Week 24

Week 24 – Wednesday 15^th June – Marcia Griffiths – The Globe, Cardiff –  £16

“Reggae music is the heartbeat of the people!”

With just over a week to go before Glastonbury, Sandro and I accepted an invitation from Uncle Benjammin to join him and Billy Joel for a bit of reggae music with the ‘Queen of Reggae’ herself, Marcia Griffiths, at the home of all genres of music, The Globe. An impressive pre-gig pint at The George saw me steadily sip a couple of strawberry ciders until my lips and tongue were transvestite-red, while Sandro and Benjammin had more ladylike drinks, in the form of lager.

Benjammin and Billy’s knowledge of reggae music is far superior to mine, or even jack of all genres, master of nuns, Sandro’s, which is mightily impressive, considering that I’ve seen Cool Runnings at least fourteen times. They briefly educated me about Marcia’s exploits throughout a long and illustrious career. Apparently, she’s a woman.

Marcia has been singing since the sixties, famous for working with Bob Andy, another reggae legend, in the inventively named group Bob & Marcia, who had a hit single that even I’ve heard of in the form of “Young, Gifted & Black” which is how I’m frequently described by those in the know. She was also one of the I-Threes, who were backing vocalists for Bob Marley & The Wailers in the seventies, whoever they are.

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The Globe was thankfully slightly less toasty than on our last visit, although it was still hotter than most Caribbean countries. Cans of Jamaican beer Red Stripe were selling at four for a tenner and were ideal for both the climate and occasion, but not my taste buds, which were still tuned to strawberry. There was a decent midweek crowd of eager reggae fans present, including a few friendly looking Swiss lads oddly dressed in skin-tight suits, but there didn’t seem to be any supporting acts.

After a long while drinking upstairs, Marcia’s band finally took to the stage, and I could see that Sandro, whose long-term dream has been to marry the 'Queen of Reggae' and move to her home in Buckingham Palace, was nervous, so I invited him to kiss my lucky egg. He didn’t.

“How about I beat your butt right now?” he said instead,
“How about I draw a line down the middle of your head so it looks like a butt?” I replied cleverly, even though Sandro is far from bald. The band played a nice gentle instrumental to ease us in, before Griffiths joined them to add her sultry voice. 

“Let’s see you moving Cardiff!” Marcia proclaimed, and Cardiff obliged, with swaying and shuffling widespread and no one present was able or willing to resist the reggae rhythms, particularly Uncle Benjammin who was drawn to the stage. I didn’t know the name of any of Marcia’s own stuff, but it didn’t matter. She may be in her sixties but she showed the energy of a fifty nine year old as she moved across the stage and her boundless enthusiasm was contagious. I did however have a rare moment of recognition for her rendition of ‘You Don’t Love Me (No, No, No)’ which was a treat.

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Like all great dancers I also knew the famous dance that accompanies the song ‘Electric Boogie’  like the back of my hand, but I wasn’t sure what the song actually sounded like, even though it’s one of Marcia’s most famous and successful tunes. With that in mind I decided it would have been unwise to risk mistiming an Electric Slide, but Sandro wouldn’t hear of it. 

“Look in the mirror, and tell me what you see!” he said to me, holding up his personal grooming mirror,

“I see a pale man in a Rastahat” I replied dejectedly.

“Well, let me tell you what I see. I see pride! I see power! I see a bad-ass mother who don't take no crap off of nobody!” he said,

“Really?” I asked,

“No, but you may as well do an Electric Slide anyway, ‘cause you’ve been making a fool of yourself doing the Pigeon all night.”

As well as her band, Marcia was aided by a couple of backing singers including her son, who she introduced to the crowd, before they left the stage for a brief interval. All then returned for what was closer to a second half than an encore. “Reggae music is the heartbeat of the people,” Marcia declared to cheers of approval. “We’ve lost a lot of good people from the reggae world recently,” she said, and paid tribute to some recently deceased stars of reggae music including Gregory Isaacs. She encouraged those present to celebrate their memory, and she certainly did a worthy job of doing so herself.

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We felt the rhythm, felt the rhyme, and got on up, ‘cause it was Bob Marley time, as renditions of two legendary reggae songs in the form of ‘No Woman, No Cry’ and ‘Three Little Birds’ closed out the show splendidly. Sandro even kissed my lucky egg.  I was delighted. We’d seen a master at work, who’d done what she’d been doing best for over four decades. It had been an entertaining and richly rewarding show, that left us all in great spirits, with a sweet feeling that everything was gonna be alright.  

As we were leaving however, I heard a loud cry of “Eins! Zwei! Drei!” and moments later the Swiss lads flew past, knocking me headlong in the process. 

“You dead mon?” Sandro asked me, clearly concerned. 

“No mon,” I replied. “But my lucky egg is,” I said, showing him the stain on my boxer shorts.

“But I’ve still got your lucky egg here,” he replied, showing me said egg, which was still in prime condition.

“Oh boy,” I said, and hastily covered up my stained underwear.

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June

4-10 - The Subways & Gomez - ✓
11-17 - Marcia Griffiths - ✓
18-24 - Glastonbury
25-1 - Glastonbury