Soca singer Alphonsus 'Arrow' Cassell dies at 60
Alphonsus "Arrow" Cassell, a soca musician who won global fame with his 1982 hit "Hot Hot Hot," died Wednesday. He was 60.
He died of complications from brain cancer at his home on the Caribbean island of Montserrat, said his brother, Justin Cassell, a singer-songwriter who often collaborated with him.
The highlight of his career was "Hot Hot Hot," Justin Cassell said, adding that his brother also gained fame because "he took soca to all corners of the world."
"Arrow" Cassell was among the best-known artists of Caribbean-born soca, a music derived from soul and calypso that emphasizes music over lyrics.
"Calypso is political, tropical, slower," the musician said in a 1996 interview. "Soca is dance. ‘Feeling Hot Hot Hot' ... makes you forget that there's a volcano and (remember) there's fun to be had."
At the time of the interview, Cassell was producing music that aimed to reassure Montserrat residents who had been forced to leave their homes when the Soufriere Hills volcano erupted in 1995.
"Arrow" Cassell was born Nov. 16, 1949, into a family that produced two Calypso Kings at Montserrat's annual Christmas carnival. In the 1970s, he was influenced by the Trinidadian musician the Mighty Sparrow, considered by many the international king of calypso. Cassell was crowned Monterrat's calypso king four times before focusing on his international career.
In the 1980s, he performed on tours throughout Africa, Europe, Japan and the United States.
-- Associated Press
via LA Times.com
September 16, 2010
September 10, 2010
A Random Act of Courage: Taking A Stand at Ground Zero, by Ken Braun
I used to manage a record store on New York City’s Warren Street, right around the corner from the Burlington Coat Factory that is now the proposed site of the Cordoba Center, widely (but inaccurately) called “the Ground Zero mosque.” Four short blocks north of the Twin Towers, my colleagues and I used to jokingly call our store the World Music Trade Center.
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, as I was on my way to work, pieces of airplane fell on the roof of our building and a tsunami of ash and grit got inside and ruined almost everything. Four customers I knew, and possibly others I had seen in the store or talked to, were killed that day; at least two of them were Muslim.
My staff comprised three Christians, two Jews, one Muslim, one atheist and my agnostic self. When we were able to reopen our store just before Christmas, we set up a display near the entrance, with a sign reading "Islamic Music from Around the World," which was exactly what we offered on that center rack. We also gave a prominent place in the Asian section, along one wall, to secular Afghan music that had been banned by the Taliban, especially a CD by a singer whose death in a car crash his fans believed to have been engineered by Al Qaeda.
Like many of the small businesses in the neighborhood, our store got a lot of people coming in after their pilgrimage to Ground Zero, wanting to spend some money to help repair a small part of what had been wrecked. We were glad to see them, but many of them turned around and walked out as soon as they saw the first word on our sign: Islamic. "O my God, can you believe this?" was the most moderate exclamation we heard. Other visitors looked through the CDs on display and perhaps picked up a few, some headed for more familiar sections, and some approached my colleagues or me to say "I don't know anything about Islamic music. Can you recommend something?" We were glad to; Islam has inspired a lot of fascinating and beautiful music. One gentleman, a delegate to the United Nations, having heard about our display, came to our store just to thank us for it. And then there was the guy who strode in and tried to overturn the center rack. When he couldn't (it was too big and heavy), he scattered some CDs on the floor, stomped on them, and walked out shouting "Burn in hell!"
We had actually been planning to move the Islamic music back to one side next to the Judaica section, but after losing some CDs to a jackboot, we decided that we had to hold our stand against fundamentalism and Islamophobia. We kept the display front and center. In the end, neither terrorists nor reactionaries but music pirates and internet freeloaders closed our store.
It was much smaller and far less significant than the Cordoba Center, but I think of that record store when I hear the calumnies hurled against "the Ground Zero mosque." Like its visionaries and supporters, my colleagues and I were trying to counteract ignorance and bigotry and hatred in whatever way we could. Because it was ignorance and bigotry and hatred that had fallen on us – all of us, everywhere – on 9-11. Remembering the days and weeks that followed, I admit to feelings of pride at having done a little something to defend our American freedoms of religion and expression. But sadness overwhelms the pride. After nine years and hundreds of thousands of violent deaths since 9-11, we still haven’t learned that day’s lessons.
