Film Review: Rudeboy: The Story of Trojan Records

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. 

Friday 16 August 2019, Beautiful Days Festival
Devon

Friday 16 August 2019, We Out Here Festival
Cambridgeshire

Friday 16 August 2019, Green Man Festival
Brecon Beacons

Tuesday 20 August 2019, Rototom Festival
Benicassim, Spain

Thursday 22 August 2019, House of Vans
London

Wednesday 28 August 2019, Soundtrack Film Festival
Cologne

Friday 20 December 2019, YAAM
Berlin

Book Review: The Life of Peter Tosh by John Masouri

I was fifteen when Peter Tosh was murdered. I was just getting into reggae and aware of him as one of the original Wailers, but when I tuned into Radio London for the traditional Sunday lunchtime lovers rock show, and heard the infectious ska sounds of  ‘Hoot Nanny Hoot’ instead, it sounded totally fresh and exciting, with the young lead vocal expressing a playful wisdom . As it was followed by tunes like ‘The Toughest’, ‘Downpresser Man’ and ‘Bush Doctor’, I was hit by a strange mixture of excitement at discovering all these classics for the first time, and the dawning realisation that I was a bit too late, and something was tragically wrong in the reggae world. The normally rich, authoritative voice of radio legend Tony Williams was choking up as he broke the news that Peter Tosh had been fatally shot at his home in Jamaica, age 42.

So I must admit it took me a while to open up this weighty tome, as even though it was over thirty years ago, it still feels like his sudden, brutal death is a shadow hanging over his story. But long time reggae journalist, John Masouri, has done a miraculous job of bringing Peter Tosh back to life, restoring the complex and often conflicting sides to his character through meticulous research into his childhood, detailed documentation of every tour and album, and interviews with long lost relations, friends and enemies. Through the cloud of ganja smoke and verbal obfuscation that surrounded him, a picture begins to emerge of the militant rebel whose intelligence, wit and desire to get his message across led him to international fame. Sometimes his own worst enemy, he would simultaneously attract and repel success, with his words and actions damaging his career and personal relationships. Masouri never lets us forget the effects of the car crash that killed his girlfriend, leaving him grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, and the numerous police beatings he suffered, causing permanent pain and headaches. All this at the time when reggae was king, and Peter Tosh shared the stage with the likes of Dennis Brown and Gregory Isaacs, in regular line-ups at huge concerts all over the world. A serious time, when apartheid South Africa was a seemingly unshakable reality and the struggle for equal rights and justice was not just a song.

Reading this biography is like an interactive experience, as when you read about the concert in Montreux in 1979, lauded as one of his best, or the time he made a cameo in a Brazilian soap opera, you can witness them for yourself in few clicks. It’s fascinating to read how Peter Tosh was often vilified by the British music press, being accused of selling out or watering down his message and music (they obviously had not listened to him saying “I’m not in this world to live up to your expectations” on ‘I Am That I Am’) while being hailed in the streets as a hero in black communities across America, England, Africa and the Caribbean. ‘The Life of Peter Tosh’ is an important work and a vital piece of reggae history, taking its place alongside the numerous biographies of Bob. It leaves you with a greater understanding of the man, an overdue celebration of his achievements, but nothing can quite shift the sense of regret and frustration and injustice that limited his output, and ultimately his life.

The Life of Peter Tosh by John Masouri 

Book Review: The Life and Rhymes of Benjamin Zephaniah

The Life and Rhymes of Benjamin Zephaniah

Benjamin Zephaniah, honorary university doctor, primetime television actor, established children’s author, Question Time regular, he almost seems like part of the furniture these days (so much so that in 2008 someone thought he might like to be rewarded with an OBE, forgetting that all his life he has hated and rebelled against the idea of Empire and the establishment). But he’s more likely to take all the furniture out of your house and pile it up in the street to protest about something, and then come round the next day and create some new furniture for you with his bare hands. This autobiography starts off like a Dickensian picaresque, as Benjamin runs around the streets of 1960s Birmingham in what seems like a different world. Growing up dealing with racism, domestic violence and poverty, Benjamin finds poetry, music and friendship to sustain him. The first third of the book has a gripping, confessional tone, and it’s clear there are things he has never really spoken about before and finds difficult to re-live, and you find yourself involved and caring about what happens to our hero and his mother. The frank revelations of fighting, borstal and a beckoning life of crime culminate in a sliding doors moment, when he could have ended up in prison or dead, but instead went to London and listened to the voice of the child inside him who always wanted to be a poet. As the sound system roots scene collides with punk and Two Tone explodes around him, he carves out a niche for himself on the alternative music and comedy circuit in the early eighties. It’s a vivid reminder of life in Thatcher’s Britain, as he tirelessly provides a poetical soundtrack to every demonstration from Rock Against Racism to the miners’ strike, anti-apartheid, Palestine, East Timor and the Chagos Islands. The power of his words and his commitment to various causes finds him gaining recognition nationally and internationally, as he makes an impact in the former Yugoslavia and becomes a regular visitor to China. He sees no boundaries, and makes connections with people wherever he goes, always discovering something new musically or delving into Tai Chi, acting or organic gardening.  Reading this section of the book feels like spending a few hours in the company of Benjamin Zephaniah, but his easy-going style of writing belies the fact that he is constantly challenging you to look at the world around you and think or do something different. There’s a lot to celebrate in his life, and the world has changed massively since the eighties, but he is far from complacent, and his passion for revolutionary thinking is undimmed as he keeps working on new material and touring to new audiences. One thing that really shocked me is he says “if there were another Brexit-type vote held in Britain, that asked, ‘Should black people be in this country or not?’ I think we’d be out.” This is a chilling thought and felt at odds with some of his experiences in the book, where he personally has played such a huge part in overcoming racism and changing attitudes. But thinking back to the description of his formative years, when prejudice was so entrenched in Britain, made me wonder where those racists have gone, have they changed or had they just gone quiet, only to pop up spouting their bile now on social media. Looking at how the Government got away with the Windrush ‘hostile environment’ scandal for so long, I wondered if he might be right. He often is, so we should keep listening to him, and do something about it. One love. 

