Chapter 9: "Righteous People"

Henry K.

Henry K.

Seductions because righteousness govern the world.

Broadcasting live and direct from the rolling red hills on the outskirts of Kingston, Jamaica.

From a magical place at the intersection of words, sound, and power, the red light is on.

Your dial is set the frequency in tune to the Rootsland podcast.

Stories that are music to your ears.

Hey, Brian.

What's up, madoofs?

Everything good?

Hey, yo, Tex.

What's happening, boss man?

Long time.

Haven't seen you in a while.

Hey, Henry, this is my breadrin, my friend Brian.

This is my bread.

And Brian.

Brian from Colorado.

What's up, brother?

This is Henry from Ross.

You mean Henry from Ross records, the intern?

Yes, the very same Henry from Ross.

I told you we'd meet again.

You definitely did.

You said that.

How do you know Tex?

Everyone knows Tex.

This is the singer youth I told you about, Brian.

Anytime you two link up.

Murder in the place.

Brian's the singer you wanted me to link with?

Well, Tex, you're late to the party.

Um, excuse me, Henry.

Oh, come.

You don't want to introduce my dear friend Romy?

He just walked through the door, not even 30 seconds.

I noticed this becoming a recurring team.

With, you know, recurring theme.

Like, I don't want people them know about me.

Honey, the only recurring theme is your drama.

Hello, Brian.

Nice to meet you.

I'm Romy.

Romy, nice to meet you.

Everything good?

You can chat Patois.

Yeah, we can chat a little.

You know, I'm done.

Hey.

Or even, like, he's got to chat.

We've got to chat a little bit.

Make it nice, Henry.

Your friend Brian have a nice voice.

And him can sing.

Yes, man, he's the real singer.

The real thing, you know?

Let's go and party and have some good vibes.

Have a good time, you know?

We went down to the beach where Tex handed Brian a large, perfectly rolled spliff.

Brian crouched down to light it up and cupped his hands to protect the match from the gusty ocean breeze.

He drew in the thick ganja smoke, let it rest in his mouth, pretended to swish it around like it was a cabernet at a wine tasting.

He exhaled with old school smoke rings and a nod of approval.

Oh, finally, a boom draw.

I've been burning pure bushweed from the other day.

Some good stuff.

Brian had met Tex the same way as most of us had in New Kingston.

A random encounter at one of the hotels or bars while visiting the island.

Although random encounters with Tex were seldom random, as the spliff burned away, I slowly realized that neither was this meeting.

And just as the picture was starting to come into focus, the high grade was making me drift out of focus.

Excuse me while I light my spliff.

Oh God, I need to take a whiff.

Most of my hanging with Tex was limited to late nights within the quiet confines of the Indies hotel.

I'd seldom be out on Holborn Road on Texas corner, where he would be holding court, leaning up against a zinc fence under the shade tree next to ja ds, drinkin cigarettes, doll like a modern day fagan from a Dickens novel.

He was flanked on both sides by young ragamuffins.

He employed his runners.

They would dart in and out of the street, handing off hundred dollar bags of ganja to anxious customers who would then speed off in their luxury cars.

Some of his crew were homeless, others sent out into the streets by their parents to earn money, not even caring what their child did to make it.

Tex took these castaways under his wing, trained them if they wanted an education.

He made sure they went to school, had books and uniforms.

The same uniforms they would still be wearing as they juggled his weed after class.

It's true that text was not helping anyone out of purely altruistic reasons.

Using school kids to sell weed is illegal and immoral at best.

But is it any different than the underage labor used to build name brand cell phones or stitch designer clothing?

From an outside perspective, it would be easy for me to pass judgment on the morality of the situation.

But from an inside view, I realized that for the children in Texas crew, this would be the closest thing that any of them would ever have to a real family.

These, the innocent victims, the forgotten.

Most of them warm, intelligent, and inexplicably still hopeful despite the lack of opportunities they'll get in life.

They were stronger than me.

I didn't have the strength to be around so many young people with so many problems that I couldn't do anything to fix more than hand over a few american dollars or buy a meal.

These feelings of helplessness kept me from wanting to spend any significant amount of time on Texas corner.

