Raggamuffin @ Sidney MyerMusic Bowl, Melbourne(31/01/10)

Wed 3rd Feb, 2010 in Gig Reviews

We start getting our groove on amongst the other dancing punters on the grass – it’s pretty hard not to, it’s a great daytime party vibe here. We trek to the far bar for a refreshing ale, dodging gorgeous people with tribal tattoos, mums and dads dancing with littlies and the odd wanna-be-rasta puffing on a funny looking cigarette.

Steel Pulse surprise us by coming on before Blue King Brown so we race back to the Bowl’s vast roof to get our introduction to a legendary force in reggae. The British (via the West Indies) band are not young men, having been breaking barriers for both the genre and the Rastafarians who love it for over thirty-five years, but you wouldn’t know it from the energy these dudes kick out.

The classic sound of Jamaica catapults over the heads of the “mosh pit” and up to the burgeoning crowd on the hill: bass and drum explosions like thunderclaps with the buoyancy of keyboards that inspire one to bob on the balls of ones feet. The whole crew on stage – two pianists, drummer, bassist, vocalist/guitarist, lead guitarist and two backing vocalists, one of whom handles additional percussion – are as warm, and lively as the sound they emit. The musicianship is extraordinary: the splashes of red, green and yellow; the fat, waist length dreadlocks are thrown about as Steel Pulse engage the audience in excited call and response before they sign off in spectacular fashion with a truly fire-y guitar and bass solo. The absolutely massive response from the crowd leaves no doubt as to the strength and diversity of their performance. An honour.

Our very own Blue King Brown – led by the incomparable lead singer, guitarist and percussionist Natalie Pa’apa’a – are a fine looking group. The entire band is clad in black, with hints of olive green for the female backing vocalists and splashes of gold for the lady-leader. Their sonic signature is impossible to pigeonhole, with roots, reggae, rap and carnival infusions, but it is what I imagine hope to sound like: positive and totally unique. As the sky gets darker, and the prospect of rain seems real, Natalie delivers lightning-quick rhymes over Batucada reggae, the lead guitarist peals off a finger-ruining solo that has me clutching my heart, the backing vocalists make themselves scarce to allow visual of the rampant keyboard solo, the drummer and percussionist dual in an amazing conclusion.

Of the eighty Haitian’s living in Australia, it transpires, one of them – Lady Nadee – is backing vocalist for Blue King Brown. It is a poignant reminder of the continuing disaster in the ravaged country (to which original headliner Wyclef Jean has travelled instead of Raggamuffin) and as Natalie offers up prayers Lady Nadee gets her solo, a breathtaking delivery of The Police’s Roxanne. Not to be outdone, Nadee’s co-vocalist Jess Harlen starts up the unmistakable growl of a Haka – and if there was any confusion as to the number of Maori in the audience – the crowd roars in appreciation and all four female vocalists onstage join in with Jess, stamping their feet and shaking their hands as they lift their arms up in traditional movement. Looking around at the grinning faces of a few Maori men – who are also going through their ancestral dance moves – it must be that this is one of the Haka that ladies are welcome to perform.

Hailey, the last backing vocalist to get her turn, comes to the fore and the band splices into a quick refrain from Bob Marley’s Is This Love, the bassist opens up his solo on Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean and the lead guitarist gets his moment on AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. The House of Shem boys are called out to have a sing and the rain dance nearly works as Natalie takes over on djembe. In her final address she makes a call to action about our responsibility for our future. Words that couldn’t illicit the same feeling if I were able to repeat them here but that moved an entire audience to roar as Blue King Brown blast into show closer Moment of Truth.

Julian Marley bounds on stage next – and I do mean “bounds” – his long frame clad in faded denim, dreadlocks flailing behind him. He’s a happy looking dude and his brand of reggae is certainly reflective of his positivity. He breaks open his set with cuts from new album Awake and as he announces in his Jamaican drawl that it’s “all about dancin’ and groovin’” he lopes about full of energy, dancing with high flung knees, almost childlike in his tripping moves.

An early highlight comes in form of Positive Vibrations. Julian advises “This one is original Bob Marley and The Wailers” though there’s no need to explain that to this crowd, who respond is thunderous delight and sing every word with him. A slower jam – the title track from Awake – is a shout out to “the cultivators” but soon Julian is picking up the pace again, running on the spot, spinning round and round with dreadlocks sailing round his slim body, using every inch of stage. By the time he dips into his Dad’s songbook again, the slight scent of weed is in the air and, again, the crowd support him wholeheartedly on Exodus.