Buy it here.

Book review: So Much Things To Say

So Much Things To Say – The Oral History of Bob Marley – Roger Steffens

Let’s face it, there have been quite a few books written about Bob Marley over the years, but this outstanding read is an essential for all real fans, a unique collection of recollections from the people who actually knew him, reconstructing a multi-dimensional view of the sanctified singer. Professor of reggae history, Roger Steffens, has meticulously pieced together interviews from his own personal archive and contemporary publications, weaving them into chronological order, covering the whole of Bob’s life. You get an amazing insight into Kingston circa 1962, as the young Wailers got together during a time when the first steps of independence were an irrepressible, energetic dance to the new ska beat sweeping the island. This period may be easy to romanticise (see To Jamaica with Love) but any fuzzy nostalgia is contrasted with reminiscences of the reality of day to day poverty and violence, including being bottled off stage in one incident. The voices of almost-forgotten members of the early incarnations of the loosely affiliated group are tracked down and restored, including Beverly Kelso, Cherry Green, Junior Braithwaite and Dream ‘Vision’ Walker, which makes you want to go back to your Studio One collections and listen out for their contributions. The sheer volume of work produced in this early period makes you realise no matter how many reissued CDs you have, you still don’t have the complete Wailers recordings. As the Wailers become a distinct trio, and a force to be reckoned with, their path to international success is long and rocky, as the vivid memories of Bunny Wailer and Rita Marley testify. The Jamaican music scene of the era is brought to life with contributions from Alton Ellis, Bob Andy, Marcia Griffiths and many more, at once fiercely competitive and mutually supportive, in some ways chaotic but also a hugely productive industry. It makes you appreciate the ten years that the Wailers were together defined them, and in Bob’s case, lasted longer than his solo career. It left them with such a rich back catalogue of songs they all continued to draw on them throughout their subsequent individual journeys. Claims, counter-claims, love affairs, financial mis-dealings and disputed song-writing credits compete for attention as Bob’s life gets more complicated and his star begins to rise. The rival revelations and building pressures on the group are recanted in some cases as still bitter and raw, making it seem inevitable that they had to go their separate ways. At times you feel like you are in the middle of a conversation featuring the living and dead, as Peter Tosh, Cindy Breakspeare, Coxsone Dodd and Chris Blackwell exchange views on the man behind the legend. Even though we all know how it is going to end, the detailed deconstruction of each Bob Marley album and tour by the musicians involved is compulsive reading, juxtaposed with memories from those closest to him of his increasingly painful personal life. The attempt on his life is explored from every angle, suspicion and conspiracy theory. The cancer diagnosis, prognosis, treatment, or lack of it, is recalled in layers of confusion and regret. Bob’s Rastafari faith as his driving force and his future plans for working in Africa are revealed, making us realise his work was far from over. You’re left feeling closer to Bob than ever, and wanting to listen to his music all over again, but no closer to knowing how much of his gift was down to his own individual, magical genius, or the collective product of a wellspring of creativity in a unique culture, time and place. Thanks to Roger Steffens’ ‘So Much Things To Say’, we’ll never forget, no way, the people who made his story history. One love.

