By Andre Haynes
Elephant Man, dancehall’s self-styled “Energy God,” commanded a multitude to the Providence National Stadium, where he swept up fans with his “swagger” into the early hours of the morning.
He lived up to the top billing he received at the Digicel’s D’ Summer Flex concert on June 27. The trifecta of Jamaican headliners was rounded out by soulful reggae star Tanya Stephens and up and comer Tessanne Chin who delivered strong performances, after the local opening acts x2 and B-52 whetted the crowd’s appetite and firmed up their credentials.
If there were any doubt about Elephant Man’s influence on the dancehall scene, it was put to rest by the droves of devotees who flocked to the Stadium, where they mimicked every step of his ever-expanding repertoire. True to form, the “Energy God” leaped out on to the stage a little after 1 am, bouncing left, right and centre as he sped through a medley of hits from his “Log On,” “Higher Level,” “Good 2 Go” and “Get Physical” albums, in-cluding recent hits like “Nuh Linga,” “Gullie Creepa,” and “Alli Luya,” which captivated the audience. Whether he was doling out US hundred dollar bills to young fans or challenging women who had a couple of hundred pounds on him to jump on his “anaconda,” he is at all times an intense and hyperkinetic showman. To watch him was an exhausting act in itself, particularly amidst the sea of acolytes who were at the show.
Near the start of his performance he made a point of offering an apology to fans over reports that he had branded Guya-nese “thieves” during his last concert here, explaining that he was misreported but offering his regret nonetheless.
Contrition hardly befits a deity, but in dancehall’s ever-shifting hierarchy, Elephant Man occupies a unique place; with his dyed dreadlocks, his garish outfits and penchant for uttering non-sequiturs (“Shizzle my nizzle,” “Good to go,” “Broomy! Broomy! Sweep!”), he is a manic court jester, a peacock of a man who steers towards escapism with gay abandon. It was not surprising then to hear his reaction to Michael Jackson’s death the previous day: “He was a great performer,” he said, “I was a big fan.”
Certainly, no one can argue that he put the “dance” back into dancehall with his inventive albeit ridiculous routines and distinctive brand of over-the-top mania over equally absurd riddims that appropriate from nursery rhymes, cartoon theme songs, and even traditional gospel music. In so doing, he offers a counterpoint to the gravitas embedded in the current gangster narratives of dominant genre artists like Vybz Kartel and Mavado, who have presided over the ‘gloomification’ of dancehall (it is a fact Elephant Man seems aware of–“Last year was the year of the Dagger,” he proclaims on his “Sweep Dem!” mixtape, “This is the year of the Swagger”). Not that Elephant Man does not traffic in dancehall’s standard tropes–the glamorisation of violence and homophobia–but his appeal lies not in the affected ‘bad man’ pose he assumes as part of the social contract; rather it is in that of the ‘cheer-leader’ who doesn’t take himself seriously, his ultimate mission being simply to get asses shaking on the dance floor.
And that he did and then some early Saturday morning.
For her part, Stephens thrilled fans with a signature performance of a string of reggae and dancehall hits that she has racked up over the years. Among the crowd favourites were old school scorchers like “Yuh Nuh Ready Fi Dis Yet” and “Goggle” and “Cherry Brandy,” as well as newer smashes like “Hey Lady,” “It’s a Pity” and the now classic “These Streets.”
She is a standout in a male-dominated scene, were women are relegated to the role of sexual object, a portrayal that has been both challenged and reaffirmed by some leading female artists. Stephens, a first class songwriter, laces her music with themes of female empowerment–which she proclaimed years ago with “Yuh Nuh Ready Fi Dis Yet”–but perhaps weary of labels she does not identify herself as a female singer, rather as a singer who happens to be female. To be sure, she is no preacher, and her songs seem to be carefully crafted, infused with equal parts wit and wisdom, all delivered with brimming confidence.
Seeing Stephens live, you will realise that while there is nothing remarkable about her voice, the poetry of her songs pack a powerful punch. Just consider the ballad, “These Streets,” which is an exercise in wordplay; the entire song is built upon complex similes, which are laced with double entendres and puns. You could say Stephens is not a reggae singer but a singer who happens to sing reggae.
The same can be said about Tessanne Chin. Her star has not yet risen, but you can make no mistake about it that she is aiming high. The younger sister of Tami Chynn, she is still establishing herself on the regional music scene, where she has already earned a reputation as a powerful vocalist and a penetrating lyricist who has been blurring the boundaries between reggae, soul, rock and even dancehall. Add to that fierce performer–at least based on her showing at the concert where she lived up to her billing.
Her songs are loud, leaning heavily on a rock influence, and she transitions easily between husky banshee screams and softer soothing vocals. Her most popular single, “Hideaway,” best demonstrates both as it shifts from lover’s rock to dancehall and back again. However, Chin is still on the periphery of the consciousness of the casual listener and her brief, four-song (“Black Books,” “Messenger,” “Hideaway” and a new single) set was greeted with a lukewarm response from the crowd. Her powerful vocals also did not make up for her lack of stage presence. Still, her songs speak for themselves.
