Battle of the Stereo MCs

I’ve lived in all types of neighborhoods: middle class, wealthy and poor ones. A key feature of the less well-off neighborhoods has been the number of households that are owners of stereo systems that can emit music strong enough to push your heart out of your chest. My first introduction to this kind of music--was of course-- my own family.
My parents---working class Caribbean immigrants living in Brooklyn, NY during the 1970s and early 1980s---were party goers as well as party givers. My first memories of holidays are of tables ladled with my favorite Caribbean foods, my beautiful statuesque mother, always dressed like the women in her fashion mags, and of course, those large speakers pumping music so that the whole neighborhood could hear it. We would attend these parties in basements with very little ventilation, cemented floors and light was emitted by one bulb overhead, either red or blue. The space really was only meant for, at most, 5-10 people but it managed to accommodate the swaying, pulsating and grinding of about 20 slightly and completely drunk adult adults, and about 5 kids zipping in and out of firmly glued gyrating couples. When we moved to Long Island, and we now hosted our parties in our house instead of an apartment, everything remained the same except that we had carpet, more space (but that just meant more people showed up),and no red/blue bulb. Instead, the lights were turned off with only one lamp in some distant corner turned on.

So once I started traveling, I never thought twice about homes blasting music at all times of the day from large speakers. My father was a musician, and my mother a lover of music—so even when we were not hosting parties we played music from all genres, at all times of the day, of course, at full blast. When I lived in Botswana and Malawi, it was actually what I noted was missing from the general scheme of things. In most of the neighborhoods I lived in, whether well off or not, there was a general lack of music being pumped from large speakers at all times of the day. In the case of Malawi, the assumption I made was that because most of our days were marked by blackouts so people couldn’t play their stereos—because for me there was no doubt that they owned one. It was when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Costa Rica that I learned that this phenomenon was not the norm in other communities, or cultures. Well, it was mostly white people who brought it up: “I don’t understand it. They don’t have electricity but they have that huge stereo and when they get a car battery they rather play that stereo then hook up a fridge or stove. I don’t get it.” And inevitably as the olive skinned, ambiguous race girl, there was a silent hope that I could provide an answer: “We just like our music,” was usually my glib response. But really I wanted to say was: I don’t think it is a race or culture thing my friend. I’m sure if you go into some poorer white neighborhoods in the U.S. they are doing the same kind of things.

I was reminded about this difference in expressing music appreciation, because just about every day, we have a battle of the stereos in the neighborhood. Most people where we live don’t have a fridge or stove or even what most of us would think of as a full structured house, but what they do have are stereo systems. My boyfriend, B, and I were outside early the other morning, and he was noting the same thing. “We don’t have jobs or food. But we have our stereos---so we can hum a beat to our grumbling bellies.” And it literally was a battle. The first house started playing a Mozambican love song. B looked at me and said, “Wait, wait…and here it begins.” About 10 seconds later, another neighbor turned on his stereo, slightly louder than Love Song, playing house music from South Africa. Then Love Song turned up his stereo. Two minutes later, another neighbor about three houses away, started to play an American pop song. So House Music turned its stereo even louder: and it when on like that for about 30 minutes until finally, House Music won out—he could play his stereo the loudest and the longest without breaking his speaker.

This morning when we woke up---and in homage to my Caribbean peeps’ house parties----I decided we would start the battle---so far we are winning. Bom Dia Maputo!