Though it may strike you as something less than shocking coming from an analog, Fosse-loving guy like me, but I’ve never cared much for reggae music. Doesn’t everyone like reggae? I like the idea of reggae, but even though I know I’m supposed to think it’s sacrosanct, frankly it just puts me to sleep with its repetitious, musically static directives to relax and enjoy life—the musical antithesis of living in the (formerly) United States of America. I’m prepared to accept that I may be too high-strung to appreciate its charms (I have a very reliable stop telling me to fucking relax reflex), but even when I used to smoke pot I got impatient waiting for chord changes that never came, or anything resembling an engaging vocal performance. Maybe that’s why I decided to create the first Gay Man’s Comprehensive Guide to Reggae Music. Though some may feel I am trading in stereotypes, my position on reggae is an honest reflection of how my ears respond to popular music; unlike many people, I am long past the age of affecting enthusiasm because I am desirous of seeming cool. In completely subjective terms, I think listening to the Ray Conniff Singers is much cooler than listening to Bob Marley; so sue me.

That said, I do actually like a reggae beat, especially in the hands of musicians who can take the buoyant spirit of the island music and, you know, build an actual song around it. I realize to some people this is practically heresy, but one of the few compensating factors of maturing is that you truly stop giving a shit about impressing anyone with how cool you are. I firmly believe that this guide will enliven the proceedings when reggae is unavoidable, and help my similarly cautious brethren to just cut to the good stuff. Gay Man’s Comprehensive Guide to Reggae (in 1100 words) 1. Cher This is exactly how not cool I was/am: my first exposure to any iteration of the genre was when Cher covered Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder They Come” on her 1975 album Stars. How ya like me now? Though hipsters and purists are certainly snorting with derision, I stand by Cher’s album, primarily on the basis of its album cover, which was and remains the quintessence of 1970s glamour. As a kid I spent untold dozens of hours listening to the record and staring at its graphics, wishing I could somehow transport myself out of suburban New Jersey and into Cher’s eyelashes. (Years later when I worked with her, I told her about my obsession with this spectacular photograph by Bill King and we talked at length about how many hours it took to braid the Christmas lights through her tresses.) If I hadn’t been born gay, staring at this picture of Cher for so many years could have conceivably made me gay. http://stargayzing.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/07-The-Bigger-They-Come-The-Harder-They-Fall.mp3

2. Barbra Streisand