Taj Weekes

A portrait of Taj Weekes could begin in any of a hundred ways. Musician, songwriter, poet, humanitarian, Rastaman, businessman, parent – all are important roles for him, all are related, and all are instructive about who he really is. But let’s begin in the island of his birth.  

A portrait of Taj Weekes could begin in any of a hundred ways. Musician, songwriter, poet, humanitarian, Rastaman, businessman, parent – all are important roles for him, all are related, and all are instructive about who he really is. But let’s begin in the island of his birth.  

Yes, St. Lucia can truthfully and gladly proclaim Weekes as a native son. Proud as he is of his origins, however, St. Lucia could not contain him long. As he tells it, “My mind always wandered beyond the borders of the 238 square mile island. What I was seeking seemed to be somewhere out there.” And what did he want to achieve that could not have been possible in St. Lucia? It had to do with his passion for the arts, and it took him quite a distance. He has lived in Toronto, New York and Boston, and has even spent time in Hong Kong and Marrakech. Clearly, Weekes is a citizen of the world. In that broader world, the name Taj Weekes primarily signifies music, Reggae music, critically acclaimed reggae, as a matter of fact. With his band, Adowa, he has recorded three studio albums (Hope & Doubt, Deidem, and A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen) and just-released a live album (Pariah in Transit). Adowa has been touring extensively for the past seven years, performing Weekes’ own melodic and powerful songs.

Taj Weekes

As a lyricist he is oblique enough to be interesting and direct enough to be satisfying. Although roots reggae prides itself on its “reality” lyrics, meaning an unflinching approach to the socially important issues of daily life, Weekes cuts deeper and more precisely than his peers. His themes aren’t expressed through the genre’s usual abstractions and feeble pleas. Rather, they come almost directly from the headlines and what should be headlines; they tell of an atrocity, of a disaster’s human toll, of want and corruption, of innocence and greed. He doesn’t coddle. He confronts his listeners through a forceful poetry that’s never crude, but also never compromising. 

"My mind always wandered beyond the borders of the 238 square mile island. What I was seeking seemed to be somewhere out there." - Taj Weekes

Taken from Jah Blem Musik

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.

Taken from Deeproots 

Taj Weekes: ‘We all have to hold each other’s hand and walk the path together.’

2013 is going to be a big year for St. Lucia’s Taj Weekes. In February he was honored with the St. Lucia House Foundation’s Humanitarian Award, and on April 9 he and his band Adowa will release a new live album, Pariah in Transit, advances of which have already produced a raft of positive reviews. Socially conscious in more than name only, Weekes makes improving the lives of underprivileged, at-risk and orphaned Caribbean youth a daily part of his life’s work, mainly through the efforts of his charity, They Often Cry Outreach (TOCO), which he founded in 2007 and leads with a clear vision of its mission. This installment of Border Crossings honors Weekes’s work, previews his new live album and, via an interview with World Music Newswire, talks to him about his acclaimed 2010 work, A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen, which features stirring original songs reflecting on the devastation–physical, social and psychological–inflicted by Hurricane Katrina, the continuing despoiling of the planet as exemplified by the BP oil spill, and the horrors of Darfur.

The Lush and Gritty Grooves of St. Lucia’s Taj Weekes

‘If the people suffer, no matter where they are—-on St. Lucia, in Darfur, in China—-we have to say it. We all have to hold each other’s hand and walk the path together.’

St. Lucian singer-songwriter Taj Weekes makes music that grooves like waves on a beach: seemingly gentle yet insistently powerful. On stage and on albums like the recent A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen, Weekes and his band Adowa unite a vibrant diversity of sounds with thoughtful, lush arrangements and a long-honed penchant for telling tales of hardship and hope.

“I don’t sit down and write socially conscious songs. I write songs about where I place my focus,” Weekes explains. “I grew up listening to the power of the music, the lyrical content. That’s what matters.”

Taj Weekes, ‘Rain Rain,’ a song reflecting on the impact of Hurricane Katrina, from his 2010 album A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen

Weekes harnesses this power, using his gritty tenor as counterpoint to the lilting pulse of his guitar. He has reflected on the impact of Hurricane Katrina (“Rain Rain”), on the twisted tragedy of Darfur (“Janjaweed”), on the careless destruction of the Gulf oil spill (“Drill”). He knows how to sing with great tenderness (the subdued, poignant “Before the War”) or with wry firmness (“Anthems of Hope”), balancing elegant melodies with rich strings, purring percussion, bluesy harmonica licks, and funky, funky keys. He hints simultaneously at José González, Merle Haggard, Jimmy Scott, Tracy Chapman, Peter Tosh.

