Sunday Book Review: Facing Double-Murder with Dancehall Superstar Vybz Kartel

Sunday Book Review is a recurring feature devoted to bridging the gap between music fans and music books. We aim to give you a taste of new and classic books that dive deep into the psyches of musicians.

Since bursting onto the scene in 1993, Adidja Palmer aka Vybz Kartel has become the closest thing Jamaican dancehall has to a demigod. He came up linked to two dancehall legends, first Bounty Killer, who American audiences remember from his feature on No Doubt’s “Hey Baby,” and later Beenie Man, Bounty Killer’s arch nemesis and lover of rum and Redbull. As Kartel climbed over them in the charts and the dancehall public consciousness, he distinguished himself with his lyrics. These lyrics have proved divisive, with some Jamaicans viewing them as poignant and expressive, while others consider them vulgar trash. He also began to set himself apart from the crowd in appearance, donning platinum braces and bleaching his skin. He seemed to be climbing fame to a place where no one else could hope to follow, to a place where he was untouchable.

But Kartel’s otherworldly status was shattered in 2011 when he was arrested on charges of double-murder. While awaiting trial, he released a book entitled The Voice of the Jamaican Ghetto. The cover of the book bears a picture of Kartel photoshopped to look like Malcolm X, along with the unattributed quote, “I pray this book helps to change Jamaica forever.” If these seem like lofty ambitions, one only has to remember that for Vybz Kartel, the self-proclaimed “World Boss,” the stakes are high. He’s fighting for his legacy, for the answer to whether he will be remembered as a hero or a villain by Jamaica.

That’s why his book is not an autobiography, not a pulpy tale of a ghetto upbringing giving way to untold riches, but rather a 271-page cultural-political manifesto that is Kartel’s attempt to speak to Jamaica for his home turf of Gaza. He tells the story of a people with a “burning internal desire for better,” that is “kindled with the feeling of stagnation coming from the stink of the gullies or dumps.” It’s equal parts insightful and self-indulgent, and since it doesn’t have widespread distribution outside Jamaica (there are only three copies currently for sale on Amazon), we’ve distilled the ten most interesting lessons so you can hear Kartel’s arguments and judge them for yourselves.

If you want to understand Vybz Kartel’s views on Jamaica’s colonial legacy, look no further than the British Royal Family. He scoffs at them for changing their name to something less German (Windsor) in response to political pressure (who knew?), looks down on anyone who got up early to watch the Royal Wedding, and sees the reverence they are shown in Jamaica as evidence that his country hasn’t been truly decolonized. More controversially, he wants Jamaica to stop celebrating Emancipation Day and Independence Day, which he claims are the days the colonizers said “okay n*****, you’re free,” and instead celebrate the most prominent slave rebellions.

Kartel sees a continuity between the colonial administration and current Jamaican politics, especially in the temporary banning of Black Power books by the government in 1968. In contrast, he heavily identifies with slave rebels and those who would not submit, and says that if the first explorers were confronted with his crew, he’s “confident you could stay away from the toll road and hear those sailors beggin for mercy when the Gaza done wid them.”

If there’s one thing Kartel leaves us with beyond a doubt, it’s that he has a fierce and powerful love for his family. He dedicates this book to his mother, and seems to be genuinely preoccupied with even the minutiae of his children’s lives. He also has some pretty strong prescriptions for those who don’t honor their family. He advocates public flogging for anyone who disrespects their mother and thinks that any deadbeat dad should have their passport, driver’s license, and wages seized. More realistically, and perhaps more importantly, he chastises parents for leaving their children at home while they attend dancehall concerts (one of the few times he admits there is anything at all bad associated with dancehall). In a touching and sobering moment, he encourages fathers to teach their sons how to tie a necktie, making the reader wonder what is to become of his sons now that he faces charges that could imprison him for the rest of his life.

Kartel’s entire vision of success has little to do with artistic expression and everything to do with monetary success. He states it simply: what he desires more than anything is for “ghetto people to be rich.” He idolizes Diddy, 50 Cent, and Jay-Z, not for any artistic ambitions or achievements, but because he sees them all as examples of men from the ghetto who “put down activities that could jeopardize their freedom and focused on money and they made it.” In light of the double-murder charge against Kartel, this idolization of music businessmen who were able to leave their violent pasts behind might speak to his inability yet want to do so himself.

