Main Lines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste - Lester Bangs [124]
Stephen Davis observed that it seemed that you never heard reggae on the radio in Jamaica. “Because,” testified Bob, “da music is da type o’ thing would show up the situation in Jamaica dat some people don’ like to hear the real trut’, y’know. So dem not sayin’ what really happnin’ down heah. But when dem don’ play it on da radio, man, de people ‘ave it in dem house. Goin’ dance an’ hear it. Radio is important, but once de music come out and dem don’ wan’ play on d’radio, den big promotion is dat once it's banned evrabody wants ta hear it!” He laughed again.
“But,” insisted Swank, “didn’t Manley promise that he wasn’t gonna ban songs?”
Bob just smiled. “I dunno abouat, mon… Manley can’ stop prophesy … prophesy well ‘ave its coorse …” Someone questioned him about the Rastas’ reputation for nonviolence, and Bob surprised us all with, “No, Rastas physical. Y’know whai mean, we don’ come lak no sheep to da slaughta…”
“Like wan time,” added a Rasta who had been leaning over the hood of the car, listening. It had gotten so dark that I could barely see Mar-ley's face, and this other guy's dreadlocks looked like a tarantula crawling down his forehead.
“Like wan time,” said Bob. “We don’ ovalook war.”
“With the situation in Kingston now, do you ever fear for your personal safety?” asked Davis.
“Nossah,” said Bob. “No mon, me no fraid for them. I mean, if can avoid dem, will avoid dem, goin’ down street, see a roadblock, and dere is a street for me to turn off before I reach da roadblock, you bet I’m gon’ to turn off! It's no good I ever get searched.”
“Ever been in jail?” I wondered. It was a stock question, actually.
“Yeh, wan time.”
“For what?”
He took a long toke. “Drivin’ witout license.” And laughed. So did we all, but then Swank took the offensive once more. “Do you feel that this car represents Babylon?”
Bob seemed genuinely surprised. “The car? System represent Babylon, system represent death, we livin’ in da system—”
“I was just wondering how you could feel you could have this, while—”
“Is no have dis, mon,” replied Bob simply, and knocked on the hood of the car. We had been told the day before by Wooly that Bob had said the BMW stood for Bob Marley & the Wailers, so Swank offered this out somewhat sarcastically, and Bob came back, good natured as ever, with an even worse joke: “British Made … Warcar…”
I tried to smooth things over, in my own bumbling liberal way. “So then this car belongs to all your brothers and sisters as well as you?”
“Belongs road, mon!”
Davis asked Bob what he thought about people coming down to ask all these questions. “Well,” said Bob, “as long as dem get da right understanding of da answers and write it… because plenty time, plenty guys just write for kicks, y’know, like jus’ turn in a joke ting is goin’ on, an is serious ting …”
Marley was not amused by a certain recent interview in which a writer from New York asked him such question as “Where did you get your jeans?” and “When you were in New York, did you go shopping at Bloomingdale's?”
Still, he did not seem such a solemn fellow when all was said and done, so I asked him, referring to an old Jamaican motor sport, whether he had ever rammed a goat in this car. There was much laughter all around, after which he explained, “No no no, don’ think dat, man, people need live good purpose man … when you see a goat, you are supposed to stop, communicate to de goat, and make de goat knows de outcome … a goat's smart, y’know… when you hit a goat, man, you sad!”
“Yes, Rasta,” interjected the Rasta on the other side of the hood with the tarantula on his brow. Bob then explained that ramming a goat was considered unlucky By now most of us were packing up our tape recorders, readying ourselves for the trek back to the Sheraton, but Swank struck for one more shot at social relevance: “This is an election year, isn’t it, coming up?”
Bob took a long hit on his spliff. “Yeah? Dat so?”
The Rasta with the tarantula clarified: “You can’t serve