Prince Alla stands out for his spirituality. Whether the message is urgent or not, he takes the time to invoke Jah, Selassie, Rastafari, love and respect for others before answering you. The singer, originally from Greenwich Farm, who has just celebrated his 60th birthday, still lives in the town where he grew up, and is quietly preparing his comeback.
"One of the true heroes of roots reggae", Steve Barrow said of Prince Alla. True, authentic, original... The same idea prevails whenever his name is spoken. It is in Greenwich Farm, where he has lived since he was a baby, that you can see him riding around on his bike. And everyone greets him with a "Honour to you". Although his music remains little known on the island, the residents of Greenwich Farm respect him unanimously. In this deprived and violent neighbourhood, the man who is seen as a father figure seems to have lived through everything, yet inexorably refuses to leave. He wants to stay in the neighbourhood that watched him grow up, when others pack their bags at the first success. "I stayed here, and that can be surprising", he concedes. "I'm attached and grateful to Greenwich Farm. This is where I draw my inspiration, I'm close to reality here", he explains.
Prince Alla is an Elder, a living legend of roots reggae "made in Jamaica". The man who has just turned sixty remains one of the few pillars of the Marley era, before political divisions set the island ablaze and bathed it in blood. "I knew the time when we were all connected", he recalls. "Three places concentrated all the music: Trench Town, Greenwich Farm and Waterhouse, nicknamed Firehouse for its studios."
The sexagenarian acts as a historian, and remembers his neighbourhood from when the farm ended in the Caribbean Sea, before the highway cut Greenwich Farm in two and the petrol fumes of the refinery smothered the sea breeze. "It was nothing but banana and coconut trees... All the local artists came to the seafront, and played all night. Bob Marley and the Wailing Wailers walked here to sing on the beach, and we went to the famous concerts at the Ambassador Theatre in Trench Town."
"Music used to soften manners, today it fuels hate"
Then the 1970s arrived, and politics got involved. "If a young person goes to Trench Town, like me back then, he can get killed", adds Prince Alla. And the situation worsens in election season. Then Greenwich Farm turns into a bloodbath. This neighbourhood in west Kingston is split into two political camps (PNP in the north and JLP in the south). And each side does its best to get people to vote for its candidate, because envelopes and contracts are at stake.
"In Bob Marley's day, there was none of this violence, but when he died there was a turning point", he observes. According to Prince Alla, music is now no more than a shop window. "Guns have replaced instruments", he laments. The man whose only offence was praying in large numbers on the hill during his stay at Bobo Camp stands in contrast to those whose prison stays outnumber their albums. "These gangsters use music as a front and sell weapons. If the police check them, they justify their wealth by the records sold." A change that is reflected in society. "Music used to soften manners, today it fuels hate. No wonder the population is affected. When you dance, when you wake up, you hear violence."
He does not lament for all that and invokes Jah. In his song Great Stone, Prince Alla tells the story of a stone that crashes down on Rome and destroys it. The pacifist specifies that it is a stone of righteousness and hopes it can reach his land, eaten away by corruption. "One day, it will touch Jamaica, and we will witness a spiritual and physical revolution", he predicts. "Look at these two trees, they are different but live side by side, so why not us?"
In the meantime, Prince Alla continues his career and is currently recording a new album. "Acoustic, without computers". "It's about bringing solutions to listeners, because only talking about problems is being part of the problem", he adds. After more than forty years of a career pointed abroad, Prince Alla also intends to get involved in Jamaica. "I feel the opportunity to make music here. Jamaicans have had enough of violence. Concerts always end in violence, in riots. They want to go back to the source, to the roots, to roots reggae", he confides.
Prince Alla is an Elder, a living legend of roots reggae "made in Jamaica". The man who has just turned sixty remains one of the few pillars of the Marley era, before political divisions set the island ablaze and bathed it in blood. "I knew the time when we were all connected", he recalls. "Three places concentrated all the music: Trench Town, Greenwich Farm and Waterhouse, nicknamed Firehouse for its studios."
The sexagenarian acts as a historian, and remembers his neighbourhood from when the farm ended in the Caribbean Sea, before the highway cut Greenwich Farm in two and the petrol fumes of the refinery smothered the sea breeze. "It was nothing but banana and coconut trees... All the local artists came to the seafront, and played all night. Bob Marley and the Wailing Wailers walked here to sing on the beach, and we went to the famous concerts at the Ambassador Theatre in Trench Town.""Music used to soften manners, today it fuels hate"
Then the 1970s arrived, and politics got involved. "If a young person goes to Trench Town, like me back then, he can get killed", adds Prince Alla. And the situation worsens in election season. Then Greenwich Farm turns into a bloodbath. This neighbourhood in west Kingston is split into two political camps (PNP in the north and JLP in the south). And each side does its best to get people to vote for its candidate, because envelopes and contracts are at stake.
"In Bob Marley's day, there was none of this violence, but when he died there was a turning point", he observes. According to Prince Alla, music is now no more than a shop window. "Guns have replaced instruments", he laments. The man whose only offence was praying in large numbers on the hill during his stay at Bobo Camp stands in contrast to those whose prison stays outnumber their albums. "These gangsters use music as a front and sell weapons. If the police check them, they justify their wealth by the records sold." A change that is reflected in society. "Music used to soften manners, today it fuels hate. No wonder the population is affected. When you dance, when you wake up, you hear violence."
He does not lament for all that and invokes Jah. In his song Great Stone, Prince Alla tells the story of a stone that crashes down on Rome and destroys it. The pacifist specifies that it is a stone of righteousness and hopes it can reach his land, eaten away by corruption. "One day, it will touch Jamaica, and we will witness a spiritual and physical revolution", he predicts. "Look at these two trees, they are different but live side by side, so why not us?"In the meantime, Prince Alla continues his career and is currently recording a new album. "Acoustic, without computers". "It's about bringing solutions to listeners, because only talking about problems is being part of the problem", he adds. After more than forty years of a career pointed abroad, Prince Alla also intends to get involved in Jamaica. "I feel the opportunity to make music here. Jamaicans have had enough of violence. Concerts always end in violence, in riots. They want to go back to the source, to the roots, to roots reggae", he confides.
Report written by Ratiba Hamzaoui
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