by ERIN MacLEOD

If you've ever listened to reggae, you've probably heard a song by Sugar Minott. "I have so much song that I am so tired of singing the same thing," the singer sighs as we speak over the phone. "If the people don't make me get new hits, I'll be singing these same song till I'm dead."

One of reggae's most influential figures, Lincoln "Sugar" Minott has bragging rights as one of the creators of dancehall and has found success in almost all of the seemingly endless other subgenres of Jamaican music - but don't tell him his day is done. "If you have current songs you can't be oldies," he insists. "Oldies are people who've stopped singing and gone on to do other jobs and every now and then, people dig them up and say, ‘Let's go do an oldies show.' And when they finish that night they go back to their jobs. But we don't have no other jobs. Ken Boothe still sings, Alton Ellis still sings, Gregory Isaacs still sings, Frankie Paul still sings, Cocoa Tea still sings - so why don't we hear those songs? What's wrong?"

Community person

Good question. After all, Jamaican music has been receiving heaps more attention over the past few years - Beenie Man, Elephant Man, Sean Paul, they've become commonplace. That's the problem for Minott. There's really no variety and success is limited to a select few artists who've been groomed by major record labels. "People are trying to capitalize. They keep pushing the same thing in your face. Even in the olden days when there was not a lot of money being made, there was a lot of star at the same time."

Minott's desire to spread the wealth and fame around is testament to his lifelong goal of upliftment for his community. As a ghetto youth who started voicing hits for the legendary Studio One back in the '70s, Minott was only too aware of the discrepancy between the lack of resources and the unbelievable amount of talent bubbling in West Kingston's poorest and roughest areas. In the early '80s, Minott founded the still-existent Youth Promotion, a collective committed to nurturing upcoming performers, artists who otherwise might not even have the bus fare to make it to the studio.

"We're still doing it, because the youth, dem still come and they don't want to leave," Minott laughs. "I was one of the first young producers producing my own thing and then other people would always come around and see Sugar Minott, because he's been a legendary teacher. And they say, ‘Sugar Minott, he made Tenor Saw famous, he made Garnett Silk famous,' so everybody's coming. So it's like with the heart you have and I'm a community person, I can't say no!"

Helping himself again all over

Minott's dedication to developing careers is often seen as having screwed up his own career. Some might say that refusing major recording contracts when labels wouldn't agree to Minott's request that all Youth Promotion crew be included in the deal might be a bad career move, but not him. "You see yourself in the youth and you see yourself doing the same thing 20 or 30 years ago, right? And many of the youth that have gone forward, they never came back to say thank you or support the next generation of youth. So you get fed up in a way. But when they do come back, you're feeling good that you are here for something and you are helping your community and helping yourself again all over."

While Minott remains devoted to helping the youth inna di ghetto, he's not convinced that all reggae need be socially conscious. Many reggae fans bemoan the eclipse in popularity of the more serious cultural music of Prime Minister Michael Manley's socialist '70s, but as a reaction to the increasing violence in the streets of Kingston, dancehall's lighthearted and playful personality provided a helpful distraction from the increasing difficulty of Jamaican life.

"Dancehall is the kind of music to enjoy," says Minott, who's thrown many a successful dance. "Nobody want to go to the dance and hear ‘I wanna be free 'cause I'm in slavery.' It's a happy thing. It's not a reason for protest or whatever. It's all about youth coming together and having a good time. Dancehall music is to take you away from the real world for a minute to be happy - just have fun for that night."

No bun dem out

Though Minott may not give hardcore protest dancehall tunes a big forward, he's got a problem with the recent pressure to censor anti-gay lyrics. He's of two minds about the worth of such music, but emphatic that it not be taken too literally. "The lyrics that they are saying are violent, they don't really mean that. I know they don't mean that. It's just a part of lyrics.

"When we say, ‘Bun dem out,' we just mean that we don't like them, we are not agreeing with them, but it actually doesn't mean that we are going to do something. People is free to say whatever they want. No one's going to tell Sizzla what to say. I could do without dancing to it. I could do without listening to it. Maybe they should tone down their lyrics. This ‘kill this, shot up batty man' or whatever. That don't make sense."

Minott, however, most certainly acknowledges the political potential of reggae. "We are making an appeal within our songs to say, look, we can all sit and reason and find out what people need and see if we can solve the problem of war and all of that."

When Minott takes the stage as part of the Pop Montreal festival this Saturday, it will all be about nicing up the dance and enjoying the music. "I try to cover all different types of music, I need to sing and try to please different kind of people. I will be singing original dancehall style. Studio One, that's a must and a couple of roots and culture to keep a variety, and there'll be a coupla Rasta man there so I give them something."

With the Mighty Diamonds, Jah Cutta & Determination Band and JoJoe & the Crowded Bus Band At le Medley
on Saturday, Oct. 2, 9 p.m., $28.60

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