The Even Greater Tokyo Region

Reggae Nights

I have never liked to talk about my musical tastes much, unless it is about how awesome Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder are. Most of the conversations about musical tastes just end up with people saying something very similar to "I listen to lots of different stuff." Of course you do! We don't expect you to listen to one style of music, douche bag! Just be a little honest and tell me what you really think!

I mean, sure, I appreciate the classics like most people do. But mostly, I am about the reggae. I know, I realise that I might not look like it. ("wait Ruben, I thought you were a geek?")

That's my point. I love the music. I feel reggae has been totally overrun by stereotypes, in the way that hip hop had been 10 years ago. But this is no time to wave my angry old-man fist at the media; I was going to a reggae concert this weekend.

Despite the growing popularity of gangsta-hip-hop influenced "dancehall" music infiltrating the genre of reggae, there is a large group of reggae artists who are staying true to the reggae style, and one of these artists came to Amsterdam last weekend. The concert's main act was for Richie Spice, a singer whose style is between dancehall and reggae, but much more on the reggae side. I hadn't been to a reggae concert since getting to Holland, so I decided to go despite:
A) Not knowing anybody else who was going (Which isn't so surprising since I have no friends)
B) Where the concert was
C) 25 Euro entry fee
D) Not planning to drink (or, you know... the fact it was a reggae concert)
E) Not knowing what time I would get home the next morning.

Yes, I was going purely for the music.

I arrived early, despite getting lost and finding some Scandinavians to somehow find the venue. Apparently Dutch people like to go out to places that no-one can find. It was in some industrial outskirt of Amsterdam, in a giant indoor beach-venue (Yes, apparently the weather is so bad in Holland that the beach is better inside).

But I went inside, 25 Euros poorer, and went to get rid of my jacket and bag. A 5 Euro fee, plus a 5 Euro bond. Seriously, Dutch people will charge you any chance they get. Once rid of my bag, I was about to buy a drink with the little money I still had. I passed the toilets where I saw a sign:

"Toilets- .50cents
allnight- 2 Euro"

Seriously, Dutch people will charge you any chance that they get.

In New Zealand (Or Japan, for that matter), "All you can piss" means something else. So, I decided not to get ripped off and get pissed and piss. Besides, I was here for the music, right?

The DJ swung violently between pure reggae and violent dance-hall music. I guess that is normal these days. Finally the first act came on- some girl singer with two back up singers. ( I guess in case she got injured.) They played some under-appreciated songs, although she started every song with long "ooooooh"'s.

The second act was a guy called Norrisman. He wore a camouflage suit. I agree with comedian Dimitri Martin about this sensitive subject:

"One of my favorite clothing patterns is camouflage. Because when you're in the woods it makes you blend in. But when you're not it does just the opposite. It's like "hey, there's an asshole."

I guess the best thing I can say about him was that I liked his energy. He had so much. At times, he was just spazzing-out all over the stage. He was also a perfectionist. At the beginning of his set, he said "This is my first time playing with this band. They are doing a great job." I am sure he regretting saying that. Ever single song from there on, he made the band start over. I must have heard the familiar reggae drumming start 50 times.

During an interlude, he pulled a girl onto the stage. She was a black girl with expensive-looking dreadlocks. Norrisman said to the crowd:

"I am her Bob Marley. And she is my Rita Marley. Do you know what that means?"

I wanted to shout out: "That you will cheat on her several times and make a dozen illegitemate children?"

Of course, I did not want to die on the spot, so I said nothing. Then he asked the crowd if he could "take her to Jamacia." Really classy...

The next act was Chezidek. This guy was a class act. I mean, smooth as silk, with a voice that could melt butter. He played with the same band, and there were very few re-starts. I was familiar with a few songs of him, and heaing him, I wondered why he wasn't more well-known. Pure class.

Then came Richie Spice. (The first song on this video is his, and the 3rd one is Chezidek)



The band played a whole song while he was off-stage (I liked to imagine that he wasn't wearing pants yet). He played his songs, which I really like, but after the energy of Norrisman, and the pure class of Chezidek, I wasn't impressed. He couldn't sing his own high notes, leaving them to his lady-backup singer, and it sounded amateur-karoke-ish. At least I should be happy that he wasn't lip synching... right? Moreover, he looked bored on-stage. Seriously, his main dance-move was waving to the crowd exactly like how the Queen of England would do it. Maybe it was his first time to Amsterdam, and he had tried marijuana for the first time, and was too interested in the size of his hands to worry about his performance. Whatever, it wasn't very professional.

What I am going to say next, may be the only time in human history that this sentence has been uttered:
He didn't sound as good live.
It's amazing this is the first time anyone has said this considering the amazing technological advancements in sound recording where they can correct any slight mistake.

At the risk of severely impressing my parents, leading up to my birthday, I admit that I did not smoke "the herb", despite a lot of peer pressure. (If Richie Spice, all the other acts and the MC could be considered my peers.) Recently, an anti-smoking law has passed in Holland, so many venues now have smoking rooms. From outside, it looked like a dead fish-tank. People did bring it down onto the floor though, which smells strangely similar to marijuana flavoured insence, but it wasn't all good. People were smoking everything: Cigars, fags, and I swear some people were smoking used-car tyres.

At 4am, I had to think about going home. Thinking was all I could do. I had to wait until 7am to get the train, getting to bed at 8am. I had a lot of time to consider whether it was worth me going. I went purely for the music, and sadly, it wasn't enough.