In downtown Brooklyn, 'pon the corner, sits an electronics store with panoramic windows dominated by pro sound equipment--nearly fridge-sized speakers, sturdy turntables, mixers and amps. Whenever I pass, I peek, then begin the mantra--for the umpteenth time. "Oh, if only I had those speakers," and "If I had those turntables, I'd really start selecting." Then I come to my senses.

Plenty of reggae lovers share these secret selecta fantasies; some mix the occasional tape for themselves or friends, others wanna spark up club massives--confident they've got the 'andle, convinced they've got "skills." Whatever the goal, the DJ urge traces back to Jamaica, arguably the birthplace of sound systems and selectors. From entrepreneurs like Clement Dodd and Duke Reid who assembled mobile sounds for Yard dances and the DJs aka selectors who played (and toasted over) the records, to South Bronx masters like Afrika Bambaataa, disco's rise, and DJ "remixes," selectors have been elevated to cult status in club and pop culture. DJs rule.

In truth, achieving wicked selecta status takes more than fancy equipment, a grasp of reggae history and vinyl spanning the decades. It's a lot like being the perfect host or a conscious lover. A mystical union with the music and a rare intuition--that feel for ebb and flow and for records individually and as a continuum--are musts. Doing it well--so well that people who don't know or recall every song remember the lovely vibes they felt in the dance--is an art.

So chant "Come down Selecta" and hear what the master DJs from several respected N.Y.C. reggae sounds featuring roots and foundation (and--depending on venue--dub, vintage, ska, rock steady and dancehall) have to say about the music, their art, and their experiences in a series of Easy Star interviews.

A future interview will feature identicals Kehinde and Tayo from the aptly named TwinSound system and Ghetto Roots N.Y.C., which presents some of the most popular dances around--Roots Revival Nights last year, shows like "Salute to Studio One," featuring Downbeat the Ruler, Sugar Minott and the Easy Star All Star Band this year. They also produce wicked, quality mix tapes.

Part 1 is with Ras Kush of the Black Redemption sound system, who, with partner Takashi, plays guest sets at Ghetto Roots' dances as well as other gigs, including a recent trip to Japan. The sound's current history dates back four years to when Kush, who was running the sound, invited Takashi to join him on the turntables.

Takashi, 28, came to the states from Japan. He just recorded a digital dub album (he plays melodica, Kush drums) for Lloyd Barnes' Wackie's label, and is currently back home producing and performing with his Sensimilla band.

Though he was born in New York City, Kush grew up in Haiti, emigrating to the States at age 11. Steeped in a deep Rasta vibe and old fashioned spirituality, he's already a wise old head at age 29. Roots music is his rock, the potent Afro-Caribbean vibes of the islands and bubbling urban rhythms of island-expatriate Brooklyn an inspiration. That ancient-modern mix fed his love of music, gave his speech one drop riddim, his toasting flow, and shaped his percussionist skills. His knack for deconstructing music--the better to understand it--comes from being a musician; the scholar's love of reggae comes from curiosity, smarts, and--like anyone with a reggae "jones"--listening, discussing, and learning. Ask a reggae question, and Kush answers in fine reference book style and "Real Audio;" drumming and chanting to illustrate beats and points. Experience has undoubtedly honed his selecting instincts, but his heightened intuition, oneness with the music and uncanny sense of "the vibes"--the special selecta gifts--are blessings from the Almighty.

Some days, Kush spins at Jammyland, one of the last Manhattan record shops specializing in reggae. It's a small store, but the CDs and vinyl are chosen with connoisseur's care. That cool Skatalites LP photo'ed in the "Reggae Rough Guide" is there, as is Kush, a sliver of a guy with a mega smile, juggling a sweet set on a steamy afternoon with the store full up. First, Alton Ellis covering Procol Harum's "A Whiter Shade of Pale," next the Heptones' sassy "Fattie, Fattie," a Donna V tune, Cornell Campbell's haunting "Dance in a Greenwich Farm," Frankie Paul's "Pass the Tu-Sheng Peng," Al Campbell, Singing Melody, and I-Roy's "Welding." This is what he has to say about his trade and his art.

Q: Did you listen to reggae and compas when you were growing up in Haiti?

