Profits from this album are being donated to the Black Legal Action Centre (www.blacklegalactioncentre.ca) in Toronto. Here’s a few words on why, beyond the obvious, that I think this is important for King Pong Dub System to do.

Beginning with the first official KPDS release (Islington West), I felt a certain unease at being a white man producing music heavily inspired by dub without any involvement by black musicians or musicians of Jamaican descent. While the music was born of appreciation and respect, it’s unavoidable that there’s also an element of cultural appropriation. And over time, as KPDS has evolved to be less “inspired by” and more directly emulating authentic dub reggae rhythms and sounds, this element of appropriation can only have increased.

For several years, my response has been to rationalize to myself that this is okay because wasn’t I just following in a long post-punk tradition by incorporating dub and reggae influences into my music? As if to say that since a lot of white men from The Clash to—main KPDS influence—Adrian Sherwood had done it before, it must be harmless. This is definitely, I now realize, a classic Settler self-delusion; the one where we tell ourselves that time dilutes the sins of our forebears to the point we are blameless. When in fact time does not dilute culpability, it brews a stronger tea.

At the same time as I was trying to rationalize my place in this dubious history of white reggae, I knew I needed to acknowledge that I was standing on the towering shoulders of black giants: King Tubby, Lee Perry, Scientist, Mad Professor, Sly and Robbie, Bonjo Iyabinghi Noah, Augustus Pablo, and many others from whom I borrowed sounds, aesthetics, and even elements of their names for my very moniker.

Another aspect I felt I needed to acknowledge was my inclusion of black activists’ voices in the form of samples I’d used in a number of tracks. And I think cultural appropriation may come into play more in this arena than the music itself. I had to ask myself what my intention in using these words was. Did I just think they sounded cool? Did they make me feel revolutionary and bad-ass? Did I like the sense of authenticity they lent when I stole those words and placed them alongside my basslines? I don't believe any of these statements tell the whole story, but there is an element of truth there. I genuinely try to be anti-racist and though my intention has always been to support anti-racist activism by amplifying those voices and messages, I find myself trying to navigate a fine line between amplification and exploitation.

As a white man I stand in a place of privilege where, at a step removed, black activism and anti-racist work can be experienced, consumed, repackaged, and sold as a form of entertainment. The truth and passion of an activist's words come at no personal cost to me. I get to feel pretty progressive and revolutionary listening back to my older tracks that sample Muhammad Ali and MLK without having lived the anti-black racism people in my neighbourhood experience with daily. I haven’t paid for the right to use these words. I haven’t even paid the price of a rental.

At the same time I think there’s value in doing what I can, as a white person, to amplify these messages and voices. During the current period of protests sparked by the horrific murder of George Floyd, I’ve heard so many important messages and I felt compelled to once again to sample these history lessons, sermons, and calls to action and place them to music.

What I’ve grown uneasy with is profiting from the use of these words; the exploitation of oppression I don't experience. Which is why I’m donating all proceeds from this album to BLAC (whenever they reach $25 increments).

I'm not sure if this gesture counts as reparations. I'm not sure if reparations are required of me. No one from the black community has raised these issues with me, but KPDS is hardly on anyone's radar so that's hardly surprising. But this feels more right to do than not to do.