Dr. Bassie
The Journey of Dr. Bassie: From Kitchen Songs to Cosmic Rhythms
My story begins in the kitchen of my childhood home in Florida, where my mother filled the air with Lover’s Rock. Gregory Isaacs, the Cool Ruler himself, set the tone while I played with friends from Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba, and Puerto Rico. Those rhythms became the heartbeat of my life, a foundation that carried me from the black volcanic sands of St. Kitts to the Blue Mountains of Jamaica and the Great Rift Valley of Ethiopia.
In medical school, fate placed me alongside Dr. David Lawson, known as The Cultivator, a homoeopathic healer who had worked with Bob Marley's personal physician. Together, we explored dub, chanting, and roots reggae, crafting sounds that spoke of resistance, dignity, and the black diaspora. Later, my journey led me to Milwaukee, where I became immersed in its punk-reggae fusion scene. Andy Noble taught me riddims by ear, Eric Blowtorch introduced me to a band and a deep world of culture, and Shane Olivo revealed the alchemy of the studio. Along the way, legends like LKJ, Early B, and Bad Brains shaped my sound and vision, as did nights rocking in Adams Morgan, Washington D.C. with Dr. Garrett Martin a punk & reggae vinyl digger. He introduce me to heavy punk and deeper cuts of roots. We explored punk, reggae, and new wave Ethiopian fusion while I would crash on his couch.
From the foggy mornings of Sheshemane, Ethiopia, to the vinyl shops and clubs of Milwaukee, my path has been shaped by mentors like Horace Andy, Judy Mowatt, Pablove Black, and The Scientist. Each connection, each riddim, revealed new dimensions, deepening my philosophy and sharpening my sound. Reggae has always provided a spectrum for the states of man—slackness, mystic consciousness, love music, rebel music, and irie chants to name a few. But when all conditions align, roots transcends, creating transformative spaces that defy science, art, and this plane of existence. In those moments, string theory and the strings on my bass merge, and I feel the universe vibrating beneath my fingers, as creation itself fades away into pure connection.
Now, as a gray-haired producer, bassist, vocalist, alchemist, psychiatrist, and mystic, I see life as an interplay of rhythms—on the bass, in the studio, through the speaker, and within the soul. Music, medicine, and philosophy are my riches and amid the rhythms of my journey through sound, healing, and thought, a voice is beginning to emerge—rooted and resonant. In a chaotic cosmos full of dread and uncertainty, we, as Rastas in heart if not head, fear no gods, no men, no beasts, no atomic weapons nor the unknown. We have our 45 records, we have each other, and we prance to the fya with courage and joy, Fe Tru!
I invite you to join me—on a moonlit beach, in the misty mountains, within the hum of a studio, or in a philosopher’s garden. We’ll find the riddim together, and as it unfolds, the cosmos will reveal itself. Hail Rastafari and all who stand against oppression, in this world and the next, across infinities without end.