Kush: Yeah, I listened to compas, reggae, American music, French music. You also had salsa, bolero, merengue and Cuban music. Cuban Jazz is the same music that's popular in Haiti from this time. Haitian music from the '50s was accepted in Cuba--was the same West African Yoruba drumming that's the foundation. My father has a wide love of music, and is a great guitar player, though not by profession. He listened to a lot of music when I was small.

Q: What reggae artists did you listen to?

Kush: In the late '70s there was a lot of Haitian reggae being produced. There was a Haitian artist who charted named Ti-Mano--he sing over Bob Marley songs [giggles] and also have original compositions. Many bands in Haiti were adopting the reggae style because there was a sweeping wave in the Caribbean-- reggae music was having that kind of influence. Haitian music was different then--now it's based on Zouk and Kaiso, but changed a little. But the original compas I grew up listening to is not that far from ska or rocksteady at all.

Q: You lived in a West Indian Brooklyn community. Did that influence your interest in reggae?

Kush: You know Roland Alphonso? [an original Skatalite and revered tenor saxophonist] Well Roland Alphonso...everyday before I became a man, I would check this man and he'd give me money to buy food for lunch, whatever. I grew up on St. Mark's and Nostrand, he would hang out every day on Prospect and Nostrand--the Apache Bakeshop, which is a restaurant. He'd be there selling 45s--some of my earliest selections, I bought from Roland Alphonso. They were stacked--records from Duke Reid...those sound systems then. To me then, it didn't mean anything--I was 16 or 17.

Q: But you knew who he was...

Kush: I knew who he was but I took it for granted. As I grew up more, I just showed him nuff respect and he showed me nuff respect . Later, I brought Takashi to meet him; sometime we pick him up and drive him home from there. Just before he died--I didn't really have money but I'd saved a little--I kind of convinced Takashi saying, "Let's just take Roland Alphonso to a studio--I don't care what he sound like and I don't care what come out of it--I just want to record Roland Alphonso, but for me...I wanted to give him $15,000." I couldn't come up with the rest of the money, went to Japan and forgot about it. Two months later I heard he died. Out of everyone who's died, it touched me the most.

Q: Because you knew him.

Kush: I knew he was a beautiful person. His heart was like so beautiful. Yeah, so beautiful. He always want to give me something, and I'm saying "No!" You know what I'm saying? The span of time was long--from age 17 to 28. It's like 11 years, but he kept the same relationship--he still treat me like I was 17 [giggle], all the time, all the time!

I used to see him with Coxsone [Studio One's Clement "Coxsone" Dodd, who still has a store, Music City, in Brooklyn]. I used to go over there and just hang out. Coxsone know me; all the time he's like, "Yes! That youth! From however long he has been crazy into music!"

Roland Alphonso was a wonderful person and I think he should of had much more money than he had. At his age, a lot of old people out there would not take a box of old records and go to a bakeshop. I'm not putting him above anyone else, but he touched me the most. Yeah.

Q: How'd you get into selecting?

Kush: I've always been into music. Since I was small, I've always liked hearing music all the time, no matter what kind of music. I really started playing sound system around '86, like just prom parties and things. I was 16. I went on to Brooklyn College in Business Admistration --for my parents. Then I lived in East New York [Brooklyn] in this basement; I had my sound system and was playing records all the time with people hanging out all the time. But at that time, '89-'90, I got out of playin' sound. I used to play sound personally, I just wasn't playing sound professionally because of the sound people were into in the early '90s, the Bogle beat. I wasn't into the Bogle Beat, which is really the Poco rhythm [from the Pocomania religion]. I never stopped playing for myself 'cause I love the music personally; if somebody else don't want to hear roots music I wanna hear it. Then in the mid-90s I started playing sound again.

Q: Do you remember your first "major" gig when you got back into sound?

Kush: Probably early '90s; I was playing SOB's with friends. It was fun--I was playin' a lot of roots. That's one of the first times I saw the potential for roots. Nowadays, unfortunately, to make people dance to roots music you have to balance it. People wanna hear that Shabba or Buju they hear on the radio. If you're playin' roots, you gotta find a way to make it all connect.

Q: When did you formally found Black Redemption?

Kush: My senior partnerÎs a bredren named Sano Judah, who's been DJing since the '70s. They call him "Love Man." He's from St. Vincent and has traveled the world. He's the founder of Black Redemption sound system. I came along, but he's been doing it before me. The name of the sound was Dread at the Controls--Mikey Dread's label sound system. From the late 80s, it was known as the Roots Potential, then me and Takashi change it again [laughs] to the Black Redemption sound system. A lot of artists have come out of his sound; Patrick Junior, the singer [featured on Easy Star's Volume 1 compilation CD], started with Sano Judah.