Perhaps the most heartfelt moment of Kartel’s manifesto is when he speaks candidly about one of his only regrets in life. He apologizes for the insensitivity in one of his songs where his lyrics both encouraged, and sneered at women who swapped material items in exchange for sex. He reflects that he realizes now how many poor women are forced to continue in abusive relationships because they are financially dependent on their sexual partners. He then says “the gyal whey dance go go can still keep u pride,” and expresses the wish that society look out for strippers (and related professions), and allow them to keep their dignity instead of demeaning them like he has been guilty of doing in the past.

Kartel doesn’t identify as Christian, and consistently refers to it as “Euro-Christianity” to emphasize its colonial roots. He would probably describe himself as more spiritual than religious, saying that it “does not matter who yah Jah is." He does, however, seem to love a good theological debate. In one of the least coherent parts of the book, he goes on a prolonged rant about the relative value of the Book of Psalms versus the Book of Proverbs.

His basic thesis is that the more King Solomon contributed to a religious text, the wiser it is (hint: King Solomon only wrote two Psalms). At one point he asks incredulously, “if it is accepted by everyone that Solomon is the wisest man that ever lived, why does Babylon have us continuously singing Psalms?” It’s simply not clear whether he’s trolling in this section or not.

This may or may not be hubris on Kartel’s part, but he claims there is direct causality between his skin bleaching and Jamaica’s newfound dialogue about “black consciousness.” He laments that when he wrote a song asking why there was no love “for the Black Child,” no one answered, but when he bleached his skin, it sparked an international debate about the subject. Though he doesn’t go so far as to say he bleached his skin so the collective we would start talking, he does clearly think it’s the reason why we did. He also outlines why normal rationales for bleaching (fitting in with Upper Class Society, etc.) don’t apply to him. Just take a look at his platinum braces for evidence. He contends, and always has, that he is obsessed with tattoos, and wants to show them off more to the world.

Kartel claims that 33% (a suspiciously round number, but okay) of Jamaican children are assigned the wrong father at birth. This misattribution is described in slang as a man wearing a “jacket,” or a child that isn’t his. While the statistics may be dubious, Kartel uses anecdotal experience to outline the ways this jacket phenomenon could damage the family unit. He considers it especially harmful when coupled with the fact that “nearly 40%” of women in Jamaica become pregnant before the age of 21.”

Kartel has a serious problem with the Jamaican government funding jazz and blues. He considers them both “American,” and is insulted by the government’s lack of support for dancehall. He is particularly disgusted with the $500,000 that he claims the Jamaican government spent promoting one jazz and blues festival in particular.

Even calypso and other Caribbean-origin music styles don’t escape Kartel’s charges of not being Jamaican enough and he heavily implies that dancehall is the only music Jamaican enough to warrant support (though he is suspiciously mum about reggae). He attacks jazz as promoting immoral behavior (a tad ironic considering the same allegations are leveled at dancehall) and believes that Carnival is mostly about “keeping up with the Joneses.” His main constructive idea in this whole discussion is that community centers in Jamaica should promote certain dancehall events as they would visual arts or theater, to give a respectable arena for young artists to hone their talents.

Kartel advises poor kids to be specific about the riches they hope to gain later in life, such as sending their children to Stella Marris Preparatory School (apparently really good college acceptance rates), or owning an S Class Mercedes Benz. He’s just as specific with his solutions for Jamaica’s economic ills, suggesting the following (and more) at various points:

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  Casino Gambling With Sports Betting

  
  


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  Offshore Banking

  
  


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  Microlending

  
  


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  Increased Ownership of Life Insurance

  
  


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  End of Regressive Taxes

  
  


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  Stop Persecuting Small-Time Illegal Vendors

  
  


• Road Reform

Kartel provides a glossary in the back, and yet inexplicably many of these words aren’t used throughout the entire course of the book. I can only assume this means these are a sampling of his favorite slang words, so I’ve reprinted the most sonically interesting (to the American ear) ones below:

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  Bangarang - mix up

  
  


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  Boogi yagga - uncultured or unkempt

  
  


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  Brite - rude, feisty

  
  


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  Gravalicious - greedy

  
  


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  Hol’ a fresh - have a bath

  
  


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  Pickney - child

  
  


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  Picky-picky ‘ed - natural, kinky african hair

  
  


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  Pree - study

  
  


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  Sheggery - rubbish, foolishness