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Jamaican musicians and fans shocked at passing of soulful roots reggae singer ‘Peetah’ Morgan at age 46

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‘… a colossal loss for Jamaica and for Reggae Music’

Screenshot of Jamaican reggae band Morgan Heritage’s lead singer, ‘Peetah’ Morgan, taken from the band’s ‘Perfect Love Song’ music video on YouTube.

Lead singer with the Jamaican “family reggae band” Morgan Heritage, Peter (“Peetah”) Morgan, passed away on February 25. Although the Morgan family did not disclose the cause of death, a close associate of the band commented that he may have suffered a stroke (unconfirmed by the family).

On its X page (formerly Twitter), Morgan Heritage wrote, “It is out of sincere love that we share that our beloved husband, father, son, and brother and lead singer of Morgan Heritage, Peter Anthony Morgan, has ascended today. Jah come and save us from ourselves because love is the only way. […]”

Peter, the son of well-known reggae singer Denroy Morgan, who died in 2022, was one of five siblings. Born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1977, he moved back to Jamaica with his family soon after. The family formed the group Morgan Heritage in 1994; that same year, they released their debut album “Miracles” and gave their first performance at Reggae Sunsplash in Jamaica. Two original band members, Una Morgan and Nakhamyah “Lukes” Morgan, subsequently left the group, which then consisted of “Peetah,” Roy “Gramps” Morgan — who now lives in Nashville, Tennessee — and Memmalatel “Mr. Mojo” Morgan.

The group became known globally as a “conscious” reggae band, with lyrics infused with social awareness backed by roots reggae rhythms. They were more popular overseas than in Jamaica itself, and toured the United States and Europe many times performing many of their most popular songs, including “Don’t Haffi Dread (To Be Rasta),” “Down by the River,” “She’s Still Loving Me,” and “Reggae Bring Back Love.”

Younger Jamaicans, though familiar with the name, had not heard much of their music, although the group won a Grammy Award for Best Reggae Album in 2016 for their album “Strictly Roots.” The album spent 44 weeks on the Billboard Reggae Albums chart, peaking at Number One. The band, which has produced 12 studio albums to date, was nominated for another Grammy in 2017.

Prime Minister Andrew Holness posted:

The prime minister shared photographs of himself with the brothers, “Gramps” and “Peetah,” at an Independence Day celebration on August 6, 2023, when he and Minister of Culture Olivia “Babsy” Grange presented Morgan Heritage with the Reggae Icon Award.

Minister Grange shared:

She added:

Tributes poured in from many local and overseas-based reggae musicians once news of his death came in, with many expressing shock.

Among the most powerful and emotionally charged tributes was from Jamaican deejay Buju Banton, who, on Instagram, recalled first hearing Morgan Heritage over 25 years ago in Bushwick, Brooklyn: “I was completely in love with the sound, the work ethic and the good vibe I felt. That day, I immediately added them to my European tour dates and would go on to bring that sound to the world […] We have always kept it honest with all we have done for our people and people of the world by extension.”

Banton shared that he and “Peetah,” whom he regarded as “the brother [he] never had,” spent the last two weeks together “working on a very special project.” Lamenting that he was saddened by the sudden turn of events, he added, “You are totally a reggae music superstar who gave from where our father said we should, our hearts. All those memories, all that laughter, all those tours. I am going to miss you Peter and I will comfort myself with this thought. You cannot come to us but we must come to where you are. Until then Peter, I love you.”

Fellow Grammy Award-winning singer Kabaka Pyramid also posted on Instagram, “Physical life is temporary. Thankfully the soul is eternal. Cherish life each and every day. My deepest i-dolences to the @morganheritage family. Such a great human being and impeccable singer @peetahmusic. An inspiration to us all. Give thanks for a great life that seems so short lived ”

One radio station and sound system operator shared:

Veteran British reggae DJ David Rodigan shared:

The popular Jamaican music festival Reggae Sumfest posted footage of the singer performing at last year’s festival (July 2023):

Peter Morgan was known – and much loved – for his soulful interpretation of socially conscious lyrics. One fan posted:

Another posted on TikTok that his lyrics were always thought-provoking:

“If you follow reggae music and country music, it’s a lot of storytelling,” Morgan told The Associated Press in 2018. “In reggae we tell the story of people suffering.”

