

The roots reggae poet is on a global mission with ‘two joints in his pocket’
By Dale Rangzen, Cannabis Culture – Friday, November 2 2012
CANNABIS CULTURE – The Sun had finally gone down, bringing one of the hottest days of the year to an end, just as a gentle breeze began to blow our way. After speaking for nearly two hours about a variety of subjects ranging from reggae to marijuana to international politics, the cooling wind was most welcome as Taj Weekes and I shared a spliff of fresh Congolese Sativa while watching the evening skies gather around us.
‘You know, coming to B.C. has been the most surprising discovery on this long tour we’ve been on,’ Weekes smiled, taking another draw from his joint before passing it back to me. ‘I think they must pipe kindness and compassion directly into the water here. It really is quite an astounding place.’ I took that as a compliment because there aren’t many places around the globe that Taj Weekes and his band Adowa haven’t travelled to in the last few years due to his growing popularity, thus proving that no matter how musical fashions may come and go, there will always be an enthusiastic audience for the type of roots reggae that he plays and still loves so deeply.
A person doesn’t have to spend much time with Taj Weekes before realizing that he’s not your typical reggae artist. Sure, he’s got dreadlocks, loves to use marijuana and sings, dances and gestures in a way that recalls Bob Marley at his most transcendent, but first impressions can be deceiving. In addition to carrying the torch for roots reggae, Taj is also a poet, UN ambassador for orphan children in the Caribbean, and a burgeoning photographer.
A true humanitarian, Weekes spends a lot of time when he’s not on the road with his band visiting schools, delivering sports equipment to neglected corners of the Caribbean, and working with communities to reduce domestic abuse in St. Lucia. In short, if someone showed you Taj Weekes’ resume, you might find it hard to believe, but that wouldn’t faze him one bit. Soft spoken, reflective, and quick to smile or make a joke, Taj Weekes is a keen observer of the human condition. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared time with a musician blessed with the vision and integrity, and I feel better for the experience.
Here are some excerpts from our conversation.
DR: Hi Taj! It’s good to meet you. I first became aware of your music about five years ago. A friend gave me an album of yours called ‘Hope and Doubt.’ To me, it sounded like a real return to the roots reggae sound that’s been missing in a lot of new music from the Caribbean.
TW: Thank you very much. I am still surprised at how far my music has reached and how people I never would have suspected have heard about what we do.
DR: For people that haven’t heard of you before this, can you tell us a little bit about yourself? First, you’re not Jamaican like so many reggae artists are. You’re from St. Lucia. What was the musical scene there like while you were growing up?
TW: I grew up as the last child in a family of ten. For entertainment at night, we would all line up and sing for our parents. On every other night, he’d get up and sing for us. I only realized in retrospect, that he was actually teaching us how to breathe. He was an incredible singer. He always liked to sing Nat King Cole songs for us. It just kind of grew from that. I sang in church and I sang in school. My brothers and I had a band together on the island, and whenever we could, we would sing and perform at state shows. But, when the Rastafarian culture came into St. Lucia, it came like a hurricane and just kind of swept everyone off of their feet.
DR: Was that in the seventies?
TW: Yes, I was growing up in the middle of all of this and three of my brothers became Rastas and my parents were very uncomfortable with it.
DR: You’d identified with the Christian church before this?
TW: That’s how we were brought up – with Christian religion and ‘God Save The Queen’ and then my brothers came along saying ‘to Hell with the Queen’ and it was very upsetting for my parents. They were very uncomfortable with the fact that we worshipped a black king from Ethiopia and we were moving away from the colonial yoke. So, when we broke away from that, we no longer had to deal with Christianity. I sat around on many a night sitting around and listening to all the reasonings of the Rastas. It wasn’t that they weren’t supporting Christianity because they saw His Majesty (Haile Selassie) as Christ, but the form of Christianity they didn’t support.
I remember going back to St. Lucia after a long time and I went to visit my mother. She had a picture of a white Jesus over the door, and I said ‘Who’s that man over the door?’ ‘What?’, she said. ‘There’s a man over the door and he doesn’t look like any of us. Who is he?’ She said, ‘Jesus’, and I said, ‘Really and truly mother. That’s not Jesus. He didn’t look like that.’ At that moment, she sat down with my father and said to me finally, ‘Tell us about this Rasta business.’ I was surprised and really happy about that. So, I explained what I understood.
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