Season 7 Bonus "Father and Son"

Still, I've got to hold on strong whoa, yeah, this girl is a scotch.

Whoa, whoa she I've been rushing her faster whoa, Lord the sterling is a scotch whoa, yeah, she had me rushing her faster.

The roots land podcast.

Stories that are music to your ears.

The girl is a scorcher.

As half pint says, one in a million.

And speaking of one in a million, I'm joined in the Rootsland studio by our very own one in a million.

What's up, Sia?

Hey, Henrik.

What's going on?

Everyone?

One love.

Nice to be back.

You remember half pint, right?

The reason we met that day at Cable Hut?

Yeah, of course.

How could I forget?

And speaking of scorchers, man, it's hot out there, right?

Hot in the city, hot in the country.

Oh, my gosh, it's so hot.

And it's not even summer yet.

I'm not looking forward to.

What's the convoy?

What's up, Rootsland family?

Fresh off my trip from Cali Roots festival.

Hope you all had a chance to check out our limited series, Kingston to Cali.

And if you didn't, the link's below.

And what'd you think, Siadhenne?

I haven't got your feedback yet.

It was rad.

I loved it.

Did you just say rad?

Why?

Cause it's about California.

Yeah, that was pretty awesome.

What about the Kalarouz people?

What did they think?

Are they gonna invite you back next year?

Well, they didn't even invite me this year, remember?

I was a sponsor.

I paid to go.

Okay, okay.

Have you heard anything from them since it came out?

Well, I never heard much from them before the show started, so the fact I haven't heard anything back from them is no indication either way.

True, true.

Let's not give too much away.

Some people haven't listened to the show yet.

You may ruffle some feathers out there, but your fans are gonna give you some good write ups, so don't worry about those negative vibes.

Well, you know me, Sia.

The only feathers I ruffle are the vultures and the hawks, the eagles and the doves.

They fly by in peace.

I like that.

Yeah, I like that.

And speaking of peace, I want to take the time to thank Ellen G.

From Tel Aviv, Israel, one of reggae's most talented illustrators and artists, who, after being inspired by our show, drew a beautiful original picture for the COVID art for Kingston to Cali podcast, which perfectly captures the feeling of the show.

And of course, in true jamaican style, I got it after the show already was over.

But it's so perfect, I had to add it even after the fact, so make sure you check it out.

As you know, on the last bonus chapter, I paid a little tribute to my mom for Mothers Day.

And on the prologue for season seven, I dove into my fathers story as a Holocaust survivor.

But I still did not want to let this week pass by without a shout out to all the fathers out there.

Not the worthless, absentee, selfish ones.

Right, Sia?

You know what im talking about.

Absolutely too well.

No.

This show is for the fathers who are willing to sacrifice anything for their children to make them feel needed, wanted, loved, even under the most challenging circumstances.

Like you, Henry.

For real.

100.

Thank you, Sia.

Sia and I have a friend going through a very tough time right now.

You're talking about her.

Don't.

No, don't.

Don't give his name.

Anyway, I'll have to beep that out.

We have a friend with two very young boys, and his wife is having some mental health issues.

Yeah, man, she's drinking too much.

She's an alcoholic, and that's terrible for the kids.

That could kill a marriage.

I know our friend's an avid listener of this show, so in a little bit, I'm gonna read a letter that I came across, and I'm hoping it's gonna give him some encouragement and inspiration to keep up the fight, even though it's not easy.

But first, on behalf of the entire roots land family, I need to send my condolences to the wife and children of a real friend, to the Rootsland podcast, one of Reggae's most dynamic technically and musically proficient drummers of all time, the legend Mister Desi Jones, who passed away last month on May 11, the same date that Robert Nesta Marley died.

Desi's passing an insurmountable loss to his family and friends, to the island of Jamaica, and to the genre of reggae.

Desi Jones was one of the founding members of the group Chalice, and as you know, they were the backing band for many of my albums during my tenure in Jamaica.

Even after he left the group, Desi would sit in as a guest drummer for sessions, and he played on countless songs that I produced over the years.

A quote from the Jamaican Gleaner, which I loved, said he understood the art of playing drums rather than just beating them.

Nuanced without being tepid, he was assertive without being overpowering, which to me, not only describes his drumming style, but desi as a man.