His sweet tenor voice certainly expressed the struggles of life beautifully.

This article was written by Emma Lewis and originally published on the Global Voices website on 27 February 2024. It is republished here under the media partnership between Global Voices and Shouts – Music from the Rooftops! and a CC BY 3.0 Deed license.

Essay

Through Cable Street Beat, music became a potent antifascist weapon against the far right

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The Cable Street Mural by Dave Binnington Savage, Paul Butler, Ray Walker and Desmond Rochfort (1979 – 1983). Amanda Slater/Wiki Commons, CC BY

Alexander Carter, University of Birmingham

In the 1980s, Britain’s far right was on the rise. Fascist parties fielded over 100 candidates in the 1983 general election. And culturally, the far right was also making ground.

“White power” bands like Skrewdriver and Peter and the Wolf began drawing sizeable crowds and selling thousands of records. In 1987, Skrewdriver’s frontman founded Blood & Honour, a music network that soon gained followers and branches throughout the US and Europe.

Blood & Honour’s emergence caused tremors among the UK antifascist movement. Anti-Fascist Action (AFA), the dominant antifascist group of the time, struck back with their own musical network: Cable Street Beat (CSB).

This is the story of how music became a battleground in the 1980s and 1990s, as antifascists fought fascism with guitars and microphones.

Cable Street Beat

Cable Street Beat was named after the antifascists’ celebrated victory over Oswald Mosley’s Blackshirts. Before the second world war, British MP Oswald Mosley had commanded a growing fascist movement that had been fiercely resisted by antifascists.

On October 4 1936, Mosley amassed his Blackshirts to march through the East End of London. However, around 100,000 militant antifascists gathered on Cable Street to oppose them, ultimately preventing the fascists’ march.

The first CSB gig was held on October 8 1988 at the Electric Ballroom in London. Newtown Neurotics, The Men They Couldn’t Hang and punk poet Attila the Stockbroker electrified a 1,000-strong crowd

Black and white photo of Oswald Mosley

British MP Oswald Mosley commanded a growing fascist movement. National Portrait Gallery

On October 4 1936, Mosley amassed his Blackshirts to march through the East End of London. However, around 100,000 militant antifascists gathered on Cable Street to oppose them, ultimately preventing the fascists’ march.

The first CSB gig was held on October 8 1988 at the Electric Ballroom in London. Newtown Neurotics, The Men They Couldn’t Hang and punk poet Attila the Stockbroker electrified a 1,000-strong crowd.

Crucially, the audience also heard a powerful speech from Solly Kaye, an antifascist veteran of the actual Battle of Cable Street five decades earlier. Kaye warned the assembled concertgoers that fascist “songs” were “poison put into the minds of young people”.

Brendan, an AFA and CSB organiser and horn player with antifascist punk band the Blaggers, described to me how CSB was needed: “Firstly as a way to draw people who might be attracted to the far right into a more progressive type of politics … Secondly it was needed to bring people together from different cultures. Thirdly, just to stick two fingers up to the far right.”

The power of punk

CSB drew energy from the UK’s frenetic punk scene. Bands such as the Angelic Upstarts, Snuff and Yr Anhrefn all enthusiastically took up CSB’s cause. They shared the stage with antifascist activists who gave rousing speeches.

Punk poet Attila holds a microphone in one hand and beer in the other.

Punk, and in particular the working-class focused, aggressive Oi! subgenre and related skinhead subculture, was an area that the far right had long tried to colonise.

Blood & Honour wanted to believe otherwise, but the skinhead movement (which originated in the 1960s) had roots in Jamaican culture and reggae. Indeed, few skinheads had any interest in white power.

Punk poet Attila the Stockbroker in 2018. Madchickenwoman/Wiki Commons, CC BY-SA

“If far-right politics helped inform the identity of some within the … skinhead subculture,” says historian Matthew Worley, “then the vast majority resisted and rejected the substance of the fascist message.”

