It’s 4:10am, and I can’t even begin to explain the effect Kees has on the masses. The night is done and we resolve to continue tomorrow. And I don’t mind. I’m not for the bright lights. I’m not for carloads of people shouting his name as we pass. I enjoy anonymity, but I’m not him. I enjoy my privacy. I enjoy no one caring. But I’m not him. The cars honk ‘Kees’. The girls scream ‘Kees’. Picture after picture, flash after flash. I have friends that are artists, musicians, icons, so I’m prepared, at least that’s what I tell myself. But it’s different. He channels the heart of a country, and that’s just weird. But even weirder, he gives it right back. Not in the plastic way you would expect of celebrity, but in the way of one that was raised in beliefs and structure. He not only mentions the south when he talks, he wears it as a badge, and I relate.
I expect him to tire of the countless revellers, the endless drunks, the people. I expect him to say, ‘fuck!’, be pissed, to turn. But he doesn’t. He hugs everyone like a paid Santa. He speaks to them all like the politician you trust. He relates, and they want more, and he slides from their grace before they know what happens right into the next batch of wanting fans. I wonder what that must feel like, but am glad I don’t really have to know…. It’s only been a little over an hour and we’ve already talked about relating to Trinidad, love, and swampy. The latter was the newest for me. It’s his drink of choice and for those that aren’t familiar, I do the same without soda.
He doesn’t want the crowd, although he loves them like they love him. He wants a quiet place. A place where he can talk, hear, and be heard. The next round of swampy is on me. And random people still call his name at he bar in ‘Shakers’, and he smiles and poses. I’m tired for him. But he doesn’t stop, and it’s clear why his people love him.
Over the heavy bass of the night we’ve talked about women, marriage, Trinidad, the fear that holds people back and creativity, and I haven’t asked a question. It’s the following morning; my head is swampy, and if he wasn’t so enlightening I would dread the evening to come.
He says, ‘Ask me whatever. The real shit. The shit that everyone wants to ask’, the shit no one dares. ‘Dress me in whatever, no worries, I trust you’, the honest weight of that statement makes you want to watch out for him. It makes you want to show him in a way that will increase how people see him. It’s almost too much. I’m here to push how people see. I’m here to drag fashion along angrily by the ear, and as much as I love doing that, hearing him say, ‘no worries, I trust you’, draws pause. It makes me reflect before doing. How do you handle the people’s star?
I’ve heard it said, or they’ve said it. You pick. The ominous ‘they’ of a country, says that he needs help with his ‘styling’. I think to myself most artists do. They are trapped somewhere between ‘repping’ for their hood, things they like, and appearing fashionable or worldly. It is distinctly that that keeps me away from the styling efforts of any musician. I simply don’t have the patience to coax. But he wears a black button shirt, a black and white striped tank top beneath, red jeans, and black hi tops, and it comes off effortless, comfortable, and fashionable, but who knows maybe that was a fluke.
It’s Kees day two, and it starts at the Hyatt Regency. We meet in the parking lot. Its early-ish (roughly 9:30pm), we take a moment deciding if it makes sense for both of us to drive. I don’t like waiting for anyone, so the idea of forfeiting my car doesn’t bode well. He suggests that he drive, and although my car is in sight, I shrug, realising I’m along for the whole ride. We talk, it’s not an interview, it’s the banter of the previous night, now behind us, and the one that lies before us. Our first stop is to pick up his manager Carolyn Pasea. She has a bright smile and kind eyes, not the Soca manager type I imagined, but what do I know. Though her look doesn’t say Soca, Carolyn and her partner Simon Baptiste run and own QME (Question Mark Entertainment), which represent the likes of Rikki Jai, Tessanne Chin, and several others, but tonight it’s about Kes the band, which they’ve managed since 2005. In the car the two talk shop. Tonight should be interesting I think to myself as I’m already tired, but I’d sound ridiculous complaining as Kees prepares to do 3 shows tonight.
At the first venue the guy asks, ‘Why Kees driving?’. I know what the question means, but the obvious answer from the humble man in the humble car is, ‘Cuz I drive. I have my license.’ The guy leaves, we laugh, although I understood the meaning behind it. Is the star you see really that regular? I have no way of knowing this yet, but there’s a part in his performance where he chides the crowd to reach to the sky and pull down a star as if it’s that easy, that achievable, that regular.