Though long hailed by reggae fans, Weekes defies simple genre formulas. His intuitive, intense songwriting ties together the many threads of his Caribbean heritage and honors his unflagging engagement with the world as a musician, philanthropist, and lecturer.

Weekes grew up tossing country tunes and jazz standards around the family kitchen with his father and siblings, learning how to speak truth to power from local calypso musicians, and watching his Rastafarian brothers take on a violently critical society. The young Weekes was also a DJ at a local radio station, absorbing and playing everything: classical music, hard rock, reggae.

Taken from KDHX

Taj Weekes in Paris in 2011 - photo courtesy of the artist

For Rastafari-inspired roots reggae, Taj Weekes is among the very best we have. The St. Lucian-born artist’s three albums in the last seven years brim with distinctive lyrics and musicianship, and like all great art, one gets deeper into life through the music rather than escape.

He and his band Adowa perform at 2720 on Wednesday, July 18. And for an all-killer/no filler show, St. Louis’ Mario Pascal plays the opening set. It’s a contender for roots reggae concert of the year.

Born and raised in St. Lucia, now a resident of New York City, the singer/guitarist has a small but impressive body of work. From Hope and Doubt (2005) to Deidem (2008) and A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen (2010), Weekes has set his sights on the most pressing issues of the day through keening vocals, disarming lyrics and potent one drop riddims.

Weekes is a walking, singing and ideologically seamless blend of music, spirituality, activism and 501©3-certified progressive works.

To say that Weekes takes on dread topics like terrorism, environmental destruction and genocide makes him sound like an ambulance chaser, only worse. But as a Caribbean folk artist and as socially conscious Rastafarian, Weekes is following in a long and honorable tradition of making society the focus of art.

“People are really moved by what it is we are saying,” Weekes told me in a phone call in early July. “The thing of it is, I say as an artist, our sole job is to be a town crier, to bring to light things that people may not think about as much or things that people may not have heard about.

“Whether it be what happened in New Orleans or the earthquake in Chile or the earthquake in Haiti or what happened in Japan, we need to bring it out. I mean, with commercial radio and corporate media, all they tell us about is who killed Frankie’s girl on the corner or everything that doesn’t concern us. So it is my responsibility to let the people know what is happening, and maybe we can respond accordingly.

The artist’s response to the subjects of his life and music is systematic and ongoing. Four years ago, he founded They Often Cry Outreach (TOCO), a humanitarian organization whose mission is to improve the lives of Caribbean children through health, sport and enrichment programs. TOCO’s activities are many: a campaign which sent shoes to Haiti following the 2010 earthquake; an exhibition of T-shirts with personal messages written on them to call attention to domestic violence in St. Lucia; a Christmastime toy drive in his home country that will, beginning this year, become a pan-Caribbean effort later.

In early 2012, TOCO went to Trinidad & Tobago to deliver soccer gear and to conduct workshops for the youth. Weekes says that what took place in T&T went beyond the material goods. TOCO is partnering with other organizations (e.g. Rise St. Lucia) to expand the collective power and outreach.

“We kind of brought two rural communities together that had not been together for 15, 20 years. It’s amazing the power of sport can actually bring people together. We are working on trying to get children in the ghetto to US colleges, so we brought coaches down with us and spoke to the kids about the importance of academics and sport.”

photo courtesy of theyoftencryoutreach.org

‘Let your vibes be high and your message mighty.’  These are the words of singer-songwriter Taj Weekes. Born in 1969, Weekes has created a record label; provides lead vocals, rhythm and acoustic guitar for his band Taj Weekes and Adowa; produced three critically acclaimed albums; written a wealth of poetry and founded a not-for-profit charity that works tirelessly in the Caribbean.

