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148                 Francio Guadeloupe

       life. The polyrhythmic harmonies and melodies of Caribbean music, espe-
       cially those sanctioned by the culture industries, temper the lyrics
       (Guadeloupe 2006b). The political within the lyrics, which need to be
       black and white to be effective, are interrupted by the improvisational
       dynamics of the music that reminds one of the messiness of life (ibid.).
         I realize that I cannot divorce the politics of Peter Tosh’s Equal Rights
       and Willie Colon’s Che Che Cole from the many childhood parties where I
       danced to these songs while enjoying Planters cheese balls and the Fisher
       Price toys. America, the Western world, the trinkets of capitalism, the vir-
       tues of Christian love, and the struggle against class oppression and racism
       met and shook hands at these parties. Revolution was in the dance, in the
       party, in the assertion and pursuit of happiness, not in concrete actions
       that asked Caribbean people for unforeseeable sacrifices to dismantle cap-
       italism. We had to keep moving to capitalism’s drum, as most of our ances-
       tors had done in order to loosen their joints and survive the Middle Passage.
       The dialectics of resistance within not without capital’s logic is what
       birthed us. This is what we had in common; what allowed us to imagine
       ourselves as a community.
         My friend and I stand observing at the Calypso extravaganza as DJ
       Shadow performs “they fool we again” exemplifies this, as do the majority
       of the audience. Do they recognize the dialectic I discern in Caribbean
       music and Caribbean culture? And if so, can they clearly articulate it? DJ
       Shadow can. After his performance he simmers down and undoes himself
       of his “Bigger Thomas,” working-class image. While drinking Guinness
       Stout he greets his fans and exchanges pleasantries with acquaintances and
       friends. When I question him about his relaxed posture he replies,

         I am Caribbean man when I done speak my mind, I want party. Take a
         whine, free up myself. The Bible say a man can’t live by bread alone, I
         say a man can’t live by warring alone, Seen [Rasta speak for have you
         understood].

       Man can’t live by warring alone; man can’t live by the political within the
       lyrics alone. This is just a moment within the flow of music, of the logic of
       capital. The other songs DJ Shadow performed that memorable night were
       primarily party songs, which had little to do with denouncing the rich and
       the powerful. Yes the Shadow knows, implicitly and explicitly, that Caribbean
       culture is not an either or culture, a culture that seeks the Apocalyptic, as
       Benitez-Rojo (1996) would put it. It is a culture born of capital that seeks to
       Christianize capital’s logic in order to limit its violence. If movement is the
       essence of capital, then for Christ’s sake let all move freely.
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