Towards the end of the 1st set of 3, he launches into 2 new songs. The crowd loves him- he engages them low in a crouch. He talks to them like he grew up with the first 10 rows surrounding the front of the stage. It’s personal. He stops the music to show them he is more than a catchy beat and an expected hook. He does the verse low and slow. A Capella. Reminiscent of insert your favourite old school hip hop artist. Music is music entirely, right down to the last syllable. They love the spoken word, eating every syllable. He rewinds, and we begin.
The other party waits, but the crowd is engaged, I turn for a second distracted by a passerby’s outfit only to turn back to Kees in the crowd. Surrounded. Jumping with the masses. Pull down a star if it’s that easy.
In the car to the next spot Kees discusses the things he didn’t like in his performance. The same performance, where he balanced a roundish woman of 200lbs about the waist, bouncing, without missing a beat. He insinuates that he purposefully scanned the crowd and picked her out, almost as if there was a point to prove. A challenge to be met. I almost expected his knees to buckle under her weight, but challenge met. ‘Adding new songs without practicing them in the set is tough, you have to know where your getting your breath’, Kees states this while drying himself off in the back seat. He laments with his manager, about someone who I’m supposing would usually assist in that situation. His manager drives to the next set and I think about the guy that was amazed that Kees drives himself to his shows. She’s the nurturing figure you want your mother to be, without all the embarrassing baby pics. She turns on the air for Kees, and while driving checks it repeatedly to make sure it’s reaching its intended target. I’ve decided she’s sweet. She’s the manager I want for when I become a Soca star. I let them discuss business without interruption.
The next set is corporate. Can’t wait to see if he picks the biggest woman in the two-piece work suit up off the floor in wotless behaviour. This event is bigger. It’s obvious. Lux. Our manager tends to the band. This set is Kes the band. Kees and I talk. We discuss travel (He is just most recently back from Toronto and Japan). The type of experiences that are game changers. The places you go that somehow make you different instantly. The Clark Kent now Superman emerges from the car different. Outfit number two is more polished. White button shirt, slim grey pants, black v-neck sweater, black patterned bow tie. Stylish. Befitting. I’m trying to imagine ‘Wotless’ in this look. If he will become as personal. Speaking to his family on the waves of sound. My first question comes. ‘Do you have a ritual before you take to the stage?’ Without thought he nods, ‘Yes, a moment to myself, away from it all and everyone’. I saw him sitting in the dark car minutes before I asked this. However, there are so many more to ask I’m not sure I’ll count this one.
The crowd is smartly dressed in cocktail attire with raised glasses of wine. They are near the stage but not cluttered about it. The first five rows are all women, and the energy suggested a more refined approach to appreciation of Kes the Band.
It’s 11:35pm and with his coaxing, the crowd, now a tad closer, swings their hands from side to side in unison to Kees’ command.
‘Ting, ting, ta ting, ta ting’. There’s no room between the crowd, the stage, and the music. The air of reserve is gone and the party truly begins. Kees helps two inebriated Brazilian men onto the stage, beers in hand. He asks for two single women. The women are barefoot in contradiction to their cocktail dresses, and are definitely smaller than his last conquest. Personally I was convinced he was going to pull the lovely plump women with the ample bosom and outdo his last feat. I was momentarily disappointed. Kees begins to teach the men how to wine on short ‘ting’, tall ‘ting’ etc. it is now a party. On the sidelines I share the laughter with his manager. He exchanges the troupe on stage for another couple. He continues his lesson. The couple indulges; the beat swells leading right into ‘Wotless’ behaviour. This crowd, decidedly different from its predecessor, eats this up, and regales the same.
The music plays on. I’m by the speaker with rolled napkins jammed in my ear watching. The crowd. The Performer, and The band. The band talks in its own silent language of glares, nods, and smiles. From the outside looking in they are enjoying this, the being in the moment, as much as the crowd.
At 12:40am the set is done. I watch three young ladies (I want to call them groupies but that’s so cliché) angle their way to the side of the stage, and with Kees’ every movement they mimic. He stops. They stop. He moves. They move. It is the stuff of your favourite cartoons. They never get as close as they want. They never get to speak whatever is on their mind, but it wasn’t for lack of an effort. Kees is swiftly off the stage and to the car. He is by himself again. Silent.
Two down one more to go. Kees drives.
It’s pouring. The next show is the Harts event at Brian Lara’s. Outdoors. Kees requests a shower and a change. Quick stop at the manager’s and we’re back on the wet road, rushing for time. She drives. The musical chairs we play in the car makes me feel like part of a well-oiled machine. The grounds are wet. The girls are wet. But it is still every bit of a party. Machel is on. We are in a tent backstage and Kees dances to the beat. I sit. I don’t know how he does it. I’m tired for him.
