Dear Editor,
I am still in awe.
On Sunday, February 23rd, the equivalent of ten thousand screaming banshees fled the torments of hell and landed at that local Tower of Babel, the National Park. The languages-the decipherable ones-blaring from that cacophonous din first clanged off, then returned to pierce eardrums in a dizzying, explosion of sounds: chutney, Jamaican dancehall, and the stray unrecognizable Soca rendition all intermingled and competed for the highest decibel peak before the mesmerized, perhaps stupefied. It was pulsating and scintillating; drums pounding in wave after overlapping wave of mass hysteria, culture, and national expression.
It was neither the time nor place for the likes of Ben E. King or Mohamed Rafi. Perhaps, not even the Mighty Sparrow. Who are they, anyway? If all of this was not so repulsive, it just might have been enchanting.
This was the shrill, reverberating, riotous, adrenaline-assisted, alcohol powered endlessly overpowering moment of musical –if it is that-warfare. I saw monstrosities as large as the new buildings going up in Georgetown –Jukeboxes are what I term them. Just looking (not hearing) at these technological marvels (?) is enough to bring on a severe toothache, trigger a rush of honking car alarms, and set the dogs barking. Here was uninhibited ecstasy and mindless bacchanalia at jet engine volume. Think takeoff revs. What about the Hospital zone nearby? Who cares! Notice nothing is said of hip swiveling gyrations; for now eyes right, but volumes in waiting. One of the “back-ballers” could get a flunkey to write something about that art form.
But there it was a savage tsunami of surrounding sound, lethal in raw power; unintelligible; and a long moment of national madness and release that is evocative, even sublime. Truly Guyanese are happy, real happy. Maybe, they need to blow the mind with thunder. I venture that this “celebration” should be a weekly occasion. In fact, go the whole hog and make it daily, it is so memorable.
More seriously, I questioned that if this is the sound of our souls, why bother with reading? It is easier to save the children this way from the stress of associated effort. Clearly, if this is how we communicate musically, then everyone is on the same sheet. That is, except me. I now see how that infamous Mash Jailbreak did occur. Here is food for thought: given Sunday’s context, it is surprising that the same has not happened again. But don’t worry, be happy; good times are here, and they are here to stay, buddy.
As said in the beginning –I am awed.
Yours faithfully,
GHK Lall
