R.I.P. Lee Scratch Perry

william_kent

william_kent

Well-known member

Heptones - Party Time

I love this version of "party time", it's about as far from a party record as I can imagine

"we've got to live some life before we're old,
we've got to live some life before we're cold,
time is short.."
 
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DannyL

Wild Horses
@luka been thinking. I think you could say someone like Dennis Brown is the anti-Lee Perry. Massively popular in Jamaica, with black audiences in UK but hasn't got a touch of the trendy buzz Perry had. Cant imagine him on the cover of Grand Royale. Different communities process the same genres very differently.
 
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DannyL

Wild Horses
Gregory Isaacs would be the other one. Can't think of anyone else bigger, bar Marley.
This is an interesting Tweet in that it claims Perry as a part of a multiracial British identity.
I don't know if I have much to say about it but this and the Steve McQueen films are interesting cultural moments, especially contrasted with the legitimation of racism provided by Brexit and the Home Office, the Windrush Scandal etc
 
william_kent

william_kent

Well-known member
The Cool Ruler & The Crown Prince definitely huge, and certainly were played far more than Marley ever was on UK Sound System


Gregory Isaacs - Mr Cop

A rare case of Gregory singing on an Upsetter rhythm


Dennis Brown - Wolf & Leopards

and a rare case of Dennis singing on an Upsetter rhythm..
The Dennis is a co-production between Niney & Perry at Black Ark ( before they fell out..)
 
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william_kent

william_kent

Well-known member

Clive Hylton* - From Creation

huge tune on dubplate - Coxsone Outernational used to rinse this one in the 70s

as Penny Reel recounts:

...this other recording is never released, and he further lets it be known that the tune in question is only ever made available to a few sound system men as an exclusive dubplate and is called ‘From Creation’.

At mention of this I grow animated with wonder and awe, because the title in question is a big mystery in reggae circles this past two decades and the cause of much speculation thereof. Back then, ‘From Creation’ is regularly played in the UK on the Sir Coxsone set, where it is usually introduced by the man Festus as exclusive to themselves only, with the master tape since destroyed by fire, a claim I discount as a fictional ploy devised to wind up the crowd and increase the cachet of an unknown tune.

This is not uncommon practice in these days and I recall an incident at the Four Aces club in Dalston when Count Shelly take on D’Nunes in a clash and deliver their knockout punch with the first ever airing of Dennis Brown’s ‘Immanuel God Is With Us’. When the congregation’s frenzy subsides slightly and as Tuts rubs the tune back from the top, Castro Brown takes the mic to make this same bold claim of a burnt master tape, and which is disproved a few weeks later when the record in question duly arrives in the shops.

However, as Clive Hylton informs me now of ‘From Creation’, in this case it is a fact, the original tape suffering its irrevocable fate when producer Lee Perry, fraught with stress, white rum and ganga, razes his Black Ark studio to ashes as well documented at the time.

The song holds a special significance in my memory relating to a visit Sir Coxsone sound makes to Lewisham one summer night during 1977, the Battersea massive coming face to face with Jah Shaka in the spiritual dub warrior’s own south east London territory. On this same day, the National Front attempt a provocative march through the streets of Lewisham, but in scenes reminiscent of the Blackshirts’ assault on the Jewish East End at the battle of Cable Street in the ‘30s, are prevented from doing so by a counter-demonstration of anti-racists and running battles ensue in which nearly 300 policemen are injured. Scenes of the carnage are everywhere in evidence as I make my way to the church hall where the dance takes place and inside the mood is sombre, slightly dazed.

On the night, the Coxsone sound carry the crowd and it is they who bring proceedings to a close with an anthemic ‘Satta Amassa Gana’ as sunlight filters through the windows, and follows this with the mighty sound of a familiar Upsetter rhythm and a voice beseeching: "From creation I man there, sufferation I man a bear it, tribulation I man go through..." After the events of the previous day, the lyric seems to speak with a new poignance, a feeling seemingly shared by the crowd as a whole, who even at this late hour respond to it with vociferous enthusiasm.
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* aka Colour Red - he was the old dread who, years ago, was on X-factor, originally with his girlfriend and her daughter, but halfway through the series they broke up - I think the mother and daughter tried to carry on without him, but Simon Cowell was having none of it
 
william_kent

william_kent

Well-known member
just for the sake of completeness here is what Penny Reel wrote about the Four Aces incident ( mentioned in his piece above ) in his classic Deep Down With Dennis Brown book

WELL, AT this time I am a member of and regular visitor to the Club Four Aces situated in the premises of the old Dalston Theatre at Dalston Junction in Dalston Lane.

Quite apart from any considerations of its architectural, historical and local significance, this site occupies a position as the northeast London epicentre of an evolving Jamaican music scene since the rock steady era in the 1960s and presently hosts a midweek session with a visit from the other side of the river of a sound billed as the Brixton champ, D Unis Hi-Fi.