- Ken Braun
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, as I was on my way to work, pieces of airplane fell on the roof of our building and a tsunami of ash and grit got inside and ruined almost everything. Four customers I knew, and possibly others I had seen in the store or talked to, were killed that day; at least two of them were Muslim.
My staff comprised three Christians, two Jews, one Muslim, one atheist and my agnostic self. When we were able to reopen our store just before Christmas, we set up a display near the entrance, with a sign reading "Islamic Music from Around the World," which was exactly what we offered on that center rack. We also gave a prominent place in the Asian section, along one wall, to secular Afghan music that had been banned by the Taliban, especially a CD by a singer whose death in a car crash his fans believed to have been engineered by Al Qaeda.
Like many of the small businesses in the neighborhood, our store got a lot of people coming in after their pilgrimage to Ground Zero, wanting to spend some money to help repair a small part of what had been wrecked. We were glad to see them, but many of them turned around and walked out as soon as they saw the first word on our sign: Islamic. "O my God, can you believe this?" was the most moderate exclamation we heard. Other visitors looked through the CDs on display and perhaps picked up a few, some headed for more familiar sections, and some approached my colleagues or me to say "I don't know anything about Islamic music. Can you recommend something?" We were glad to; Islam has inspired a lot of fascinating and beautiful music. One gentleman, a delegate to the United Nations, having heard about our display, came to our store just to thank us for it. And then there was the guy who strode in and tried to overturn the center rack. When he couldn't (it was too big and heavy), he scattered some CDs on the floor, stomped on them, and walked out shouting "Burn in hell!"
We had actually been planning to move the Islamic music back to one side next to the Judaica section, but after losing some CDs to a jackboot, we decided that we had to hold our stand against fundamentalism and Islamophobia. We kept the display front and center. In the end, neither terrorists nor reactionaries but music pirates and internet freeloaders closed our store.
It was much smaller and far less significant than the Cordoba Center, but I think of that record store when I hear the calumnies hurled against "the Ground Zero mosque." Like its visionaries and supporters, my colleagues and I were trying to counteract ignorance and bigotry and hatred in whatever way we could. Because it was ignorance and bigotry and hatred that had fallen on us – all of us, everywhere – on 9-11. Remembering the days and weeks that followed, I admit to feelings of pride at having done a little something to defend our American freedoms of religion and expression. But sadness overwhelms the pride. After nine years and hundreds of thousands of violent deaths since 9-11, we still haven’t learned that day’s lessons.
- Ken Braun
June 14, 2010
Jamaica music lyrics — trigger of violence? - latimes.com
Jamaica music lyrics — trigger of violence? - latimes.com
By Chris Kraul, Los Angeles Times
The debate has intensified since lethal police raids in a slum that is the home turf of an alleged drugs and arms trafficker whose violent lifestyle is glorified in lyrics of a music called dancehall.
By Chris Kraul, Los Angeles Times
June 2, 2010
The Beat souvenir T-shirt: Sorry, too late!
In 1996 The Beat celebrated its 15th anniversary, producing a CD compilation The Sound of The Beat, a special 15th anniversary issue of The Beat, and a spiffy black T-shirt.
These items are no longer available, sorry to say.
May 29, 2010
May 27, 2010
Drug War in Kingston -- JamaicaObserver.com
A drug kingpin named Coke? is that his real name?
Kingston breathes again - Breaking & Current Jamaica News - JamaicaObserver.com
Kingston breathes again - Breaking & Current Jamaica News - JamaicaObserver.com
May 26, 2010
From Robert Ambrose: Endangered Music | Rhythm Connection
"African Beat" columnist Robert Ambrose discusses the present digital dilemma facing music lovers.
Endangered Music | Rhythm Connection
Not so long ago I was a columnist for a great magazine devoted to “world music,” called The Beat. I put world music in quotes because it was a marketing phrase coined in the early 1980s to cope with the explosion of music being published from Africa to the Caribbean to Bulgaria. It’s a nearly useless label because it includes such diversity, but it is also a tad xenophobic because it lumps all music not from “America.” Absurd, when you think about it; but I digress.
