The Track of Love vs Fear

The last three years of my life have been, tumultuous to put it mildly. If we want to go really deep, we could say that the past six years really put me through the ringer. Now in these times of Covid-19 (Novela Coronavirus) it feels like the outside world is finally reflecting what’s been going on inside me.

Some of the things that I have been doing a lot of is thinking, meditating, reflecting on my actions, thoughts and words. My relationships with people, my relationship with myself, my relationship with God/Creator/Universe. I am constantly working to improve myself, because I know the track that my life saturated itself has been the Track of Fear, not the Track of Love. 

If you don’t know these expressions, I am pulling them from a chapter in The Mastery of Love by Don Miguel Ruiz. I am able to take a step back and look at how I’ve related to people and notice that, “Damn! So many things I do, have been out of fear - not real love!” It’s insane. I don’t like being afraid. I believe fear is a construct that tortures us and restricts us from living our lives to the fullest. I also am constantly preaching to live a life outside of fear. I guess it’s time for me to revise my own thoughts.

The dichotomy is I realize that I struggle with toeing that line and for quite some time now. One of the things I understood from having read the book for maybe the fourth or fifth time, is that if I’m in a place of love, there is no room for control, judgement or expectations. As much as it is hard to admit, I see how my fear “disguised” as love penetrated friendships and relationships. 

I have never been so disappointed in myself as when I held up that mirror to myself and saw myself for who I truly am. Now what? Now, I have a choice to make. I can keep moving forward in fear, or I can move forward in love. The truth is, it’s all a choice. More importantly, it’s a choice you must make every single day. 

Choose love.

Thank you for reading
See you on the other side
The Jamhaitanadian

Performance Art Review: keyon gaskin

keyon gaskin defies you to defy them

It is a warehouse; its dirty, smelling like tuna fish, stale bear and sweat. There is a bar for drinks, an undefined “stage”, some lights set up almost haphazardly, a makeshift sound system that awkwardly blasts sound, echoing off the walls of the unconventionally chosen performance space. A set of bleachers stand centered to the “stage”; a few long benches and a small variety of chairs surround them. Not enough for the 200 plus crowd to sit on.

The audience has just finished taking in one set, and gaskin’s performance has begun; many have not realized yet.

A voice rips through the air like thunder. Where is it coming from? Some people get curious and seek it out, others continue chatting about, whatever. Some sit in reverence, understanding, the performance has begun. The voice comes down and the words are almost inaudible, you cannot quite understand, but as the volume lowers they begin to take form.

Eventually you hear, clearly: “CAN YOU SHUT. THE. F***. UP!?” which snaps all eyes and ears to attention and a hush falls over the building. That voice was Godlike: commanding and defiant. gaskin is on the second floor of the building overlooking a fixated audience. They can be heard, but not always seen.

It is important to note gaskin’s work cannot be contained in a box, nor will I attempt to place them into one.

What proceeds is an artistic statement “This is a performance, this is for you, you are a community, you are my material, this is a prison, leave when you want.” Over, and over, and over gaskin repeats this, changing intonation, emphasizing different words, making different commentary with each retelling of the lines “This is a performance, this is for you, you are a community, you are my material, this is a prison, leave when you want.” Their intent is present.

Photo Courtesy of: Viva! Art Action by Paul Litherland

gaskin is coming down, but the crowd gasps as they decide that they are walking across a rusty beam about a foot and a half wide, in six (or more) inch spike heels. They are dressed in shiny grey basketball shorts, a grey t-shirt, and of course, the heels. They continue moving along the beam, cautiously, but with an air of nonchalantly knowing exactly the impact of their choices and movement on the fixated audience. They reach a point where a pulley chain is attached to the beam, and descend among the standing audience, crowded around like a hoard of zombies in a Walking Dead episode.

Begin, the defiance.

gaskin claims space in a way I have never experienced before. In a white-centered room, that easily has 10+ euro-descended people to one person of colour, gaskin manipulates all the bodies around him with firm gestures. With a flicking of the wrist, it is understood: “You better git out mah way!” with the entire attitude to accompany it. They remove anyone sitting on the bleachers with a hand wave causing concerto maestros to beam with pride.

A stunning amount tension-force is applied to the bleachers as we watch in wonder how this person, wearing six-inch high heels, drags, single-handedly the entire bleacher forward about three or four feet. IN. SIX. INCH. HIGH. HEELS. This is where things become interesting, any and all people of colour; Afro-descended, Asian, South-Asian, Latino/a/x, Indigenous, and anyone in between were the ones instructed to go and sit on the bleachers. All of us complied willingly.

This took up much of gaskin’s time, as finding the people of colour in the crowd was no easy task. It is noteworthy that gaskin does everything with consent, verbal or non-verbal. Never touching anyone but always being firm and assertive, kind of the way Cesar Millan tells us we must be with dogs. The cries of some euro-descended people protesting, “this is not fair” were met with a disgusted hand wave and a “mmh mmh!” which clearly meant, “MOVE!”

Photo Courtesy of: Viva! Art Action by Paul Litherland

Anyone who defies the commands of their performance art by not moving becomes the central figure of the show, they stand or sit, state clearly “if this person doesn’t move, I am going to watch them until they do, I will set my timer and this will be the show”. Ironically, though unsurprisingly, the main defiant ones were two male passing, white men. Eventually, though reluctantly they would do as they were told.

As a person of colour observing this performance, gaskin, an Afro-descended American human, is making very poignant statements. None of what they are doing is haphazard or random. Each gesture, command, every look, the music they play, are deliberate statements. The euro-descended people were theirs to manipulate, or be consensually manipulated by. The POCs were witnesses on a stand to observe a performance that puts white supremacy on trial.

