Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music

Language & Communication xxx (2016) 1–12

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Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music Joseph T. Farquharson a, b, * a b

Center for InterAmerican Studies, Bielefeld University, Germany Department of Language, Linguistics & Philosophy, The University of the West Indies, Mona Campus, Kingston 7, Jamaica

a r t i c l e i n f o

a b s t r a c t

Article history: Available online xxx

This paper presents Jamaica as a case study of the intersections between language practice, language ideologies, and music, using a historically grounded descriptive approach spanning a period of more than three and a half centuries. It describes secular and religious Jamaican music(s) and ideologies connected to them through different periods of the country’s history characterised by different social and socio-political configurations (e.g., slavery, colonial rule, Independence). These systems and the emergent socialities to which they gave rise influenced the creation of new musical genres and determined to varying extents how linguistic codes were distributed by genre, and in the lyrics themselves. Ó 2016 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

Keywords: Jamaica Historical description Genre Creole

1. Introduction English is the de facto official language of the Caribbean island of Jamaica, but most commentators would agree that the country’s lingua franca is an English-lexified Creole, which inhabitants commonly refer to as (Jamaican) Patois/Patwa. Despite its long-term currency across all sectors of Jamaican society, the origin of the Jamaican language in the oppressive system of slavery has served as a basis for its denigration, not only by the elites, but also by working-class Jamaicans for whom Jamaican may be their main or only code. Throughout its history of more than three centuries, the language has frequently been evaluated as inadequate and inefficient (Leach, 1959:6), ‘just plain laziness’, and as being ‘so limited in vocabulary that it can only be described as primitive jabbering’ (Cargill, 2000). While similar sentiments have occurred regularly in books and newspaper articles for more than a century now, a language attitude survey conducted approximately a decade ago by the Jamaican Language Unit (2005) has revealed that they are apparently coming to represent a fringe view. Close to 80% of respondents reported that they saw Jamaican as a language, and roughly the same percentage declared themselves bilingual in English and Jamaican. Several factors contributed to the change in prestige (cf. Jamaican Language Unit, 2005) which the Jamaican language has undergone over the past six decades. These factors include shifts in power relations and identity politics, mobility, migration, and access to and use of new technologies (Devonish, 2007:158–241; Farquharson, 2015; Hinrichs, 2011; Mair, 2003, 2013). I include Jamaican popular music under the new technologies, not as a new technology itself, but as having appropriated the new and emerging technologies from the early twentieth century onwards, for purposes of amplification (Henriques, 2011), reproduction, and dissemination (via radio, television, internet, etc.).

* Center for InterAmerican Studies, Bielefeld University, Germany. E-mail address: [email protected]. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002 0271-5309/Ó 2016 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

Please cite this article in press as: Farquharson, J.T., Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music, Language & Communication (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002

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Since English continues to wield hegemonic power in the area of literacy, language use in books and newspaper articles is skewed in favour of English, and therefore, against those who lack competence in English. Music, on the other hand, has always provided a more liberal space giving access to a variety of languages, styles, and voices. Therefore, the current article proposes that Jamaica’s popular music potentially provides a better gauge of language ideologies. Unfortunately, Jamaican songs contain relatively few metalinguistic and metapragmatic communicative acts. This makes it difficult to conduct a thoroughgoing analysis of linguistic ideologies based solely on the explicit comments singers make with regard to language. To overcome this hurdle, the current paper explores language use patterns with the understanding that the linguistic choices that speakers make in particular situations reflect or counter specific linguistic ideologies. The approach to linguistic ideology that is taken here follows Woolard (1998:9), who proposes that ‘[i]deology is variously discovered in linguistic practice itself; [.] and in the regimentation of language use through more explicit metapragmatics’. Some three decades ago, Brathwaite (1984:16) pointed out that ‘the very necessary connection to the understanding of nation language [i.e., Creole] is between native musical structures and the native language. That music is, in fact, the surest threshold to the language which comes out of it’. Although Brathwaite was referring mainly to rhythm and musicality, we will see presently that the connection he suggests also holds the key to understanding the connection between the genesis and development of Jamaican popular music, its relationship with the island’s social history, and how those interact with linguistic ideologies over time. The current paper presents Jamaica as a case study of the intersections between language practice, language ideologies, and music, and implements this using a historically grounded descriptive approach. The data on which the conclusions are based were drawn from a random but extensive (approximately 200) selection of songs from all historical periods and genres. For the colonial period, I had access only to the text of the songs as recorded/reproduced in various works of history or analysis (Brathwaite, 1971, 1984; Jekyll, 1966; Lalla and D’Costa, 1990; Patterson, 1969; Rath, 1993). For the period starting in the 1950s, I listened to recorded versions of the songs, noting genre, code choice, and code distribution. The discography at the end of the paper contains only the songs that are mentioned in the discussion or from which portions have been quoted as illustration. Section 2 looks at language in the music of enslaved Africans during the early plantation era and charts the transition from African languages in music to the emergence of Jamaican as the language of folk/popular music. Section 3 argues that Jamaican popular music became anglicised around the middle of the last century owing in part to the influence of American music. This is followed by a discussion in Section 4 about how top-down vs. bottom-up approaches to nationalism manifest themselves in patriotic songs. Section 5 presents a long historical view of language use patterns in religious music, and Section 6 closes the paper with a summary and discussion. 2. The twin development of folk music and folk language It is only in the very earliest phase of the English colonisation (1655–1665) of the island of Jamaica that speakers of (standard and nonstandard dialects of) British English constituted the demographic and linguistic majority. By the fourth quarter of the seventeenth century, enslaved Africans, most of them speakers of Niger–Congo languages, had come to outnumber English speakers (Farquharson, 2012:13–23). However, the latter group would have comprised the largest homogenous ethnolinguistic group for about the first thirty years (1655–1685). Despite the numerical dominance of English speakers in that period, there is evidence from the late seventeenth century that people of English descent were using a contact language (probably Early Jamaican Creole) to communicate with people of African descent (Rath, 1993:701). The first significant historical reference to music among the enslaved (Sloane, 1707), and incidentally to the language of that music, comes from the third quarter of the seventeenth century. The British naturalist Sir Hans Sloane, with the help of a French musician, noted down the music and words of the songs played by the Africans. Based on information obtained from the African musicians (via the overseer), the songs were identified as being of Angola, Papa, and Kromanti provenance, respectively. The music identified as Papa is an instrumental piece. In the 1970s, the Kromanti song was identified by Vincent Odamtten (speaker of Ewe and Àkán) as an old children’s play song in Àkán (cf. Lalla and D’Costa, 1990:128). No (African) source language has been identified so far for the refrain of the song labelled ‘Angola’ (but see Rath, 1993:722–4 for a discussion). Rath (1993:720–1) suggests that ‘the language of the songs contains clues to understanding the processes by which Africans reconstructed their various ethnic identities under the constraints of slavery in the Americas’. That the earliest songs on record should turn out to be in African languages is not contrary to expectation. Although one of the pieces being performed by the enslaved was in English, this should not be taken as evidence that in seventeenth-century Jamaica enslaved Africans in general, and these singers in particular, had full command of English. It is not uncommon globally for people to sing songs in a language that they neither speak nor (fully) understand. We find ample support for this conclusion in songs used during religious ritual in different cultures, as well as the recent globalisation of Jamaican (Bilby, 1977) and American pop music. During the early to mid colonial period, there was no concerted effort in Jamaica to teach English to people of African descent. Whites and Blacks enjoyed different entertainment, although poor Whites might have partaken from time to time in Black festivities (Patterson, 1973:231, 236). (1) Hipsaw! my deaa! you no do like a-me! You no jig like a-me! you no twist like a-me! Hipsaw my deaa! you no shake like a-me! Please cite this article in press as: Farquharson, J.T., Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music, Language & Communication (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002

