WORLD MUSIC CENTRAL - www.worldmusiccentral.org

Published: August 19, 2008

Album Review by: Tom Orr

Taj Weekes and Adowa - Deidem (Jatta Records, 2008)

Back for a second go-around following his 2005 debut disc Hope & Doubt is St. Lucia-born Taj Weekes and his band Adowa. Deidem sports the same strengths as Weekes’ initial offering: Great songs, crisp reggae arrangements and the melancholy-tinged sweetness of Weekes’ high, reedy, almost feminine-sounding voice.

The title of his latest translates as “All Of Us,” and he’s clearly singing with a universal heart on such tracks as the violence-deploring “Since Cain,” the love lament of “Hollow Display” and plaintive commentaries on Darfur and Hurricane Katrina via “Orphans Cry” and “Louisiana” respectively. An impassioned communicator who uses no-nonsense reggae music as his means, Weekes is precisely what the world needs more of in these troubled times.

THE BEAT

Vol. 27 #2, 2008

Review by: Ted Boothroyd

It doesn't often happen in reggae that an artist's lyrics will develop noticeably from one album to the next. The devotion to Jah, the homages to love and ganga and the dance, the rantings against babylon - normally all these remain intact over the years, in intensity, vocabulary and point of view. Such consistency is the standard stuff of the genre. But Taj Weekes is different.

The initial Taj Weekes and Adowa disc, Hope and Doubt, was striking for its memorable tunes, rhythms and fragile-yet-husky tenor lead vocal. But the lyrics, despite a number of impressive images ("scream out mellow lullabies"), were by and large merely serviceable. Delivering the serious themes and emotional quotient we expect of roots-based reggae, they got the job done without demanding much of the listener or revealing anything unusual in the artist.

With Deidem, Weekes' second album, there's not only noticeable development in the lyrics, there's a fundamental struggle going on. Lined up on one side is the manner in which he regards the world when he examines it intellectually. On the other side stands the legacy of his religious convictions. Although at times he puts on a brave face, he seems to realize that those two sides are suddenly refusing to be reconciled. The various ways Weekes deals with these conflicts - along with the strong melodies and performances, as before - are what make this album a welcome addition to the world's supply of reggae.

Yes, something has happened between the first and second albums to change Weekes' outlook. If you investigate his Web site, you'll see that Weekes has indeed faced his share of traumatic events, including recently, so perhaps that's the key. In any case, what he once held certain is now less so; he's no longer sure he has all the answers; he's less dogmatic, more measured.

Which isn't to suggest he's coldly logical on Deidem, or that his views are immaculately argued. They're not. He's still a free-flow-of-ideas kind of guy. It's hard sometimes to decipher where one thought ends and another starts, and the minimal punctuation in the lyric sheet doesn't help. So while the choice of language ensures a strong emotional impact, the intellectual impact depends on the listener consciously making connections. But with Deidem that's part of the pleasure.

You need examples. Track one is "Angry Language." Over a powerful one-drop rhythm accompanied by wah-wah lead guitar, the singer expresses his fears: It seems I am slowly forgetting/all I learnt from a Bible page...I'm learning an angry language and I'm armed with the tools of rage...I'm afraid I might lose my composure/and destroy all the things I hold dear.

Already he's equivocating ("it seems" and "I might"). And the solution? It's more Zen-like than concrete and active: "I'm gonna seek the spaces in my thought/to unlearn what I've been taught." The yearning Clapton-inspired guitar solo is perfect accompaniment.

Track two is "Propaganda War." An organ drone leads the instrumentation, with call-and-response vocals between lead and backup singers. The lyrics at first talk of war, with its deceptions ("tailored lies") and arbitrariness ("freedom for some, captivity for the rest"), but then switch to the stark imagery that Billie Holiday made famous with Abel Meerpol's "Strange Fruit": "On a poplar tree they hanged me/strangest fruit to ever grow." The intellectual link between propaganda war and racial hatred is the listener's to make. Weekes leaves it open.