Its 2:10am. Its raining harder, and I’ve got my second wind, and second scotch from the bar, where I’ve fallen in love five times in the distance from the bar to backstage. I’m sure there’s no connection. It’s minutes before his performance. The area before the stage looks more like a spent mosh pit. The revellers are half naked, glazed over, shirts in back pockets. False lashes hang long and to the side. Clothes plastered to the skin. Kees is at the side of the stage, mic in hand, he puts on shades. I look on as he paces, dances , and paces. He’s unaware of everything around him. The rain, the music, the crowd, all gone, even the two women that are inching closer to the restricted area to get his attention. I believe he’s in a zone and will ignore them. He has begun to announce his presence through the mic, warning them of the inevitable. The one that makes it the closest still gets a hug. It’s genuine. He shouts the beginning of his song into the crowd that can’t see him. She lifts a leg, balanced, and starts shaking. He walks the steps to the stage, and she heads back to her friends all the envy. When we talk about this moment in time towards the end of the night, he remembers it and says that one of the girls was a girlfriend from about 4 years of age. I laugh. It’s cool when moments like that make sense.
I’m amongst the crowd, closer to the bar, third drink. It’s 2:50am and the rain stops and the crowd rejoice with Kees. The third show however is noticeably shorter. I head backstage to see Kees kneeled surrounded by people shoving water at him. I’ll ask him about it later. I begin to think even Superman has Kryptonite. He threw up onstage after the last shot of tequila. We were out last night drinking like (insert your favourite fish); tonight he had considerably less. My assumption was the ton of water, the constant jumping, still figuring out his breathing, three shows at an hour or so apiece, took its toll. Either way it ends his performance and makes him more human. More Clark Kent. More normal. Once he’s a bit more composed we talk about the last time he felt ill and had to throw up backstage. He tells me he had to time his expulsions to the music, the whole time listening for his cue to return to the stage. Or about what happens when you’re engaging the audience and you have to vacate your bowels. Our favourite manager interrupts and offers a piece of gum. She’s on it. We return to bowels, the thing we can all identify with, but never think of artists having to deal with onstage. Kees tells me, ‘You have to convince yourself that it’s not happening right now’. Crazy. Now Clark is too human, but the candour is refreshing.
At 3:25am Kees appears in the mid of the remaining roisterers from nowhere, jumping to the beat. I didn’t see Clark change, nor did the remaining crowd. He mingles with purpose, taking pics and hugging every remaining family member. I wonder if he feels he needs to do this, if it is his disappointment in his last performance that drives him to want to connect in this personal way. The need to say sorry to each person that loves him. If that is his motivation, his family accepts the apology with open arms. The rain has picked backed up. It’s heavy and full. We are all soaked and still dancing. Trini’s huh?
The deejay announces the last song and I’m amazed that Kees is literally the last one on the floor. You can’t make this up.
I’m tired (this is the second night in a row of 4am’ing), and soaked, and he still connects with each group of stragglers. It almost feels as if he is cordially seeing each one off his property. My bed calls, but I don’t rush his process. I get how important the connection with his supporters are. The next stop is 51. We arrive to a pre-existing group hoping to enter on his cache. He obliges though he’s not obligated. Once upstairs he’s told he can only have four people the remaining members must pay. Rather than ‘stick’ his family with the bill we all exit. It is a statement. It tells me more.
4:45am we sit in the Hyatt parking lot. It’s where my car is. We talk about the responsibility of sharing creativity within any artistic medium. It is an honest moment in an otherwise crazy night that I am still not convinced will end. It’s 5am and it does. I haven’t thought of my 10 questions, there was too much to learn, to understand, to take in before questioning. We resolve that we’ll address them at a later date.
The following interview was meant to take place in a dance studio. It’s a random Saturday night in the New Year and Kees, The Band, and The Dancers are hard at work. I watch, as they sweat hard, the beat swells, Kees does a random karate kick into nothing, and the lights blow out. All of Cascade is in darkness. I’m assuming it was them, it feels right to do so, although it’s probably just a random occurrence. We hang in the parking lot amidst the glow of headlights. Talking, laughing, laying plans. Kees and I decide we’ll meet by Rossco’s, do the interview in my car, then grab a drink.
BBS: Test. Yes.
KD: One two. Kees. Breast. Bless. No Stress. Yes.