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You no wind like a-me! Go, yondaa! Hipsaw! Hipsaw! my deaa! you no jig like a-me! You no work him like a-me! You no sweet him like a-me! (Lalla and D’Costa, 1990:131–2) [Hipsaw my dear you don’t/can’t do it like me! You can’t jig like me! You can’t twist like me! Hipsaw my dear! You can’t shake like me! You can’t gyrate like me! Go like this: Hipsaw! Hipsaw my dear! You can’t jig like me! You don’t grind him like me! You don’t please him like me!] By the late eighteenth century, Jamaican had firmly established itself as the language of folk music. This can be deduced from songs such as “Hipsaw! My Deaa!” (1),1 “Captain Hugh Crow”, and “Quaco Sam” (Lalla and D’Costa, 1990). This, of course, was to the detriment of African languages, which in keeping with languages in diaspora situations, became lost with each successive generation. Alleyne (1988:113) proffers the following explanation: The language in which lyrics were composed, and the impact of that choice on the structure of the melody, is a main criterion for classifying Jamaican music. African genres became quite rare because of the general restriction on the use of African languages [...]; but songs in the Jamaican language continued to cover the full range of genres. As Alleyne (1988:113) points out, music organised on African aesthetics accompanied by lyrics in African languages eventually disappeared from acculturative (i.e., plantation) contexts, but persisted mainly in esoteric/ritual domains among the Maroons in the hilly interior of the island (cf. Lewin, 2000:179–188), and groups who arrived in the post-Emancipation era (i.e., after 1838) as indentured labourers, such as the Kongo-derived Kumina (Bilby and kia Bunseki, 1983; Lewin, 2000:277– 313), and Yoruba-derived Etu and Nago communities (Lewin, 2000:152–170). Assuming a certain amount of uniformity in the interplay between language and a sociocultural factor such as age, we can conjecture that young creole (i.e., locally-born) Blacks on plantations had started to orient themselves away from the speech of their parents by the mid-eighteenth century. They had two chief motivations for this reorientation. First, the English-lexicon Creole was by then the lingua franca of the entire society (Devonish, 2007:167–8) and the language of young Blacks and Whites (Long, 2002 [1774]:426–7). Second, things African (linguistic and otherwise) had been undergoing a steady process of pejoration and denigration. Take for example the following characterisation by the eighteenth-century historian Edward Long, noting some of the sentiments of enslaved Africans born in Jamaica towards those born on the continent: The Creole Blacks differ much from the Africans, not only in manners, but in beauty of shape, feature, and complexion. They hold the Africans in the utmost contempt, stiling them, ‘salt-water Negroes’, and ‘Guiney birds’; but value themselves on their own pedigree. (Long, 1774:410) This is the cultural and linguistic situation into which mento musicdoften viewed as Jamaica’s first indigenous folk musicdwas born. Mento is generally thought to have arisen in Jamaica in the late nineteenth century among the folk and appears to have been largely restricted to the lower classes until about the 1940s. The mento duo Slim and Sam were roving street performers in Kingston for about a decade before they achieved national fame (Chang and Chen, 1998). As street performers they were performing for audiences mostly comprising speakers of Jamaican. However, although Jamaican had been the dominant language of mento since its inception, commercialised versions in the 1940s onwards started to incorporate more English, so much so that there were several mento songs in English, e.g., “Take Me Back to Jamaica” by The Jolly Boys, or “Boogu Yagga Gal” by Chin’s Calypso Sextet. Although the title of the latter is in Jamaican, the verses are sung in English saturated with Jamaican Creole influence in the domains of phonology and syntax.2 An alternative strategy which was quite common in the 1950s and ’60s was to keep the song basically in Jamaican, but make slight adjustments in morphosyntax and phonology in the direction of the high language (English). This second strategy is exemplified in (2), which is one in a medley of mento songs from the early 1950s recorded by Lord Fly with Dan & his Orchestra. This song, like the others in the medley, is in a conservative variety of Jamaican. The one exception is the use of the English hortative let in line 4 instead of its Jamaican counterpart, mek (
1 Cassidy and Le Page (2002:226) define hipsaw as ‘a hip-shaking dance’. This hybrid endocentric compound draws its components from two separate languages. The first element is the English body-part term hip, while the second is the reflex of Àkán sàw ‘to dance, to shake’ (Christaller, 1933:431) and/or Guang tsa ‘to dance’ (Stewart, 1966). 2 In Jamaican, the expression would refer to a girl who is unrefined, i.e., lacking social graces.