No cross-examination allowed.

Photo Courtesy of: Viva! Art Action by Paul Litherland

keyon gaskin blends vogue, contemporary, twerk, krump, hip-hop, moments of silence, theatre, and more, for a performance that is earth-shatteringly thunderous. This was boldness at its best. To describe the rest of this performance would be to diminish the value of the political and sociological statements of this body-centered storyteller’s work.

You must experience this for yourself.

keyon gaskin defies you to defy them. Because they are telling the truth, and if you can’t handle it, refer to their artistic statement at the beginning of the piece:

This is a performance,

This is for you,

You are a community,

You are my material,

This is a prison,

Leave when you want.

Thank you for reading.

See you on the other side.

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

Born Jamhaitianadian "My Story" Part II

As I made the transition and got over the culture shock among other things, I missed my country. Years later, my father showed me some emails I had sent from an account long since defunct and unused, password forgotten. I wonder who was this kid? A little whiny punk begging his parents to send him a ticket to come home. Like money grows on trees! Ha!

I was an alien in college, a good three years on top of my peers. The hard headedness both Jamaicans and Haitians are known for very much prevalent. I quickly found out where the creative outlets lay, since I wasn't getting much satisfaction from my social interaction in college.

I landed in poetry shows and open mics across Montreal. Getting to know the underbelly of the artistic community. As I passed through the film production programs in Dawson and Concordia's Mel Hoppenheim Cinema School I rapidly saw myself for the first time as Black.

In Jamaica, whenever a stranger would address me, I was "Brown Man". Here I became relegated to a single category, Black. My culture meant nothing, my accent a by-product of my blackness and a reason to believe me "alien" in the country of my birth, punctuated with questions like "Where are you from?" And if I said I'm Canadian, that was not enough, it's "But where are you really from". That's why I took the shortcut of just coming up with the Jamhaitianadian concept.

Coming up the ranks of poetry and spoken word in Montreal it is a very small community. Though it has it's fair share of segregation and separation, we all still have an idea of who we are in this grand scheme called "poetry shows". I had my own idea of what a show should and shouldn't entail.

I was on the cusp of getting a piece of paper saying I am a Filmmaker, but I had gotten a taste of that environment. I felt like it would be too much grovelling and brown-nosing to get higher up the ranks. I wanted to stamp Montreal with something never before seen.

The Art of Performing Aural Sex, an erotic poetry showcase was born. Suddenly something changed. I wasn't limited to my race and cultural background, but now my talent was a showcase. I quickly became known as "THE poetry guy" that was in 2007. Up til now I feel like APASX is an urban legend until it rolls around every year.

Over time though, slipping into that quiet Safe life of having a "day job", I felt unfulfilled and somewhat traumatized by the occurrences in the city. Paul Bad News Brown Frappier was brutally and savagely murdered in February of 2011. A man who had helped me out when I was first performing in front of thousands of students at the Concordia Caribbean Student's Union Culture Show of 2002. I was nervous as ever and he spoke with me and I ended up calming down significantly. Nerves still there, but not controlling me. I saw him 5 days before. Couldn't even say hi properly because I was feeling sick. I felt like someone killed a brother.

The posts on Facebook began... RIP bNb, his music videos flooded my timeline, and my partner at the time made an interesting comment. She said: "Why do you all wait until an artist died before showcasing his talent?" And it clicked for me what I needed to do.

Madpoetix: Soirée Intimes was born. While I had been a part of Slam (competitive poetry) team in Montreal something that was missing was an open mic showcasing Montreal talent, continuously.

I allowed myself, prior to this, to become part of the Black Community. Something my father warned me against, vehemently. His experience was that the Black Community, though subject to the limitations a racialised society such as Canada has placed on it, placed limitations on themselves. They were too caught up in what other people were thinking or feeling to walk the path they wanted to. Few were willing to make moves and change, many were comfortable doing what they've been doing for so long. Against my dad's wishes I allowed myself to become a part of this community. I used the opportunity to learn, and move on.

In moving on, I still garnered their support. Especially with younger members of the community. They banded with me to sustain the Madpoetix Soirees Intimes. Though through our fair share of complications we had to postpone the shows for a year, we picked back up in 2015 where we left off in 2013 with a new venue a renewed verve.

2014 was a pivotal change in my life as a Montrealer. For the first time since 2008 I was jobless, and unable to, by hook or by crook, hold onto a job for more than a few months at a time.

It took three job losses for me to say enough is enough. I had been working on a book of poetry, so long overdue, yet craving publishing. People had been asking me about my own art, when I would showcase myself. The bug bit me, and I knew it was time. No more job hunting. It was time to be an artist. Full time.

I was fortunate in that I have my family's support almost unconditionally! The resurgence of the Soirees Intimes lit a fire under me. Things were beginning to turn. Then I felt I needed to do something more. I wanted to honour my roots. My poetry reflected my background, all of them: Jamaican, Haitian and Canadian. But I had not done anything significant to say with certainty: I. AM. HERE.

So was born, the Born Jamhaitianadian Project. My very first one man show. This August 10, 2015 was the first time I ever stood up in front of a crowd for an extended period of time and the support was immeasurable. With a mere 100 spaces available for the coveted Casa Del Popolo Performance Hall, Montreal came out in droves.

The space was packed. There was no sitting room. There was no standing room left either. It was amazing. Jonathan Emile, local reggae/rnb/hip hop artist lent his voice to the event. I took to the stage to the voice of my grandfather Jean Dominique speaking about the pride of being Haitian, being from this land, and when he finished. I began.

I put my heart on my sleeve for everyone to see. My soul as bare as possible for Montreal to see, and they did. They journeyed with me through poetry, storytelling, comedy, and song. We could have been on a boat going through different weather patterns.

