DJs:
Mark Williams
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Dub
Placid
Si Haggis (provisional)
Twist
John Eden
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Jim’s cloud23.net has had a rub down and a lick of paint also. And Norlonto is over – it’s like when one of your favourite bands split up and go off and do solo projects or something!
…except they are a duo… maybe it’s like when Soft Cell split up. Hmm – I reckon Jim has to be Dave Ball, which means Gyrus has to be Marc Almond.
This means Jim gets to be hugely influential and do loads of great technical backroom stuff while Gyrus gets loads of sex and smack and satanism… and works with Gene Pitney.
Gyrus has moved…
Rumour and hysteria abound at the cancellation of the Reggae in The Park bash.
The organisers have released this statement:
Due to the recent negative publicity surrounding reggae music in the UK press, no suitable alternative venue could be found that was willing to take on the perceived security risk represented by “Reggae In The Park”. Therefore it is with sadness that the organisers have had to announce the cancellation of this event.
Which is a bit weird, to say the least.
The “negative publicity” was largely concentrated on Beenie Man, who was not due to appear. Sizzla and Vybz Cartel were due to make an appearance, however alongside a cast of others, none of whom are known for expressing violent homophobia on record (Marcia Griffiths, and Gregroy Isaacs, for example!)
Certainly, Outrage had requested that the organisers remove the Sizzla and Vybz from the bill:
Over the last few days, OutRage! had urged the promoters, Capital Radio/Choice FM and Apollo Entertainments/The Glen Yearwood Group, to drop the two singers � or face protests.
OutRage! also contacted the Mayor Ken Livingstone, the Metropolitan Police and the concert venue managements – first Tower Hamlets council (when the event was scheduled to be in Victoria Park), then Wembley Arena (when it was moved there).
At no point did OutRage! call for Reggae in the Park to be cancelled; only for the withdrawal of Vybz Kartel and Sizzla.
�We are delighted that Sizzla Kalonji and Vybz Kartel will not be performing, but sorry the whole event has been axed,� said Peter Tatchell of OutRage!
�OutRage! has no objection to the other performers in the stage line up and believes the concert should have gone ahead without the two murder-music singers.
�Reggae is an important musical genre which has made a positive contribution to popular culture. We want to see it thrive, but without homophobia and misogyny�, he said.
At best, cancelling the festival looks like an over-reaction.
However, an article in the Hackney Gazette shows that the festival had to be moved from its original venue in Victoria Park, to Wembley Arena because of technical reasons including “problems with the power supply and with accommodating the large soundsystems.”
So what is happening? Did the organisers realise that Vybz and Sizzla were too much of a draw to prevent the event making money if they were dropped? Were the screw ups with Victoria Park a factor? Do venue owners or the cops really think that a peaceful protest by Outrage is sufficient reason for the event to be pulled? Is all the bluff and bluster about the bad press which reggae has received just a way of covering up other issues?
One result of all of this has been a certain amount of hysteria from reggae fans who feel their music is being attacked, rather than particular elements within it. I feel that this is an overreaction and the fault of the cancellation of the festival has to lie with the organisers and not with Outrage.
Having said that, I do have my differences with Outrage’s tactics. As I said elsewhere:
I think that the difficulty with the approaches used so far to try and combat homophobia in dancehall is that they are only really engaging with the outskirts of the problem – people who express homophobia on records released by major labels in the UK.
This is understandable – those records are the ones which people hear – or rather, hear about.
Plus, you would think that major labels would be more responsive to pressure from activists than small labels releasing 7 inches in Jamaica, which only reach specialist shops here.
Thing is, it doesn’t work. We have the examples of Shabba and Buju from 15 years ago. They might get dropped from their labels, or they might not. But it doesn’t change the homophobia in dancehall and it doesn’t do anything to address the homophobia in jamaica, or in jamaican communities elsewhere.
The best result you are going to get from this is someone like Buju Banton who no longer makes public homophobic statements. There is no evidence to suggest that he’s renounced homophobia, and we can therefore conclude that he’s basically been muzzled.
The dynamics of this are interesting, if we perhaps take Buju’s view for a minute (but no longer than that!) – an artist who sings about oppression, and the legacy of colonialism and racism, is embraced by europeans for speaking out about some elements of corruption, but condemned for speaking about (what he considers to be) others – indeed his livelihood is threatened by doing so.
You can see why Buju might consider this to be yet more oppression – which in some ways confirms his view of western society’s corruption and decadence, which is more reason to stay close to your home crowd and chant down babylon.
