About a month and a half ago, California rapper Snoop Dogg made music headlines when he announced his name change to Snoop Lion. Accompanying the shift, Snoop also revealed that his latest project would be a reggae album titled “Reincarnated,” scheduled to drop later this year with no definitive date announced. Social networks and music blogs popped off, expressing mixed views. The crossover to reggae seemed fair. Hip-hop, rap, reggae and dancehall have always had a connection and Snoop Dogg has been at the forefront of the sharing. His verses were stylized with a Caribbean twang. He has collaborated with artists such as Damian Marley. And of course he is the original herb smoking, skinny dude who birthed green rap, a sub genre of sorts. He is Uncle Snoop to the Wiz Khalifa’s of our generation who rebirthed green rap. Nothing about him making a reggae album sounded far fetched…
The shift did not, however, excuse the whackness of the name switch. Many people change their names to reflect growth and life experiences. Earlier this year, Mos Def’s morphing into Yasiin Bey coincided closely with the January release of “Niggas in Poorest”. Different, right? But Snoop Lion? Really, ma dude? For a man out of Long Beach, California who brought West Coast rap on the world map, it was way too predictable and generic, to say the least. It sounded too boring for a man who, since the birth of his career, has remained one of the most renowned and respected hip-hop artists.
When I found out that Snoop was calling himself “Bob Marley reincarnated,” hence the name of the album, a suspiciously bad taste formed in my mouth. This could be nothing more than yet another publicity, money-making stunt to remain relevant in a fast-paced switch-up music industry. Still, the story was intriguing. What made him want to change his name?
Some person on the PR tip knew there were people itching for education on Snoop Lion’s transformation and reincarnation as Mr. Bob Marley. Conveniently, a forty-eight minute live press conference uploaded to YouTube answered my questions.
As he sits easily hunched over a round table, Snoop stands out among his production team in an oversized red and blue jersey. A Nike check mark is on one shoulder and the American flag is on the other. In the middle of the shirt is an obnoxiously huge “USA,” causing anyone who knows about the values of Rastafarianism to uncontrollably cough up a flurry of suspicions.
Rastafarianism is a political and social movement rising out of Jamaica in the 1930s. Of the many practices the followers carry out, active opposition to the materialism and exploitative ways of the West is one of the primary practices. He messed up on that one. The symbols did not add up with what he was saying. In the press conference Snoop claimed that he had experienced a transformation by going home to Jamaica to visit the Nyahbinghi high priests. In the press conference he says it was the priest who said he was Snoop Dogg no more, but a lion. He was now living not a religion, but the lifestyle of a Rastafarian. What a story.
Thankfully, the other components were on point enough to fool the lazy eye of the masses. The black couch that seated Snoop and the team had a red, yellow and green stripe shooting across the back. Two healthy-sized diamond rings weighed down each of his wiry fingers and a ring with red, yellow and green stripes was on other. A black tam with red, yellow and green stripes covered Snoop’s head.
DJ/producer Diplo of Major Lazer is the executive producer of the record and kills all doubt of it not sounding like authentic reggae. In the press conference he speaks of striving to achieve that sound. But by using samples from Reggae artists of the 1960s, he couldn’t have committed too many faults trying to reach the feat. Diplo used Ken Boothe Artibella’s 1966 track “Who’s Got Your Love?” for the album single “La La La.” Wow, sounds like that is a game changer. Of course it is going to sound authentic if you sample a song from the time period from which reggae came about. Contrary to how music is produced today, musicians of the era were not trying to sound like anything. They were not trying to recreate a feeling of another sound, but instead were channeling energy from themselves directly into their instruments.
While it is not my place to doubt anyone’s sincerity, experiences or realizations, all of the chips fell into place too perfectly. Good music stands alone. It does not need a press conference promising me how real the music sounds, a photo book, and a documentary (set to premiere at the Toronto Film Festival September 7-8). Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and modern reggae artists like Capleton and Buju Banton have a spontaneous creativity that can be felt through the tune and lyrics. Though Snoop Lion, Diplo and the rest of the team put in hard work I am sure, I do not think the music will transmit the same skin tingling, thought provoking sensations.
Akure Imes… magnificent perfection!!