Buju Banton
It’s not too tough these days for a fallen star to clamber back into the public’s good graces. Marv Albert hit the talk show circuit before the ink was dry on his plea bargain; a newly penitent Mike Tyson landed a gig with the World Wrestling Federation; Latrell Sprewell got an arbitration hearing. Seems anything short of murder–sorry O.J.–is forgivable if you’re famous.
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Banton’s original transgression was a single called “Boom Bye Bye,” released in the U.S. in 1992. Its message was startlingly clear: shoot the fags and shoot to kill. And its timing couldn’t have been worse: had Banton not been poised on the brink of international stardom, the tune likely would have come and gone unnoticed. But the early 90s saw a heavy stateside demand for dancehall artists, particularly as collaborators with hip-hop artists. So when Banton replaced Shabba Ranks as the premier dancehall artist back home, it seemed only reasonable that he’d fare well here. Then, just after Banton signed with Mercury Records, “Boom Bye Bye” was released on the New York-based VP label.
Nevertheless Banton was quickly vilified by the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, which succeeded in getting the song pulled off the radio in New York City. In his defense, Banton said that homophobia was part of Caribbean culture and that homosexuality was prohibited in the Bible. GLAAD and Mercury eventually squeezed a vague, antiviolence apology out of him, but it was more carefully worded than a Clinton denial and did little but fan the flames. Ranks, who defended Banton on British television, was bounced from both the Tonight Show and an opening slot on Bobby Brown’s U.S. tour following further protests by GLAAD.
Worse yet, on Inna Heights Banton feels the need to answer his critics directly: quite literally, he explains himself in five spoken-word pieces, all titled “Inter Lingua,” that are scattered among the album’s 16 musical tracks. Though they’re all less than 30 seconds long, they kill any hope of album continuity. And while he sounds plenty earnest and penitent, he also reveals himself to be utterly self-centered: he talks about his love of music, his role in reggae, and his spirituality. In trying to place himself among them Banton shows just how far removed he is from reggae’s Rasta greats–even modern ones like Israel Vibration–who hardly ever refer to themselves in the first person, much less explicitly offer themselves as role models.
