The repetitive bass lumbered through the smoke-filled bar as the island rhythms followed in their typical melodic wave among the imbibing patrons’ idle conversation. Such sounds and beats are normally served with rum runners and reefers, but this crowd is of the Beam and Budweiser sensibilities, more likely to favor “Down South Jukin’ ” over “Cool Me Down.”
The band’s front man certainly looks more Ronnie Van Zant than Tarrus Riley, but his sound is clearly not from here – softened consonants, extended vowels and a lilting pattern to give that distinct island intonation. His sound belies his look, just like those backing him. One patron, caught off guard by the sound and full of the courage he’s been consuming much of the night, expresses his opinion rather loudly:
“Why don’t you play any Stick Figure and all that?! Sublime! You know, white people stuff?!”
Robert Burr is the founder of Propaganjah, the local stalwart group which fancies itself not simply a reggae band as one pumping out “Caribbean Soul,” and he is the object of this disgruntled guest at Crescent City’s Renegade’s Bar. No dreadlocks, no dark skin, just a tall, bearded white man in jeans and a tropical knit shirt – Burr can’t let it slide. He’s seen this before, which has become rather boring, so he gives the usual explanation:
“Sir, I didn’t grow up on that kind of reggae,” Burr announces. “My family’s from the Virgin Islands. I grew up on Peter Tosh, Jimmy Cliff, Black Uhuru and Midnite.”
“But you’re white!”
Burr kept on: “You know, there’s people in other countries that are white as you and have never heard a country song in their life.”
Back in Ocala at The Charlie Horse, Propaganjah puts on its usual show. Again, there is a flabbergasted patron wondering why such sounds are coming from these pale faces. “What was that? Why don’t you sing like you’re white?”
The bandmates heard it all and rolled their eyes – they knew what was coming as they had seen this before.
“Oh, hell no – he just didn’t!” Burr belted out for all to hear before pointing at the man so all could get a good look at the target. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a racist right here! This guy just told me to sing like I’m white, and I don’t even know what that means. Sir, I’m guessing you listen to Bob Seger and Bob Dylan or Willie Nelson out on your front patio and cry all the time. Thank you; I guess you’re saying that I have more soul than all the trash you listen to.”
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The humbled fellow quietly left with his wife ridiculing him the whole walk back to the car.
As Burr explained, the moment was tempered by another gentleman working his way to the stage to have a word. “This guy who looked like he’d been ranching since he was 3 years-old, and he looked about 80 – wearing a belt buckle, traditional Ocala cowboy – he walks up to me like Yosemite Sam during the speech, he comes up and says, ‘good job, we need more of that.’ ”
There are those dilettantes among us who insist their mechanic be German, their chef French or even their interior decorator gay – they are wrapped up in labels and cliches. In the same sense, there are many who expect, even demand, that the reggae band playing before them be sporting dreadlocks and Rastacaps. Oh, how times they are changing.
Burr hails from just about everywhere, but it seems his family’s ties to the Caribbean have held the most sway on him and inspire his musical vibe. Born in New York to a Puerto Rican father and Sicilian mother, much of his extended family lived in the Virgin Islands which greatly influenced his formative years.
“I’ve got 17 ethnicities – the two largest are British and Sicilian and the rest are mainly Puerto Rican,” Burr says. “Growing up, reggae music was all I listened to. Every party was reggae, soca, calypso and occasionally some classic rock thrown into the mix.”
At age 5, Burr’s family moved to Florida where new cultures would weave into his fiber. Grade school at Fessenden and high school at North Marion presented Burr with challenges to his “Caribbean blood ‘neath the Caucasian skin” but also offered new avenues for his future art.
In Florida, Burr would enter the rural world of north Marion county where culture shock awaited. Just as reggae was a genuine part of his soul, southern and classic rock began to seep in and to this day influence his modern creations.
“That school was half ghetto and half country – love it!” Burr says proudly of North Marion. “We were some cow patty-slingin’ mother f***ers. You want the cool, tough people? Go to North Marion. That was a cool experience.
“I attribute (North Marion) to the Lynyrd Skynyrd thing. Guys at school said, ‘hey, man, if you’re playing the guitar, you should listen to Skynyrd! I didn’t even know Lynyrd Skynyrd before I went to North Marion.”
Growing up in Ocala Park Estates, Burr says the kids mostly listened to rap and hip-hop and that his family was seen as the Caribbean people of the neighborhood. He knew only what was around him, and that created a situation in his life in which he refers to himself as “complexually white.”