 

https://bookmarksbookshop.co.uk/view/45377/So+Much+Things+to+Say%253A+The+Oral+History+of+Bob+Marley

Soul II Soul

@ The Barrowlands Glasgow Saturday 9th December 2017

Well now, growing up in London in the eighties, hanging around Camden market at the weekends, finding my dancing feet, I was naturally drawn to Soul II Soul’s unique sound and style, their blend of reggae and soul and positive message. The bassline to ‘Keep on Moving’ was irresistible, shaking up the concrete, blasting out of tower blocks and car stereos in the street everywhere in 1989.  Within a year, everyone from Sinead O’Connor to The Chimes sounded like them, or were connected to their all-embracing collective vibe. Maybe I didn’t fully appreciate them, as I was becoming obsessed with reggae at the time, while Jazzie was moving in the opposite direction, after starting out in the roots sound system world of course, but building a new, more inclusive sound from the foundations. Plus, I just wasn’t cool enough to fully embrace them at the time, although I belatedly managed my own take on the funky dred hairstyle, of which all photos have now thankfully been destroyed. So when I heard they were coming to Glasgow, I wasn’t first in the queue for tickets, but as I realised they were playing at the Barrowlands, that tipped the balance, as this would be my first time in the Iconic Venue (I think Chakademus & Pliers in the 90s were the last reggae act there), with sprung dancefloor ideally suited to their thumping bass.  I even managed to enlist a babysitter and persuade her indoors (who apparently thinks there is a thing called 'too much reggae') to come along for this one, so it made a change not to look like a sad bastard standing in the corner. And yes, how wonderful and pleasant it was to see a joyful crowd in a decent-sized venue; the appeal of Soul II Soul is enduring, as the place quickly filled up with the good and beautiful music-loving people of Glasgow. Warmed up and ready to dance, the reaction was jubilant as the band blasted the cobwebs away with ‘Keep on Moving’, and Caron Wheeler sounding just the same as she did back then. I must admit I was hoping she would be joined on stage by Kofi (who also featured on ‘Move Me No Mountain’, of course) and they would do a little Brown Sugar revival, but I concede that would have been a change of pace from the funky workouts of ‘Universal Love’ and ‘Fairplay’. Jazzie B did remind us of his reggae roots, with a heavy dub version of ‘Zion’ sounding more like U-Brown on the mike. But this night was all about the unique Soul II Soul sound, which helped to shape the modern multicultural nation we live in today, with Charlotte Kelly taking a turn on vocals on hits like ‘I Care’ and 'Missing You', two fabulous violinists striking up those haunting hooklines, melodic keyboards and the power of the drum and the bass. All the while, Jazzie B mixing up the samples on the decks and chatting a mixture of personal reminiscences and his distinctive Holloway Road rap on tracks like ‘Get a Life’. Like anyone of a certain age, the band have been touched by tragedy, but keep everyone going with their life-affirming vibe and the therapeutic power of music and dancing, culminating with ‘Back to Life’. Jazzie B brought the sound system out of the ghetto and placed it at the heart of British popular music. One love.

Ska Vengers

Ska Vengers, Rum Shack Glasgow 2 September 2017

From India with Dub

A ska band from Delhi? Are they just a novelty act doing cover versions with a sitar thrown in? Far from it, this band of young, gifted musicians with their original songs and two charismatic lead stars demonstrate a solid foundation in the history of Jamaican music, not just ska but mixing it up with dub, raggamuffin styles and a serious lyrical consciousness. And why the hell wouldn’t they, as ska and reggae has spread all over the world, India could not miss out. After all, let’s not forget the involvement of musicians, producers and artists of mixed Asian heritage since the early days of the Jamaican recording industry from Ken Khouri and Jackie Mittoo to Supercat. There were always plenty of Asian people into reggae and ska, but they may not have seen themselves represented on stage in the original Two Tone movement. Things have moved on since then of course, from Neville Staple’s work with Johnny Zee and Stereo Nation in the nineties, right up to the Patel Brothers of The Frightnrs. So it’s really not a big deal, I’m going to shut up about it now. The Ska Vengers had a tough act to follow, taking the stage after raucous local favourites Esperanza (what? - white Scottish people can play ska too?), and last week’s nostalgic love-in in the park with Misty in Roots and Aswad still fresh in the Glaswegian memory. The front two combine the style and energy of Pauline Black with the fire and attitude of Apache Indian to an urgent backing featuring blazing horns section, rollicking basslines and chopping guitars reminiscent of The Beat. Their own songs like ‘Kick Up Rumpus’ and ‘Gunshot’ and ‘Vampires’ keep the pace moving alongside versions of ‘I Put A Spell On You’ and ‘No, No, No’. Just as you think this might be too familiar territory, they draw out ‘Frank Brazil’, the story of a 1930s Indian revolutionary who assassinated a British officer responsible for colonial massacres. Their unique take on reggae foundation rhythm ‘Rockfort Rock’ brings it back to its Cuban roots and then takes it away to turn into ‘Redfort Rock’. All these infectious sounds and intriguing stories were still flying around my head by the time they had to go, to be followed by Delhi Sultanate taking over the decks, dripping with sweat from his performance, to fling down some dubplates from the likes of Johnny Osborne, Shabba Ranks and Barrington Levy to show they have not just come around in this reggae thing but are steeped in it. Their two albums (available on Spotify, Amazon, i-Tunes, etc.) are well worth repeated listens once you get home to let the lyrics sink in after the deceptively catchy tunes have drawn you in to skank to their live performances. And if you get a chance to catch them at Bestival tomorrow, or next time they come to the UK, don’t miss them. One love.