Out on these cruel streets, the same feelings that kept me away.

They were the ones that drew Brian in.

He relished spending time out on the road with Tex and his crew, hours upon hours, chilling with these youth, listening to the latest tunes, burning herb, talking.

Politics on the streets is where Brian felt most at home.

I once asked why he enjoyed hanging out there so much, what he got out of spending so much time around these youth.

He answered me with a Bob Marley quote based on biblical what has been hidden from the wise and the prudent shall be revealed to the babes and the sucklings.

It was a pretty good answer.

Shut me up.

Me got a big tale to tell so you better hang on it's coming from the uncle.

Liquid Brian.

Hanging on Texas Corner is where Brian went to college.

He was out there all day attending class and like any undergrad, formulating plans for his future.

He wasn't the only one.

So was Tex.

Especially when he listened to Brian sing along with the radio.

The way he flowed to the rhythm captured the reggae vibe to a tee.

The stunned reaction from the onlooking crew, amazed at how this american kid knew every word to every song and could sound just like the original singer, sometimes even better.

Well that got Tex thinking.

Was it fate that delivered Brian to his corner?

Was this some kind of sign?

Could the young singer be a way out for the tired gangster?

The chance to diversify, finally go legit?

Tex always said that gangsters didnt have time for dreams.

So before he can even contemplate the scenario, there was still one missing ingredient he needed to add to the mix.

Tex needed a frontman, a partner for this new venture, someone he liked and trusted, that had knowledge of the music business.

Someone that could walk in the doors that Tex opened with Brian's voice and can close the deals that followed.

I would later find out I was his mark from the day I checked into the indies.

Rastafari is real life, natural living.

It's all about life.

Reggae's Sunsplash concert is basically a less organized version of Woodstock with more weed and just about the same amount of love.

Its where die hard fans assemble from across the planet and come to the Caribbean for five sun drenched days and star filled nights of music.

Often its the quiet moments when the real magic occurs in between the conscious lyrics, pulsating bass lines and rock steady guitars.

People discover each other.

They discover themselves.

Sunsplash is an atmosphere where its impossible not to discover something.

It made me feel like I'm in the beginning of time again, you know?

On the final morning of the show, the sky gave the sunsplash audience a gift just as beautiful as the music.

After a short morning shower, the stars began to fade and one by one colors started to wake.

They were preparing us for what was about to come.

This was just an opening act.

The real star was still building up for his grand entrance.

Just below the horizon.

There were a few dozen other reggae fans by the water that stepped away from the show to enjoy the sunrise on the beach, Gregory Isaacs, the cool ruler, was strutting around on stage in a three piece suit and matching fedora.

He brought a sleepy crowd to their feet as the level of the music was in perfect balance with the gentle waves that were rocking on the shoreline.

Romy held onto my hand tight.

I would be leaving Jamaica soon and this was weighing heavy on both our minds.

Brian and Tex were burning their morning spliff and discussing getting some ackee and saltfish from one of the food stalls.

Without saying anything, Brian drew my attention over to a group of Israelis saying their morning brachas facing to the east towards Jerusalem.

And only a few yards away, some of the american Muslims were kneeling, also chanting prayers towards their holy land, Mecca.

They were also facing east.

Small groups of Jamaicans and tourists congregated with each other and you could already hear the debates and opinions on the best and worst performances.

The outfits, the booms and the busts of the week.

Friends, both old and new, were saying their goodbyes.

Until next year.

Its never been only the music that makes this festival so unique.

Its the people drawn to the music.

They are just as unique.

Spiritual warriors and adventurers looking to be part of a world that is connected on a deeper level and believe reggae music could help move humanity to this higher consciousness.

I'm sure back home in Japan or Germany or Israel or Iowa, they're considered eccentric outcasts.

I know many of their families friends don't understand their love for this strange, exotic music.

They're nervous about what their child is getting themselves into.

Well, what theyre into is a music and culture that celebrates love and life and equality.

A lifestyle that inspires people to understand the plight of the less fortunate and do something to solve it.

This is a movement that one day is going to make your child a better, more compassionate, more generous human.

I can say that because thats what its done for me and for so many others that I know.