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Nou di jakaas de jomp an brie Let im brie, let im brie. (both lines x 1) [‘Listen to what the old many says You shouldn’t tie donkeys down there. Now the jackass is jumping and braying Let it bray, let it bray.’] Compare the example in (2) with its ska cover (3) released in the mid-1960s by Stranger Cole with Owen and Leon, and the Baba Brooks Band. Taken as a whole, the song is still in the Jamaican language; however, the Jamaican negator no has been replaced by the more English-like nat ‘not’ (line 2). On the side of phonology, the short monophthongs in the Jamaican version of the words you, old, say, and there have been replaced by the longer versions more typical of Standard Jamaican English.3 An explanation will be offered shortly for the anglicisation of Jamaican popular music in this period. (3) Yu [ju:] no hier we di ol [o:l] man se [se:] Yu nat tu tai no dangki doun de [de:] (x 1) [‘Didn’t you hear what the old said? You shouldn’t tie donkeys down there.’] Therefore, in the same way that the Jamaican language had supplanted African languages in folk music in the early colonial period, English started to make subtle inroads into this domain in the early to mid-twentieth century. We can attribute this to the dominant ideology promulgated through the education system and other state apparatuses which sought to replace Jamaican with English. However, the rising influence of the USA in global geopolitics, culture, and entertainment also played a role, as we will see in Section 3. 3. Ska to dancehall: from linguistic rewind to ideological fast forward As mento music went mainstream in the 1950s, American rhythm and blues was coming to dominate dance halls in Jamaica’s poor neighbourhoods, and a whole subculture developed around the sound systems which amplified the music for large audiences (Stolzoff, 2000:48–50). While numerous commentators have pointed out the musicological influence of rhythm and blues on the development of Jamaican popular music of the 1960s (i.e., ska, rocksteady, reggae), nobody has noted the strong linguistic impact of the former on the latter. At least, that would be the most plausible explanation for why there was such a radical shift in the baseline code of Jamaican popular music, i.e., from Jamaican in 1950s mento to English in 1960s rocksteady and reggae. This could also potentially explain why forms more typical of American English such as gonna, gotta, and wanna appear so frequently in rocksteady and reggae songs up to the beginning of the 1980s. The Jamaican singerproducer Prince Buster corroborates this view: The minds of Jamaican people were colonized by America’s rhythm and blues. Its influence penetrated deep into the fabric of society and had a devastating effect on our folk music, our dialect, even our dress code. America’s twang had taken over from our Jamaican patois, mento, Burru and Poco, which were exiled from the city to the hills in the country, and instead of Jamaican songs like ‘Slide Mongoose’ and ‘Linstead Market’ the radio station and the sound systems bellowed the music of Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughan [.] (Buster, 2000:xv) One redeeming quality of the genres which emerged in the 1960s is that from early on songs had started to deal with local themes. Ska, rocksteady and reggae songs of the 1960s frequently featured titles which were in, or more suggestive of Jamaican Creole, but the lyrics themselves were in English, e.g., “Bam Bam” (1966) by the Maytals.4 There were several ska songs in the 1960s which had Jamaican Creole lyrics, e.g., “Sammy Dead” and “Penny Reel” by Eric “Monty” Morris, but these were often remakes of earlier mento songs (cf. Murray, 1952). Many of the early reggae tunes contain no Jamaican Creole, e.g., “ABC Rocksteady” by the Gaylads and “Do the Reggay” by the Maytals, while others contain numerous phonological features which can be evaluated as being due to Creole interference. A few other reggae songs from that period contain insertions of Jamaican Creole in the form of quoted texts (especially proverbs). “Nanny Goat” by Larry and Alvin (4) is a good example of the last pattern. The only use of Jamaican comes in the form of a well-known proverb (line 2) used at the opening of the second verse.5 (4) Old time people used to say, “Wat swiit Nani-guot a-go ron im beli.”

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In Jamaican the pronunciation of the word old varies between/ol/(short monophthong) and/uol/(diphthong). The editors of the Dictionary of Jamaican English state that bam–bam is “a familiarized or childish form, prob[ably] also euphemistic: echoic (from beating on the buttocks)” (Cassidy and Le Page, 2002:23). The word is also used to mean ‘excitement’, especially when it is the result of a comeuppance or retribution. 5 The proverb is a warning and generally means that something you currently enjoy will cause you pain in the future or will be the source of your undoing. 4

