“But faithfulness to his roots in no way constrains him. He continues to expand reggae’s horizons, giving it renewed relevance and appeal.”
TED BOOTHROYD
Taj Weekes’ new album Pause is his first without the musical benefits of his backing band Adowa. But don’t expect an all-acoustic or subdued experience such as Clinton Fearon blessed us with on his appealing Mi an’ Mi Guitar a few years back. Taj without Adowa is not solo Taj; this overflow of creativity arises from a wealth of talent. In fact I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a more richly textured and musically adventurous reggae album than Pause.
That may sound extreme, and perhaps my new and higher quality earphones are playing tricks on me by relaying more detail to my delighted ears and brain. And maybe partial thanks go the industry’s always-improving aural possibilities. Whatever, but I’m telling you this album is a glory to experience: instrumentally diverse, rhythmically varied, immaculately produced, and featuring Weekes’ tuneful, distinctive vocals, perfectly complemented now and then by other voices.
As always, Weekes’ music here is firmly based in roots reggae. His love of and respect for that tradition is evident in, for example, the vibrant ska track and a couple of effortless transitions briefly into dub territory. But faithfulness to his roots in no way constrains him. He continues to expand reggae’s horizons, giving it renewed relevance and appeal. This widening is in part instrumental: among the album’s many surprises are harmonica and mandolin solos. Then there’s the conceptual widening: a unified album wherein lyrics are shared among several otherwise very different tracks. And thematically, even the most rootsy of reggae “go-to” subjects take on new life: the single reference to Babylon, for example, is within its true historical context, while the “fussing and fighting” concerns of old are given a much-needed yank into such current realities as Black Lives Matter and the Covid19 pandemic. We’re talking survival of society, of the world, not just the streets of downtown Kingston, Jamaica.
I hope that Taj Weekes and his talented collaborators on this project are not the only ones bringing reggae to “the next level”, and perhaps other artists’ albums would impress me as much if I heard them. If so, please bring them on. I’m just delighted we have this one fulfilling its role so beautifully. I do worry slightly that some of the contemporaneous allusions in the lyrics may eventually lose their effectiveness. Will we remember 20 years from now the ludicrous presidential origin of the “Easter Sunday” reference? Will the strong visual image of a poster come to mind when we hear “love makes a fist?” Perhaps not. But will that matter? The lyrics’ underlying humanitarian themes are universal and eternal, while the music itself is strong, strong enough to be treasured for generations to come. Pause will continue to matter.
Ted Boothroyd
June 2021