A quick disclaimer before I go any further: I don't claim to know a damn thing about reggae/dancehall/etc. But then again, that makes SoulJazz Records' An England Story a perfect release for me to write about on this blog. Once or twice a year, my roommate Nate and I trade a shit ton of music with each other, basically catching up on what each of us managed to pick up over the past year. Anyway, I got this from him, and I'm definitely glad I did.
The story told by this compilation is one of mutual influence- Jamaican on English, English on Jamaican. It's one of respecting the elders of the genre while showcasing some rising stars. It's one of teenage artists performing to huge crowds at ages when most of us were in high school. Above all though, it's a story of a bunch of artists fighting for individuality in a widely typecast genre and succeeding.
The two disc compilation kicks off with the title track, performed by who I believe to be the only white artist involved, the aptly named YT. In exactly four minutes, YT basically tells the entire history of the British MC, namedropping fast chat icons like Papa Levi or Tippa Irie alongside crossover artists like Top Cat. For a beginner like myself, it's the equivalent of CliffNotes, and a great primer for the other artists still to come.
Once again, only having cursory knowledge of the genre, I knew that re-using beats (or "riddims") was a well known practice. However, when co-ed duo Suncycle's "Somebody" drops in, I was a little taken aback. The majority of American listeners will probably immediately recognize the beat from rapper Pitbull's 2004 hit "Culo," which was produced by Lil' Jon. This, however, begs the question: how exactly did Lil' Jon "produce" this song? I mean, obviously, he may have been behind the boards when Pitbull put his lyric down, and he DID shout a bunch on that track, but it really just shows how different the definition of "producing" is when considering reggae/dancehall and American hip-hop. In the English tradition, it seems to tilt a little more towards the workman angle. In the American sense, it implies more creation on the part of the producer. Once again, I could be completely wrong with all of this. Be patient with me.
This leads me to one of my main frustrations with this compilation. There aren't any credits for any of the artists anywhere to be found. Therefore, the only way I can judge if a song is one of the ones culled from the 1980's is by the production style. Does it sound a little older? It might be from the 80s. However, all I can go by is speculation. The non-chronological track order only adds to the confusion.
If anything, this compilation serves well in pointing people towards specific subsets of the genre they might be interested in. It's in no way perfect. Some songs are repetative to the point of annoyance, while others straight up crackle with energy and vitality (Skibadee's "Tika Toc" being a prime example of this).
Things about dancehall/reggae/grime culture I have come to really admire due to this compilation that I was not aware of before:
- The sports-team like interplay between different soundsystems (ie: Tippa Irie almost being "traded" between different crews early on in his career)
- The lovingly paternal attitude a lot of the dancehall old guard hold towards the grime artists.
- The willing and encouraged cannibalization of the genre for future songs. The best example being the jungle/drum and bass reimagining of Top Cat's laid back, acoustic led "Love Mi Ses."
Whew. I didn't mean to talk (or write) your ears off, but this was a two disc affair!
-Erik
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