BBS: Alright. So this is an interview with Kees. Saturday night. The corner of Roberts and Murray. Old School in the car.
KD: Check. Yeah, my grandmother used to live right there! That’s where my granny used to live. Corner of Robert and Murray, right there, it’s a good sign.
BBS: Yeah? A good sign that it’s going be a good interview. Cool, let’s just get right into it. What’s wrong with the industry that Imij & Co. didn’t work?
KD: Um I think for me, leaving Imij & Co. was natural. I don’t think anything was wrong. I think it’s a matter of knowing what’s right for you. For example, us wanting to create more…wanting to do things a little differently with respect to getting our hands into changing the sound, affecting the sound, making some kind of noise or splash. We needed to do it on our own. Imij & Co. was a great institution, where we grew and learned, but we needed to really carry things further and the only real way to do that is to really run your own business and own your own business. So to make that change we had to make that step.
BBS: I understand that it never gained acclaim. I’ve heard it referred to as ‘cutesy’ music. What brought about the change to Kes the Band?
KD: I think it’s about a natural evolution you know? I mean look at Justin Timberlake, He started with N*Sync, and he just went to Justin and really came into his own. I think everybody’s journey is different, what I’ve realised now in my approach to music is that people want that reality, that real connection with the artist. And when you make that real connection to music, whether it be fun, whether it be something serious, or whether it be something just ‘vicey’ (laughs) ‘wotless’ as we say, you know, it brings it home for people because it is here that they could relate. So the ‘cutesy’ aspect was needed, you know, a caterpillar into a butterfly. I’ve explored the ‘cutesy’ side, I’ve explored the very hard side and I’ve found some middle ground that I’m good with right now.
BBS: As artists you’re constantly being labeled, your work is constantly being judged, even like that term or label of ‘cutesy’. I mean you sat down and you created work, art, as you see it. How does that make you feel?
KD: I can’t lie to you. I still deal with the labelling, especially in Trinidad where we’re accustomed to one thing, and when you change it people ‘duz beat up deyself’, as they say. As an artist, I am a filter, and when the environment changes, your vibe changes. So for me dealing with the change is always a challenge but that is me growing as well, as a person and as an artist. The fact is that people may not get it right way, they might not, they might not get it till three years afterwards, but it’s so important if you want to be a pioneer to put on a pair of balls and walk the road, you know. So I think that’s so much more important.
BBS: So no hard feelings about the labels that were bestowed on you?
KD: Not too long. Let’s just say it didn’t last too long. You find that period where you’re vexed. You like ‘Why people not listening?’ Or, ‘Why they jus sticking in the same mode?’ But then you sit back and you realise, these people are not doing this for a living. You need to spoon feed. You need to know how to bring change. The fact is to want change. But how to bring change is a whole different science. So you mix the both, you mix the known with the unknown and you eventually fulfil change.
BBS: Alright. Let’s be clear, some Soca tends to focus on the misogynistic. How does that impact upon your creativity?
KD: It was a challenge, honestly. For people who know what we do, we do a lot of pop, a lot of rock and Soca. Five years ago those two worlds would never come together, so much so, that we had to have two albums: one album was a pop album, a next album was a Soca album, cause we couldn’t put the two worlds together. Thank God this year we could actually do that. With that merge, the parameters change a bit, and you find a lot more people from the outside being interested in Soca when the parameters change. So yes, Soca is what it is now with the parameters being strictly for the Carnival, but if you as an artist want change, you have to step outside your box. I think now, more than ever, it’s a lot easier to push the limits of the topics that we sing about in Carnival, sometimes it goes over the masses’ heads, but sometimes it hits. You have to have that faith.
BBS: Okay. So you’ve been in the industry for eleven years and you are just receiving the recognition…
KD: (laughs)
BBS: A publication said, ‘2011 was the year you went from a boy to a man.’ How does that statement make you feel?
KD: I had a little problem with that.
