Keep your chin up
Unless you are one of the people, such as my boys and girls in the Twelve Bar crew, lucky enough to live in perennial sunshine, the emergence of the rays of warming happiness from that great big burning star in our sky is enough to lift everyone’s mood. And this is never truer than in London town, where the first hint of t-shirt weather brings the grins to faces everywhere lifting, albeit momentarily, the stresses and tensions of live in the big bad city. That the ladies look particularly fine and the days take pn a languid pace of their own is a help I am sure, but it is just feeling the warmth on your back that makes you remember how great a planet this is. And of course it is a chance to locate the perfect summer tune, the one that enhances the effects of the sun and adds to the good vibes pumping from car stereos, at BBQ jams, out in the park or chilling at the beachfront, or just strolling down the street.
Who knows what this years summer jam will be, but my own sunshine laden walk to work this morning threw up a contender for an evergreen offering that never fails to disappoint. Put simply, how amazing is Mr Vegas’ “Heads High”!?! From the opening “Na, na, nanana*” intro through the sweetly half-toasted, half-crooned verses, to the ridiculously infectious chorus, it is just a total bomb. Drop it next time you are throwing down at a party and watch the reaction. Craziness. And what has always struck me as interesting about this tune is it’s sparseness and downright oddness in the instrumental.
Listen again. The bass is low down in the mix, the melody interspersed with funny bleep and noises that could easily sound novelty or just straight-up out of place. But they don’t. They merge together to form a brilliant foil, and mellow rhythm, to the main strength of the song, Vegas’s own lyrical style. In doing so it avoids and ignores many tenets of the reggae and dancehall rulebook, but is still unmistakably of that genre. I remember first hearing it and actually being irritated by it’s approach, turned off by it’s lack of a big bassline to hook onto, and questioning the singing style. Indeed I did the very thing I am arguing against here, dismissing it as novelty and lightweight.
But then it just continued to blow up in 97, 98, 99* like a Duracell porn star it just kept coming. And killing it every time. And now I can’t tire of the bloody thing. To me it is always welcome, always a banger and always sounds fresh. The album of the same name is not to be sniffed at either, Vegas’ Barrington Levy type approach coming to the fore, and maintaining the standard set by the title track. None have quite the crossover appeal of the original offering, but for a slice of dancehalls’ braggadocio and “I’m the man” attitude wrapped up in a sweet package you could do a lot worse, and for an album of this ilk it is incredibly strong with few fillers if any.
Heads will recognise the massive “Nike Air” and the use of Beenie Man’s “Who Am I” beat, but there are plenty more of note to discover also. And many of it recorded in a Kanye West lock-jawed fashion as the impetus for Vegas's creatuve outburst came following a studio brawl over a DAT tape left him with an iron-pipe across his face and 6 weeks with a wired up jaw. And if the work is worth taking a pipe to the head for, then who am I to argue. Heads High? Damn right, and nodding along with the best of them.
Who knows what this years summer jam will be, but my own sunshine laden walk to work this morning threw up a contender for an evergreen offering that never fails to disappoint. Put simply, how amazing is Mr Vegas’ “Heads High”!?! From the opening “Na, na, nanana*” intro through the sweetly half-toasted, half-crooned verses, to the ridiculously infectious chorus, it is just a total bomb. Drop it next time you are throwing down at a party and watch the reaction. Craziness. And what has always struck me as interesting about this tune is it’s sparseness and downright oddness in the instrumental.
Listen again. The bass is low down in the mix, the melody interspersed with funny bleep and noises that could easily sound novelty or just straight-up out of place. But they don’t. They merge together to form a brilliant foil, and mellow rhythm, to the main strength of the song, Vegas’s own lyrical style. In doing so it avoids and ignores many tenets of the reggae and dancehall rulebook, but is still unmistakably of that genre. I remember first hearing it and actually being irritated by it’s approach, turned off by it’s lack of a big bassline to hook onto, and questioning the singing style. Indeed I did the very thing I am arguing against here, dismissing it as novelty and lightweight.
But then it just continued to blow up in 97, 98, 99* like a Duracell porn star it just kept coming. And killing it every time. And now I can’t tire of the bloody thing. To me it is always welcome, always a banger and always sounds fresh. The album of the same name is not to be sniffed at either, Vegas’ Barrington Levy type approach coming to the fore, and maintaining the standard set by the title track. None have quite the crossover appeal of the original offering, but for a slice of dancehalls’ braggadocio and “I’m the man” attitude wrapped up in a sweet package you could do a lot worse, and for an album of this ilk it is incredibly strong with few fillers if any.
Heads will recognise the massive “Nike Air” and the use of Beenie Man’s “Who Am I” beat, but there are plenty more of note to discover also. And many of it recorded in a Kanye West lock-jawed fashion as the impetus for Vegas's creatuve outburst came following a studio brawl over a DAT tape left him with an iron-pipe across his face and 6 weeks with a wired up jaw. And if the work is worth taking a pipe to the head for, then who am I to argue. Heads High? Damn right, and nodding along with the best of them.
posted by Twelve Bar at 9:23 AM
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