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O no, no! I’m not gonna let you go. No matter what you say; no matter what you do, Because I know you’re the only one for me. By the 1970s, reggae music had started to show a shift in language use patterns. By far, the most dominant pattern comprised verses sung in English (with or without codeswitching into Jamaican) with the chorus/refrain/bridge in Jamaican. Given that choruses and refrains are generally much shorter than verses, this development might at first glance appear to be less than spectacular. However, the potential impact becomes more obvious when we consider that these song segments are repetitive and tend to be the most memorable parts of a song. Peter Tosh’s “Dem Ha Fe Get A Beatin”’ is a good example of songs in this category. Alongside that first pattern, more songs started to appear that exhibited genuine cases of codeswitching in the verses, and not just insertion of quoted material. With these songs, reggae had started to project ‘a subversively antiestablishment Jamaican national identity’ (Cooper and Devonish, 1995:297), not only in its themes, beats, dance styles, but linguistically also. Additionally, by the 1970s the Rastafari impact on reggae music had started to become more obvious through the frequent insertions of Dread Talk (Pollard, 1982, 1994) in roots reggae songs. Although reggae is traditionally viewed as ‘rebel music’, it is a role that it grew into. Reggae’s linguistic subversion, while important in the overall scheme of things, could be considered a soft revolution in its homeland given its heavy use of English up to the present. This point becomes even starker when we consider that there are non-Jamaican reggae artists who make greater use of the Jamaican language than their Jamaican counterparts. Compare, for example, the lyrical output of the German singer Gentleman and the Canadian singer Friendlyness with that of Jamaican reggae singers such as Bob Marley and Tarrus Riley. It was after reggae had gained international acclaim, especially through the careers of artists such as Desmond Dekker, Millie Small, and Bob Marley and the Wailers, that the Jamaican middle class started to warm to the music. I believe that local middle-class acceptance was also helped by the fact that language use patterns in reggae were/are more representative of the diglossic language use among members of that class, i.e., the use of English as a default code, with Jamaican being reserved for particular topics/themes or social situations/events. It could be argued that Jamaican Creole would have made the music inaccessible and therefore undesirable to a global audience; however, this argument is countered by the international success of Jamaican dancehall music. Although the birth of Jamaican dancehall music is normally dated to the late 1970s, most music historians recognise that its gestation had begun some three to four decades earlier among the nation’s poorer classes (Stolzoff, 2000:xxi). Stolzoff (2000:1) argues that dancehall is ‘a field of active cultural production, a means by which black lower-class youth articulate and project a distinct identity in local, national, and global contexts’. With the ideological shift that took place in Jamaica from the late 1960s to the late 1970s as a result of Rastafari, the Black Power Movement, and change in the political climate, (Black) lower-class youth got to publicly articulate their distinct identity in their own voices and language. Dancehall has provided the chief platform from which the social and linguistic identities of many working class Jamaicans have been performed. Jamaican has been the dominant language of dancehall since its inception, as evidenced by early examples such as Yellowman’s “Mr. Chin” and “Zungguzzuzeng” and Wayne Smith’s “Under Mi Sleng Teng”. While early reggae is known for speaking truth to power, the chief concern of early dancehall was ‘speaking’, i.e., providing working-class Jamaicans with an amplified voice, a medium through which they could tell their own stories. Ideologically and linguistically, reggae became self-conscious of its own post-coloniality. It was the music of former colonial subjects who found themselves in a neocolonial vacuum attempting to oppose the (neo)imperialist overlords in the language of those overlords. Dancehall, on the other hand, takes up an anti-colonial stance in rejecting the notion that the language of the establishment was the only language in which individual and group narratives could be framed. In so doing, dancehall artists have significantly added to the legitimacy of the Jamaican language. In the words of sound system pioneer Prince Buster, dancehall ‘basically answers to itself; it answers to nobody’ (Winston Blake qtd. in Stolzoff, 2000:20). With regard to code selection and language use patterns, dancehall is a Jamaican (Creole)-dominant genre. Since the late 1970s, when the dancehall (sub)genre took shape, there have been songs entirely or predominantly in the language of the masses. Papa San’s comedic “Maddy Cry” (1991) is an example of a dancehall song done entirely in the Jamaican language (5). The greater part of the song is a man’s impassioned plea to God for assistance in his romantic affairs: he lost his woman to another man, was laughed to scorn by the man who cuckolded him, and failed to keep his next love interest because of lack of funds. A small segment of the song (not shown in (5)) contains a strong reproof addressed to people who have gathered in his yard to ridicule him. In using the Jamaican language for conveying strong emotions (i.e., a passionate plea to God, and anger), the singer is reflecting common norms of interaction in the Jamaican speech community. (5)

Laad! Mi kyaahn tek it no muor. Gi mi bak di uman we yu gi mi bifuor. Laad! Mi kyaahn tek it no muor. Gi mi bak di uman we yud Afta Half Pint tek we mi gorl Winsome, Laaf afta mi an den tek it fi fon, Den mi gaan bak an mi [?en] go taak tu Blossom An shi gaan lef mi chuu no moni naa ron.

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[God! I can’t take it any longer. Give me back the woman you gave me before. God! I can’t take it any longer. Give me back the woman you gave med After Half Pint stole my girl, Winsome, Laughed at me and then took it for a joke, Then I went back into a relationship with Blossom And she broke up with me because I’m not giving her any money] Yellowman’s “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” is illustrative of the second set of songs, i.e., those in which both English and Jamaican are used, but Jamaican is the baseline code. “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” depicts an encounter between a police officer and a young man, and it selects Jamaican as the code for the narrative voice.6 English is only used in the dialogue between the two characters, but for different reasons and with different goals in mind. Given that English is the language of the Repressive State Apparatus, and hence the language of power, it is not surprising that the officer uses it to address the young man. The young man uses English to respond to the officer, but he uses it as the language of deference. This makes this dancehall song a better representation of the day-to-day deployment of codes in the Jamaican linguistic marketplace (cf. Devonish, 2007) than many reggae songs. As a subcultural space, dancehall music rejects much of the diglossic attitudes and practices of mainstream Jamaican society. Nevertheless, diglossia still shines through with regard to some topics. For example, English tends to be the language of romance and courtship while Jamaican is the language used to sing about hardcore sex. 4. Who sings the nation-state? For the past six decades, music has been one of the chief spaces for scripting and performing national identity and nationalism in Jamaica. Having gained political independence from Great Britain in 1962, Jamaica is still a young nation-state, and it is still in the process of defining its nationhood. Edgar and Sedgwick (2008:220) assert that ‘any conception of the nation to which it [i.e., nationalism] refers must take account of ethnic, historic and linguistic criteria, as well as political notions such as legitimacy, bureaucracy and presence of definable borders’. Even a cursory look at Jamaica’s national symbols, such as the anthem, motto, pledge, and the constitution, reveals that those who charted the way for the new independent nation had taken history, ethnicity, political and religious expression, bureaucracy, and border into consideration. From the perspective of the ‘founders’, there was no question that English would be the (sole) official language of the new nation. English had the necessary historicity and institutional support, it was linked to two world powers (one waning, the other rising), and it was the dominant language of middle- and upper-class Jamaican bureaucrats. Here I explore two competing nationalist traditions by looking at language use patterns in patriotic songs spanning approximately six decades and how those patterns unveil notions of legitimacy. The first tradition, a brand of top-down nationalism, is the product of Jamaica’s immediate pre-Independence period, as educated middle class artists and bureaucrats sought to determine the values and symbols of the new nation-state (Manley, 1982, 2013). While they were determined to shake off the yoke of British imperialism, they were conservativedif not shortsighteddon the extent of the social and political revolution needed to make Jamaica truly independent. Their ideological conservatism is understandable in light of the fact that quite a few of them had received their tertiary education in Britain or North America. The nationalism which they offered comprised a Eurocentric core with slight adjustments to accommodate the local. This can be illustrated by patriotic songs from that era such as “I Saw My Land in the Morning”, “Jamaica Land of Beauty” (6), the national song for schools, “I Pledge My Heart”, and the national anthem, “Jamaica, Land We Love” (7). It is significant that several of these songs were poems that were later set to music. (6) Jamaica land of beauty, We promise faithfully To serve thee with our talents And bring our gifts to thee. Jamaica we will always In honour of thy name, Work steadfastly and wisely And never bring thee shame. (7) Eternal Father bless our land, Guard us with Thy Mighty Hand, Keep us free from evil powers, Be our light through countless hours.

