Journey to Gentleman:
A Tale of One Man’s Quest for the Ultimate Musical Experience.

I AM THE HAPPIEST MAN IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW.

http://www.journeytojah.de/ will tell you why.

June 23, 2006. Where will you be?

Most likely not with me, because that will be the day that I am in Abenberg, DE, getting my GROOVE on at the Burg Open Air Festival, a four-band reggae set headlined by the living legend himself, Gentleman.

Please, tell me you haven't heard of him. I love hearing that, because I take pride in being remembered by you kinds of people as the person who introduced you to your new favorite band.

When Bob Marley said that those crazy baldheads were gonna chase us right outta town, he just didn't know that a white German dude with a buzzed head who learned English in Jamica and therefore has the patois down pat would one day be the best reggae artist on earth.

Oh Lord how tings gwon fi change in dis day and age. Seen?

Excuse me for my excitement, but it all makes sense if you know the story:

Gentleman has been my favorite artist since September 2004 (no, I don't remember the exact day), when I was introduced to him as a student studying abroad in Geneva. I quickly became an addict.

That November, after blowing two opportunities to see him play in Switzerland (sold out before I made a move!), I was able to score a ticket to a five-band reggae/hip hop festival in the western German town of Saarbrücken (which I passed tonight, ironically enough). Seven hours, one train, zero friends along for the ride.

Pure dedication.

So I'm at the show. I'm trying to converse, no one speaks English, I just keep lining up for beer as I wait for the opening acts to do their obligatory sets and make way for Mr. Gentleman, himself.

The bands keep playing, I keep getting back in line, and the cycle continues.

Throughout the opening acts, I would hear periodic announcements in German: "Einz, viel schpeiden oberstrausse eneiden geiden schpitzer Gentleman nie hier dach schtumpen die wehr Gentleman haus dies."

I understand two words in that paragraph, and neither is written in italics.

Guess, then, what my reaction was to that same announcement, like five times in a row.

"WHOOO! Gen-tull-MUN! Whoo! Whoo."

Even though I completely fabricated all that German you read above, here is a real translation of the forgery:

"Gentleman is not playing tonight. His keyboardist is sick. I repeat, Gentleman is not playing tonight."

I found this out three bands in, when some kids who spoke English came up and asked me if I had any bud. Does the phrase “knifed in the stomach” mean anything to you?

This was all news to me about an hour after it became news to the rest of the dejected concert-goers, who couldn't understand why I was so excited about something so tragic.

And tragic it was, for me especially. The make-up dated promised by the MC running the festivities was on a Wednesday (school) night; not exactly around the corner from my pad a Genève.

My solution was to get back in that line.

I didn't stop drinking until I woke up, slumped against the back wall, the show over, me not remembering the last two bands that played.

And keep in mind, I don’t black out -- ever. It’s just not my thing. I honestly can count the number of times it has happened, lifetime, on one hand. And that night, I blacked out, hardcore.

Despair drove me to the precipice; 1 euro beer and no one to talk to drove me beyond.

Startled by the feel of an empathetic-looking German girl shaking me out of my stupor, then asking me a whole bunch of questions in a language very similar to Martian, I stumbled out of the arena, pissed as all hell that I'd taken the trek to Saar-freaking-brücken for NOTHING. As soon as I got back to my room at the Heartbreak Hotel, I went to bed and dreamed of a time when Gentleman’s keyboardist didn't get sick, or maybe a time where his keyboardist got sick and he, gasp, got replaced for a show!

The dream never materialized, not that semester at least, which was crushing considering the star power Gentleman wields east of the Atlantic (German TRL, anyone?) vs. west of it (just Google it; reggae ain’t coming up). “No way the man ever plays in the U.S.” I thought to myself with resignation, shoulders slumped. And if you don’t count California, that is true.

Flash forward to November 2005. I've been gearing up for months in preparation for this Jamaica trip I'm about to take with my roommate Jamison and his family. We've known since August, when I randomly discovered the fact on a late-night Google search, that Gentleman is to headline a festival in Ocho Rios December 17 -- in fact, when Jamison found out the exact dates that we'd be vacationing there, he wrote on a Post-It Note stuck to my door, "Jamaica dates: Dec. 15-Jan. 3. This means Gentleman!"

(ring, ring)

“Hallo?” came a grating, Jamaican voice on the other end.

“Hello, I’m calling to see about getting tickets to the Gentleman festival at Island Village next month..”

“Show fi cancelled, mon,” the voice said, caring very little that he had cut me off in mid-thought. “No show. Dey say he fi play January 21st, mon, at ah deef-rent location, mon.”

How about “knife twisting in my stomach?”

Flash forward to last semester. Gearing up for another trip, this one to Europe at the end of college. A quick check to journeytojah.de, and … playing in a festival right outside Nuremberg, the day after USA-Ghana is held there?

Pinch me.

The only problem was how we were going to get the tickets, because in Western Europe, PayPal and credit cards are just too easy. So is the idea of a will call window.

That meant two things: 1) I needed to wire the money, which is a little unnerving when you’re spotting five other heads and there’s no guarantee it even goes through for like ten days. 2) I needed a German address for the tickets to be mailed.

My girl at the Bank of Texas, Felicia Ellis, hooked it up on the transfer – not only did it successfully go through, but she waved the fee. That’s why Felicia Ellis is my girl.

And in the smallest of worlds stories, Jamison’s girlfriend, Laura, is from Germany, and has an older brother with an address in Cologne. Cologne, as in the hometown of a reggae singer named Gentleman.

The transfer worked, the mail worked. Now we have to sit back, wait, and hope that the keyboardist's immune system works.

Stay posted.