Q: Does Sano Judah ever come out and juggle with you?

Kush: Sano is the elder, so he don't really come out to the dances anymore. He's still the soundman; I keep a lot of the equipment built over the years in his house. He's like a spiritual older brother. We Nyahbinghi, and it's a spiritual thing for us, not just like . . . you know. It's very hard to see Sano Judah in the dance; he's been there and done that and he's known.

Q: So he's "retired."

Kush: He's still there in the dance. Any dubplate, any special we have, always "big up" his name first--Sano Judah, Original Dread at the Controls, Love Man. He's the original link from the 70s; from that time of roots 'till this time he's "there." Whether the name has changed or whatever, the vibe it still remain; it's like a "priestical" kind of order, our sound system. Saying roots music is similar to saying Sano Judah. He's met most of the stars because he was the main sound in S.V. at the time. He was a very active member of the Twelve Tribes, and is a very spiritual brother--very roots. A lot of the vibes that I'm familiar with, that I can disperse, have been passed on to me from Sano Judah.

Q: Let's talk serious selecting. You're a hardcore vinyl devotee. Why?

Kush: Yeah, I like the round sound and the thickness of the bass as opposed to the clarity of sound that CDs produce. CD produces a fine sound; in order to let that out, they have to make the sound flat to take away the rough edges. But reggae and jazz is music where the bass really predominates and CD takes away from that. That's why playing reggae, I prefer vinyl.

Q: You've lots to think about when you're juggling, don't you? Is starting the set more difficult?

Kush: Yeah, a couple things to think about. It's usually very simple; people are enjoying themselves and the good vibes flow. When you start out, you can't really go too heavy in any direction. You're trying to determine which direction you're gonna take and feeling people out. Sometimes you can plan; but to me, one of the worst things is to plan everything you're gonna play and stick to the plan.

Q: But on your early gigs didn't you "plan"? Even now, don't you have a sequence plan?

Kush: Yeah, I still do plan--like I plan to play some things. But some people plan out every record. I've never done that . . . I've never been that way. There's music I want to arrange like "well, after that one . . ." but it's very selfish to do it like that. I mean, I don't know, it could be good, because you can be a good dictator and dictate what people rock to and make them rock to it--you can be that good. But I like to interact with people. Just flow peoples' natural vibes--work and come out of that. I like to creat the vibe with them so I'm not playing at them; that way they stick around longer. Some selectas just start playin' stuff they like for their own heads. You can't do a dance with people like that. You have to be responsible for them having a good time and grooving. And you have to do it--if you can't do it, give it up.

Q: But some crowds want to "get told" what's cool and dictated to, right?

Kush: I try to teach people about the music; I like that aspect of it--using the music as an introduction to something they most likely don't know. When you wanna introduce music people don't know, you gotta vibe it out and give it to them that way. I feel good if I'm playing something they haven't heard before and it moves them and makes them feel good. If people are feeling good, then I'm feeling good. Yeah!

Q: So in the beginning you're feeling your way . . . 'cause the crowd isn't "there" yet?

Kush: They're still trying to get "there." There's certain songs that are sort of vital that I like to make the people feel, and there are songs I'd like to make a greater impact--I usually try to save them for the middle of the dance, like right after they've got into some intense, deep dancing.

Q: In the beginning of a set, do you play more "up" songs with a predominant beat?

Kush: Well, it depends on the vibe--I'm finding a vibe. When I'm playing abroad, I like to start out with Bob Marley--which one is up to the vibe--out of respect to the man who first took the music to the hearts of the people. Just like I hold His Majesty in a very divine state and very divine place in my life, as far as reggae is concerned, Bob Marley occupy a special place, you know? That energy of carrying the music to the world, that's what he's about--that vibe. I like people dancing, I'm conscious what they're dancing to and careful about the things I play. If you play too much of one thing, people become bored. You have to uptempo, downtempo and so on--create movement. It's like physics.

Q: Do you have your records organized, like "roots," "ska," "dub," etc. for different gigs?

