All through our stay in Ouahigouya, whenever we were riding in the car and we didn’t listen to a French pan-African news radio channel, we listened to reggae. No, correction, one reggae CD. It was Desiré, and he must have loved it deep and hard and intensely, because he didn’t seem to have a need to listen to anything else. The same fourteen songs, over and over, for almost four weeks.
I’ve never been particularly fond of reggae. I haven’t really had anything against it either. I’ve just never really listened to it. If anything, I prefer ska.
But now, oh, the hatred. Maybe it’s just this particular CD, but backbeat, the feeling of never getting anywhere, the banality and repetitiveness of the lyrics, especially the repetitiveness of the lyrics. I just can’t stand it. The songs are constantly ringing in my head, and it makes me gag.
”Some call him Allah, some call him Jahve, some call him Judah. Allelujah, god is great. Allelujah, god is one.”
”We want peace in Liberia, peace in Monrovia, because Babylon shall not rise again. Babylon shall not stand again.” [Referring to the Liberian civil war, which means this CD must be quite old. Or of the Best Of-kind.]
”I heard Bob Marley died today. Oh, why do black heroes have to die so young?”
I guess it’s not fair of me to judge an entire music genre by one CD. But. The fact is, anything remotely backbeatish gives me chills right now. I’ll just have to get a cooling off period before I can stand getting exposed again. It might take years.
Katja Malmborg 