Reggae Stories

Zbiór moich ulubionych (i nie tylko) piosenek! Serdecznie zapraszam!

31 March 1990 was the memorable day when London's first licensed [South London community of interest] black music station, 'Choice 96.9 FM', arrived on-air. Until then, the availability of black music on legal radio had been limited to a handful of specialist music shows, even though about half of the singles sales chart was filled with black music. The decision by then regulator the Independent Broadcasting Authority [IBA] to license a London black music station was part of a huge government 'carrot and stick' campaign to rid the country of pirate radio. On the one hand, new draconian laws had been introduced that made it a criminal offence even to wear a pirate radio tee-shirt or display a pirate radio car sticker. On the other hand, the establishment knew that some kind of olive branch had to be offered to the pirate stations and their large, loyal listenership.

"Bob Marley has died!" I exclaimed. Having switched on the car radio before starting the engine, one of Marley's songs was playing on John Peel's 'BBC Radio One' ten-to-midnight show. I knew immediately what that meant. Peel was a longtime reggae fan, though I had not heard him play a Marley track for years. There was no need to await Peel's voice announcing the sad news. I had read that Marley was ill but had not understood the terminal gravity of his health.

On a Bus one snowy evening in Toronto, Canada, a young man is travelling home from work at his construction job. He is a mason and it has been a long, hard day. All he wants to do is get home, eat, shower and get in his bed. That same evening, a young woman boards that same bus, she is an attorney, after working late at her office, she too is heading home to relax, drink a glass of wine and retire to bed. The only reason she is on this bus today is because her Audi is in the shop. As they travel along, three men also get on this bus. What happens next sets in motion a series of events that bring this young man and young woman together. Two people from totally different worlds, cultures and beliefs, who come to learn, that when love gets involved, there are no boundaries.

début de texte reggae a écouter avec ce son : https://youtu.be/okbrZc7FdC8

She survived her mother's brutal conversion therapy attempt, but can an indie music producer survive her family reunion? After fourteen years away from home, she's back in Montego Bay to find out, but a romantic run-in with her ex proves she's got a lot more than mama drama to work out.

I blame Jesse James. Though cowboys and westerns held zero interest for me, something about the record 'Jesse James' appealed, much as an Israeli novelty song 'Cinderella Rockefella' the previous year had possessed sufficient charm to become my first ever vinyl single purchase. Now, having heard this reggae tribute to the outlaw played on 'BBC Radio One' or 'Radio Luxembourg', I placed my order at the record counter on the first floor of 'Harveys' department store in Camberley and, within a fortnight, it arrived. There was no song, merely Laurel Aitken shouting 'Jesse James rides again' with gunshot effects over an incessant rhythm. Nevertheless, I had just purchased my first reggae record [Nu Beat NB 045] and I loved it. It was 1969.

YOU CANT TOUCH THE MUSIC BUT MUSIC CAN TOUCH YOU

"Clackety-clack clackety-clack, from Kalamazoo to Timbuctoo, from Timbuctoo and back!" As a young reader, I learned these words by heart from a favourite children's book, 'The Train to Timbuctoo' written in 1951 by Margaret Wise Brown. I daydreamed about the journey between these two strangely-named railway stations, evoked so perfectly by the author's prose and accompanying illustrations. Decades later, I discovered I had been sold a fantasy, it being as improbable to take a train from Kalamazoo (a city in Michigan) to Timbuktu (an ancient city in Mali) as it would to line up at Marrakesh station ticket office behind Graham Nash. Only recently did I learn that Timbuctoo (a different spelling from the Mali one) is in fact the name of: a ghost town in California; a small settlement in New Jersey; and a failed farming community in upstate New York, none of which boast a railway station. Whichever were the book's fantasy locations, I never did manage to travel there ... by train or other means. But it had stimulated dreams of foreign sojourns.

quotes I make to inspire the suffering or happy.... if you have ideas hit me up. thank you!

A nice mellow tale about Bob Marley trying to look for the Golden Ganja Weed