Drum Magazine Issue 3 | Page 34

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Drum: INSIGHT

© Michael S. Yamashita/Corbis

we are being allowed to listen, but this – I want
to describe this simply, so that the words don’t
disfigure it – this was a gift that the prisoners
were giving to themselves.
Something came alive inside the room in that
moment, as we swayed and clapped, and watched
the small figure at the front of the room – eyes
closed, voice clear and resonant – cast off his
prisoner’s clothes and embrace freedom for us.
There was no Morgan Freeman voice-over to
summarise and clarify what we were sharing – if
only there had been, we might have been able to
hold onto it, take its buzzing potential, and do….
something.

“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.”

Marley’s call to arms rang out loud and clear. The
same ‘deeper, more metaphysical level’ I had often
derided before taking on an urgent, pleading truth –
take it, make this moment last. Maybe we can learn
something. Or maybe we can just stand here and
sway, and listen to this beautiful music forever.
But as the final chords played out, and the room
erupted in applause, it was already ending. Like the
flame of a candle, fluttering and gently unravelling
before being extinguished, the song was over, and
the applause subsided, leaving only smoke and the
memory of something natural and incredible. The
audience sat down, the players put down their
instruments and began to tune up for the next song.
The small black man in the too-big t-shirt and the
baseball cap pulled low over his eyes stood down
and discreetly made his way back to a corner seat
until he was lost in the crowd.

“A small black man in a too-big t-shirt, with a baseball cap
pulled down low over his eyes shifted bashfully behind the
microphone as an acoustic guitar strummed...Redemption Song.
This is where the professional cynic begins to lose his way.”