6 This contrasts sharply with many novels in which the Jamaican language is included. Jamaican is used mostly for dialogue between some characters, while English is generally the code of choice for the narrative/authorial voice.

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To our Leaders, Great Defender, Grant true wisdom from above. Justice, Truth be ours forever, Jamaica, Land we love. Jamaica, Jamaica, Jamaica land we love. Except for a few rebel voices, including Claude McKay, Louise Bennett, and Phillip Sherlock, the general sentiment in that period was that English was the language of (good) poetry (Morris, 2014). This is corroborated by G. Thornley in a letter to the editor of the Gleaner: Sir,dCannot Mr. Phillip Sherlock, B. A., (Hon. English) of London University find something more edifying to the people of Jamaica to indulge in other than resuscitating these archaic, low-brow and pointless system of verses? I refer to his proposed compilation, in book form of these old verses which he is pleased to nickname “folk-lore”, and which is written in the patois of the English language. (Thornley, 1938) From the first decade of the twentieth century, debate arose intermittently in the national press about the languagehood of Jamaican Creole and its limits (cf. McKay, 1913). Most commentators in the pre-Independence period were in favour of its eradication so that English could stand a better chance among the folk, but there were a few dissenters like Harper (1948), who argued that ‘[n]othing is wrong with the fact that local dialect shows no signs of retreat. Rather, local dialect should be encouraged, for we who are alive to-day are witnessing the birth of a new language, though it may appear vulgar’. From the 1940s onwards, poets and playwrights produced an impressive body of work in the Jamaican language, which provided support for Harper’s sentiments. Both the language and these creative works received further legitimation in the 1950s and ’60s with the publication of academic descriptions and analyses of the Jamaican language (Bailey, 1966; Cassidy, 1961; Cassidy and Le Page, 1967). These ideological and academic advances did very little, however, to change the mindset of the power brokers. Over the years, patriotic songs which have gained unreserved state approval (earmarked for use in national ceremonies) have been entirely in English. This is true of “Come Back to Jamaica”, the theme song used by the Jamaica Tourist Board (JTB) in its 1980s campaign to entice Jamaicans who had emigrated in the 1970s to return to the island. “Freedom Song”, written and arranged by Noel Dexter, is a more recent example of the dominance of English in state-sanctioned patriotic songs.7 However, there are recent signs of change: for example, the two theme songs (“On a Mission” and “Find the Flag in Your Heart”) commissioned by the government for the celebration of Jamaica’s 50th anniversary of Independence in 2012 include sections in the Jamaican language. The distribution of codes in these two songs coincides with the distribution discussed in Section 3, in that Jamaican is used in sections done in the deejay style typical of dancehall music. Additionally, these songs are intended for short-term use (i.e., intended for a single event such as an anniversary), in contrast with other patriotic songs such as the national anthem and the national song for schools, which are meant for long-term use. Given the historic low prestige of the Jamaican language, decision makers select not necessarily those symbols which are the best representatives of the national psyche, but those which they believe provide the best presentation of the nation on the international stage. This tradition constitutes a self-conscious form of nationalism that is constantly aware of how Jamaica is viewed by outsiders. This self-consciousness is also wrapped up in language and the institutional power wielded by English as an international language. The misguided assumption is that this power is transferred to nations that have English as their official language. But as Foucault (2000:345) reminds us, the exercise of power ‘is something that is elaborated, transformed, organized; it endows itself with processes that are more or less adjusted to the situation’. These state-sanctioned patriotic songs demonstrate how language use is organised and adjusted to fit new situations by the state in its exercise of power. The second nationalist tradition is a horizontal one which recognises that grassroots Jamaicans should also be active participants in shaping the symbols and values of the nation. This tradition is best exemplified by the national Festival Song Competition, which was established 4 years after the country gained political independence. In its early days, the Festival Song Competition was incorporated into the Popular Music and Mento segment of the Festival Commission’s annual islandwide performing arts competition. The earliest winning entries used emerging musical genres such as rocksteady and reggae, and except for one outlier (“Sweet and Dandy” by the Maytals, which won in 1969), most of those winners were songs with lyrics in English only. “Sweet and Dandy” went against convention not only in its extensive use of the Jamaican language, but also in having the verses in Jamaican and the chorus and bridge in English. As we saw in Section 3, this was the exact opposite for rocksteady/reggae songs of the period. It would take almost a decade from the beginning of the competition for a song completely in Jamaican to win (i.e., “Play De Music” by Tinga Stewart, 1974). Since then there has been a good mix of songs featuring either English or Jamaican, and songs featuring codeswitching between the two languages. The crucial point about the Festival Song Competition is that it has mostly featured Jamaicans from the working class singing not only about working class realities (e.g., Eric Donaldson’s “Sweet Jamaica”,8 see ex. 8), but also about broader issues which affect all strata of Jamaican society.

7 Gregory Simms, Subject Specialist for Music at the Jamaica Cultural Development Commission (JCDC), classifies “Freedom Song” as what he would call a Mento Hymn. Structurally, especially based on its rhythm, it is a mento song, but it also contains some semi-classical elements (pers. comm.). 8 The XX is used as a stand-in for a word that was not clear in the recording.