BBS: Yeah I would too (laughs)
KD: Not with the publication, but it shows you the pigeonhole that we look at music from, or through, where if you don’t have a Soca Monarch or a Road March it seems that you are less of a musician in a lot of ways. This was what I was battling with. When you look at singers like Andre Tanker, 3 Canal, Orange Sky, poets like Muhammad [Muwakil], there are a lot of artists who do not do the Carnival route, and are not recognised in the way that they should be. They are respected and I know that they are, but if they win a Soca Monarch, trust me, it’s a whole different world. So, “Wotless” was the song that really brought me out, I know I had so much good music even before this, dread, and this is the song they recognise me for?… So I was like toting for a while, then after a while I realised, ‘Yo! Your door is your door.’ You have to realise that. You don’t judge the foot that you walk in the door with. The fact is, when you walk in, you walk in, when you get the people’s attention, or you’ve learned to do that, that is the time. That’s the time that you really try to make your change. So I moved off over that very quickly and I didn’t judge the entrance. When they said I went from a boy to a man, in some ways I did become a man over that success because I’ve realised that people see the world as they see the world. They see success in Trinidad as Soca Monarch. They see success as Road March. They don’t see success as changing an art form. We need to look at the people who are pioneers, and don’t necessarily look at just people who win things. Look at the people who are starting things and might lead people to win things.
We need to look at the people who are pioneers, and don’t necessarily look at just people who win things.
BBS: Right on. That leads me into the fact that Soca artistes must get visibly frustrated and disenchanted with the fickle nature of Trinidadians and the industry.
KD: Yes.
BBS: So how do you keep that frustration at bay?
KD: Now, I’ll tell you something. It has happened to a lot of artistes where people just get frustrated, and not just artistes, it’s producers, and people who want more for us because they see more, they see potential. For me, I can’t lie to you, right now in my life, the young people are really pushing me to feel a different way and to have hope because the fact is the people who we were calling small men and small girls seven years ago, ten years ago are now adults, are now people who are in a position to lead. And I have been seeing a lot of innovation, I have been seeing a lot of fearless experimentation with the young generation and I personally have faith that a revolution is coming in a lot of ways and its either you’re on the sidewalk or you’re a part of the parade. So to me something is definitely coming to change and I want to be in the loop of it. I feel a part of it. I feel somewhat ushering it, being the bridge between two generations in a lot of ways, but also letting them know to respect where you come from. And that’s my mission. So I feel the change coming, and I feel good about it.
BBS: I also read you feel a little bit more comfortable in life. What happened between 2010 and 2011 that caused the noticeable increase in sexuality in the music?
KD: Well generally I have to say I am a sexual person, in a sense that, when you deal with music, music is your creativity, it’s your base track, it’s that connection to the earth, to the material, to bringing things forth. So for me that energy is constantly used, so it will ooze into the music. What happened to me, I think between 2010 to 2012, I unlocked myself in a sense that there was a point in time where I felt like I hit a lid, and I was like what am I doing? I’m not feeling fulfilled. I can’t express myself in the way I want to, in the fullest way. And then I came to the realisation that it wasn’t about trying to change what people think, it’s about your perspective. And I flipped. It was a strange experience, I can’t lie to you, but it definitely changed my outlook in life. At that point in time things changed, I started to attract stuff into my life that wasn’t coming before, this was just due to me changing my perspective, and that’s why I feel like I’m in more control of the wheel.
BBS: Okay. Now this question is from a friend. “Just when you get some edge and sex appeal, how you gonna’ go and get married?” It actually says, “How you ‘gonna’ go’.
KD: I mean for me, it’s obviously a challenge in any artist’s life to make that step. I think you know when the time is the time, and you know who’s for you is for you. You have to respect that. When the party is over, and when the fete done, who’s there for you? Who really has your back? I want a family. I want that life as well. So, yes, it’s about sex appeal, yes, it’s about all of that, but it’s about the music as well. Nobody cares if Marvin Gaye was married or not. I just know when his song plays I wanna fuck. Yuh understand? So my thing is, dread, Marvin Gaye could have been married, single, divorced who gives a shit? His music stirred an emotion in me and I want to transcend all of that bullshit, and just transcend it in my music. If I haven’t as yet, I’d love to aim to that.
Nobody cares if Marvin Gaye was married or not. I just know when his song plays I wanna fuck. Yuh understand?
BBS: Yeah look at Luther. Luther was ambiguous for a while, and then it was like he’s gay but when you listen to his music it’s like who gives a fuck right.
KD: Luther! Exactly! Who cares! (sings) “Every Year”, yuh huggin’ up yuh wife. (sings) “Every Christmas”.
BBS: I remember receiving a BBM, as most probably did, that you were being implicated in a sex tape.
KD: (Kool-Aid man voice) Oh Yeah!
BBS: I didn’t know much of you at that point but a few weeks ago, I began to dig around the dredges of the internet in search of a sign that this sex tape really existed. There were no signs of it , there was just discussions. I spoke to someone that said they spoke to someone who knew ‘the someone’ and they said it was real, you know, all that high school shit.