The first thing on my list of things to do in my journey as an actor, poet, singer, writer, filmmaker: Done. And I have Montreal to thank. You know, a lot. Of people, artists among others, want to leave Montreal, many never to return. I say, go ahead, leave! You will create a void, and guess what: I'll go ahead and fill it.

I may leave to do performances, and educate myself more. But I was born here and my career will take off here. And in both a spiritual and metaphorical sense, on August 10, 2015, I was reborn.

The Born Jamhaitianadian

Born Jamhaitianadian "My Story" Part 1

My story.

I am a Born Jamhaitianadian. I love the confusion and tongue tied-ness that happens to people when I wear my shirt stating that fact. Amazingly, children are able to easily read and pronounce the word without confusion.

I was Born here in Montreal to Jamaican and Haitian parents. Mother being Haitian, father: Jamaican. I have a unique experience in comparison to many of my peers, the motherland is not unfamiliar to me.

At a young age, my parents, being part of the diaspora felt the strong pull by the motherland to return. Unfortunately, this pull was in dual directions my father back to his land, and my mother to hers. The move was made to Jamaica, however unable to compromise, my mother did something most unusual in our community: she left me with my father. Let me rephrase that, she gave custody of me to my father. However, it would be a few years before she would make the return to Haiti.

I can't remember feeling disenfranchised or lost. I was always home. If I was in Montreal for Christmas and it's then seemingly beautiful winter, or in Jamaica for school, sucking on a bag juice in the setting sun, or in Haiti, sitting on the curb waiting for the sunset and the sign that the blackawout (electricity gone for the day) was over with the illuminating of the streetlights. It just felt like home.

Though lots of controversy surrounds my going from country to country, I am grateful for the time spent. I had a taste of the many sides of all countries.

I have been to Kumina and Voodoo ceremonies baring little resemblance to the stereotypical images of American movies such as A Time to Kill and The Serpent And the Rainbow. I have experienced every possible aspect of life. Lifting buckets of water two or three, sometimes even four times a day to take a bath and carry for my mother to take her shower, chores were no joke! In JamaicaI've had to boil water in the morning if I wanted a warm one or just tough out the ice cold water coming from the pipes.

I've been through torrential hurricanes, experienced the descent of people into chaos, the militaristic lock down of an entire country via Coup d'État and an 11th birthday by candlelight. My cousin and I running through our neighbourhood during cat and dog rain to find houses still under construction where pipes were shooting out water gathered on a rough to stand up under the high pressure of water rushing down on us, screaming at the top of our lungs like superheroes. Going through the hills and valleys with my best friends in Jamaica, hoping to find some Indian Jones type treasure trove that, somewhere in our imagination was right beyond the next bend.

Returning to Montreal was the difficulty. My schooling up until the college level had gone on as far as it could. I needed to step it up. Montreal, Quebec, Canada was the logical choice. I knew how to speak french, I was born there, so schooling wasn't going to be too expensive. Plus, I had family here to support if necessary. It was the right choice. I returned. It was a completely different beast. Very noisy. Too active. A trauma to the senses. Dawson College overwhelmed the senses. Coming from a College where you essentially knew EVERY student in the entire school to having 1500 students walk past you per day. Made my world seem so much more of a microcosm in this bigger galactic cosmos.

Being Jamhaitian also presented its challenges. Apparently I wasn't supposed to exist. There was a "beef" between Jamaicans and Haitians, yet, I know there are quite a few of us that exist. Probably hiding out of fear of being judged, heh!

But, I'd never hide my background. As I grew from a somewhat naive artist, to a self-aware activist, producer, actor and much more, I became more Canadian. Participated in my fair share of June/July moving traditions. I've adopted the Quebecer "joual" as my own.

The past 15 years have been educational and inspirational. But I wouldn't be who I am today without having lived in both my mother and father's lands: Haiti and Jamaica.

To be continued...

Movie Review: Special Forces (2011)

SPECIAL FORCES (2011) - French Cinema, breaking some steretypes of the cinema world.

In a time where it seems as if racism has taken a turn for the worse, prejudice is rampant in our society and paranoia is keeping people on edge, I stumbled upon this film Special Forces. I stumbled across this 2011 movie on Netflix, and to be honest I didn't give it much of a thought. Noticing that it was an army movie, my mind was already prejudiced against it. 

Movie description: 

"While covering the war in Afghanistan, journalist Elsa is kidnapped by the Taliban, and a Special Forces team races against time to rescue her."

That wasn't enough to get my interest piqued. Then I noticed Djimoun Hounsou was in it. Mr "Givess us free" himself. After about two or three times of passing it over, I said "Let's give it a shot." 

Right off the bat as the opening credits rolled I knew this movie was a cut above the rest. It was not your typical opening sequence, and itwas made by Studio Canal, a french production company. This was encouraging. In the past, movies produced and directed by the french have almost certainly been pleasing both to the eye and in stimulating the mind. 

They introduce our group of special forces in an almost nonchalant way, none of the bravado we're used to seeing in the american counterpart to these films. It seems all business. You could almost feel the actual tension of the soldiers. As if real soldiers were equipped with HD cameras and shot. The sound was quasi-impeccable, guns sounded like guns, nothing seemed fabricated. 

The way they carry out their first mission substantiates what soldiers who were interviewed in the advent of everything that happened in Ferguson, MO said, i.e. killing is not a reflex action for soldiers. You did not get the impression that any of them enjoyed murdering another human being senselessly. The first shot taken in the movie is from a sniper's eye view, the crosshairs hover over a man's chest as he paces with a gun, then it fixates on his leg, and blows out his knee. Non-fatal shot. 

