Dara E Healy

…if you see how she hook me and ah hook she

Like two snakes rolled up

She so deceitful, she bawling "Stop!"

But she like it

Ah know that from the way she start to scratch me like a cat

– from May May, Mighty Sparrow

THERE WAS a time when calypsoes like this were considered too risqué for polite society.

Lord Kitchener’s Sugar Bum Bum is another example of how calypsonians pushed the boundaries of acceptability.

“Give way me land, give way me car/But let no man touch my sugar/Sugar bum, sugar bum-bum/Give me the bum-bum, Audrey/Oh oh oh.”

Today, there is a regional debate about lyrics that are not only sexually explicit but which create a fantasy-like world around crime.

But is the conversation as targeted as it should be? Which came first, the music or the reality that spawned a violent creative response? Where does freedom of speech end and social decay begin? Is it too late to foster an industry that pushes music with positive themes?

With hundreds of millions of views on You Tube and tens of thousands of downloads on streaming sites, Trinibad is now a musical force. Inspired by Jamaican dancehall, the genre has carved out a space, singing the pain of urban youth who battle poverty, police brutality and societal neglect.

The lyrics focus on sex, competition between artists and yes, violent confrontations. Prince Swanny, one of the most successful performers in this genre, does not hold back when he sings, “Me nuh inna long talk when mi drive pass/Pull up 'Boom! Boom!' blood pon mi glass.”

In interviews, performers and producers of the music contend that this style of music is about entertainment, about making a living. They say their lyrics do not necessarily mean that this is the lifestyle they advocate.

Recent killings within the Trinibad fraternity make this hard to believe, but I think the real conversation should be around why they believe it is necessary to create this music in the first place? What message are they trying to send?

These questions also surfaced around hip hop and gangsta rap in the 80s and 90s. Detractors seldom acknowledged that African-American neighbourhoods were being flooded with drugs, guns, alcohol and unhealthy foods. As rapper Sister Souljah said, rap “exposes all the contradictions of American culture…what started out as an underground art form has become a vehicle to expose a lot of critical issues…a political system that never intends to deal with inner-city urban chaos.”

Similarly, Trinibad artists maintain that they are singing about the reality of what is happening “in the streets.” Some of the videos portray violent confrontations between urban youth and police. The visuals also show impoverished urban neighbourhoods.

Several contend that positive lyrics do not get the radio play or achieve the popularity of the sexually explicit songs with "badman" lyrics.

However, creative freedom is never absolute. The portrayal of women in Trinibad videos is horrifying; it is as if the women’s movement never happened. In the 1990s, Que