KD: Yeah
BBS: The interest in the tape seemed to take you from again that clean, cute Kees of Imij & Co. to the stomping grounds of the Soca royalty possibly giving you the credibility to support the “Wotless” hit. Was there ever really a sex tape or was it engineered?
KD: Wow! Yuh know what though…
BBS: Cause if it was engineered, it’s brilliant!
KD: You know what though, I can’t lie to you. There is no sex tape for the record. There is no sex tape at all. The thing is, dread, it was so crazy, my question was: Where is this sex tape? Show me! Put it in my inbox! Show me it! There was none, you know what I mean? But I still got the brunt of it, and it affects your family, it affects your personal life, your personal relationships. It just was like, what is going on? And then to deal with all of that and it not be real, it was a problem, and then after a while I realised, no press is bad press. The fact is I was in a slump in a lot of ways, people said, Kees relax yuhself. The fact that they are speaking is a good thing in the first place. If they weren’t talkin’ bout you then you probably have to worry. So I just relaxed with it, because people will always say what they have to say. (Smiling widely) And say that they know a friend, who knows a friend, who knows a friend. That’s the responsibility you have to take as an artist, as somebody in the spotlight. I told myself, Kees, they talk about Machel, they talk about everybody in the industry, and they talk about everybody else internationally. This is your first little banter, have some balls and have a little back to deal with that. The fact is I just dust if off.
BBS: With the pressures of having a number one Carnival song does the culture hold you back from exploring your creativity? Do they want more of that versus what you might want to do?
KD: I think it holds me back if I allow it to hold me back. I have always been the artist to experiment, to do something different, so I think it’s important to remind people where you are in it, or who you are in this. To me, when artists try to do the same thing that they did before, it’s never the same thing . So you constantly have to keep trying to find that new inspiration. I think it’s very important to reset your button. In that second year, the people may think that you should do a version of what you did the first year, but you have to hold your ground. This is art. By the third, or fourth year they realise, ‘wow, this is a catalog and this is just not one single that you’re basing your whole music career on.’ So I think it’s about being strong and about being true to your art and being true to your inspiration at the time. So big up to all the people, the fans who come along for the ride, they should know it’s a bigger ride than that. This rollercoaster have all kinda’ ting in it.
BBS: So Jay-Z and Linkin Park did that collaborative fusion effort. Weezy picks up a guitar and mashes a blend of hip hop over a simple rock riff. If there was no Soca, what type of music would you be creating?
KD: I would be doing something close to rock reggae, cause I’m very much Caribbean. I’m very much an island boy in a lot of ways. But I love pop and rock and R & B and those riffs and those melodies. So I would have been doing a hybrid of the both. Doing a rock reggae world music mix.
BBS: And on top of that, if there was no music at all, what would you be doing? And would it still be with the band? Cause I didn’t mention the band the whole night.
KD: You know what, though? (laughs) I’m sure we would find something to do. It’s something that has to make me laugh and smile at the end of the day, and have the right people around me. So the right people right now is the band and I’m sure we would find something else to do.
BBS: Alright good enough man. The last question, what are the top five albums in your playlist.
KD: Wow! Yow. That’s crazy cause I can’t really choose. But I’ll tell you I love Dave Matthews Band. The album with “Crash Into Me”. (laughs) Sting and the Police. The Very Best. Stevie Wonder. (pauses)
BBS: Who knew that was going be the toughest question of the night…
KD: It is! Cause it depends on my mood. God, I can’t even choose a Bob album, I love Catch A Fire. Number five… wow…who boy? (pauses) Wow! This is rough. This is hard. I can’t lie to you. One of the best albums that I love is Orange Sky, “Birds and the Bees”. It’s a local rock reggae band. Love that vibes. Have to say it’s one of the ones that had an impression on me. Yeah.
BBS: Tight. Alright man. How was it? Was it good?
KD: (loud yelling noise) It was one of the best! One of the best. In depth and to the point!
BBS: That’s it, we finally wrapped it up. Long time coming.
KD: Let’s drink to that.
The night ends at 3am on the Ave. The street is alive, and Kees and I, and several friends hold up the corner. It’s a party in the street. Machel passes. A throng of models clad in carnival costumes block traffic with an impromptu photo-shoot. A girl with the Trinidad flag etched into her back after touching Kees’ exclaims, ‘I will never wash my hand again.’ I smile to myself, and carnival begins.