We are not explicitly introduced to our heroes, but they are seen as an efficient team that works like a well oiled machine. 

We are then introduced to our damsel in distress. A reporter who doesn't take no for an answer, and gets into deep trouble because of it. Much like the movie Deep Blue Sea (1999) where most people end up hating Dr. Susan McCallister (Saffron Burrows) for having enhanced sharks to the point of near superhuman intelligence, you really don't like Elsa (Dianne Kruger). She takes unnecessary risks and makes you want to scream "WHY DON'T YOU JUST LISTEN!!! HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE FOR YOU!!!!" But her intentions are righteous ones. But you still want to choke her for being so stubborn. But someone has to do it. But why her! You catch the frustration? The love hate relationship you develop for a character that is complex, and well acted out.

The only stereotype that happens in the movie is that the special forces team is celebrating at a bar b cue when they get the call that means impending doom. After that, all the "norm" is thrown out of the window emphatically. The characters are complex, loving, at odds with their orders and their morals as human beings, and as soldiers. 

All of them are well developed. 

I don't want to give away too much of the film. These soldiers are real bad-asses. This cast is second to none. The "bad guy" is fleshed out very well. He's not entirely bad, but he's definitely not good. We think about what has been going on in the world. The invasion of foreign countries by the United States government, has been purported to be an act of terrorism. Armed forces, or journalists of another country go into another with their righteous aim, and they anger the people indigenous to the land. 

But I digress... One point of note: the sole Black man in the movie, does not die first. Not to say that a man of another ethnicity didn't die first, but in this group of good guys, Kovax (Djimoun Hounsou) did not bite the bullet first. For a former colony, french filmmakers are a ways away from their US cousins' way of enforcing stereotypes. 

Djimoun Hounsou is directed eloquently. Much like in Blood Diamond (2006) his character is passionate, possessed of more than one dimension. And really F#$%?&G cool! I can appreciate the baritone of his voice, the courage under fire and his passion. I really would like to be like him when I grow up. I've got the goatee already! HA! In American Cinema he is severely under-utilized. His acting grossly diminished by the directors he is under. 

I remember something my Directing Actors for Screen teacher told me "There are no bad actors, only badly directed actors." This film proves her right. Mr Hounsou's talents are being extrapolated to the maximum. I am speaking about him with emphasis, because I know his work more. Not to mention the fact that it is so refreshing to see a fairly unoriginal concept so well directed and acted out. 

What ensues is a systematic takedown of the "bad guys" and the rescue mission begins. Not, however, without it's share of complications. Our heroine is a beacon of bad luck for the team, and herself. It takes a whole lot to hurt her as the people around her keep on falling one at a time. It becomes more and more emotional as you get to know the characters more. 

The antagonist of the film looks like he could be James Caviezl's Jesus in the Passion of Christ (2004). Only instead of bread and fish, he distributes bullets and death to followers and enemies alike. But he does not take joy in what he does. He seems like a benevolent death-dealer. 

The cinematography is beautiful, they exploit their landscape ensure the spectator is given an immense scope of the challenges that not only the pursuers are giving our heroes, but the environment too. The one thing that did bother me was that it did, however, follow the stereotype of having to save the beautiful blond-haired blue-eyes white woman. We had to give them at least one right? 

You are shown several days of warfare. Elements, emotional turmoil and enemies alike.  At one point the journalist, Elsa says to Elias (Raphaël Personnaz) "You are really brave for doing this." To which he replies, and I paraphrase, "No, this is not brave. You want to know what's braze? There was a woman who was facing a firing squad. Do you know what she did? She unveiled herself, looked at them and smiled. Me? I gave them nothing. This is not brave." Demonstrative of a deep understanding that every life has value and meaning. Even in the light of dire circumstances that forces one to become the emissary of Death. 

I can say no more without giving up the film. I strongly suggest watching it. If you're in Canada and have Netflix. I don't know how long it will be up, but of all the army based films you could watch, this is a good one. 

Thank you for reading.

See you on the other side.

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

Book Review: Owen Blakka Ellis - RIDDIM & RIDDLES

RIDDIM & RIDDLES - A reminder of youth. A reminder of Jamaica.

Owen 'Blakka' Ellis' writing... Takes me home.

I can hear voices from my childhood singing, "There's a brown girl in da ring, tra-lala-la-la! There's a brown girl in da ring, traaaaaaaaa-lala-lala!" A group of us standing in a circle, swaying from side to side, clapping our hands while one of our classmates skips around the circle "She looks like a sugar in a plum-plum-plum!"

I may not remember the words to a tee, but I remember the memories, the anticipation of wanting to be chosen by the cutest girl in the class. The fear of being chosen by the least cute girl in the class. It all comes back after turning page after page of RIDDIM & RIDDLES.

Owen 'Blakka' Ellis is an accomplished comedian, professor, actor and writer. In this body of work, he challenges your idea of what Jamaica is. You can only miss what he's saying if you have your eyes wide shut.

To the average North American the extent of Jamaican culture begins with Bob Marley, goes to beautiful beaches on the north coast, and ends with smoking some of the best herb you probably will ever experience. But the culture of Jamaica runs so much deeper than that. Ellis starts 'Just so', an expression that cannot really be translated, the closest iteration would be "take it or leave it", but that is also the first poem. Short, sweet, and brimming with Culture.

On a side-note, I actually don't like writing this review. Why you ask? I am glad you did! There are so many gems in this gargantuan yet small tome of a mere 69 pages, I feel like I won't do it justice by attempting to select just a few for reference. I began putting tabs to be able to go back to the poems and look what happened (see picture at right.) The only reason there's not more is because I forced myself to stop marking the poems.

I took on the challenge.

So here goes...