Kush:Yeah, I'll think of stuff I have--roots, dub, whatever--and the message or kind of vibe I'd like to relate. The rest is between me and the people. How the vibes is flowing determines everything that happens. I have to feel it . . . it's a feeling and it's a ride. I gotta ride it, know where it's going, and interact with people at the same time. We're goin' up together and we're comin' down together. That's the vibe. Sometimes one thing leads to another--the tune you play before determines the tune you play after. There's beats per minute--how fast, how slow--and the vibe or the impact and atmosphere of the song--like a horn or a swing in it. After playing a whole line of fast music, even if it's rockers, you want to break it, like maybe Little Roy's "Prophecy." Put people in a kind of mood.

A lot of people who're dancing-- especially American people--don't care who it is, how old, or who produced it. They don't care about the historical context of the music--the vibe's what's important to them. So to take that historical context and create a vibe with it is the art--if you're playin' roots . . . and that's the great thing about Downbeat; he does the historical thing and makes you dance. If you're playin' dancehall, people just wanna hear the stuff they hear on the radio. American people are the most narrow-minded; they'll only listen to what they're told to listen to or what they're accustomed to hearing. If you're playing something new, they often don't give it a chance--that's why it's so hard for roots to make a breakthrough on the radio.

Q: You play a lot of roots . . .

Kush:Yeah, but I also play dancehall. It's a business and it's my business to know it. People say whatever's entertainment is good; people like being entertained. But there's good entertainment and bad entertainment, good fun and bad fun. You can have kids in a dance jumping up saying something good, or jumping up saying something bad. The thing that's dangerous with dancing and music is that it's a ritual that after a certain amount of time becomes very hypnotic--certain messages sink in unconsciously and have people do things. So when you have a lotta kids who don't really know better jumping up to "gun songs," they'll want to own a gun. Same thing about sex. You'll have a lot of kids going out having sex, then a lot of teen-age parenting.

It's a touchy subject; I respect all entertainers, but I think when you're an entertainer you're in a position where people look up to you and are willing to follow you; you're responsible for the direction you're taking people. The thing is this: music is powerful. I think in dancing your body becomes so tired that your mind is open to whatever is ready to sink in. A lot of people go to the dance and can't hear the words immediately, but after they start dancing the words sink in; the music gets them. Even if it sounds like gibberish at first--if they've some idea of English--they'll get the message. Sometimes there's a vibe, a vibe; it just get people and they'll say "Jah Rastafari!" [laughs]

Q: DJs transitioning from roots to contemporary dancehall doesn't work for me. Is it hard for you?

Kush: It nuh work for me either, that's why I like others to handle the dancehall. I can go into it very easily; I just don't want to be the one to do it. But sometimes I'm getting paid to do it, then I'll use my judgement. Like I love Sizzla, Anthony B and Luciano. Even on that Poco beat, there's enough I could play--like something with positive words. But most of the time, I like people to dance to things other than those computerized, digitalized riddims. But if I'm doing someplace like a bar, I know right away I'm gonna have to mix it--people gonna request that stuff. Sometimes, they'll come to you over and over, "Are you gonna play that Sean Paul? You don't have it, well what do you have?"

Q: You just spent 6 months selecting in Japan, from September '98-March '99. What was it like?

Kush: Well, Japan's a different place than America as far as how people live. This is not the greatest country, but there's a lot of space to move and be a lot of different things. In Japan, that's very hard; there's the Japanese Way, and that's the way. The great thing about N.Y. is that there's many ways. The system is fucked up, but it's a great city. Yes. So many different people can all meet for whatever reason. I think it's great--I like it. I like people coming together, you know? With reggae music in Japan--like everywhere else--dancehall is really popular [slack lyrics dancehall]. They don't understand and don't care about the words [laughs], so it doesn't make a difference to them. If it sounds good, it gets played.

Q: What's the most memorable thing that has happened when you were playing a gig?

Kush: I was in Japan doing a set and playing a record [giggles], and this guy just walk up and lift up the needle while the record's playing and people are dancing. I mean, at first I was very upset. He just come and lift up the needle and start the music again, Îcause he saw me doin' it; he saw me "rewind and come again" so he got up and did it while the record was playin'! [laughter] But he didn't mean anything bad by it.

Q: What would be your dream to do--continue with your sound?