"Little Fire" uses a fussy rockers drumming style to carry along a complex metaphor about (I think) the U.S. abandoning its "polite" way and becoming the aggressor: it ends: "force rules with wrong/till right grows strong." "Since Cain" uses the Genesis story as starting point to deplore the cycle of violence; the conclusion is that "Peace can be gotten if sought." Important, difficult questions are being asked, but the only answers are meager ones, inadequate to the task. Hopeful is as strong as it gets.

And so it goes, for seven more thoughtful, memorable, tuneful songs. Weekes is concerned, involved, passionate, but without easy answers. In his first album, when what he observed simply didn't add up, he had an easy out: "Jah works in mysterious ways." But now, confronting the atrocities in Darfur or the chaos of Louisiana's floods (in a spare piano style, gorgeous melody and dry vocal manner that all channel Randy Newman), he struggles to understand and he strains to maintain his optimism, yet he doesn't evoke Jah. On a personal level, where he once wailed his self-pity for the miserable way his woman treated him, he now sings of his regret for his own role in the soured relationship.

Yes, Taj Weekes is different. As a reggae lyricist who is unafraid of  being undogmatic, he's certainly different from most of his peers, and even from the man he was in his own first album. He uses his unusual voice unusually well. His arrangements take great advantage of his fine backing vocalists and his crack team of musicians, including horn section. He writes beautiful tunes. Deidem has it all.

MOONSHINE INK

Published: August 14, 2008

Interview by: Monica Caldari

Summer usually brings out the best in us (at least it does in me!). We lounge in the sun, frolic in the fields, hike and bike through the wilderness, and listen to reggae music outdoors. This last activity brings to mind the social consciousness and idyllic awareness of the “island vibe.” While at Commons Beach recently, I was lucky to be present at the performance of roots reggae artist Taj Weekes and his talented band who have been an integral part in the revival of roots reggae (his latest album “Deidem” was recently noted on Billboard for being a part of the new resurgence of this musical genre). Due in part to his approachable nature and thanks to his manager Shirley Menard, I sat with him the following day and got to know a little bit more about the man behind the music. What I discovered immediately was that the inescapable beauty and essence of Taj Weekes is found in his humanitarian values. Much of his music delves into life’s overlooked human experiences: oppression, loss, greed, fear, inequality and injustice.

Native of the Caribbean island known as Saint Lucia, he knows what it means to fight for independence… his island was fought over many times by Europeans and finally became independent in 1976. Meanwhile a young Taj was learning about family, survival, and music. Taj recalls growing up and listening to the Roots Reggae played by his older brothers (he is the youngest of 10 siblings). Early reggae musicians were considered the “town criers” delivering the news of the world set to rhythm and rhyme. With the popularization and computerization of the “Reggae beat,” he noted a change from a listening music to a dancing music– not so terrible except that oftentimes the message was lost to the pop culture and money-hungry imitators. Thus, in his opinion, occurred a loss in the consciousness building power of the music. 

Taj is driven by the purpose of getting the message heard. I was instantly entranced by his gentle manner and fragile voice; moved by the words he spoke with thoughtful demeanor and careful measure. We discussed every topic from camping in the wild, the socio-political plight of humanity, Hurricane Katrina, Darfur, and Biblical prophecies. A committed believer in Rastafari, Taj may invoke the stereotypical image of the herb-worshipping Rasta, but he is profoundly so much more. He ponders on and delivers the state of humanity and our impact on Mother Earth through his music. His meditations and visions give rise to lyrics, which he is compelled to share with those who care to listen. While he smiles gently and speaks softly, this approachable and extremely likeable man holds a sadness deep within clearly evidenced by the lyrics found in his music.

During his cross-country travels in the U.S., he encountered a number of wandering souls and learned the history of the Native Americans; their plight and loss of land, power, and might. In homage to their struggles he wrote a song which will be found on his next album (he currently has enough material to put together eight more albums!).

During our candid discussion, I sensed the feelings of guilt he harbors for living a life filled with simple pleasures while somewhere else on the planet war is devastating the lives of many, children are dying, starving, losing their parents, struggling to survive. For this reason, the man who sings about the troubles of others does more than just raise awareness with his music. He repeatedly spoke of the “collective power of people” to right the wrongs of society and heal each other. For his part, he created They Often Cry Outreach, a charity dedicated to raising funds and educating children in poor and underprivileged societies. Undoubtedly this program is why the International Consortium of Caribbean Professionals has named him a Goodwill Ambassador.