“I don’t disassociate from being white,” Burr explains. “A lot of people get very upset because they think I’m pushing off the white, but I’m not; I just didn’t grow up with the white culture. I grew up watching “Martin” and “In Living Color.”
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When Burr speaks, that North Marion influence can be heard with a tinge of southern twang where the ‘g’ is hacked off any spoken gerund, coming out of hiding behind the bouncy island prose which is impossible to speak without smiling. That’s what happens when one has roots in the Virgin Islands and spends much of his life growing up in a land cultivated by the likes of Van Zant, Tom Petty and Greg Allman.
Burr, now 36, spent most of his time as a closet musician before writing his first reggae song at age 23. That was in response to a divorce and the song was titled, “Over Loving You.”
“That made me go into a zone where I wanted to explore what I wanted to do,” Burr said. He would wade out into the flats of Sarasota bay and go fishing by himself, all part of a meditative process pulling him closer to a Zen attitude. “I picked up my guitar one day and went right into a reggae groove. I said, ‘man, this is what I should’ve been writing forever! This is my calling!’
“Ever since then, I’ve never written a song that’s not a reggae song; it’s in my blood, for sure.”
The songs kept flowing, from “Better Days” written during his time in Gainesville to what he calls a fan favorite in “Polygamist’s Flow” written at his parents’ house in Silver Springs. He credits his friend, Cody Jones, for recognizing his talent and encouraging Burr to start a band and in 2016 he did just that – Propaganjah was born as a trio that included two other distant acquaintances on bass and djembe.
Performing in Salt Springs, Burr noticed patrons buying their music. “If we can sell reggae music to these people who’ve never heard it before, we can sell it to anybody in this state.” And Propaganjah was off and running.
The lineup has gone through many changes and the current one is the fourth incarnation of Propaganjah, coming out with its third album later in the year. Burr says this is the final lineup and that “these are the guys that I can see staying forever.”
“When we started as a trio, I always wanted a big band,” Burr said. “We were an 8-piece within two years – had a full horn section for a few shows.”
The current worldly lineup includes a keyboardist and backing vocalist from London (“Uncle” Steve Clarke), a drummer from the Phillipines (Jesus Bentulan), a bassist from nearby Trenton (Antonio Bongiovanni), a percussionist from Argyle, New York (Eliot Eisler) and second keyboardist from Wallkill, New York (Joey
Wheaton).
Though Burr is totally committed to the band and his music, he still works full-time at an engineering firm and that is what pays the bills. He loves his professional life as well as his musical life.
Uncle Steve, once in a British reggae band called Ozo which recorded on Elton John’s label, has played alongside some of the genre’s heavy hitters and believes Burr has what it takes to be among them. One catch, though: Burr’s life beyond music.
“He really is a very good songwriter,” Clarke said of Burr. “His songwriting is really relevant to what’s going on – he’s actually got a message.
“But, I’ve told him, ‘the only thing holding us back is you, because you’re in your comfort zone. You’ve got a 9-to-5, a lovely girlfriend at home, a mortgage. Ten years earlier and you’d be up there with the big boys.’ ”
Together, they have formed what is likely the most popular local band in Ocala, having been voted “Best Local Band” in several publications. Mainly a reggae band, Propaganjah has been known to mix things up a bit, throwing a little pop sound and some Tupac-inspired lyrics with a little classic rock rifts along the way.
They tear down all the myths and cliches surrounding reggae. The color is wrong, the hair is wrong and the accents take you to a place far from the genre. But on stage, everything is right, leaving no doubt as to the authenticity and adherence to the reggae sound. At one point in “Ecstasy” Burr breaks away for some old school rock and roll shredding, but never departs from the vibe.
Once “Ecstasy” concludes, Propaganjah begins its next number in a psychedelic manner, fooling everyone into thinking perhaps A Flock of Seagulls cover is in the offing. That is quickly extinguished when bongos break the rhythm and send everyone into that familiar journey with the reggae beat. It always comes full circle to that reggae sound, a sound from which Propaganjah never strays and in a place unexpected to be accepted in such a wide manner.
“Everybody told me the Propaganjah name wouldn’t get hired anywhere. They were wrong,” Burr says. “I was getting (gigs) from people in Ocala that would have never looked at a marijuana band ever.
“Reggae has a strong political background, so I call it Caribbean Soul. We’re just trying to make it universal music for people that’s inspiring, not just telling a sad story. I want people to be inspired to think of themselves and block out things to stay in their lanes.”