Picture this: You are in this place and all around you are people rocking slowly to the sound of Ken Booth’s version of Everything I Own.
All the girls’ man are locked down with their women; then there’s the steppers with their hands cocked as if they are holding an M-16; the hopefuls across the line pointing to the single women across the lawn to let them know their intentions for the night; and the apprentice struggling with two cases of Guinness for the Dads and his crew.
All of a sudden there is a change in the music, and Cancer takes to the mike bigging up all the hot steppers. The slow mourning sound of Black Uhuru General Penitentiary flows from the dual 18-inch speakers in the column of boxes positioned in the four corners of the lawn. Continue reading