My Beat column covered music from Africa, an immense source of diverse culture and, for me, the foundation for almost all of the world’s music. I usually wrote about the latest developments in African pop music, often highlighting important innovators who captured global interest and fame. Frequently, though, I would receive traditional or historic field recordings to review, and I would write about how important they were because they preserved music that was extinct or barely surviving the onslaught of globalized commercial culture.
Today I am writing about endangered music at a different scale. I believe ALL MUSIC IS ENDANGERED, at least music as most of us have enjoyed it since before iPods were invented. How can I say that, when today it is easier to acquire music than ever before, with a few clicks on the computer, and when any music talent can create complex recordings at home?
The emerging problem with commercial music is the way it is distributed. Technological change continually revamps how musicians (and their marketers) deliver their music. A century ago strictly live performances were recorded onto records, and music distribution was revolutionized. Everyone who could afford it, could listen to their favorite music in their homes. The vinyl LP record evolved to become the dominant distribution medium, withstanding challenges from reel-to-reel, eight-track, cassette and digital tapes, until compact discs became the world’s favorite musical consumable. Compact discs did not eliminate LPs, however, because many audiophiles and others recognized that despite surface noise, something about the analog music on LPs seemed more real than the same music digitized. Often this rather esoteric debate has centered on musical space, something impossible to describe beyond saying that with headphones on and eyes closed, it is easier to believe you are in the room with the musicians when listening to an LP. Digitizing removes some essence of music.
Yet digitizing of music has improved over time, and the convenience of digital music has outweighed the slight audible compromise for most music enthusiasts. Many have abandoned libraries of LPs, while building collections of CDs. Today many people are ripping their CDs onto their computers to put onto iPods or cellphones, and new music purchases (if there are any) are most likely made through iTunes or Amazon online stores.
The result has been dramatic in two ways. First, as online purchases and especially music piracy have grown ubiquitous, many independent music publishers have closed their doors; huge music corporations are on the ropes. The market for CDs is evaporating, causing profound repercussions for musicians throughout the world.
The second aspect of digital online music is that almost all of it is compressed. You are aware that you are buying an MP3, but did you know you were purchasing only part of the music? This is how compression works. Digitally recorded sound is routinely sampled at around 1400 kilobits/second. CDs conserve all of that data, and when you listen to a CD you hear the complete mixed recording. A full “CD quality” recording uses about 600 megabytes of space on a hard drive, which used to be a considerable percentage of a hard drive’s memory. So when people began ripping CDs onto their computers, their ripping software (iTunes, etc.) would by default compress the music into 128 kbps MP3s (or AAC), in order to fit more music onto the computer (or iPod, or whatever), shrinking an album to 50 megabytes.
Compression of a sound file basically removes part of its data. In the case of 128 kbps MP3s, about 91% of the musical information is discarded. Even those with diminished hearing should be able to hear the difference between a typical MP3 and the CD version of the same song. Listen to cymbals! Lossy MP3s in general sound dead to me, a muted parody of the original music. The slight musical space lost when going from analog to digital recordings becomes a universe of space lost when compressing digital files. Imagine removing 90% of the essence in a glass of wine. How would it taste?
Online music distribution began with rampant piracy enabled through file-sharing software like Napster and LimeWire, and most people who shared their music shared compressed MP3s. When the iTunes store was developed to compete with illegal file sharing of music, it distributed music as compressed MP3s. iPods were marketed by the number of songs that they held. Low quality MP3s became the standard and dominant music product exchanged or sold throughout the world, and it is the only music that most children ever hear.
Unsurprisingly, the marked for CDs has collapsed. As a result, like 8-track and cassette tapes a generation ago, CDs are becoming an endangered species. Now many recordings are available only online. Recently I tried to find the newest release from one of my favorite African musicians, Pierre Akendengue, but I did not find one anywhere in this country. I might have purchased the album through iTunes, but I could not stomach paying for his music, degraded. Eventually I found a CD through Amazon UK, and had the disc shipped from England. That event convinced me to identify holes in my music collection, the handfuls of CDs I’ve lusted for, and collect them before they are gone. The way things are going, they may be the last copies of the rich, full music that musicians create.
Endangered Music | Rhythm Connection
Not so long ago I was a columnist for a great magazine devoted to “world music,” called The Beat. I put world music in quotes because it was a marketing phrase coined in the early 1980s to cope with the explosion of music being published from Africa to the Caribbean to Bulgaria. It’s a nearly useless label because it includes such diversity, but it is also a tad xenophobic because it lumps all music not from “America.” Absurd, when you think about it; but I digress.
