FROM THE STREET (Jah Know What I Mean)
June 25th, 2008 by alfie in From the StreetA stretch limo pulled up to Push Ultra Lounge Thursday with a load full of suits.
“What’s going on tonight?” one of the passengers asked the doorman.
“A reggae show.”
The limo drove away.
Push has quickly become known as the go-to St. Pete venue for cougars on the prowl; professionals who can’t stomach PBRs at “Nastry’s;” dudes wearing suit jackets in the heat of summer; and girls who want to have a wild girls-night-out at some place nice, then end up standing in huddles, straightening ever falling tube tops, and looking for a place to sit and rest their feet that are strapped into heels that are too high.
But like any good club, Push has tried to keep things fresh, especially on Thursday nights with live bands.
The posh atmosphere was the same as any other night: Bathroom attendants waited with hand towels, and bouncers stood tall in all black as dance lights painted the walls of the club. But, the crowd was anything but usual. It was the kind you’d find at an outdoor music fest or selling hemp jewelry outside Jannus Landing — alright, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a shock to see bare feet stomping on the Push dance floor. The club itself even switched a few things up to accommodate the reggae clientele. The bar served $2 Coronas and the booths (which are the only places to sit), were not reserved for patrons who bought entire bottles of liquor for what it would cost to start a small religious war.
Ras Kana started the night strumming his acoustic on stage while shaking his head full of dreads to the reggae grooves. A pile of sandals and purses grew beneath him as the dance floor filled with bare feet and flowing skirts. Dancing to reggae is not about impressing anyone or grinding up on someone (though this may have more to do with the all-natural approach to hygiene). Reggae is about closing your eyes and letting the music move you the way wind moves clothes strung on a line. One man with crutches even started hopping around, liberated from his injuries by the music or just too high to feel pain.
Tribal Style mixed the wailing riffs of rock with that of Marley’s Wailers. Mugabe swung his bass around like a punk rocker, thumping out hard hitting notes, while the keyboardist carried the standard reggae beat.
More than a few dreadlocked disciples and barefoot believers took it upon themselves to explain to me the finer points of reggae and Rastafarianism.
“Isn’t all reggae just a tribute to Bob Marley?” I asked a man wearing a layer of sweat and a white polo shirt with a knot of dreads on the top of his head.
“Reggae is a tribute to one love,” said Rasta Mike (his name for the night). “It brings all kinds of people together. It brings them together to smoke pot,” he added jokingly with a mischievous grin and bloodshot eyes no match for Visine.
He was right about the music bringing people together. One of Rasta Mike’s friends, newly dubbed Ras Dan, drove four hours from an air force base in Valdosta, Ga., to see Jah Roots. Who doesn’t like to listen to music that reminds them of relaxing on the beach, dancing madly, and living free?
“Babylon is bad,” Bobby, a well-groomed young man said, translating some of Badda Skat’s lyrics while Tribal Style played backup. “Jah is God. Jah is good.”
The language coaching didn’t help much, but there was something sincere about Badda Skat’s Amish length beard and ankle length dreadlocks.
Whatever one thinks about Rastafarianism, it says something for this way of life that its music is the only “religious” music accepted by as diverse a group of people as ganja. You don’t have to be a Rastafarian to love reggae or to understand its feel-good message. The music speaks for itself better than anyone preaching the Rastafarian gospel: a kind of stoned interpretation of the Old Testament which skips all the brutal parts and blood sacrifice.
E-mail Alfie at shawn.alff@creativeloafing.comTo see more photos, visit our Flickr account.
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