As you delve into the selection of page turning poetry, you will arrive at 'ANANSI STORIES', a character in our history that I am particularly fond of. Ellis begins the piece "i actor, am contractor, translator, narrator, keeper of di clan, spirit from akan." This is an amazing line to me and stood out, because he is introducing you to the Anansi mythos, and in a metaphorical way he introduces himself to you.

Not one to shy away from the 'conventional' rhyming couplet, if you listen deeply enough to the writing Ellis places on the page, you can hear the kette drum beating in the background. He takes you through a journey of revelation and revolution, growth and self-enlightenment. Finishing with the age-old adage "Jack Mandora, we noh choose none." A nod to the Honorable Louise Bennett, whom many Jamaicans who grew up in the 60's, 70's and 80's would watch during her story-time hour on JBC television.

In the poem 'MEN' Ellis explores issues with the images of Black males, specifically Jamaican Black males have with themselves. This need to dominate and conquer which was engrained in the culture is critiqued, poetically. The damning of the over-sexualization of women is graphic, yet not. Face slapping, yet polite in the poem 'OBJECTIFIED' "Reduced to pleasures [...] she becomes nothing but breasts, bottom, vagina, vandalized by violent verbs..." This is an unexpected, but extremely gratifying surprise.

Jamaica is also known for it's misogyny and homophobia, many people argue it is not as widespread in Jamaica as the media would have us outside of the country believe. Yet in the dancehall music that comes out, various videos of random acts of violence recorded then broadcast on the internet, and on occasion articles in the Gleaner or Observer, is a reminder that we as Jamaicans, still have a ways to evolve. With his book, Ellis adds another couple of titles to his already extensive list: feminist and humanitarian.

Owen 'Blakka' Ellis touches on so many things we all either do think or should think about on a regular basis: our place in society, death, childbirth and family, slut shaming, bullying and fighting for yourself. And memories. Memories of your childhood. Several pieces are dedicated to those moments when you're in your school uniform, shoes scuffed up from running in the dirt, laughing and sweating, singing and skipping.

I don't want to give away too much of the book, you really need to pick up a copy. I will finish with an excerpt from: 'SMALL'

don't call me that

that shackling
strangling
squeezed-up frame
is a suffocating 
shaming 
suppressive name

don't try to belittle me 
with words
you nuh have
anything small?

don't label big man
with your small talk




Owen 'Blakka' Ellis
Contact BluMoon Publishing for a copy of RIDDIM & RIDDLES

I hope you appreciated the read.

I appreciate you reading.

Warmest Regards

See you on the other side

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

Album Review: Jonathan Emile - SONGS OF FREEDOM

SONGS OF FREEDOM - Is it reggae? Is it Hip-Hop? Is it RnB? It doesn't matter.

It's Jonathan Emile.

It's SONGS OF FREEDOM.

Have you ever felt truly connected and touched by an artist's work? For example "It was all a dream, I used to read word-up magazine..." How many of us can actually relate to Biggie's words? Have you ever had a dream, then turned it into reality? Or had a dream, but didn't?

Emile is relatable.

Knowing some of what has happened to this cancer survivor does not hurt as the first eight words are a proclamation to his parents "Mama I made it! Papa I made it!" Knowing that his music was his salvation, metaphorically as well as literally. "Radiation hardest five weeks of my life..." anyone who has had a moment when you believe you couldn't pull through, can empathize the pain, struggle and strength in his words.

Sitting and listening intently, to the music just of that first track 'I made it', tells you everything. Perhaps if you're a highly emotional person like myself you intensely feel it in your throat, like that lump right before your eyes begin getting full of dust. Know what I mean?

A geek like myself couldn't help but enjoy the second track about "Heroes". He never calls any specific hero of the past's name, but I can imagine he's actually talking about those martyrs and figure heads of Black history, such as Bob Marley, Malcolm X, Patrice Lumumba, Steve Biko, Martin Luther King Jr, Marcus Garvey, Dutty Boukman and the plethora of those in the pantheon of the struggle throughout our history.

But one line syncretizes the real and the fictitious heroes many of us know and love with a sample from the 1960's Adam West Batman theme song. It made the inner geek in me jump with glee, and the revolution in my soul put his fist up in the air. This is his Hip Hop speaking, loudly.

A couple of songs later, you can (if such is your thing) light a nice spliff, sit under a big mango tree enjoy the 96 degrees in the shade, and bob your head to a Jamaican pulsation. He brings out his roots, singing in the patois of the country of his origin: Jamaica. "Deh pon di journey, all I wanna wish you, is Endless Light." The echoing ripples of his in the background,  the track is asking, no, beseeching you to take your journey, to fulfill your dreams and not let anything or anyone stop you.

Emile's music slips and intertwines between Reggae cool runnings, Hip Hop revolutionary movements and smooth RnB vibrations. He speaks about life, the travesties of today's world, and he makes it personal telling you what he has been through.

I can't help but bob my head over and over to the music.

I think you will too.

"If we don't look inside ourselves, we will never ever find our wealth... LIBERATION!"

Photo by: Etienne Cappachione

Jonathan Emile
For bookings and more information: www.mindpeacelove.com

I hope you appreciated the read.

I appreciate you reading.

Warmest Regards

See you on the other side

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

Album Review: Samantha "Samiam Montolla" Hinds - MADE HER

MADE HER - I want you to look at the image carefully. She MADE HER.

I feel like most independent artists can relate to this, especially the ones that refuse the "popular" route of going through big label companies. Self-made songstress and Montreal dancer Samantha "Samiam" Hinds is a self-made artist.

As I listen to the first track 'WHERE IS THE TOP' images of the recording studio flash in my mind. The playful banter over the track begins as she improvises ad-libs of some of her own vocals on the track.

