Warning: This film
contains graphic scenes of the destruction of vintage vinyl which some viewers
may find upsetting.
Trojan – a name forever synonymous with classic reggae music
for a certain generation, proudly emblazoned across my T-shirt, occasionally
these days gets strange looks from the youngsters who apparently think I’m
advertising condoms. But this documentary, still playing across the UK in
August should help restore the balance and put Trojan Records back in the forefront
of the consciousness of the music-loving public. Nowadays it’s hard to imagine, but there was a time when ska, rock steady and reggae was a weekly feature in the
UK charts and Top of the Pops in the late sixties and early seventies, making
an indelible impression on the minds of British youth and laying the
foundations for the Two Tone revival. This film tells the story of how this was
achieved, through a slightly fuzzy haze, like memories of blues dances and
house parties seen from the eyes of a child staying up past bedtime. The action
starts, where else, but Kingston, Jamaica with a reconstruction of Duke Reid
running the music production and distribution across the island in his Trojan
truck (made in Croydon, where I once bumped into Desmond Dekker coming out of a pub - talk about full circle, eh?) and running auditions in his liquor store for the likes
of Derrick Morgan. This was of course the perfect opportunity to bring the
Treasure Isle store scene in To Jamaica With Love to the silver screen, but
sadly the producers forgot to call me.
Everyday life in the music factory that was Kingston in the era
of independence is witnessed through magical interviews with the surviving
members of that trailblazing generation, including Marcia Griffiths, Dave
Barker, Lee Scratch Perry, Bunny Lee, Roy Ellis, Freddie Notes, Toots Hibbert,
Ken Boothe and many more, alongside archive footage and dramatisations. Trojan
Records sprung up as an independent force, making deals with Island Records and
various producers, capturing this fever and selling it to a hungry market in
England initially made up of Jamaican migrants, quickly spreading to their white
working class neighbours. How a combination of West Indian and British entrepreneurs
and musicians battled prejudice to get radio airplay and television
appearances, inviting Jamaican artists into living rooms up and down the
country, is shown to play a genuine part in breaking down barriers and counteracting
the racism that was rife at the time of Enoch Powell. It doesn’t quite explore
the uncomfortable phenomenon of those who liked the music but also continued to
be racist (listen to ‘Skinhead A Bash Them’ by Claudette and The Corporation,
and see the great Don Letts’ The Story of Skinhead for a deeper
examination). There is inevitably a
slightly rosy-tinted nostalgia about the film, but the murkier side of the
business is touched upon, with legal wranglings and contract disputes rumbling
in the background as Trojan grew. The story of how it went from not being able
to keep up with demand to flooding the market with Jamaican music is illustrated
in harrowing scenes of the policy of destroying unsold stock for tax reasons. Flipping from collecting original hits to
becoming a receptacle for records squarely aimed at the UK pop charts, losing
some of what made it so special and controversially adding strings, at a time
when the era of roots and punk was brewing, all added to its sudden demise as liquidation
came in 1975. The bubble may have burst, but the impact of Trojan Records could
never be forgotten, as the label was resurrected and successive generations
have rediscovered this music which will never, ever die. At the CCA screening in Glasgow we were lucky to have one of the contributors to the film, one of the founding fathers of reggae and sound system culture in Britain, Sir Lloyd Coxsone, in a Q&A afterwards, as he continues to spread the message. One love.