Taj Weekes is much more than a performer. Just as the ‘70s and ‘80s gave us the thought provoking music of Bob Marley, we are today in the midst of another mystic who finds music and poetry at the heart of all of life’s experiences. The Park City Record in Utah describes him as “Bono Meets Bob Marley.” In being a writer and performer of roots reggae music, Taj Weekes provides us with the fodder needed for social consciousness and intellectual dialogue, and ultimately social change.

For information on They Often Cry Outreach and to donate to this virtuous cause visit theyoftencryoutreach.org.

MALAGUETA MUSIC - Germany

You don't need extra luggage to listen to the latest Culture Taxi Records album: It will take you straight to the sunny Caribbean, for an encounter with Taj Weekes and his highly contagious reggae. Your luggage is in the trunk, your driver ready to take off, let's go for a ride!

Taj Weekes' high voice combined with his unusually enticing melodies provide the basis for his perfectly balanced reggae. With solid keyboards, the cunning wah-wah licks of his guitar, seductive female background singers, and his complex, yet straight-forward arrangements, it becomes obvious that we are in the company of a musician who is blessed by the West-Indian gods.

Taj Weekes grew up in St. Lucia and later moved to New York. This is where, together with his band, Adowa , he released his first album, "Hope and Doubt" in 2005, starting his live career and building a solid fan community. Today marks the release of his second album, "Deidem" ("All of us"). After losing both of his parents within the same year, Taj Weekes' lyrics dealt first and foremost with his mourning. But quite soon, he began writing about the suffering of mankind instead of dwelling in self-pity. His themes expanded to universal issues:  Right underneath the floating island melodies, his music addresses current problems ranging from the environment ("Dark Clouds"), to globalization, Hurricane Katrina, or the conflict in Darfur.

I find it difficult to emphasize one particular song. Each of the melodies grabs you rapidly and continues to linger in your mind – from the melancholic "Orphan's Cry" to the irresistible "Angry Language", from the upbeat (in spite of its somber theme of humans' inclination to violence) "Since Cain" to "Kink and Crinkle."  All eleven songs bring back the magic reggae sound of the seventies, without ever sounding old. The last song of the album, the ballad "Louisiana", with its sparse piano accompaniment, continues to resonate with you for quite a while after its last chords have faded.

 

 

BOISE WEEKLY

Published July 9, 2008

Written by: Amy Atkins 

Reef is a great place to hear pop, soul, jam or a fusion of them all. But there's something about reggae at Reef that's a little like coming home.

Taj Weekes' story follows the same path of many a roots reggae singer. The youngest of 10 children, Weekes was born and raised on the Caribbean island of St. Lucia. As a young man, he left his island home for Toronto, (brrr) Canada. A move to New York netted him Adowa, which includes Radss Desiree on bass, Shelton Garner on lead and acoustic guitar and backing vocals, Delroy Golding on percussion and Adoni Xavier on guitar just to name a few.

While working on the follow-up to their successful 2005 release, Hope and Doubt, both of Weekes' parents passed away. "I was wallowing in my grief," Weekes says in his bio, "and I wrote a song called 'Clay Dust To Dust,' which was incredibly depressing. But it was then I realized that it's not about me. Sure, I lost two people, but there are millions of people dying every day. So right then, I scrapped all the songs I had and wrote 12 new ones. I wrote about the world instead of myself."

Weekes' second release, DEIDEM is, by all means, a response to the world. Louisiana is a transparent look at the New Orleans flood from both a political point of view and a spiritual one, with little more than Weekes' unique, effeminate voice and a sorrowful piano punctuated by bits of percussion as he sings, "An unwanted rocking chair / beckons to the sky / so did the people in 's-i-ppi. / Is it race or class / oh will help come at last."

Though many of the songs on DEIDEM are heavy-hearted, an overreaching message of hope comes through in both the lyrics and the music. Hearing Weekes' and Adowa while sitting amid the island decor at Reef, it won't be hard to believe him.