I can almost see the smile on her face as the music moves and inspires her one beat at a time. Then you hear her... "Where is the top?"

This is as appropriate a beginning as any. People who belong to the artistic community constantly face this dichotomy of knowing where the top is. The 'top' can be defined as success. It can also be defined as that point at which you will arrive and can go no further. But listen closely, "inter-galactic funk we so high!"

There is no top. Not the message being sent from this songstress. The galaxy as we know it has no limits, and therefore neither do you as an artist. The beat gets me too. It has this synchronicity of being both very 21st century modern, and sounding like a 1980's funky beat that reminds me of the psychedelic colours of TV shows and music videos at the time.

That's only the first track!

Hinds has a unique and diverse voice, she is her own voice, but I can't help but wonder how much of an influence Lauryn Hill, Aretha Franklin and Patti Labelle had on her style? This Funk flavour mixed with  RnB, throwing in a dash of Jazz and Blues. A melting pot of music for all ages. Her music brings me back to Jamaica. My dad would probably play this on his Bose on repeat for a few days over the weekend.

'THE FABRIC', "Why the caged bird sings" pelts through the speakers... You hear her political side coming out. "Picking cotton is the fabric of our lives!" Sends chills down my spine. Her choice of words. The way she enunciates them. Hinds becomes a surgeon dissecting your mind and inserting truth.

The album wraps up nicely with 'SHOW YA LIGHT' Which has that traditional feel with all the vocals, kind of scatting in the background grooving with that baseline. If I was to direct the video, it would be a gritty basement party set in the 1970's afros and bright colours with lovers slow dancing to the new revolution.

Hips swinging left to right.

Mischievous smiles.

All around good times.

"Keep it burning y'all..."

Photo by: Mariel Rosenblüth

Samantha "Samiam Monotolla" Hinds
For more information and bookings, contact her on facebook.

I hope you appreciated the read.

I appreciate you reading.

Warmest Regards

See you on the other side

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

Album Review: Lillian Allen - ANXIETY

This is a review I did for Litlive.ca in 2013.


ANXIETY – expresses the Anxiety of the population of Earth, from 2012 – 2013

Lilliann Allen is the godmother of dub lyricism, with an ability to transport minds through portals created with the aid of looping effects, onomatopoeia and her voice. I am of Jamaican and Haitian origin, and have experienced my cultural roots up front and personal. Ms Allen takes me right back to them.

The album’s title track took me on a journey to the end of my childhood back to the Kumina* circle, where drums and rhythmic voices could hypnotize practitioners into trances.  Then my heart starts pounding, the world seems that much smaller, and I experience vividly the anxiety she speaks of.

Between the student strike that lasted the better part of a year, the shootings in movie cinemas, elementary schools, she irrevocably captures the feelings many have had about the last and the upcoming year. Stating “We’re all anxious for a change, transformation…” she connects the dots between continents, islands, miles of land and seawater. It’s as if she speaks in the voice of our world.

Then with the track BLACK VOICE, she jumps into an eighty-five Delorean and journeys back to music I used to hear as a child: Third World, Bob Marley when he was still with the Wailers, and many other artists that I have naively forgotten. The music has your head bobbing, feeling like you’re on a natural high induced only by voices.

The strongest tracks are those which feature looping effects more prominently. I am not sure Allen is making us of the same particular gadget, but I have seen the likes of poet Moe Clark using a looping pedal to make her performances pop. The layering and repetition of sound and voice mimics the myriad repetitious voices of mass media, but also warms my soul— and terrifies me to my core.

I keep hearing her interlude saying “We anxious for redressed equality and opportunities…” and it makes me wonder, am I equal? Do I have opportunities? And then I listen some more…

Photo courtesy of: Marva Jackson Lord

Lillian Allen
Bookings and more information: www.lillianallen.ca

I hope you appreciated the read.

I appreciate you reading.

Warmest Regards

See you on the other side

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian

 *Kumina is an Afro-Jamaican religion influenced mainly by the Bantu peoples from the Congo-Angola area. Kumina refers to both a religion and dance. 

I was bullied as a kid too...

Yeah... I feel like sharing a part of my story.

I don't want you to feel sorry for me, that's not what this is about. I have grown into the man I am today because of the sum of my experiences, but I am not a victim of my experiences.

When I was a kid, I moved around a lot. My parents were from Jamaica (Dad) and Haiti (Mom) as I mentioned in my previous blog. Born in Montreal, I bounced between Jamaica, Montreal and Haiti quite a few times.

I remember when the actual bullying started in my life. I was fortunate to have not been among those who suffered through bullying from the moment I entered school like many other people out there. But that all started changing when I was rounding up to my tenth year on this planet.

It was my final year in school at Hopefield Preparatory (a.k.a. Elementary) School, and a kid that had repeated his final year sat behind me in class. He would put his feet on the back of the legs of my chair and shake his feet against them. I wouldn't be able to concentrate on whatever I was doing. Over and over I would ask him, tell him, snarl at him to stop, but he kept on coming back with it. One day, it would seem like he was the coolest kid and I would be part of the group he would talk to, the next he was tyrannically annoying the living crap out of me.

One day when I couldn't stand his crap anymore, and my anger got the better of me during lunch break I saw him in the area we would have our school plays in and I jumped him. I ended up with a busted chin for that, since he just flipped me off his back, but I am pretty sure he stopped bugging me.

In another instance, for some reason the North American holiday "Halloween" made it's way to Jamaica and I was taking part, I remember it clearly my dad took time to pain my face, I had decided to go as "Two-Face" the criminal from Batman. Yep! I was a big geek even back then, and there was this kid a couple years behind me who just had nothing better to do than to target me whenever I was around. I was in a "costume contest" and when my name was called and I went onstage, he laughed. It was one of those laughs that has nothing to do with happiness, just laughing to put the person down.