Sly and Robbie’s set is not the success that should befit such giants of rhythm. Plagued with sound problems (a feedback issue that would resurface during Lauryn Hill’s set) from the get go, the musician’s frustration is clear as soundies fly about the stage trying to understand what is going wrong. Robbie cuts a foreboding figure – he’s an imposing size to start with – in a knee-length black vest, black trucker cap and sunglasses and had he have been coming toward my mixing desk my knees would have been shaking. The only thing to rival the man himself for scariness is the incredible way he commands his bass guitar. Endeavouring to push ahead on When You’re Hot You’re Hot, the darkness of their rhythms bring rolling, black clouds, the sheer genius of their arrangements is like prog-rock reggae; sometimes madly interesting, sometimes darkly futuristic.

However, the issues with sound continue. It’s clear the foldbacks aren’t working to full effect, and their guitarist often ceases to play as Sly and Robbie deftly continue, but of course Robbie’s bass is unrelenting and Sly’s drum fills and lines are extraordinary: climbing to an incredibly intense, storm-laden climax before breaking off to familiar reggae keyboard bounces. Turns are taken with the vocals: the keyboardist starts it off and hypes it up, Robbie gives it a nudge, a gorgeous Jamaican man has all the women swooning with his suggestive hip moves, one of Lauryn Hill’s backing vocalists is thrilled to be invited to get us all singing Red Red Wine and Baby, Can I Hold You Tonight? and as it all winds down Sly and Robbie give us one last taste of the magic they bought all the way from Kingston, Jamaica, with Sly jumping from his drum riser to beat another level of rhythm out of Robbie’s fretboard.

There is little doubt that Lauren Hill is the biggest draw card for tonight and despite the weather turning positively cold (and wet) after Sly and Robbie’s departure from stage, no one moves. The emergence of her giraffe-legged backing vocalists has the entire congregation on their feet – an act which creates a wind barrier and immediately makes everyone warmer – screaming like banshees. The playful DJ is charged with getting us warmed up further before Ms Hill graces us with her presence and as he drops her father-in-law’s classic Three Little Birds the sound of about 20,000 people singing – œDon’t worry! About a thing!’ is a truly joyous experience. The DJ starts Red Red Wine, we keep singing. He stops it, we boo, he hits it again and everyone’s partying. Incredibly, black and grey clouds disperse and the sky starts to take on a golden hue, with fluffy white clouds rolling by, as we spy Ms Hill skip from side of stage to behind the main stage, out of sight. We lose it.

Her band, turntablist and backing vocalists do a wicked job bringing us to the brink and when Lauryn appears – a picture of eclectic glamour: powder blue, wide-legged pants, matching boots and hat, camel jacket and canary yellow silk singlet, obligatory bling – we are beside ourselves. They launch straight into a rocked up hip hop version of Lost Ones, her rhyming so fast it is impossible to keep up, and almost impossible to hear given the sheer volume of screaming fans. Ex-Factor gets the same treatment and it’s a sonic tornado: absolutely incredible musicianship, hard-to-believe rapping and angelic vocals interspersing in perfect arrangement: just like Final Hour, the next and last offering from her iconic album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.

It certainly seems like the rumours were true: Lauryn commands her band with absolutely no room for error but she is far from ungenerous: when – œUncle Julian’ Marley returns to stage to duet with her on Grandad Bob’s Turn The Lights Down Low, Julian’s microphone continues with the feedback issues from Sly and Robbie’s set. Lauryn is quick to keep things going by handing hers over. While the sound issues threaten to ruin the collaboration, hearing those two sing that song together, with all the family ties that bind them, brings a lump to my throat.

As Julian bounds off again, Lauryn brings out her Fugees songbook giving us a cracking rendition of How Many Mics and Fu-Gee-La – which again, had everyone in the crowd beside themselves with glee: I don’t think we thought we’d ever get to see it. The DJ plays with a few different melody intros for the last track, goaded by Lauryn, creating an excruciating tease for us until she yells, – œDrop it!’ He drops the needle on the original jam from The Fugees blockbuster Here I Come to close the set. The energy and admiration simmering out of the crowd is emotional, but I must reiterate, this has been a decade in the coming. We howl, scream, cheer and chant her name before giving up and grinning at each other.

By now the sky has darkened to dark pink and purple, and though it seems ridiculous to think Shaggy can follow Lauryn Hill, everyone’s heart rate is racing and no one wants to end the party yet. In white trench and fedora, Mr Bombastic is under purple and white spotlights, buoyed by an ecstatic crowd. His warm up tracks have done the trick, he commands silence and then, BOOM! The bass drops and here it comes, two words: Mr Bombastic. Sonically dark and sexy; every right arm in the place is keeping time in the air.

He’s a magic showman; one that’ll have them dancing through the gardens and into the night. The Peter Gunn Theme starts up; everyone clapping enthusiastically, as they realize it’s the Raggamuffin remix of Oh Carolina. It’s a full blown dance party; with all the rhythm, beats and groove today I’d warrant that more than a few people will get lucky after the show, but for now they’re loving Shaggy and his trademark growl – and even if his next song is a cover of The Black Eyed Peas, no one in the Bowl is complaining.

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