Midnite | 08.08 | Santa Cruz
By Team JamBase Aug 13, 2007 • 12:00 am PDT

Midnite & Native Elements :: 08.08.07 :: Veteran’s Memorial Hall :: Santa Cruz, CA
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San Francisco’s Native Elements lit a fire quickly in their incredibly winning opening slot. For anyone whose tastes run to conscious dancehall and pure roots rock, this band is a major treat. Reggae, as a genre, thrives on subtle evolution – small, intelligent tweaks rather than creative upheaval. Playing in front of a striking painted backdrop of three lions striding proudly down a cobblestone road beneath green, yellow and red banners, Native Elements painted with glassy vibrations, water and wind elements strong in their massive assemblage of players, reggae’s answer to Chicago or Blood, Sweat and Tears. The stage banner, painted by Lawrence Hansen of Mystic Lion, spoke to the smiling power and golden sparkle of the music swiftly wending its way around the room. When played with utter conviction and an almost spiritual devotion, as it was this night, this type of music is positively intoxicating, and it crept into our muscles and minds with a sureness that you felt.
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Their brand of roots is less The Wailers and more the chrome-plated swoon of early Black Uhuru. Outside of perhaps the overuse of the word “love” (which, really, is there ever TOO much in the world?), their lyrics have that potent Bob Marley shorthand where big concepts simmer down to a few words. For example, they sang, “Blue skies don’t always bring sunshine/Grey skies don’t always bring rain.” Dr. Phil would gnaw your ear off for an hour on that idea and they get the job done in 12 words. Like the headliners, Native Elements’ songs are homilies you can dance to. Church is rarely this much fun but the concepts being jostled around are much the same. At one point, they encouraged us to throw a peace sign in the air, saying, “This is the lesson of Bob Marley, the message of Jesus, the message of Rastafari,” and then leading a chant of “Stop the violence!”
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Midnite, dressed in street clothes sauntered in a little before 11 p.m., gear in hand, and were steady rolling in under 15 minutes. Watching them set up, before a note fell upon us, one picked up on a heavy vibe, something deep and serious, an intensity at odds with their laidback entrance. When the electricity started flowing, the music immediately confirmed the suspicion we were in the presence of a significant force in the reggae world. Even if one had no prior knowledge of the group, the sheer authority of their playing was sure to stop you in your tracks.
Hailing from the U.S. Virgin Island of St. Croix, Midnite have steadily grown from a well-regarded cult act to one of the driving forces in modern reggae. As strong and diverse as their very independently released recorded output has been, there was a major leap that occurred in person. Some folks carry a lot of life and truth in their bones, and every member of Midnite had an aura of greatness about them. In print, that may come off as cornball exaggeration, simple hyperbole, but having seen Pope John Paul II, the Dalai Lama and other holy figures in my lifetime, I can only tell you that Midnite has some of the same juju going on.
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In Midnite one hears reggae’s whole history. On the surface, it’s deep roots reggae, along the lines of the aforementioned Black Uhuru or the unsung rastaliciousness of Singers & Players. Dub, ska and dancehall all infiltrate their groove, but the character of that groove is wholly their own. Even when they picked up the pace, it was still heavy as a fallen star and stoned as a first century Christian. To move around, one had to swim more than walk, gliding with the current wherever it was you thought you wanted to go. More than likely, as in the case of this author, you surrendered to the bass and inescapable contact high undulating around you and stopped trying to do anything but submerge yourself in Midnite’s waters.
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Each instrument rose to the surface as needed. They weren’t so much solos as whispered tones emerging into open air before diving deep again. The overall feeling was a purity of form that had shed a great deal of ego and traditional showmanship. After Native Elements’ horn-bolstered warmth, Midnite felt much denser, utilizing two guitarists (Kenny Byron and Edmund Fieulleteau), the amazingly subtle keyboards of Ankh Watep, electric bass and vocals from Vaughn’s brother, Ron Benjamin, and Sly Molina-Curet, a drummer worthy of Prince‘s ever-stellar bands. Through their capable hands and open hearts, Midnite carried us to the core delights and lessons of this genre. On my way out, I learned the stage banner, the one with those lions, was titled “Roots Rock Reggae Revival.” Yeah, that’s what this was. That’s what this was indeed.
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