24800: Craig (pub) Chicago Tribune-of LOVE & HAITI

[sak-pase@bimini.ws]

*Lyrics; of LOVE & HAITI; How did a guy who grew up in Connecticut and 
went to Princeton become one of this Caribbean nation's leading singers 
of political protest?; [Chicago Final Edition]*/Gary Marx, Tribune 
foreign correspondent/. *Chicago Tribune*. Chicago, Ill.: Feb 2, 2005. pg. 1

/(Copyright 2005 by the Chicago Tribune)/

It's well past midnight when Richard Morse and his 10-piece band kicked 
into gear with a driving beat and searing lyrics that capture the agony 
of this Caribbean nation.

"Life is a war, friends go down, fighting for freedom and independence," 
Morse sang as a small crowd pushed to the edge of the stage. "Betrayal. 
Hypocrisy. Stabbing in the back. Swimming in the water, beware of the 
shark attack."

His biting lyrics fit into a tradition of Haitian musicians speaking 
their minds and drawing inspiration from the violence and chaos that 
have long characterized life in this Caribbean nation.

Over the years, Morse -- like many popular musicians here -- has had 
concerts disrupted by armed thugs and songs banned from the radio. Other 
musicians have fled into exile after being threatened by Haiti's gallery 
of military rulers and assorted rogues.

Whether by luck or skill, Morse has managed to survive while continuing 
to pump out first-class political songs at a time when Haiti's youth are 
increasingly listening to hip-hop, dance music and gangsta rap.

"I live in a country where I've been through 21 governments," Morse 
explained. "I have friends getting killed. You are inspired by what's 
going on around you, and this is what we are living through, and it 
doesn't end."

But Morse is not a Haitian citizen. In fact, he grew up in Connecticut, 
attended an elite boarding school and graduated from Princeton in 1979 
with a degree in anthropology. The son of a prominent Ivy League 
professor and famous Haitian entertainer (Emerante de Pradines, who once 
taught at the Yale School of Drama), Morse never worked as an 
anthropologist. Instead, he picked up the bass guitar and joined the 
punk rock band "The Groceries," which played sold-out gigs at CBGB, the 
Mud Club and other new wave haunts in New York City. Morse said he was 
thrown out of the band after five or six years over musical differences.

With nowhere else to go, Morse went to Haiti 20 years ago looking for 
his roots and his own musical groove. He seems to have found both, while 
also filling the role of the wise and eccentric expatriate whose day job 
happens to be running the Hotel Oloffson, the late 19th Century inn that 
served as the centerpiece of Graham Greene's novel set in Haiti, "The 
Comedians."

On stage, dressed in all black with a white scarf, dark sunglasses and 
braided hair, the light-skinned Morse looks like a hipper, leaner 
version of the late John Belushi in his "Blues Brothers" days.

But his band, RAM, is anything but lightweight as it melds riffs from 
The Clash with blues and funk and large doses of Haitian compass, voodoo 
and other traditional sounds. Morse's songs are often clever remakes of 
classics whose updated lyrics draw inspiration from Haitian proverbs.

"I love his music," said Carl Codio, an engineer at Audiotek, a 
Port-au-Prince recording studio where RAM is making its sixth album. "He 
tells what's real, what's going on, like Bob Marley."

Although Morse has written his share of love songs, RAM's lyrics in 
English and Creole tackle everything from military repression to the 
devastating impact of the international trade sanctions on Haiti in the 
early 1990s.

In the 1993 song "Boat People Blues," Morse writes of the bloody 
aftermath of a coup. "The government was gone and there was blood 
running under my feet. Fifty thousand people took their leaky boats out 
to sea. Now they're sailing in the ocean, heading off to Miami."

Ten years later, in "Met Kolibri," or "The Visa Song," Morse makes a 
plaintive cry for exile. "It can be Santo Domingo, the Bahamas, Miami, 
Cuba. It doesn't matter. Give me a visa."

More than entertainment

Experts say music has long served as more than just entertainment in 
Haiti, where widespread illiteracy, a history of resistance and deep 
African cultural roots elevated music into an important vehicle for 
communicating opinions about everything from politics to religion.

The tradition dates back hundreds of years, to French colonial rule and 
slavery in Haiti. The songs often employ a mocking humor, whether 
directed at a slave owner or an unpopular president. "In Haiti the 
majority has never had political enfranchisement," explained Elizabeth 
McAlister, a professor and Haitian music expert at Wesleyan University. 
"The majority had to find ways to express themselves in a public space, 
and music was key."

McAlister said music also became a popular form of expression in Haiti 
because lyrics can be written in a way to mask their true meaning and, 
thus, pose less of a direct threat to the powerful. In Haiti, it's 
called "voye pwen," Creole for "sending a point."

One early example is the 1920s song "Angelique O!" composed by Morse's 
grandfather, the famous troubadour Auguste de Pradines, known as Candio. 
The song describes a domestic squabble between Angelique and her lover 
but also served as a call for U.S. troops to leave Haiti, which they 
occupied from 1915 to 1934.