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(8) Rien a faal bot di doti tof Pul up yu sliiv, man; no tel mi bout no haad notn Kom aan Fatty jos liid da XX Let di man kom dig grong wid mi. Today we sow, tomorrow we reap Den evriting wil bi swiit, swiit, swiit Corn and yam; banana too, And our livestock won’t be few. [It’s raining but the ground is still hard Roll up your sleeves, man; don’t tell me anything (about work being hard) Come on Fatty just just lead the XX Let the man come and till the soil with me. Today we sow, tomorrow we reap Then everything will be sweet, sweet, sweet Corn and yam; banana too, And our livestock won’t be few.] The majority of the ten finalists in the 2015 staging of the competition use the Jamaican language as the only code, and a few of them make explicit reference (all positive) to the language. Take for example “Made in Jamaica” by Carlos “Kansep” Myers, which contains the lines: Embries mi kolcha; stik tu mi ruuts/Wen dem a twang; schriet Patwa mi yuuz ‘Embrace my culture; stick to my roots/When they are twanging; I use nothing but Patwa’. Therefore, the horizontal approach to nation building has achieved in patriotic music a more accurate reflection of the linguistic situation on the ground, where the Jamaican language has a wide currency, and there is codeswitching between it and English in some domains/situations. Fishman (1972:63) identifies aesthetics as a ‘major parameter of prenationalist (and postnationalist) evaluation of vernaculars’. For many Jamaicans, even monolingual speakers of Jamaican, the vernacular was not desirable (Devonish, 2007:91– 2). It is not surprising that aesthetic modes of expression (e.g., music, poetry, theatre) played a role in the language’s increase in desirability. As Jamaican popular music increased in desirability locally and internationally, the language of that music gained in prestige. In the period leading up to and immediately after Jamaica’s Independence, there was no doubt in the minds of middle and upper-class Jamaicans that English would be the language of the new nation. This perspective persists today; however, Jamaican has gained enough prestige for it to truly merit Brathwaite’s (1984) label “nation language”, a label that strikes at the core of the dominant ideology. 5. Singing in the spirit We saw in Section 2 that during slavery African languages gradually fell into disuse in most domains of the quotidian life of the enslaved. This was due to Jamaican Creole having established itself as the lingua franca of the country by the middle of the eighteenth century (Long, 1774), and the steady increase in the number of creoles (i.e., locally-born Blacks and Whites) for whom the Jamaican language (not English or an African language) was their mother tongue. Given that creoles had started to hold positions of leadership, their language had begun to push back African languages while competing with English. For a very long time, religious music remained the chief domain in which African languages were retained until various missionaries set about converting the enslaved (or the former slaves after Emancipation in 1838) to Christianity. Religious instruction, as well as worship (singing, preaching, etc.), was largely conducted in English. As importation of Africans from the continent dwindled after the abolition of the trade in enslaved Africans, African languages came to be restricted to two main subcultural spheres: the music of the Maroons (i.e., escaped slaves in the interior) who had gained their freedom from the British in the first half of the eighteenth century, and the Afro-Jamaican religious expressions of the Kumina and Etu/Nago people who were brought to Jamaica in the post-Emancipation period as indentured labourers (Schuler, 1980). Even among these groups, Jamaican tends to be the language of secular music or music used for the opening or lighter segments of worship, e.g., baila songs in Kumina. In Kumina, baila songs are in the Jamaican language, while Country songs are in a language that practitioners refer to as ‘African’ (Moore, 1953). Lewin (2000:229) elaborates on this specialisation in code and ritual performance: Two types of songs are used at Kumina ceremonies. Country songs and baila songs. Country songs are used for the more sacred sections of the rituals where communication with the spirits is sought and achieved, and are primarily for attracting, entertaining and appeasing the spirits. They are linked to the ancestral homeland through their language texts. Scholars of Kongo have verified that the African language used in Kumina is Kongo/Kikongo based [Carter, 1986] [.] This description is reminiscent of the linguistic situation Bilby (1983) describes among the Maroons where specific codes are used for speaking to specific persons (living and dead). The linguistic division of labour that is seen in Kumina and Maroon music should not be taken as being motivated by the ‘conquest diglossia’ (Devonish, 2003) that is typical of language use in Please cite this article in press as: Farquharson, J.T., Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music, Language & Communication (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002

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mainstream Jamaican society. In fact, it is common for religious communities to use special codes for communicating with the supernatural world. Therefore, African languages are used not because they are better than English or Jamaican, but because the singers/speakers defer to the deities and ancestral spirits whose linguistic competence lies in these African languages. In the post-Emancipation era Jamaica also came under the influence of American Revivalist and millenarian movements. Influence in the area of singing is evident in the popularitydfrom the late nineteenth to the mid-twentieth centurydof the hymnbook, Sacred Songs and Solos (Sankey, 1921), compiled by American gospel singer Ira D. Sankey. So common was Sankey’s hymnbook that up to about the 1980s sangki (
Di uman a Samaria, di uman Shi lef ar waata-pat an gaan. Jiizaz aks ar fi ar ozban, An shi se shi n’av non. Shi lef ar waata-pat an gaan. [The woman of Samaria; the woman She has gone away and left her water pot. Jesus asked her for her husband And she said she doesn’t have one She has gone away and left her water pot.]

(10)

Supuoz wi no miit. [Suppose (that) we don’t meet.] Supuoz wi no miit on that Judgement Day. O what a weepin(g). O what a wailin(g).

