Monday, June 04, 2007:
Peter Tosh was murdered in his home by a robber who did not rob him. It's a curious thing, perhaps as curious as a dying hallucination of a lifetime unspooling until the most significant choices are again unchosen and alternate paths stretch out ahead.
On one of those paths Tosh did not joing the Wailers, did not leave them, did not become a reggae icon in his own right. Instead he flew with just his acoustic guitar and the clothes on his back to the U.S., home of the radio stations he picked up at night through drifting clouds on a staticky patchy lo-fi signal which was still enough to leave him charmed and changed.
And so he sat on town squares, park benches, and busy sidewalks playing his guitar, case open beside him until finally the right businessman passed by, passed by again, passed by a third time to listen and make requests. And then he was taken to cut a demo, just him and his guitar and his croonings; the demo was patchy, lo-fi, but still enough to leave people charmed and changed, and it earned him a band which, with a patient guiding hand and some careful production work could rival much of what Motown and Stax had to offer.
[Talking Revolution (caveat emptor: you'll have to be a diehard Tosh fan to enjoy all of this; you might do better with it a la carte @ emusic.com.)]
Peter Tosh -- Stop That Train
Peter Tosh -- Stop That TrainPeter Tosh was murdered in his home by a robber who did not rob him. It's a curious thing, perhaps as curious as a dying hallucination of a lifetime unspooling until the most significant choices are again unchosen and alternate paths stretch out ahead.
On one of those paths Tosh did not joing the Wailers, did not leave them, did not become a reggae icon in his own right. Instead he flew with just his acoustic guitar and the clothes on his back to the U.S., home of the radio stations he picked up at night through drifting clouds on a staticky patchy lo-fi signal which was still enough to leave him charmed and changed.
And so he sat on town squares, park benches, and busy sidewalks playing his guitar, case open beside him until finally the right businessman passed by, passed by again, passed by a third time to listen and make requests. And then he was taken to cut a demo, just him and his guitar and his croonings; the demo was patchy, lo-fi, but still enough to leave people charmed and changed, and it earned him a band which, with a patient guiding hand and some careful production work could rival much of what Motown and Stax had to offer.
[Talking Revolution (caveat emptor: you'll have to be a diehard Tosh fan to enjoy all of this; you might do better with it a la carte @ emusic.com.)]
Labels: roots reggae