My Beat column covered music from Africa, an immense source of diverse culture and, for me, the foundation for almost all of the world’s music. I usually wrote about the latest developments in African pop music, often highlighting important innovators who captured global interest and fame. Frequently, though, I would receive traditional or historic field recordings to review, and I would write about how important they were because they preserved music that was extinct or barely surviving the onslaught of globalized commercial culture.
Today I am writing about endangered music at a different scale. I believe ALL MUSIC IS ENDANGERED, at least music as most of us have enjoyed it since before iPods were invented. How can I say that, when today it is easier to acquire music than ever before, with a few clicks on the computer, and when any music talent can create complex recordings at home?
The emerging problem with commercial music is the way it is distributed. Technological change continually revamps how musicians (and their marketers) deliver their music. A century ago strictly live performances were recorded onto records, and music distribution was revolutionized. Everyone who could afford it, could listen to their favorite music in their homes. The vinyl LP record evolved to become the dominant distribution medium, withstanding challenges from reel-to-reel, eight-track, cassette and digital tapes, until compact discs became the world’s favorite musical consumable. Compact discs did not eliminate LPs, however, because many audiophiles and others recognized that despite surface noise, something about the analog music on LPs seemed more real than the same music digitized. Often this rather esoteric debate has centered on musical space, something impossible to describe beyond saying that with headphones on and eyes closed, it is easier to believe you are in the room with the musicians when listening to an LP. Digitizing removes some essence of music.
Yet digitizing of music has improved over time, and the convenience of digital music has outweighed the slight audible compromise for most music enthusiasts. Many have abandoned libraries of LPs, while building collections of CDs. Today many people are ripping their CDs onto their computers to put onto iPods or cellphones, and new music purchases (if there are any) are most likely made through iTunes or Amazon online stores.
The result has been dramatic in two ways. First, as online purchases and especially music piracy have grown ubiquitous, many independent music publishers have closed their doors; huge music corporations are on the ropes. The market for CDs is evaporating, causing profound repercussions for musicians throughout the world.
The second aspect of digital online music is that almost all of it is compressed. You are aware that you are buying an MP3, but did you know you were purchasing only part of the music? This is how compression works. Digitally recorded sound is routinely sampled at around 1400 kilobits/second. CDs conserve all of that data, and when you listen to a CD you hear the complete mixed recording. A full “CD quality” recording uses about 600 megabytes of space on a hard drive, which used to be a considerable percentage of a hard drive’s memory. So when people began ripping CDs onto their computers, their ripping software (iTunes, etc.) would by default compress the music into 128 kbps MP3s (or AAC), in order to fit more music onto the computer (or iPod, or whatever), shrinking an album to 50 megabytes.
Compression of a sound file basically removes part of its data. In the case of 128 kbps MP3s, about 91% of the musical information is discarded. Even those with diminished hearing should be able to hear the difference between a typical MP3 and the CD version of the same song. Listen to cymbals! Lossy MP3s in general sound dead to me, a muted parody of the original music. The slight musical space lost when going from analog to digital recordings becomes a universe of space lost when compressing digital files. Imagine removing 90% of the essence in a glass of wine. How would it taste?
Online music distribution began with rampant piracy enabled through file-sharing software like Napster and LimeWire, and most people who shared their music shared compressed MP3s. When the iTunes store was developed to compete with illegal file sharing of music, it distributed music as compressed MP3s. iPods were marketed by the number of songs that they held. Low quality MP3s became the standard and dominant music product exchanged or sold throughout the world, and it is the only music that most children ever hear.
Unsurprisingly, the marked for CDs has collapsed. As a result, like 8-track and cassette tapes a generation ago, CDs are becoming an endangered species. Now many recordings are available only online. Recently I tried to find the newest release from one of my favorite African musicians, Pierre Akendengue, but I did not find one anywhere in this country. I might have purchased the album through iTunes, but I could not stomach paying for his music, degraded. Eventually I found a CD through Amazon UK, and had the disc shipped from England. That event convinced me to identify holes in my music collection, the handfuls of CDs I’ve lusted for, and collect them before they are gone. The way things are going, they may be the last copies of the rich, full music that musicians create.
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