BOB+MARLEY

" Jah! Rastafari! Ever Living, Ever Faithful, Ever Sure? " This proclamation shouted with an unfaltering faith in his almighty GOD, his voice bolting through the speakers at a sold out concert like lightning from heaven. As the band begins to play the eccentric Rasta begins to awaken the crowds roaring, deafening shouts of approval. The flares of his dreadlocks flying about-caused by his head's continuous bobbing to the rythm. He than jumps, knees high, running in place to beat of drums and bass. The dancer than marches to the microphone to extol his message to the people, " Get up Stand up....Stand up for your Rights! Get up Stand up....Don't Give up the Fight!" His lyrics command the down trodden of the world's ghettos to rise and fight for their emancipation. The Rasta. Robert Nesta Marley, Bob for short, was for many, a prophetic voice of the people. An averaged height, thin Jamaican man, he spoke with so thick of an accent that it was almost impossible to comprehend. Because of his mixed backround, a black and white mother and father, Marley was light skinned, fairer than his Jamaican Counterparts. His voice, raspy and wide ranged, able to hit high and low notes on a scale. A voice all his own, recognizable the world over. The most visible and most known physical attributes about him was his dreadlocks! These ropes of knotted hair symbolize his belief in his GOD, " locks of dread," his hair expressing his love and fear of JAH. A sweet, pungent smell of ganja almost radiates off his body almost enough to knock you off your feet. His presence was that of a King, a lion over his dominion no less. Bob was a quiet person whom also was very serious when the moment required. His face, a lifeless Cathedral sculpture, Holy and vigilant. However, on most occasions that stone figure could be enticed to burst out with laughter at a joke from a band mate. That same smile could be called out by the promise of a chance to smoke another one- Ganja that is. In Libreville, Gabon on a humid beach in Africa, Marley Mentally prepares for a series of concerts. From a distance some local young men approach the Lion. A few of those wolves in sheep clothing come to him and begin to belt out to him their questions. with an attitude typical of their age they ask, " who are you to come over to Africa from Jamaica, Talking about Pan-Africanism? And explain this Rastafari buisness too!" Slowly the group, led by intrigue, end up under a tree a ways from the shoreline. Here the prophet makes clear his beliefs. Comparing the return of him and others of African descent to the tree and its roots. The fresh air and sea water nearby give off a sense of belonging, a home for this man to return to. He is one of many children taken from their mother before they were even born, now home to reassure those present that he is the same as them. Hours before the show the crew is pulled into a game of football, soccer to you and me. Everyone plays, even the lion. He is an accomplished player, great control of the ball, just like his life. Able to handle what is kicked his way. They pass the ball from head to foot to knee. Then a haze engulfs the room, the smoke begins to choke. The bud is passed around spreading its " meditative" powers to each musician. Now it's time, the crew and the Lion gaze off into the distance, lost in the high of their own thoughts. The messenger returns to his calling, obligated to perform again. On the stage, the sound check begins, his head cocked to one side carefully listening for the right sound. The instruments arranged to give off a vibe. The jumble of stage hands and performers runing around making sure everything is set, connections to speakers are proper and that the separate entites are able to blend into Bob's music. " YEAH! GREETINGS IN THE NAME OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, EMPEROR HAILE I. SELASSIE I. JAH RASTAFARI! WHO LIVETH AND REIGNETH IN I AND I. I ' TINUALLY EVER FAITHFUL, EVER SURE...., " he shouts. The wind bellows with the cheers of aproval. Their cheer of relief, the anticipation is over- he speaks, " They say experience teaches wisdom. But there's a Natural Mystic blowing through the air..." The locks star to fly, the band plays and the legend is immortalized in the minds and hearts of the faithful.