CSB gained considerable ground in this battle. High-profile bands like The Specials and The Selecter played benefit gigs. Multiple other bands – including The Oppressed, Knucklehead and Spy Vs Spy – put out AFA fundraising CDs.

Thomas “Mensi” Mensforth, the charismatic lead singer of the Angelic Upstarts’ (who sadly passed away in 2021), even narrated an AFA documentary produced for the BBC in 1993.

Unity Carnivals

CSB’s most high-profile strategy was its Unity Carnivals. The first, held in Hackney Downs Park in 1991, attracted 10,000 attendees. This made it the biggest public antifascist event in a decade. Bands including Gary Clail’s On U Sound System, The 25th of May and The Blaggers kept the vast crowds dancing all day under the banner of antifascism.

But the partying was punctuated with serious political rhetoric. Throughout the day activists gave speeches and handed out flyers. Brendan was part of the team that organised the carnival.

“It’s a cliché,” he told me, “but that carnival really did unite people. It brought a really diverse crowd together in Hackney and really got the political messages across.”

Two more carnivals followed: another in Hackney in 1992 and one in Newcastle in 1993, where The Shamen headlined with their chart-topping song Ebeneezer Goode.

Freedom of movement

CSB was wound down in the early 1990s. Nevertheless, music remained a central element of AFA’s activism.

By the early 1990s, electronic dance music had taken off in the UK. Antifascists immediately saw the potential and in Manchester local DJs and AFA set up the Freedom of Movement campaign in 1993 to mobilise these ravers. AFA’s magazine, Fighting Talk, declared Freedom of Movement’s aim was to “politicise the previously apathetic dance club scene, raising issues of racism and fascism”.

From 1993 to 1996, AFA put on a series of antifascist club nights in cities from Edinburgh to London. They also released an AFA benefit album, This is Fascism, featuring prominent DJs and producers including Carl Cox, Drum Club and Fun-Da-Mental. The Blaggers had close links to AFA, playing multiple benefit gigs.

Fascism is on the march again. The far right in Italy, Argentina and the Netherlands have all recently experienced electoral victories. Many other countries – such as the US, Brazil and India – have experienced explosions in far-right activity.

Findings from my own research and others’ demonstrate that fascists are adept at using culture to achieve their goals. It enables them to transmit their hateful ideology, generate money and forge networks across countries.

But the successes of CSB and AFA provide us with valuable lessons. Music can send a powerful message and mobilise hundreds of thousands to resist racism. Its emotive nature can change listeners’ worldviews, and help create a shared culture that is antithetical to the far right’s divisive goals.

This is an area where antifascists can make real gains against their foes: uniting antifascism and music is a tried-and-tested method for winning over the hearts and minds of people against hatred.

Alexander Carter, Research Fellow, University of Birmingham

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Essay, History

Ethiopian protest music: the songs of Hachalu Hundessa reveal the struggles of the Oromo people

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Hachalu Hundessa’s songs gave a soundtrack to the Oromo resistance. Screengrab/Maalan Jira!/YouTube

Asebe Regassa Debelo, University of Zurich

The Oromo are the largest ethno-national group in Ethiopia, accounting for over 40 million people or more than one-third of the population. However, they have been politically oppressed, economically exploited and culturally marginalised under successive Ethiopian regimes. Since the 1960s, the Oromo have sought self-determination through various forms of resistance, such as armed struggle under the banner of the Oromo Liberation Front.

Music has played a key role in the Oromo resistance movement. As is the case in many other societies – especially those where open political debate is risky – music serves as an instrument of defiance, allowing artists and their fans to stand up against dominant socio-economic, cultural and political forces. From legendary musicians to amateur singers, Oromo artists have used protest songs as part of their struggle for freedom, justice and equality.

Hachalu Hundessa (also written in the Oromo language as Haacaaluu Hundeessaa) was one of those musicians. Through his poetically eloquent protest songs, the young singer-songwriter came to represent the Oromo struggle. Then, in June 2020, he was murdered. Three men were convicted for the crime a year later, but no motive was given. Many believe it was a political assassination.