"The chorus was, 'Angelique O! Go home to your mother's house,'" 
explained Gage Averill, dean of the music department at the University 
of Toronto. "It was interpreted by the popular class as, 'Yankee, go home.'"

But the politically powerful also used music to sway public opinion. 
Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier, Haiti's notorious strongman who ruled the 
country from 1957 to 1971, hired musicians to sing tunes praising his 
every accomplishment, whether real or imagined.

Duvalier and his son, Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, who took over 
when his father died and led Haiti until 1986, also banned the work of 
musicians critical of the Duvaliers' rule and forced many into exile, 
along with scores of artists, doctors, economists and other opponents.

"Thugs would show up with guns at a concert and fire their weapons to 
intimidate people," said Averill. "That was in full swing in the 1980s."

Jean-Claude Duvalier's ouster in a popular uprising along with the 
beginning of the Haitian roots music movement, which combined rock and 
traditional rhythms, breathed new life into political songwriting.

It coincided with the emergence of Jean-Bertrand Aristide, a popular 
slum priest who in 1990 was challenging Haiti's military junta. The 
transition from military rule to democracy was given a huge lift when 
Boukman Eksperyans, the top Haitian roots band, recorded the song, 
"Kem'-M Pa Sote," which roughly translated means, "I'm Not Afraid."

The song doesn't mention by name Lt. Gen. Prosper Avril, the leader of 
Haiti's military junta. But its lyrics criticized the corrupt and inept 
military government and galvanized public opinion against it.

"When something is wrong, I sing about it. I take a position on it," 
explained Theodore "Lolo" Beaubrun, the leader of Boukman Eksperyans.

In 1990, "I Am Not Afraid" became the most popular song at Haiti's 
Carnival, an annual event when Haitians take to the streets to drink 
rum, dance and listen to the often allegorical and cryptic political 
messages expressed in songs.

Avril soon resigned, paving the way for elections Aristide won in a 
landslide. But the newly elected president was ousted in a coup in 
September 1991, igniting a battle of Boukman Eksperyans, RAM and other 
bands against a military regime responsible for the deaths of 4,000 
civilians between 1991 and 1994.

Boukman Eksperyans led the way with the 1992 song titled "Dangerous 
Crossroads," which includes the lyrics, "if you're a cheater, get out of 
here, if you are an assassin, get out of here," to protest Aristide's 
ouster.

Military authorities banned the song from Carnival, and the band later 
fled into exile, joining other prominent Haitian musicians, such as 
folksinger Manno Charlemagne.

Parable song

Morse decided to stay put and wrote his most popular song, "Fey" (Leaf), 
a parable about a leaf that falls from a tree during a storm but has yet 
to die. The lyrics captured the hope of Morse and many others that 
Aristide would return to power. The song provoked a backlash from 
military authorities, which sent armed thugs into the Oloffson as RAM 
launched into the tune during a 1994 concert. The band continued playing 
"Fey," as it did the following week when paramilitary troops once again 
intervened during a concert.

At one point, RAM stopped playing music for several months because of 
the threats from military authorities. When the band started up again, 
Morse required people attending its weekly concert at the Oloffson to 
check their weapons at the door. The guns sometimes filled a footlocker.

'They'll send the military after you'

"When you write music in the States and you are in a punk band, no one 
cares," Morse said. "I don't think that Ronald Reagan ever had The Dead 
Kennedys arrested. But here big time -- they'll send the military after 
you."

Morse celebrated when U.S. troops landed in Haiti in late 1994 and 
returned Aristide to the presidency. Yet, in recent years, Morse, 
Beaubrun and other prominent musicians turned against Aristide, whom 
they now view as a corrupt and dangerous leader who armed supporters and 
stifled dissent.

Beaubrun said he received death threats from Aristide militants after 
becoming a leading member of the opposition. Morse said Aristide's aides 
first tried to pay him to sing songs favorable of the government and, 
when he refused, threatened him.

Even with Aristide gone -- the president fled Haiti in February 2004 in 
the face of a growing rebellion and U.S. pressure -- the two band 
leaders say they continue living in fear of gunmen loyal to Aristide and 
other forces.

Still, neither musician is backing off.

RAM's latest album, which is scheduled for release in early summer, 
includes a song tentatively titled "Jamaican Vacation." The song derides 
Aristide's secretive, pre-dawn departure from Haiti into exile.

The former president traveled to the Central African Republic and 
Jamaica before settling in South Africa.

"I hear you're off in Jamaica. Didn't have to be that way," Morse sings 
to a lilting Caribbean rhythm. "Tell me about the weather. Gotta get 
yourself together. Find somebody to love."

*[Illustration]*
PHOTOS 2; Caption: PHOTO: 'When you write music in the States and you 
are in a punk band, no one cares. I don't think that Ronald Reagan ever 
had The Dead Kennedys arrested. But here big time -- they'll send the 
military after you.'-- Richard Morse (below) with his band RAM. Photo 
for the Tribune by David Rochkind. PHOTO: Richard Morse's 10-piece band, 
RAM, features dancers, and it blends riffs from The Clash with blues and 
funk, Haitian compass and voodoo sounds. Photo for the Tribune by David 
Rochkind.