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.

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.

DAILY PLANET - TELLURIDE, CO

Published: July 24, 2008

Album Review by: Katie Klingsporn

Taj Weekes is pretty young, but you wouldn’t know it if you just listened to him. The roots reggae singer, who’s originally from St. Lucia, has a wisdom to his words and a clear, bell-like voice that defies age. The band is touring to support their new album, “Deidem,” which is a meditation on the fragmentation in the world and uniting everyone despite it all. It’s music of promise, but it’s certainly not all sunshine and daisies — Weekes also expresses his outrage about social injustice and environmental destruction and the realities of the global economy.

 

THE VOICE - UK

Published: 6 July 2008; Issue: 1328

Interview by: Davina Morris 

 

FOCUSED: Taj Weekes

SOME people make music for entertainment.

Taj Weekes is more about inspiring people to think about the world around them. The St. Lucia-born reggae singer, along with his band Adowa, has made it his mission to give a voice to the oppressed, and he’s earned much praise for it from many in the reggae fraternity.

CLICHÉ
The idea of making ‘sufferers music’ might sound a tad cliché. After all, Weekes isn’t the first reggae artist to be a messenger for the poor and downtrodden. But there’s something special about the talented singer that has meant his music has resonated with music fans and reggae professionals alike. His new album DEIDEM– meaning ‘all of us’– has been celebrated for it’s heartfelt look at the fragmentation of the world and the search to give everyone a voice in it.

Weekes’ selflessness is, perhaps, all the more poignant when one considers his own personal losses. A few years back, Weekes’ mother died of a heart attack. Within less than a year, his father also passed away. Weekes began to compile an album with songs that reflected his pain – but then he scrapped every single tune. “I was wallowing in my grief,” Weekes recalls. “And it did take time to overcome that grief. But eventually, I looked at it like: people are dying every day. Yes, I lost two people. But there are children dying every day. Those thoughts enabled me to put things into perspective. So I scrapped all of those songs and began writing songs about the world and not just myself.” He continues: “Whether it’s Darfur, the Middle East, global warming; there’s something going on in every part of the world and we’re trying to bring it all together on one album. No one is talking to each other. The album is designed to create conversation where people can come together.”

Weekes grew up the youngest of 10 children in a family where music was everpresent. By age five, he was singing in church and by 11 he was composing his own calypso music. His older brother’s immersion in Rastafari provided him with a spiritual awakening and a context for his burgeoning worldview. He then ran with that musical baton and went on to pen songs on issues facing modern-day society. The album track Orphans Cry, with its classic reggae feel, depicts the suffering and isolation of lost children, making it vivid and real, and more than an abstraction on the TV or in a newspaper. And the song, Since Cain, with its Biblical reference to the first act of violence, laments the endless cycle of brutality while asking what it will take for it to end. But Weekes is far more than a hippy-styled, ‘peace and love’ musical messenger. When he’s not making music, he’s equally committed to his vision of making the world a better place, through his non-profit organisation, The Orphan’s Cry Outreach. The charity is dedicated to improving the lives of disadvantaged children around the world, via music, football programmes and more.

With his dedication to such worthy issues, one wonders what he makes of reggae’s more carefree elements; party tunes, ‘gal’ tunes and the like. “I think there’s a place for everything,” he says. “Sometimes people want to dance and have a good time. But I think music should also uplift and educate people and draw their attention to some of the issues going on in the world around them.”

“With the more violent elements of the music… I don’t know what would possess a man to write a song about killing somebody else. But you know, that’s his vibration. That’s just not the type of music I choose to make.” With much to say musically, it’s a good thing Weekes was never made to feel that not being Jamaican would somehow make him not credible in the world of reggae. After all, there are some closed-minded folks who feel that music can only be authentic when it’s spawned from its birthplace.

FOUNDATION
“That has never been an issue for me. And I always find it interesting when people make that an issue because nobody tends to say that hip-hop artists can’t be authentic if they’re not from America.” “Of course, Jamaica is the foundation for reggae. But I see the music like a tree: its roots are in Jamaica, but its branches have outgrown the yard and the fruit has landed in other territories.” “It’s the same with soca: people used to think that if you weren’t from Trinidad, you couldn’t make authentic soca music.” “But then artists like Alison Hinds and Rupee and Kevin Lyttle came along to prove otherwise.”

“I write from the heart and I speak about issues I’m passionate about. I believe that’s what really matters.”

DEIDEM is out now on Jatta Records.