywhere I could to soak up the music and musings of this great man; his mystical performance at the first ever Sunsplash in Montego Bay; his release of the Survival album at the National Arena in honour of the International Year of the Rasta Child (Peter Tosh unveiled his famous 'M16' guitar there too); and an awesome time at the National Stadium with Stevie Wonder.
But I especially remember Bob's highly charged and miraculous performance at National Heroes Park just a few nights after the assassination attempt on his life. How dare these people try to take our king from us? Despite the obvious dangers and extremely hostile political environment, I would not be denied. I had to be there, downtown, showing those who had tried to end his life that the movement that was Bob could never be stopped by a mere bullet. I remember when he sang, arm bandaged from the gunshot wound... "Woman hold her head and cry as her son had been shot down in the street and died..." and the special meaning so soon after his brush with death. Here was an exceptional man who despite it all and the natural fear for his own life, would not be denied the place in history he was destined for. Here indeed was a hero.
Not that my parents approved of me going to these shows, or frankly, even approved of Bob. Quite the opposite, in fact. I would have to wait until they had gone to bed to sneak out of the house to go to a Bob concert. My father once gave me his clearest thoughts on the topic when he unceremoniously ripped a poster of Bob (which had come pre-packaged in the Kaya album) from my bedroom wall and ordered that never again should a picture of this 'dutty' Rastaman appear in his house.
You see, parents in those days feared one thing, that their sons would 'tun Rasta', smoke ganja and become 'wutless'. Bob's immense influence and popularity was terrifying to them. He inspired us to wear our 'ites', green and gold belts and tams (only when I'd left the house of course) and Rasta was definitely cool. I went to 'JahLove' dances and occasionally if you got lucky, Bob would put in an appearance. Mickey Mowatt (brother of Judy Mowatt of I-Three fame) who controlled JahLoveMuzik lived in Mona too (also played with me for Real Mona) and my friends and I would spend hours at his house copying music to cassettes (thankfully technology had moved on from just vinyl records). I even remember getting some original Bob recordings, some that I don't think have ever been published -- or at least I've never seen them on any album. How I wish I could find those tapes now!
Looking back and remembering how influential Bob was, I totally understand my parents' fear of him. But like the world over, they would eventually come around, and I even heard my dad arguing with one of his friends a few years before he passed away, about how much of a prophet Bob was and how he should be made a national hero. My father had by then become a Bob aficionado; My! How the world turns!
But that was due in large part to Bob's immense popularity globally. He made us all proud to be Jamaican everywhere in the world we went. It didn't matter whether you were in Sydney, Mumbai or Timbuktu. Mention that you were Jamaican and the only point of reference for further conversation...was Bob. In fact, at any T-shirt stand in any city in the world, there are only two images that you are guaranteed to find -- Bob and Che (Guevara) -- the unmistakable global images of revolution and change. Believe me, I've checked.
His popularity almost 30 years after his death speaks volumes. Drop a 'Bob' during a party and even today's youngsters who were born years well after his death break out singing word for word, 'Get up Stand Up', or 'Buffalo Soldier" as if they were the latest release from Kartel or Mavado (dare I use their names in the same article!). Internationally, Bob still outsells any other Jamaican artiste and is loved globally even in death. To foreigners, he is Bob Marley — international reggae icon. To us, he was, and is, simply...Bob.
I remember that devastating announcement and the hollow feeling it left in me.
It was May 11, 1981 and I was working at my first job as a clerk at Island Life Insurance Company for the princely sum of J$5,200 per annum! The radio announcer interrupted the music to tell me that the king was dead. Knowing what he had meant to me, my friends called and offered condolences as if he was my relative. I couldn't face the funeral at the National Arena. I wanted to remember him as I knew him...smiling, playing ball, smoking a 'spliff' and sitting on the grass after a game of football; chanting down Babylon one more time on a stage.
I was going off to college that year and I took with me his music and his message. And of course, since I was moving out of my parent's house and could do what I wanted in my own dorm room, I also took his poster.
Yes, on his 66th 'earth strong' Bob and I have come a long way together...almost 50 years now. I never formally met him. But he referred to me as 'yout', just like every other innocuous Jamaican youngster whom he inspired at the time. But he spoke to me. And his voice still reverberates through my being, my life, my identity...as a Jamaican.
Chris Dehring is currently the chairman of LIME Jamaica, one of the country's leading telecommunications providers. A respected Jamaican business executive, entrepreneur and a retired but active athlete, he was a member of Jamaica's national football and cricket teams at under 19 level, and is a passionate fan of reggae and dancehall music.
Read more: http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/...#ixzz1DaTKPwaY
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