Normally, I’m not a fan of reggae. The exception being Bob Marley because who doesn’t know, love and respect Bob? When is Bob never the exception to the rules? I distinctly remember having a Bob poster pinned to the wall of my dorm room freshman year of college, courtesy of my surfer-slash-stoner roommate. I also distinctly remember a time before that, my dad blasting some obscure reggae track when I was already agitated thanks to the 90-degree Hawaii heat and trying to study for finals in high school. Let’s just say we had words in the latter situation. I prefer indie and alternative or rap to reggae, but the scale tipped today.
I’m currently suffering through a hazy head cold and taking DayQuil as often as the small print permits. We were driving to dinner. I had my hood pulled up over my head, shielding my eyes, miserably leaning against the car window, wishing away my runny nose and constant sneezing when Gregory Isaac’s “Cool Down the Pace” came on the radio. I expected to be annoyed, especially when my uncle insisted on singing along, but there’s something so soothing and comforting about this song. It looks like I found another exception to the rules.