He was proficient in all styles of music, from scott and rocksteady to roots reggae.

He was a master at jazz and improv.

Even when it came to dancehall music, his timing was impeccable.

He was like a human drum machine.

Desi played on thousands of records over the decades.

He arranged and performed on major international tours for some of reggae's biggest artists, and his band school was recognized as one of the island's top backing bands.

But much to Desi's credit, the accomplishment he'll be remembered most for was what he did for reggae off the stage and outside the studio, while the spotlight and the microphones were turned off.

Desi Jones believed that as a musician, his most important role was passing on his knowledge and skills to the next generation of jamaican musicians.

He saw music as a language that told the story of Jamaica's history and traditions dating back to when the island's residents were stolen from Africa and brought there as slaves.

And when you talk about having an understanding of the significance of the instrument and the music he played, Desi literally wrote the book the Art of Reggae Drumming, which was released back in 1983.

It was the very first book to explore the history, techniques and various styles of reggae drumming, and something that'll always be there for future generations.

So rest in power, rest in peace, rest in percussion.

Desi Jones.

So another sad note from the world of reggae's headlines is that this weekends staging of the 27th annual Sierra Nevada World Music Festival in Boonville has been cancelled.

This was one of the original events that helped build roots reggae out in California.

And according to the festivals press release, the cancellation was caused by last minute unforeseen circumstances, including poor ticket sales.

What makes it worse, the headliners scheduled to perform this year were reggae royalty Ferris Hammond, Steel Pulse, Barrington Levy, third world halfpint and Leroy Sybils.

So let me get this straight.

In the heart of hippie cannabis country, a reggae festival consisting of some of Jamaica's elite reggae artists in one of the most scenic, iconic locations in the world can't sell enough tickets to keep this show happening.

Yet just a few weeks ago, over in Monterey at the Cali Roots festival, a show that featured an assortment of progressive reggae rock bands, many that weren't even born when reggae was created, had standing room only for tens of thousands of frenzied fans.

If you listened to Kingston Ticali, you wouldnt be shocked or surprised because I squarely place the blame on Jamaicas industrial music complex that for decades has refused to recognize the worlds demand for a new generation of authentic roots reggae musicians and groups.

I mean, young people enjoy foundation artists like Beres and Barrington and Steelpulse.

But they need bands and singers that can relate to a new generation that express the same concerns and truths that they're going through.

Reggae can't survive as the music of parents and grandparents.

We need to excite these kids, wake them up.

That's reggae's original audience, the ones that help break it to the world.

It's not time to make a change.

Just relax, take it easy.

You're still young.

That's your fault.

There's so much you have to know.

Find a girl, settle down if you want, you can marry.

Look at me, I am old but unhappy.

I was once like you are now.

And I know that it's not easy to be calm when you found something going on.

But take your time, think a lot why?

Think of everything you've got or you will see still be here tomorrow but your dreams may not.

One of my favorite songs is cat Stevens father and son, the tale of an ambitious son bursting at the seams, ready to take on the world, and his father urging him to be practical, follow a safer course.

These lyrics capture the generation gap in timeless conflict between parental concern and a childs quest for freedom, independence.

And the sons response to his father reflects his restless spirit, unwilling to conform to societal norms.

Kinda like me, a kid from the suburbs of Long Island, New York, who yearned to travel to Jamaica and follow my dreams.

And although my father never quite got my mission, never could completely understand what I wanted to do in life or why I wanted to do it.

In fact, it took me a while to figure it out myself.

But unlike the unbending father in the cat Stevens tune, my dad gave me his unconditional love and support.

He let me spread my wings, gave me room to fail.

And then credit for my successes.

I think too often a father's love and contributions are overshadowed.

The sacrifices, unwavering support he gives go unnoticed and unheralded.

As I said earlier, one of my close friends is going through a very difficult period with his wife, trying his best to shield his kids from the torment and pain of a destructive and abusive marriage.

Sometimes he feels like just quitting, walking away.

But like the great Bob Marley sang, every man thinks his burden is the heaviest.

We tend to forget there are others going through struggles that make our problems seem irrelevant.

I'm gonna read an article that a woman named Sarah wrote as a tribute to her father, and I hope that my friend and anybody else out there listening to the show, whoever feels overwhelmed by being a parent and the pressures of family life will gain some strength and support from her thoughts and words.