Even a cursory survey of music used in worship in most contemporary mainstream Christian churches (both Catholic and Protestant) should demonstrate that English is most commonly associated with songs that are contemplative; those that assist in positioning the worshipper emotionally and psychologically to hear from the Divine. The Jamaican language is used overwhelmingly in (stand-alone) choruses, used more often in the celebratory aspects of worship. In this regard, religious music has not kept pace with the change in language use in secular music since many of the songs (e.g., hymns, worship choruses) used in most mainstream Christian churches today are imported from the USA. As we saw in Section 3, as early as the 1950s (with mento) and the 1960s (with ska), the commercial secular music produced in Jamaica had songs which were completely in the Jamaican language. However, commercial Christian music lagged behind by decades by continuing to produce songs with English-only lyrics. This state of affairs was the product of two inter-related factors: (i) the fact that many of the gospel songs played on radio were imported from the USA; and (ii) many of those produced locally were covers of American gospel songs or remakes of popular hymns. In sticking closely to its AngloAmerican roots, early commercial gospel music in Jamaica did not evolve linguistically at the same speed as its secular counterpart (reggae). This is evidenced by the glaring absence of the Jamaican language from the Christ to Receive (1980) album by the Jamaican gospel group Royal Routes, which was popular in the 1980s. Carlene Davis’ album Jesus Is Only a Prayer Away (1988) is an indication that even with the advent of Christian reggae in the 1980s, gospel music in Jamaica remained stubbornly Anglophone. The use of the Jamaican language as the baseline code of gospel songs did not become a phenomenon until the 1990s, and even then, the uptake was slow. Although Joan Flemmings & the Inspirers are pioneers in the use of Jamaican in gospel music, only one of the eight tracks on their album Right Place, Right Time is entirely in Jamaican (i.e., “Christian People”), and only one other (i.e., “Holy Jesus”) contains any Jamaican, but only in the bridge, which is deejayed in dancehall fashion. However, the bridge starts off in English before it transitions into Jamaican Creole, suggesting that the use of Jamaican has to be licensed by English, the language of secular and spiritual authority. The limited occurrence of Jamaican Creole in “Holy Jesus” is particularly telling given that the song is done on a mento beat and the bridge is deejayed. As we have seen already, in secular use, both mento (Neely, 2008:42) and dancehall (Cooper and Devonish, 1995) are Creole-dominant genres. Interestingly, the significant inroads that the Jamaican language has made into the territory of commercial gospel music were not achieved by established gospel artists, but by artists such as Papa San and (Lt.) Stitchie, who had successful careers in dancehall before crossing over to gospel. Although “Pray fi Dem” on Papa San’s 1993 album of the same name is religious in Please cite this article in press as: Farquharson, J.T., Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music, Language & Communication (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002

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content, it might not be considered gospel because it is part of an otherwise secular album. Nevertheless, the song precedes the marriage of dancehall and gospel that Papa San would consecrate with his 1999 reggae/dancehall gospel album, Victory (1999). Jamaican is the dominant code on that album, while English is mostly used in spoken intros, interludes and outros, and in direct quotations from the Bible. This pattern also holds in Papa San’s God & I (2003) and Stitchie’s Real Life Story (2007) and Serious Message (2010), as well as much of the work of other dancehall gospel singers such as Goddy, Prodigal Son, DJ Nicholas, and Ryan Mark. It is justified to assume that religious music among enslaved Africans in Jamaica up to the end of the eighteenth century was as multilingual as its secular counterpart. If we take Kumina and Maroon musical practices to be examples of what obtained in mainstream Jamaican society in the early period, we can conclude that different codes were used to address different supernatural beings. However, the distinction was not an indication that any of the languages was intrinsically inadequate, but that the language had to fit the communicative competence of the spirit being addressed. As forced migration from the African continent ceased and African languages receded, Jamaican Creole came to play a greater role in religious music, especially among those who were locally born. However, the position held by Jamaican was soon supplanted by English as a direct result of the campaign to Christianise Blacks (with religious instruction in English) and the importation of American Revivalism and its Anglophone hymns. Although nineteenth-century American Revivalism had a deep influence on syncretic forms of religion, the use of Jamaican remained strong in the music of these groups. Continuing missionary activity out of the USA in the twentieth century introduced Church of God, Pentecostal, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Seventh-Day Adventist churches. All of these Christian denominations introduced in the late colonial period use English in most worship-related communicative events, including singing. While Jamaican popular music around the middle of the twentieth century came under heavy American influence in terms of sound and language, gospel music was characterised more by imitation rather than innovation. The dominance of English in Jamaican gospel music persisted even through the ideological upheaval of the 1970s, when the Jamaican language made good strides in terms of legitimacy, and reggae artists were producing for international audiences. The lag was influenced by the growing hegemony of American English, but it was bolstered by the belief that the Judeo-Christian god demanded the utmost reverence. Given that the Jamaican language dominates the quotidian life of the folk and is commonly associated in the minds of many native speakers with non-sacred communicative events (e.g., tracing ‘quarrels’, swearing, humour), it was deemed unfit for sacred use. This meant selecting and sticking to English, the code associated with politeness and reverence.9 It has only been a decade and a half since Jamaican gospel music has started to incorporate more of the Jamaican language. Not surprisingly, the opening of the linguistic field was linked to a shift in genredthe cross-over of dancehall into gospel. However, the secular roots of dancehall has led to a highly circumscribed space for the songs that belong to the dancehall gospel sub-genre. Most of the songs in this category are reserved for private listening and for gospel concerts; very few would feature in an actual worship service in most churches.

6. Summary and discussion This article has investigated the deployment of linguistic resources in Jamaican popular music spanning a period of more than three and a half centuries. The discussion follows secular and religious Jamaican music(s) through different periods of the country’s history; periods characterised by different social and socio-political configurations (e.g., slavery, colonial rule, Independence). These systems and the emergent socialities to which they gave rise, influenced not only the creation of new musical genres, but also determined to varying extents how linguistic codes were distributed by genre, and in the lyrics themselves. The multiethnic and multilingual situations produced by slavery were also reflected in the early music performed by enslaved Africans in Jamaica. We have evidence of Africans singing in both African languages and English, probably indicating that in the earliest period there was no restriction on what language could be used in music. The song titles point to three geographically non-contiguous areas on the African continent as potential sources for the lyrics/music. Here wrapped in one parcel in the early modern period, we have a case in point for the sociolinguistics of diaspora and the sociolinguistics of globalisation. In time, Jamaican (Creole) became the lingua franca of the multilingual community and the chief code used in folk music. African languages became relegated to esoteric practices, including religious music; however, even that space admitted the use of Jamaicandcode distribution being determined by the language of the deity or ancestral spirit being communicated with. It is important to note that this specialisation of codes in early religious music is different from the diglossic situation that would emerge later. The transnational religious flows created in the nineteenth century by American Revivalism brought new evangelical denominations to Jamaica and popularised hymns in English. This importation had a significant impact on the rules of language use in sacred music by transforming it virtually into a monolingual (English) space. The pattern held for more than a century until the introduction of dancehall gospel, in which the Jamaican language is generally the dominant or only code.