Hundreds of thousands of young people across Oromia, Ethiopia’s largest regional state, took to the streets in protest, demanding justice for Hachalu. Members of Oromia’s large diaspora also staged protests in US and European cities. The Ethiopian government used the protests and ensuing violence (reports at the time suggested that more than 80 people were killed) to justify its crackdown on Oromo opposition political parties.

As a political geographer, I focus on the struggles of the dispossessed and their covert and overt forms of resistance – one of which is protest songs. After his death, I studied three of Hachalu’s works: Maalan Jira! (Do I even exist!), Jirra! (We are still there/alive!) and Jirtuu? (Are you there?). My interest goes beyond mere scholarly analysis; there is emotional attachment there, too. I was part of the Qubee Generation, the youth cohort that spearheaded the 2014-2018 Oromo protest movement to which Hachalu’s songs added inspirational impetus.

In the resulting paper, I show how Oromo protest music like Hachalu’s reveals a history and geography of violence through land dispossession and political persecution. It is also more than just a record of events in time and space: protest music forges collective identity and spurs political movements. I also strive to comprehend what a musician like Hachalu Hundessa represents – and what it means to destroy a body that embodies the power of resistance.

Three key songs

Hachalu Hundessa was born in Ambo Town, some 120 kilometres to the west of the capital city, Addis Ababa, in 1984. He was active in Oromo student movements when he was at secondary school and was imprisoned by the government when he was just 17 years old, spending five years behind bars because of his activism. While in prison he worked on his first album, Sanyii Mootii. It was released in 2009 and immediately made him popular.

A group of men, several carrying banners and one wearing a t-shirt that calls for justice for Hachalu Hundessa, raise their fists in the air
Members of Minnesota’s Oromo community protesting in the wake of Hachalu Hundessa’s murder in 2020. Brandon Bell/Getty Images

The first song I analysed was Maalan Jira! (Do I even exist!), the title track from his 2015 album. He tells of the occupation of Finfinne (what is today Addis Ababa) in the 1880s that dispossessed the Tulama Oromo clans, displaced them from their ancestral homes and sacred places and dismantled their social institutions.

He takes the listener or viewer through a mental map of history. The lyrics can be viewed as a struggle to dismantle institutions and discourses of settler-colonial systems long imposed by the Ethiopian state upon the Oromo. The murder of Hachalu, then, can be interpreted as an attempt at silencing counter-histories in Ethiopia.

Malaan Jira, the title track from Hachalu’s 2015 album.

The second song in my paper, Jirra! (We are still alive!), was released in October 2017, when the Oromo protest movement was at its peak. He underscores the determination of the Oromo, locating the resistance in physical places. He does this by naming places where the movement had a strong presence, articulating the convergence of different corners of Oromia towards the goal: liberation.

The third song, Jirtuu? (Are you there?) again exposes the historical events related to land dispossession and political oppression. At a live performance in December 2017, during a fundraiser in Bole for Oromos displaced by clashes with the neighbouring Somali region that year, he asked the crowd: “Where are you?”, then encouraged them: “Say we are in Bole!” The crowd cheerfully echoed his statement.

A live performance of Jirra!

This was not just a singalong. Bole is a district of Addis Ababa, home to wealthy people who settled on land expropriated from Oromo farmers. The performance was a declaration of the Oromos’ right to self-determination and a call that they should one day control the Imperial Palace – the offices and residence of the Ethiopian prime minister.

The lyrics include:

Kaafadhu farda keetiin loli, Arat Kiiloof situu aane (Fight with your horse, you deserve Arat Kilo – the national palace); Kaafadhu Eeboo keetiin loli, Arat Kiiloof situu aane (Fight with your spear, you deserve Arat Kilo)

Why this matters

My analysis reveals the power of Hachalu’s protest songs in unsettling dominant narratives and institutions, and in serving as a strong instrument of the Oromos’ political and social movements.

His music intertwines time, space and identity. It renders the reconstruction of the past and imaginations of the future amid contemporary uncertainties. In doing so, music serves as an archival library of the past, a platform of the present, and a mirror of the future.

Asebe Regassa Debelo, Senior research and teaching fellow, Department of Geography, University of Zurich

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.