Don't worry about a thing, because every little thing is going to be alright to choose.

You know, Henry, I've been talking to techs about moving down.

You know, go full time into music.

Why don't you make the move also?

You know, I mean, we need you as part of the team.

I mean, can't you feel like.

Can't you feel the vibe in the air, man?

Brian, of course I do.

There's no one who wants to be part of this more than me.

But I have responsibilities.

I have to go look for a job.

I owe my parents a fortune.

Even if I do work for one of the major labels back in New York.

I can still do my thing on the side.

I can still pursue music.

This is more than music, Henry.

You can't go back and work for Babylon.

You can't go work for some major label and waste everything you learn sitting in some corporate limbo.

Come on, man.

Don't get dramatic.

You can't go back.

The system isn't out to seal my soul.

It's just a job working for a record company.

They'll never give you the freedom once they have you.

Babylon will never let you go, man.

Yeah, like Bob Marley says, you can either be a small axe or a big tree.

You can either be a part of this system, or you can fight it.

Can't have both.

There's no middle ground.

You can't sit this one out.

You gotta decide for yourself, you know?

Choose a side.

My friend Brian was as passionate as ever.

And if his reasons for me moving to Jamaica weren't strong enough already, all I had to do was glance over at Romy for the closing argument.

The early morning sun reflected off the sea it gave her skin an angelic glow.

You know, I agree with Brian.

I think it's the right time for you to move to Jamaica.

I feel it's the right time to come a yard.

But anytime you're ready, Tex will be here for both of you.

On my first day at tough gone Bob, Andy told me not to let Jamaica fool me by her beauty.

He said that she would break my heart every time.

But every once in a while, if I was patient and lucky, this island would give me the most unforgettable moments of my life.

I'm sure this must have been what he was talking about.

If this was a movie, the credits would roll as the sweet sound of the cool ruler crooned from the sunsplash stage.

In the film version, I would stay here forever.

And maybe in some alternate universe, I did a place where Brian and Tex and Romy are still alive and happy.

But this was not Hollywood, and this was not my time.

Jamaica would have to wait for now.

Time alone.

Time will tell.

Think you're in heaven, but you're living in hell.

You know, over the next few years, I would lose touch.

Not only with these people around me, but of these memories.

I guess I was consciously blocking them out.

I didn't want to remember these feelings, these emotions weren't going to be helpful for the next part of my journey.

That morning in Montego Bay felt like ages ago.

When Brian told me that everyone in life has a decision to make for themselves.

Everyone has to choose a side, whether we want to be a big tree or a small axe.

Well, I did make up my mind and I took a job working for a pretty big tree.

In fact, it was the tallest tree in the forest.

And on fourth and Broadway in New York City, working for one of the music industry's most powerful moguls.

I was going to make my stand and build a name defending this tree with all my strength.

There was just one problem.

My old friend Bryan would soon turn up swinging a sharp and deadly blade.

And the one thing standing between his small axe and that big tree was me.

I'm not sure that was gonna stop him.

You have to choose the side, my friend.

Eel Rastafari stay tuned for season two of Ruth's land.

The story continues.

The journey stays the same.

Rastaf Henry K.

Production.

When I tell you that times are getting critical.

I.

Don'T want you to worry, no, I never want you to print there is nothing going on.

That's saying difficult only a few old parasites who wanna run things to a wreck.

But if you think Jaja is sleeping then you better think twice.

He would have never make no devil mashed on paradise.

When there's a whole barrage of righteous people out there.

Envy ain't living up, no way.

Yes, there's a whole barrage of righteous people in town and we ain't going down knowing we never going down, no way, no way, hear what I say, cause you know we're in.

When I tell you that times are getting serious, it's just because I wanna keep my people on alert.

There are just a few parasites acting furious and I don't want to see the little children getting hurt.

But if you think NJ is sleeping then you better think twice.

Cause he would have never let them devil into mush them paradise.

There's a full barrage of righteous human out there and they ain't living no way.

Yes, there's a whole barrage of righteous people in town and we ain't going down, no, we never going down, no way, no way.

There's a whole baratch of righteous people and we don't bite down the evil.

Oh no.

Close.