I’m no apologist for homophobia, but I think you have to look wider than calling for some records to be banned.
What is needed is something which addresses the causes of homophobia in jamaica itself, which actually changes people’s views. Activists and dancehall fans in the UK can have some influence on that, but it’s going to take much more creativity and imagination than has been used so far, and it will take a long time.
Between now and then there will be a series of moral outrages when this keeps happening.

Inspired by Beyond the Implode’s mention of anarcho punk rock gods Conflict, I finally scanned in their statement on The Gathering of the 5000. Essentially a big old bash at the Brixton Academy, which turned into a big old bash with the Metropolitan Police afterwards – the Brixton Riot which nobody ever mentions.
I was actually going to go to this gig, which would have been an impressive night out at age 16. But despite the stupidly low admission charge, my mates bottled out and I wasn’t dumb enough to go by myself. Needless to say, my parents went mental when they read about it the next day in the Sunday Telegraph…
I did end up seeing Conflict a few times after that and they were generally pretty impressive, despite tailing off into thrashy stuff by the early 90s.
Reading the text again, it’s strange how much the ideology is so all-encompassing, and how much it seems to cause problems – organising events is hard enough but when you literally have to Do It Yourself for everything (including worrying about what food is served!) you have to wonder whether or not it’s worth prioritising, or at the very least subcontracting out some responsibility.
But that is not the way of Conflict, and that is part of their attraction, no?
I got in from work at 10:00pm last night cos I had to go to Manchester to do a talk. It’s much less glamorous that it sounds, you just spend ages on trains and then go to a room above a pub and come back. Like, maybe if it’s nearer home you get a chance to nose around town and all that and maybe check out some charity shops and so on, but not yesterday.
So I bunked off this morning and wandered around town. London’s amazing when everyone’s at work, isn’t it? I even saw Woody Allen with full camera crew half way down Charing Cross Road!
I had “White Man In Hammersmith Palais” on my headphones and the sun was shining, and y’know – it’s all alright, isn’t it?

I think it’s fair to say that it’s been a shit week so far.
Yesterday really was the pits, it kicked off as usual with me walking barefoot over a mouldy puddle in our carpet which is there as a result of the water tank leaking all over the place while we were away.
At work, I was so knackered from the weekend that I was unable to use the correct words when talking to people. Plus I found out that a letter I’d sent out to about 1000 people had the wrong information in it.
But my greatest personal achievement of the day was writing a letter to a woman whose baby had died chasing her up over what is, to my mind (but not to some people I work with) a trivial bureaucratic matter. That kind of stuff makes you feel great on a Monday.
Needless to say, things carried on in the same manner, the absolute triumph of which was the daughter demonstrating to all and sundry her singleminded… ah… creativity and resourcefulness by forcing a bead all the way up her left nostril when she was supposed to be asleep.
That bead was not coming out, much to everyone’s alarm. So we all piled down to the, now somewhat familiar, Homerton Hospital at 8 o’clock. Our luck really being in, it turns out that half the kids in Hackney have decided to do something crazy as well, though unfortunately there was nobody there with a saucepan stuck on their head.
“Oh yes, you were here a year ago because she swallowed a penny?”
“Ah… Yes.”
You laugh nervously because – hey, kids are crazy, innit? But also so you don’t scream out “It’s OK!!! I’m a good parent really! Don’t put me on some kind of orwellian Register! Have YOU got kids, eh? Have you?”
The daughter’s great contribution to medical science so far is a perfect x-ray of her perfect round tummy, with a perfect little round 1p piece showing through her rib cage. So good, they use for teaching, apparently. No doubt with a picture of me off Hopstial CCTV with “BAD DAD” captioned underneath it.
So it’s off to the waiting room for 3 HOURS and obviously we’ve packed all of the daughter’s favourite books and toys in a frenzy, but nothing for us, so we are lumbered with a dozen magazines which all turn out to be either about weddings (in the A&E children’s ward?! wtf?) or ski-ing.
The bridal mags are kind of pornographic in a commodity-fetish sort of way. Like, one of them has about 30 pages of tea cups and saucers, in garish full colour close up. Weird shit.
Every other parent there is texting furiously, despite all the signs saying “please turn off your mobile phone”. Because what else are you going to do at 10:00pm on a Monday night?
It takes hours, but we got the bead back with the aid of some uber dextrous lady and her special tweezers. I doubt the daughter will do that again, anyway.
Out into the carpark, relieved, desperate to get home at last. “Babycakes” is blaring out of a car stereo…