Taj Weekes was born and raised in St. Lucia; an island nestled between Barbados, Martinique and St. Vincent, home to several successful artists. Weekes was the youngest of ten children in an artistically centred family. He began singing in church at the age of five and just four years later formed a band with his brothers; performing in local talent shows in St. Lucia. Music was ever-present in the Weekes’ family household, ‘There was always singing somewhere, if my dad wasn’t singing, then my sister was and my brother was.’ Weekes adds that the children used to line up in the living room and sing to their parents (Taj Weekes, Essence of an Artist, YouTube). It was a somewhat idyllic childhood, with the Caribbean landscapes, flora and fauna, playing a large part in that: ‘Island life for me was absolutely wonderful [...] A never ending summer, beaches at my disposal, fresh fruits and vegetables and unlimited freedom to play football, cricket, fly my kite (Interview with L. Haynes, February 2012).

As often is the case with small-island artists, Taj Weekes felt confined by the borders of St. Lucia and this feeling prompted his departure to North America: ‘I needed to experience a world beyond 238 square miles’ Weekes continues, ‘I had travelled inter-island as a child but apart from the lay of the land, the islands were basically the same’  For Weekes, the transition from St. Lucia to North America was not a shock to the system, he adds, ‘to a teenage mind nothing is really a shocker, at least not to my teenage mind’ (Interview with L. Haynes, February 2012). It was in North America that Weekes formed his band Taj Weekes and Adowa as well as the record label Jatta Records. The band was formed in 2004 and consists of six other members from all over the Caribbean; something that Weekes says gives the group a unique twist: ‘Everybody kind of bring their little vibe into it’ (Taj Weekes, Essence of an Artist, YouTube).

Taj Weekes and Adowa have had three albums to date, gaining critical acclaim across the globe. The debut album Hope and Doubtimmediately set the band apart from other reggae artists on the scene. Garage Band said that the album ‘shines like a beacon among the gray of contemporary reggae’. Music Shopper deemed Hope and Doubt as ‘honest, positive, reflective, realistic and rich’. With the groundbreaking first album comes the daunting task of producing another equally successful follow-up album. This seemed effortless for Taj Weekes and Adowa. Their second album Deidem was listed as one of the ‘Ten Great Albums by Non-Marleys’ by the Houston Chronicle. The band went from strength to strength and 2010 saw the release of A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen, the title of which is a reference to the severe floods that devastated parts of Louisiana because of Hurricane Katrina. Naming this album after a major disaster is illustrative of Weekes’ urge to bring to the fore current events. As the singer has said, ‘I write from the heart and I speak about issues that move me’ and ‘Life is enough influence.’ Garage Band commented accordingly, stating that Taj Weekes was more about ‘inspiring people to think about the world around them’. On A Waterlogged Soul Kitchen, for example, there are tracks about prevailing violence, the glorification of war, the power of Mother Nature and destruction at the hands of natural disasters. ‘Janjaweed’, the band’s most recently released single, commemorates the birth of Southern Sudan. The song’s title, of course, is a term used to describe the armed militias in South Sudan, responsible for mass violence and corruption. In the official video for ‘Janjaweed’, Taj Weekes and Adowa use first class animation to put a metaphorical spin on the subject matter. Here, the Janjaweed is symbolised by a malignant seed, which infests the land, spreading like an uncontrollable disease.

Weekes was always conscious of doing his own thing as a singer songwriter though he is open about his influences and cites Caribbean icons like Lord Kitchener and the Mighty Sparrow: ‘They were like town criers telling the stories of the day’, which is something that Weekes sees himself as doing, ‘We tell the stories of the day [...] awake the town and tell them mentally [...] in our time we are bombarded with so much information that the critical information gets lost in the muddle (Interview L. Haynes, February 2012). Weekes’ musical upbringing had a lasting impression on him and his output:  ‘We got a really good musical education in St. Lucia’, he states, ‘because of the unformatted radio stations’. This meant that Weekes was exposed to a huge range of music including country, classical, rock and reggae. Although Taj Weekes and Adowa are classified as a reggae band, Weekes is reluctant to consider himself as a reggae artist, stating ‘I consider myself more a singer songwriter, music is music to me, whatever genre will carry the message across’ (Taj Weekes, Essence of an Artist).  Weekes’ song ‘Against the Machine’ features on Occupy This Album, alongside Yoko Ono and Tom Morello. This album supports the Occupy Wall Street Movement; something that Weekes feels strongly about, having taken part in the occupation with thousands of other supporters.