Greetings Superstars!
One of the most unique things about growing up on a U.S. Territory is the confluence of cultures. On St. Croix, there were people not only from other parts of the Caribbean—from Cuba to Trinidad—but from all over the vast United States. So we got exposed to all kinds of experiences. Growing up, it was common for kids to be sent to stay with relatives in the summertime. When your entire island could fit inside of Miami five times, by summer you need a little break from your community, as well as from the heat and Dengue-dirty mosquitos.
The cool thing about this was that although we were generally isolated from the rest of the world except for cruise ships and the odd gang of yachties, we also got to experience little details from places we’d never been. I knew from my friend, Holly, that in Idaho, soda is called, “pop.” We feasted on jambalaya at the home of a Cajun family from Louisiana. And I knew all about the Chicago Bears from a friend’s older sister who brought back an obsession with Jim McMahon.
Me? I was sent to the central coast of California—to a town no one had heard of at the time (no one up here had heard of St. Croix, either, making me feel slightly invisible). And that’s where—years later—I got to see Pato Banton perform. Well, not far from there.
This isn’t the concert I saw, but it’s similar in size and vibe:
When I was in college in California, one of my little cousins asked me to bring him and his friend to the local reggae fest. I was happy to let them run around the Monterey County Fairgrounds while I hit up the curry goat stand. Later, I stood on a bench to look for them when Pato Banton took the stage.
Banton is one of the most charismatic performers I’ve ever seen. From where I stood above the crowd, the audience was an undulating mass that responded to his every cue. He was like Mickey Mouse with those sorcerer brooms in the movie, Fantasia. It was a truly magical show.
I’d loved Pato Banton before this experience. As a teenager, “Don’t Sniff Coke” was fun to sing along to because it was improper, but not as dangerous as a 2 Live Crew song. But the meaning is a positive one: don’t ruin your life with cocaine—smoke sinsemilla instead.
Banton, like many of his fellow Birmingham, England, reggae musicians, spreads buoyantly-delivered messages that encourage people to be cool, chill out, and maintain their own agency.
When I was a kid I assumed that Pato Banton and Buju Banton were related, but just learned from Wikipedia that the word ‘banton’ is a “disc jockey slang word…meaning heavyweight lyricist or storyteller.”
Like many artists, Banton’s story began with hardship and adversity, but then he got his start with Ranking Roger of The Beat in the early 1980s and went on to reach #1 on the U.K. singles chart working with members of UB40. Shoutout to Birmingham for its many contributions to reggae, rockers, and ska! I’ve never been there, but in my imagination, the streets are checkerboard and the sky is ice, gold, and green.
In 2021, Banton released My Name is Pato Banton: An Autobiography. His story is fascinating and, like his music, inspiring. What a legacy!
This week, I hope that you have a chance to see some live music in an intimate setting.
TTY! 💛
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