Kush: I love to do sound. I wouldn't want to convert the world, because now that I'm grown, I know and have experienced many things outside of Rastafari--but I am a Rasta man. So with sound, I don't wanna convert people to Rastafari, but to the good and postive I've found in Rastafari; I'd like to spread it and share it with people; however they can use that in their life. Because reggae music to me is like Gospel music. Christians listen to Gospel for a kind of inspiration and a message-- that's how I play sound too. Not in a rigid, converting way, just so people are having fun and being inspired to do good--they'll know within themselves the good they have to do. A lot of things are written, but good is one of those things that's not written--it's in your heart. So I'd like to see people become influenced by the good vibes of the music.

And I'd like to see producers become more conscious of the things that they put out. I really respect what producers like Fattis, Fat Eyes, and Richard Bell do. They were puttin' out artists like Garnett Silk, Capleton, and Terry Ganzie--and brought me back into dancehall. Because of artists like Capleton, a lot of youths got interested in Rasta and the postive aspects of Rasta. Not just having dreadlocks, but approaching Rasta--like the Bobo Shanti do--in a priestly way. I like what they do with the music and what they inspire youths to do, I like the strong message and the Black Pride they instill in youths--things that were lost.

Q: Do you think artists like Capleton, once pro "gun songs," now Rasta , are committed?

Kush: Like I said, I don't think I have the right to comment on artists' personal life, only what they do with their music. When Capleton started changing, he didn't have to. I was convinced about Sizzla the very first time I heard him; I said, "Yes, this is one youth starting out different than other youths". . . and that very convincing voice--his voice was real. I don't think it's positive, but I respect Spragga Benz for stickin' to his bad vibe straight through--he didn't change, he didn't budge! [laughs] None a the head wraps, none a the chanting--he's true to the bad vibe that he's about, he nuh convert! He's a heartical badman--I will not play him, but I respect that about him.

Q: What's cooking in the future?

Kush: Right now a place I really have a mind to go to is England; I'd like to put something together there. I want to go many different places right now and play reggae music and meet different people and do music with them. Because when you travel as a musician and if you play with other people, there's a lot you learn--there's a lot of vibes. There's lot that comes out when you reach out and interact with people in especially far places
During the interview, Kush covered lots of musical ground, talking artists and reggae styles he's really into, including Yabby You, Jah Shaka and English- and American-produced reggae.

English-produced reggae from the '70s: "Great music. So many English labels, like Lloydie Coxsone producing so many hits that traveled from England to JA, not the reverse. You had rockers, steppers--a lot of which was roots. Like there's a huge genre of reggae based on Yabby You, and a huge following for that sound. The bass is very Latin originated--like the group El Chicano. A funk, Latin style--heavy, slow, funk jazz but done in reggae-- where the bass arrangment is done a certain way. The English were really into it--it's a deep roots sound, the bass. It's rockers, but it gets translated and the one drop comes in a bit different than rockers does. I call it "the Revelation Sound." In England mid-'70s they got on that sound and stayed on it--like Shaka and most of his basslines. That's what I love about Shaka; it's so Rasta from that period when Rasta surfaced to its heights in JA mid Î70s. That vibe, even when it became digitalized in the mid 80s." He went on to talk about Jah Shaka--"I'm really into Shaka and his movement"--mentioning that Shaka only uses one turntable, as Jamaicans have always done.

"Count Ossie and the "Drum Song:" "I love Count Ossie." Talking about the song "Lumba" from the "Grounation" album--which is an original version of the modern day "Drum Song"--he said, "The original bassline arrangement is El Chicano's ÎViva Tirado.' It's an original tribute to a matador--with a horn arrangement from the late Î50s-early 60s. That's the original to ÎDrum Song,' it's just slower, more atmospheric. Not the same song, but the bassline's the same. The Nyahbinghi drumming is Nyahbinghi drumming; that goes back to Africa. It's beautiful. The horns is the wicked thing about it.

Earlier in this interview, there's an excerpt of a set Kush played in a crowded Jammyland to get people "feeling good;" some of the songs, like "Welding"--which he says he doesn't play that often but is a song with a "pretty sound"--aren't really as reflective of his true love, roots (and foundation). So here's a sample from the beginning of a set he played at a recent Ghetto Roots show: A new Luciano, "Police and Thieves," John Holt's "Police in Helicopter," Eccelton Jarrett's "Raindrops," a version of Gregory Isaac's "Rock On"--from the 12" vinyl with Rico Rodriguez on trombone--and "Ba Da," Max Romeo's "Macabee Version," and Prince Allah's "Bosrah Rock." This interview was conducted July 29, 1999.