9 Even English is subject to the desire to move away from the everyday when communicating with God. This is demonstrated by what I call ‘Prayer English’, which is a special register of English used by Jamaicans mostly during prayer. Prayer English is distinguished from everyday registers of Jamaican English by incorporating Early Modern English features, e.g., pronouns (thou, thee, ye), 2nd and 3rd person singular verb endings (doest, doth), and archaic lexical items/senses (suffer ‘allow’).

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Although the denigration of Jamaican as a bastardised form of English began as early as the eighteenth century, the language had started to reference a local form of belonging for Africans and Europeans born on the island. Folk music became one of the chief domains in which that local identity could be staged with almost no backlash. The Jamaican language held its dominant position as the language of popular music way into the first half of the twentieth century, when its place was disturbed by: (i) the global geopolitics which led to the rise of the USA to superpower status; (ii) the emergence of English as a global lingua franca; and (iii) advances in technology which facilitated the wider dissemination of (American) music. Incidentally, this period was also characterised by an increase in anti-Creole sentiment fuelled by a colonial education curriculum designed to eradicate several local ways of being (including the Jamaican language). It is no wonder then that the importation of American rhythm and blues, starting in the 1950s, not only led to the creation of a new musical genre (i.e., reggae) but also changed the dominance patterns and distribution of codes in Jamaican popular music. English was often the only (and sometimes the baseline) code of genres such as ska, reggae, and rocksteady. The Jamaican language slowly regained some ground in reggae, but only due to the rise in grassroots nationalism sparked by the Black Power movement of the late 1960s and the 1970s, and the work of various activists, artists, and academics. Therefore, the technologisation of music played a pivotal role in the anglicisation of Jamaican popular music, but as attitudes to the Jamaican language became more positive and singers incorporated it more into their songs, it was technologisation that helped to disseminate and further legitimise it. Seeing that much of the current work on the globalisation of language and music (e.g., Alim et al., 2009) concentrates on the spread and linguistic impact of hip hop, Jamaican music of the 1960s and ’70s presents us with an earlier case of the ways in which transnational flows of music can impact local language practice. At the most recent end of our chronology, dancehall music represents a musical and discursive space that is founded on the grassroots ‘language nationalism’ (Devonish, 2007:202) that has been emerging since the third quarter of the last century. The dominance of the Jamaican language in dancehall reflects the ideological shift that made Jamaican the language that indexes national identity. Acknowledgements This research was funded by the interdisciplinary BMBF project “The Americas as Space of Entanglements” at the Center for InterAmerican Studies, Bielefeld University. 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Discography Carlene Davis 1988. Jesus Is Only a Prayer Away. USA: Nicole. LP. Carlos “Kansep” Myers. 2015. “Made in Jamaica” YouTubehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼TIHaHYbuzh8. Chin’s Calypso Sextet. 1950s. “Boogu Yagga Gal” Chin’s Calypso Sextet. “Come Back To Jamaica” YouTubehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼vuJUm90Mxk. Eric Donaldson 1977. “Sweet Jamaica” Jamaica: Weed Beat. Vinyl, 7”. Eric Morris 1964. “Penny Reel/Darling When” Jamaica: Treasure Isle. Vinyl, 7”. Eric Morris 1964. “Sammy Dead/Say Bye Bye” Jamaica: Kentone Records. Vinyl, 7”. The Gaylads. 1968. “ABC Rocksteady” New York, USA: High Note Records. “I Saw My Land in the Morning”, Words by M. G. Smith/ Music by Mappletoft Poulle. The Jolly Boys. 1972. “Take Me Back to Jamaica”. Jamaica. 45” [also Thousands of Children, and Donald Davidson]. Joan Flemmings & The Inspirers. Right Place, Right Time. Jamaica: Stage Records. LP. Larry (Marshall) and Alvin (Perkins). 1968. “Nanny Goat” Jamaica: Studio 1. Vinyl, 7”. Lord Fly with Dan Williams & his Orchestra. 1951. Medley of Jamaican Mento-Calypsos. Jamaica: Motta’s Recording Studio. Lovindeer. 1990. “Find Your Way” Find Your Way. Jamaica: TSOJ. LP. The Maytals. 1968. “Do the Reggay” UK: Pyramid. Vinyl, 7”. The Maytals. 1971. “Bam Bam/Pomps And Pride” Jamaica: Dynamic Sounds. Vinyl, 7”. Noel Dexter. “Our Freedom Song” Jamaica: Jamaican Information Service. Papa San. 1991. “Maddy Maddy Cry” Jamaica: Survival. Vinyl, 7”. Papa San. 1993. “Pray Fi Dem” Pray Fi Dem. Jamaica: Ujama. LP. Papa San. 1999. Victory. USA: B-Rite Music. CD. Papa San. 2003. God & I. USA: Gospo Centric Records. CD. Peter Tosh. 1978. “Dem Ha Fe Get A Beatin’” Bush Doctor. Jamaica: Intel Diplo. LP. Royal Routes. 1980. Christ to Receive. Jamaica: Royal Routes Record. LP. Stitchie. 2007. Real Life Story. USA: Drum & Bass Music. CD. Stitchie. 2010. Serious Message. USA: Drum & Bass Music. CD. Stranger Cole with Owen and Leon, and the Baba Brooks Band. 1965. “Koo Koo Do/Stay Where You Are” Jamaica: Treasure Isle. 7”. Tinga Stewart. 1974. “Play De Music” Jamaica: Wild Flower. Vinyl, 7”. Toots and the Maytals. 1969. “Sweet and Dandy” Sweet and Dandy. Jamaica: Sweet and Dandy. LP. Wayne Smith. 1985. “Under Me Sleng Teng” Jamaica: Jammy’s Records. Vinyl, 7”. Yellow Man. 1981. “Mr. Chin” Jamaica: Jah Guidance. Vinyl, 12”. Yellow Man. 1982 “Zungguzzuzeng” Jamaica: Volcano. Vinyl, 7”. Yellow Man. 1984. “Nobody Move” Jamaica: Volcano, Vinyl, 7”.

Please cite this article in press as: Farquharson, J.T., Linguistic ideologies and the historical development of language use patterns in Jamaican music, Language & Communication (2016), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2016.08.002