The album cover is everything. For anyone that’s from the Caribbean, they know what those white plastic chairs stand for. Chairs that are so strong and so fragile at the same time. Chairs that sit in the yard and under rain or sunshine, where elders hold court, where the family eats meals and tells jokes. It’s the same chairs I told my cousin to grab when I cut his hair out back, the same chair tio spent hours calling across the world to his family and friends. In those chairs we cry and we laugh, we debate and observe. After a long day or if there’s nothing to do. We sit in those chairs with a little bit of shade, shirts off, a little bit of rum and an opinion. It was the extra chair and main chair, the chair that moved in and out the house without hesitation or reservation. We may have paid for it but that was everyone’s chair, friend or foe, wanderer or lover. It’s a testimony and a monument.
Burning in paradise 