I moved to Haiti and attended high school there. My first year I was in a school that I didn't get into any trouble really, not in the bullying sense. There were always tussles here and there, but nothing serious. It's when I went into another high school in Haiti that things got rough. My first year for a reason I still do not remember, a kid from a higher class had me pinned on the ground with his thumb digging into my throat. Threatening to burst my neck. Needless to say I was in tears, angry and frustrated because I was much smaller in size and couldn't do anything. Worst part was, I thought this guy and I were friends...

The teasing happened on a regular basis, but I mostly didn't care about what people would say, it's what they would do that would set me off. I was called "Froggy" and "Frog eye", apparently my big eyes made them feel a certain type of way. But people stopped messing with me directly, the cowards would mostly attack from behind.

After one more year in that school, I moved back to Jamaica. In retrospect I wonder if it was because I wanted to get away from the experience of bullying in Haiti. Maybe it did have something to do with that.

When I went back to Jamaica, out of the three schools I applied for Campion College, Wolmer's Boys School and St. George's College for Boys, for some reason I decided to go to St. George's. As a matter of fact, I knew why. When we got onto the campus of the school it was so big and beautifully kept, that I wanted to be at this school. My previous high school experiences were small schools, with barely anywhere to hang out, or play without getting into somebody's way. This place was huge in comparison! Campion and Wolmer's just didn't cut it in my opinion at the time.

I want to remind you, my first name is Kym (deemed a female name) and I was about to go into highschool, full of boys whose testosterone levels are kicking into overtime. Having just come from Haiti and the Coup d'État still being in full effect, there were lots of Haitian refugees fleeing to Jamaica, Cuba, the US and anywhere else they could go.

As soon as they (my classmates) found out I was from Haiti, the razing started. "Did you come over on a banana boat?" If I didn't loan someone a pen, or 'lend' them some money, I became a battybway (homosexual) and a refugee. My dad always told me to walk away, so I did. Telling myself they were just words. Sometimes I would cuss them out, the best way to get a boy in Jamaica riled up was to tell them to go "suck yuh mada". Needless to say I would shout that one a lot!

I had met a kid from the states during orientation, him and I ended up in the same class together and we sort of struck up an uneasy friendship. During this time he had boasted about getting into fights and how he allegedly won those fights. Seeing as how I never won any fights of my own, I kind of evaluated in my head, "if somethin' goes down with him, it's going to be either him or me, and it won't be me."

Eventually, he and I drifted apart. No falling out, he started hanging out with people I didn't like and so I was already used to not developing any attachments to people in school since I was never there for more than a couple of years. I befriend other geeks kind of like myself. Typical story, but hey, that's what happened.

The kid from the States and I eventually got into a scuffle. I think I made a smart-ass comment to a friend of mine about one of the members of his new "gang" and he decided to start kicking me in the butt asking me to say whatever I said again. I refused and told him to stop kicking me and leave me alone. The kicks came repeatedly, and after several times of telling him to stop kicking and leave me alone, I snapped, I got him in a headlock and screamed in his ear to leave me alone. He started flailing his hands at me and raking at my face so I bit down: HARD.

I remember exactly what he said about stomping a kid into the ground and I was ready to kill him if I had to. 13/14 years old. My mind was made up. He started huffing and puffing and screaming "YUH DEAD NOW!" I stood there watching him, ready for whatever he was going to do. A bunch of my classmates came in and held him back. I walked away, and went to the school Chaplin. I knew he wouldn't attack me in there, but I knew he would have backative. That was how school bullies worked. If you wounded or embarrassed them, they would find a way to get back at you.

He came and found me in there, but I looked him in the eye, and he just walked away. Me and him never exchanged words again. But another person would set their sights on me soon after. A tall boy would decide that my head was a mosquito and he would constantly sway the back of my head. Days and days of this in between when the teachers would get to class. One day I had had enough, I am pretty sure I cussed him out and took up my stuff to report him to the teacher.

The teacher was nowhere in sight and I had calmed down and was bringing my stuff back to the class, he was talking to the class Beadle (class president) who would issue demerit points for bad behaviour and telling him that I told him about his mother, which I didn't, and I lost it. I lunged at him and unfortunately ended up underneath him. He fed me knuckle sandwiches, but most of them landed on my forehead because I deliberately kept my head tucked into my chest. Technically I started the fight, out of frustration, yes, but I did start the fight, but he got suspended because of the damage he inflicted on me.

I'll never forget our Dean of Discipline came into the class the next day, I was actually fully healed because I toughed it out and put tiger balm all over my face, and the kid came back to class. The Dean said that he was a threat and that he was to leave the compound immediately. I had never been so happy to be on the "losing" side of that physical altercation in my life. People in my class stopped messing with me, but there was six classes for every grade.

Remember the guy from the states? His "gang"? Well they were part of a group we knew as the "Dutty Cup Crew" -- uptown gangsters so to speak. One of their biggest mouths was in another grade. He started ragging on me every once in a while, but since we were in different classes it didn't happen very often. If at all.

When I moved up to my fourth year of high school, that was my third, he and I ended up in the same class. By that time I had made a solid group of friends but the teasing still came. Because of my name variants of Kym were spewed in my direction: Kymmesha, Kymberly, not very original but whatever, I didn't really care. Fourth form (as we called it) was pretty uneventful. Not much happened aside from the regular name calling. My friends and I would adopt our "bully" names. I had one friend who was called Shoeshead because well, his head was kind of shaped like a shoe. Another friend of mine, he has a very fast metabolism and so he was extremely skinny and they called him Antz.

