I grew up listening to reggae music with my Guyanese family. My parents grew up listening to the genre, and their parents also grew up listening to it. As a result, I love reggae music and everything about it, from the soothing rhythm to the memories it evokes of me spending time with my family. Most of all, I love the lyrics.
If you take the time to listen to the words, you’ll hear melodies of resistance and resilience, stories of political oppression, corruption, and poverty. Reggae has always given a voice to the marginalized and poor.
After a while, I realized many people loved reggae, too – but not for the same reasons I did. They listened to reggae exclusively at the beach or during the summer, and it was always used as background music while they tanned to their heart’s content or jumped in the ocean. It was also used exclusively as background music for smoking and was once even described by a friend as “meme music.”
What does that even mean?
As happy as I am to see people enjoying reggae music, I can’t help but feel disappointed to see it reduced to nothing other than “feel-good music” when it has such a rich history and significance.
While songs like “Is This Love” by Bob Marley, “It’s Growing” by Garnett Silk, and “She’s Royal” by Tarrus Riley describe love, happiness, and pure bliss, this isn’t the case with every song.
According to Song Facts, the lyrics to “War” by Bob Marley are taken almost directly from Haile Selassie’s speech at the UN in 1963, where the then emperor of Ethiopia pleaded with UN officials for peace and an end to the “nuclear arms race.” The song’s first line is, “Until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned, everywhere is war, me say war.”
The lyrics to “Welcome to Jamrock,” by Damian Marley, depict impoverished areas of Jamaica that starkly contrast the advertised glamor of the popular tourist destination. Other songs like “I Need a Roof” by the Mighty Diamonds sing about poverty too, about needing basic necessities like “a roof over my head” and “bread on my table.”
Many reggae songs mention influential religious and political places and figures. Some include Marcus Garvey, a Jamaican political activist considered by many as the founder of Black nationalism, and Haile Selassie, the former emperor of Ethiopia, whom many Rastafarians also regarded as the second coming of Christ, according to Black History Month‘s website. You also might hear mentions of Babylon, Zion, and Jah.
Additionally, many reggae songs reference Bible verses or incorporate them directly into the lyrics; for example, in “Here I Come,” Dennis Brown sings, “My head is anointed / And my cup runneth over,” referring to Psalm 23:5.
As I get older (and especially since I’ve started college), I’ve realized that with the perception of reggae music as “feel-good” music also comes the stereotype of Jamaican and other Caribbean people as dumb or lazy. They’re regarded as just plain happy-go-lucky, mindless, and chill people who won’t hesitate to smoke with you or go out, party, and have a good time.
We tend to do this with other cultures, too: we take the parts we like and disregard the rest. We appreciate Caribbean islands like the Bahamas, Jamaica, and Saint Lucia for their beaches, music, and vibes but conveniently ignore the details that make us uncomfortable.
At the end of the day, I’m not saying that you have to embark on a history lesson or do humanitarian work as a college student to listen to music. I get it – reggae music makes you feel good, and there’s nothing wrong with that. When I need to destress, feel sad, or even study, I play a song by Marley, which uplifts my spirit.
But, as always, be mindful and pay attention to the lyrics of the reggae songs you enjoy to avoid perpetuating stereotypes. Reggae music is more than feel-good music. The music you might disregard as “background music” for the beach may be another person’s protest anthem.
What’s the point in engaging with a culture if it isn’t done out of appreciation?