For years, Father's Day was a sad holiday for me.

My dad raised me in the Bronx as a single parent in the nineties, and even harder than raising a child alone were my medical issues.

I was born partially blind and with cerebral palsy.

Now, at 33, I realize the depth of responsibility hed embraced.

For years, I pondered how different my life would have been if he didnt pass away three days after my 11th birthday.

Youre not just my daughter, youre my best friend, he said one evening while pushing me in a stroller to the grocery store.

Despite his parents divorce, he had strong family values.

Thanks to his polish upbringing, John was a hippie in the seventies, while completing a bachelors degree in philosophy.

He met my mom when he was 35, and soon after I was born.

To tackle the complications of my disability.

He made difficult decisions after learning about my diagnosis.

When I didnt reach my milestone of walking, dad gave consent for surgery to correct my posture.

He enrolled me in a specialized hospital far away from our apartment.

I received peak level specialized physical therapy that allowed me to walk with my knees bent through the help of a support kit.

Quickly, he realized the education provided by the hospital was less than average.

Against professional advice and threats of losing parental custody during an ongoing court battle against my mother, dad took me out of children's hospital, and I became the first disabled student to attend Our lady of Angels Catholic School in the Bronx.

He took me to outpatient PTA three times a week.

When I was eight, I had a kindergarten reading level, but I soon caught up to my appropriate grade level, gained more confidence during interactions with other children, and learned self discipline.

Unfortunately, my father lost custody of me and two years later he died.

I stayed in foster care, where I was eventually adopted at 16.

As I grew older, I held onto the memory of my father and the life wed shared.

I found solace while spending time with my best friend in the area we grew up in.

As a teenager, overcome with pride when a local store owner called me John's daughter in my twenties, while requesting documentation of my adoption at the Bronx courthouse, I met a woman who remembered my name.

She'd worked on behalf of the court during my parents custody battle and never forgot my story.

She said that she felt my father was treated unfairly because he was a man seeking custody of his daughter.

She noted that despite my mothers own struggle with substances and a documented diagnosis of bipolar disorder, the court continually granted her grace.

I left that short interaction with a new outlook.

It was liberating to gain validation from a stranger who had no stake in my story.

Now, when Fathers Day arrives, the sadness I once felt has been replaced with admiration.

Over time, I realized how lucky I was to have him, even for a short time.

Instead of mourning his loss, I try to commemorate the role he chose to take on whatever struggles I face.

His unconditional love sparked my resilience, and I try to do good in the world with all the strength that he gave me.

The thing I love about that, and really stands out to me is that Sarah wrote that 22 years after her father passed away.

And it shows over time that we forget the little things, the petty stuff, the minor arguments and conflict.

What we do remember is who fought for us, who was in our corner in our moment of need, who stood by our side.

Through Sarah, I learned everything I need to know about her father, John, and what kind of man he was and how he lived.

She never forgot that her father fought for her.

And you can hear it in her words, the impact his love had on her even long after he was gone.

Of course, I can't help thinking about John those two years in between losing his baby girl and passing away.

Is that what killed him?

The thought of not having his daughter?

Did he ever realize that his role as mentor, protector, and moral compass would be what guided her for the rest of her life?

Too often, society fails to recognize the depth of a father's impact.

And whats worse is sometimes, as fathers, we dont even recognize it ourselves.

My father passed away four years ago, and as I often say, he never got a chance to hear my show.

There are feelings im able to express here that I was never able to convey in person, at least not in words.

So I want to urge everyone out there to never leave anything unsaid.

Let it all out and dont be ashamed.

You may not regret the things you said, but you will regret what you kept inside.

Ill be back in two weeks with another bonus chapter.

Other than Bob Marley, theres a reggae singer that people around the world recognize more than any other jamaican artist in reggae.

And while im sure you know his voice, I can promise you youve never heard his story.

It's not time to make a change just relax, take it easy you're still young but you find there's so much you have to know find a girl settle down if you want you can marry look at me are you mo but unhappy?

Take your time think alive why think of everything you've got for your will still be here tomorrow but your dreams may not how can I try to explain?

When I do return, I resorted to listen.

Now there's a way.

And I know that I have to go.

I wait.

Here.