Me, after a brush with Nair on my head (yes, we did some stupid shit as kids) I got the nickname: Kojack. Ironically, from the same big mouth. While in Fifth form, that's when the kettle started becoming steaming and cracking with pressure. The big mouth would run off his mouth a lot. Then I would just cuss him out and be on my way. One day, the fifth formers were allowed to buy food just outside our school gate, Patty and Grotto bread, as I came out of the front entrance of the 5th Form building, I saw him and his crew sitting on the wall, I made my way to the school entrance and a stone just shot it's way past my leg. I don't remember if I looked back, or even stopped, but I knew it was him. Since the stone hadn't hit me I did nothing.

When I went back to the 5th form block, I stopped and looked at him. I considered casually walking over there, throwing my drink in his face, then kicking him off the wall he was sitting on and stomping him into the ground. I remembered my father's voice "just walk away". I did.

Fights were common, especially in an all boys' school. We had some very simple rules:

• Let the two guys fight it out. 
• Don't interfere unless/until a teacher comes in. 
• No third party was allowed to join the fight. It had to be a fair fight come on now!
• Once a fight has been stopped, it will not resume for a second round.

So a kid from the "Dutty Cup Crew" and one of my classmates, a very awkward, nerd, but extremely solid asian kid got into a fight in the class. The Dutty Cup kid was getting his ass whupped but good! My classmate may have been an awkward kid, but he knew what the f--- he was doing! I have no idea why they started fighting but big mouth somehow got behind my classmate and started smacking him in the head. So right there rule number three is violated. We broke off the fight.

The kid from the crew came back again and slapped my classmate in the face, true to rule number four we pushed him off and stopped that fight. When I was returning to my seat, I noticed big mouth and another classmate of mine, a much shorter guy, squaring off. The short guy was reprimanding big mouth and telling him that he should let the guys fight it out. 

Pause for a second. In an all boys' school, many of us carried weapons to school. You name it we probably had it. I personally carried a bowie knife and at one point a ratchet (pocket knife with a big blade) to school.

Big mouth was reaching into his back pocket, and I knew he was going to be pulling out a knife. It was like a scene from a movie. I ran between them and shoved big mouth back, he fell against the table and before I knew it he was swarmed by a bunch of my classmates slapping the living daylights out of him. I turned to my friends and someone jumped from behind me and chucked me in my chest. The member of the crew, we'll call him shrimp, that was actually behind me and the american kid falling out.  He was met with a barrage of slaps and fists before being shoved right out of the classroom, all before he even hit the ground. I started charging, I was cursing in creole and everything! My crew: Antz, Shoeshead, and our gentle giant who joined us in 4th Form: Yeti (because he was just so damn big!) stopped me from joining the fracas outside.

Following that, I was the target of their affection. After school that day while waiting for my dad to come pick me up, the kid from the crew, the one that fought with my asian classmate, came up to me and pointed in my face joined by a younger member of the crew I'll dub shrimp junior. It was an intimidation tactic. He came and pointed in my face, actually barely touching my nose, I slowly put up two fingers on my right hand and pushed his hand away. The kid flashed his hand away "Don't touch me!" while snickering shrimp junior called him off like a trainer would call back a dog.

We were pretty close to graduation by now, so there were a lot less classes. One day, Shrimp and another member of the crew actually were coming to find me in the bathroom. I had already returned and was halfway back to the road that runs through the school. They continued to walk and then Shrimp said "Battyman" I walked right up to him, and stepped on his Clark's (I remember because back in the day, stepping on a man's Clark's which were considered high fashion, but I never cared) and said "SHRIMP (I didn't actually say shrimp I said his name) DON'T F--- WITH ME." I was right in his face. Millimeters away from his face. His partner commented on how I looked like I wanted to kiss him, I just flashed him a look and walked away. 

During this time, classmates who never spoke to me before were asking me what was going on. Some guys who were doing over their fifth year would tell me that if I needed backative, just let them know. This was fascinating to me, because even my own nerd crew, I never considered them backative. I always was kind of in a "Me against the world" kind of mindset. The "Dutty Cup Crew" didn't really both me again. Except for big mouth... I kind of provoked him, but can you blame me? I don't remember what I did precisely, but during rehearsals for graduation I believe he caused some kind of disruption, and the teacher asked who did that. I pointed his ass out. I didn't give a shit. The teacher threatened to not let him graduate from school.

When we were exiting to line up to do the rehearsal again, I exited before him and he came at me with a retractable xacto knife... I don't recall flinching, though he might recall differently. By the end of the day I had at least one ratchet passed to me and people let me know that they had my back. I graduated from high school, and no one ever tried to get physical with me again. 

Sure the teasing happened every once in a while from different people of varying ages from kids to grown ups, mostly because of my name. But then I tell people, "I bet you'll think twice when your girlfriend says she's talking to Kym or Kymmie, or she's going out with Kymberly one day." 

A lot more things have happened to me over the years... I had to become an extortionist and a little bit of a bully myself once because a kid who refused to pay me my money for the books I had sold him. I in turn got told to leave him alone when his cousin pulled a knife on me. That's just one incident that I can remember. So I was not a perfectly good student, but I did my best. 

You know, it was only recently that I actually shared a fraction of what I am telling you all now with my dad, and he said something that I will never forget "You never know what your children are going through once you leave them." You may be reading this, and thinking, "That's not going on with my child..." but you may be surprised what happens, what secrets they have. 

Again, I do not care for your pity, or your "awwws" this is a small part of my story and I am much stronger for it. I didn't have it too bad compared to some people in life, but I certainly did not have it easy.

I hope you appreciated the read.

I appreciate you reading.

Warmest Regards

See you on the other side

--

Kym Dominique-Ferguson

The Jamhaitianadian