In 1993,
the hit song "Informer" blasted across American and
Canadian airwaves and video channels, introducing the
phrase "licky bum bum deh" to the pop culture vernacular
and guaranteeing one-hit wonder status for Darren O'Brien,
aka Snow. But although Snow had marginal street cred — his
mention of a sensi bust on "Informer" was based on
personal experience — bad memories of Vanilla Ice
lingered. Snow had a minor hit in 1995 with "Anything For
You" (whose star-studded remix was popular with both
Jamaican and American core reggae fans), but his sophomore
effort didn't come anywhere near the sales of his first
LP. He soon disappeared into the dustbin of history,
seemingly fated to be the answer to a trivia question:
"Who was the early 90s chart-topping white reggae artist
from Canada?'"
"Informer"'s fate belies the fact that it came during
an interesting time in reggae's history. In the early
'90s, dancehall was not only the champion sound of
Jamaica, but was also making steady inroads into the
ever-widening American hip hop audience, through its solid
East Coast connections. Boogie Down Productions, Special
Ed, Heavy D, Masters of Ceremony, Poor Righteous Teachers,
Jamalski and many others were injecting reggae phrases and
choruses into their jeep beats. Meanwhile, reggae artists
like Shinehead, Shabba Ranks and Cutty Ranks were getting
steady rotation in rap clubs and on mix shows. The upshot
of all this activity was a trend towards major labels
jumping on the reggae-hip-hop bandwagon, which ultimately
resulted in a flurry of signings, a few bonafide hits, and
a lot of sub par albums.
Many of the archetypical examples of the '90s pop
dancehall paradigm are collected on the poorly named
Rasta Jamz compilation on Razor & Tie. The title is
more than little insulting, even for an album advertised
on TV and "not sold in stores. Only three of the artists
on the album's 18 tracks actually practice Rastafarianism,
and only one rides a culturally authenticated,
Rasta-identified riddim — Born Jamerican's "Boom
Shak-a-Tak," based on the "Armagideon Time" lick. Rasta
Jamz even has the nerve to include Reel II Reel's "I Like
to Move It, Move It"— whose acid house vibe is about as
Babylonian as it gets. (We won't even get into the
exploitative photo of the scantily-clad hottie sporting
camouflage pum-pum shorts on the album's cover.)
Were Rasta Jamz called Super-Pop Hip Hop
Reggae Hits of the '90s, though, it would have been
more accurate and less culturally insensitive to real-life
Rastas. Telling the story of a decade of dancehall
crossover acts, it includes contributions from a number of
reggae artists who scored major label deals during the
early-and-mid-'90s: Shabba Ranks, Chaka Demus & Pliers,
Super Cat, Born Jamericans, Patra, Shaggy, Inner Circle,
Capleton, Ini Kamoze, Terror Fabulous, Mad Cobra and —
yes, you guessed it — Snow. Thankfully, Mad Lion, whose
"Take It Easy" is an urban rude boy anthem if ever there
was one, also makes the roster.
Rasta Jamz includes some acknowledged classics
of the era; "Dolly My Baby," "Murder She Wrote," and
"Action" still get club play today. But other songs, like
"Flex," "Here Comes the Hotstepper" and Shabba's eminently
forgettable duet with Johnny Gill, "Slow and Sexy," are
merely played-out. Most of the artists signed during hip
hop reggae's trendy phase have long since been released
from their deals, and some have disappeared entirely —
with the notable exception of Shaggy, whose "Boombastic"
growls paved the way to international superstardom and
mega-platinum sales.
Yet while hip hop reggae may have cooled as a
major-label phenomenon, in the late '90s, a new wave of
dancehall artists scored club hits that crossed over to
wider audiences, among them Tonto Metro and Devonte's
"Everyone Falls In Love," and Mr. Vegas' "Heads High."
Capleton, whose combination-style duet with Method Man,
"Wings of the Morning," is one of Rasta Jamz' high
points, has also continued to remain viable as an artist,
reconnecting with his roots audience on the albums More
Fire and Still Blazin'.)
In 2003 — with Sean Paul, Buju Banton, Shaggy and
Beenie Man all signed and/or distributed by major labels,
and indie artists like Elephant Man, Wayne Marshall, and
Vybez Cartel tearing up the underground — the case could
be made that dancehall is as popular with American
audiences as it's ever been. However, the genre still has
a ways to go, as evidenced by the fact that despite Bounty
Killer's ten years of quality material, his biggest U.S.
hit came on a guest appearance in a song by rock act No
Doubt.
By way of comparison, consider this: It took Eminem to
completely break rap music in middle America, after
decades of efforts by black and Latino artists just to get
to the verge of mainstream acceptance. And now that Em's
won an Oscar and made MTV his own personal trailer park,
it's not hard to see where there could be support in
certain quarters for another Great White Hope — this time
in the reggae field.
Hence the return of Darren O'Brien with the new Snow
album on Virgin, Two Hands Clapping. The second coming of
Snow is a lot like the first — with the notable absence of
MC Shan this time around. Snow chats and sings in patois
vocalese. He's got thugged-out guest rappers, sugar-sweet
hooks and slightly overproduced pop-dancehall beats. For
good measure, he also brags about his legal troubles and
criminal acquaintances, as if trying to "be down" or "keep
it real." Sound familiar?
The parallels between Darren O'Brien and Marshall
Mathers extend even further. Much like Em reps Detroit,
Snow claims the T-dot-O. Similarly, just as Dre added
weight to Em's beats, Snow employs both Dave and Tony
Kelly's riddim-building prowess. Snow's marketing
potential seems obvious: he's got a rogue-ish background,
appeal for the ladies and absolutely no qualms about
taking reggae down an overly commercial road. Tracks like
"That's My Life," "Whass Up" and "Girl" sound catchy at
first, but do we really want to hear them every twenty
minutes on the radio, like we heard "Informer"?
In his defense, Snow does have skills on the mic (just
like Em). His rapid-fire lyrical expositions and sing-jay
scats may borrow liberally from other artists, but just
about every reggae artist does that. The history of the
genre is basically one of constant recycling, updating,
and appropriation. Whether you're feeling his music or
not, it doesn't seem right to hold Snow up to a double
standard. There's no real reason to hate on him; his stuff
may be pop-oriented, but his lyrics are a still lot more
conscious than some of the more nasty-mouthed dancehall
artists out there.
Reggae purists will likely find little to hold their
interest on Two Hands Clapping, but for a younger,
less-culturally-aware teen audience, Snow at least
represents a more palatable alternative to Britney,
Backstreet or Christina. While his comeback is anything
but guaranteed, he can at least claim to be a pioneer (of
sorts) who, unlike Vanilla Ice, stayed true to his style
and waited for his opportunity to shine again. After all,
not every one-hit wonder gets another chance after ten
years — maybe there is something to be said for the luck
of the Irish.