Every Wednesday night for the previous six months or so, the sound's incursion into Hackney lures a busy crowd to the club's doors with its selection of rootsical upfront lovers, and which by way of current example include titles like In Crowd’s ‘His Majesty Is Coming’, Matumbi's ‘Man In Me’ and Tetrack’s ‘Let’s Get Started’, and where the guests are galvanised further still by the cheerful personality of the stout D Unis Hi-Fi MC Bionic T, a character as large as life itself. Indeed, it is Bionic T’s championing on the D Unis Hi-Fi mic of records like ‘Time To Leave Daddy’ by Ruddy Thomas, Well, Pleased And Satisfied’s ‘Sweetie Comes From America’ and Leon Hyatt’s ‘Starkey’ at Club Four Aces week in and week out during the latter months of the previous year that contributes so much to the popularity of these.

Well now, for as long as anyone can remember this part of north London is the undisputed territory of a Stoke Newington-based sound system controlled by Count Shelly, who exerts a loyal local following that he builds up over the intervening years by virtue of his own lengthy residency at the Club Four Aces. Even though Count Shelly is now more or less retired from the sound business to concentrate more time on his record label and distribution one-stop Third World situated up in Tottenham; nevertheless he is more than a little peeved at this interloper causing such a stir in his manor, particularly since D Unis Hi-Fi is what Count Shelly regards as a dolly man sound on account of its Brixton origin.

The upshot of this is that Count Shelly challenges D Unis Hi-Fi to a clash at the Club Four Aces and the event is staged for the first week of the New Year. On the night in question, D Unis Hi-Fi are soon set about entertaining the gathering with the sound's customary crowd pleasing choice of music and shortly one and all are pleasantly rocking. For his part, Count Shelly stands impassive and unsmiling as ever, though the presence of men like Too Too Man, Lloydie Coxsone and Castro Brown in the Count Shelly camp suggest that something is afoot.

Meanwhile, local madcap Sir Collins of ‘Sir Collins Special’ fame is darting all about the Club Four Aces demanding to know the purpose of this rivalry when it is widely established that he, Sir Collins, is the most eminent citizen in the house and the rightful heir to any crown that might be in contention.

The Four Aces manager Bro Newton is typically unimpressed by all the bombast now on display. "I know all these men when none have a suit to wear between them," he snorts. Anyway, in due course Count Shelly is given the go ahead by Bionic T and following the airing of several warmup tunes draws his ace card. A sombre rhythm with a Nyahbinghi emphasis constructed around a bone-shattering bass line drops into being and is then followed by a hosannah from Gabriel and a host of his angels chanting in unison the lyric "day-oh, day-oh", phased deep in the bongo-laden mix.

The rhythm plods on, settling into a steady groove and building as it unwinds. Suddenly, the familiar, reassuring voice of Dennis Brown bursts through the clatter of percussion and accompanying cooing chorus. "The Lord God is with us," he exalts. "He gave us the moon and the stars and His blessing, yeah/No regrets, no sorrow, nothing/No." At this juncture, Count Shelly’s MC Tuts draws the needle from the acetate and as one the crowd momentarily groan their collective dismay at the interruption, then immediately come to themselves and whoop their approbation of this celestial and previously unheard sound.

"One cut," jeers Tuts. "New Dennis Brown tune, heard exclusively and only on slate on the Count Shelly sound system." The stylus is replaced at the start of the track and the music begins again. As on the previous occasion, Tuts pulls up at the conclusion of Dennis Brown’s opening speech and with the crowd now fully stirred, Castro Brown steps forward, takes the mic from Tuts and declares: "One cut. The original tape was burnt in a fire." At this, the stylus is replaced for the third time and the song is allowed to run its course.

Midway through the passage of its length, one line in particular seems to capture the mood of the moment. "Here we are, singing and dancing together like one family," remarks Dennis Brown, and it is almost as if he is here in the room observing the proceedings now taking place. "My people don’t be misled," chant the accompanying seraphim as the song draws to its conclusion, "my people think twice instead".

Just before the fadeout, Dennis Brown makes the claim that "love and hate can never be friends," followed by a mighty crash on the snare drum and the imploring cry from the singer, "not until, not until, not until the world comes to an end..." On the strength of this single piece, Count Shelly emerges as the victor of the clash and D Unis Hi-Fi leave with their tails between their legs, never to return again to the Club Four Aces. Shortly after, Bionic T decamps to the continent and is last heard of managing a nightclub in the Netherlands.

Meanwhile, Castro Brown’s comments to the crowd prove to be unfounded when at the end of the same month this very recording is issued on a UK pressing via the singer’s DEB Music record label, though with its centre punched out in the manner of a pre-release singer and therefore retailing at a slightly more expensive import price, bearing the glorious title ‘Immanuel God Is With Us’.
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william_kent

william_kent

Well-known member
this is one of my favourite pieces by Penny Reel, maybe one of the best bits of music journalism ever - a true slice of life

Keith Hudson: A Dread Tale

(NME 14/10/1978 )

ONE NIGHT I AM standing outside the Jamaican pattie shop in Portobello Road partaking of the same when a car pulls up on the street and from it emerge certain characters from Kilburn by the name of Militant Barrington, Tapper Zukie and Jah Lacey, which is by no means an unusual combination to see, as these are very intimate idren and frequently keep each other's company, except that now there is a fourth person with them in the rear approach, one known as King Saul.

Now if I know in advance that this King Saul is stepping in my direction I will not even be there at all, for King Saul is a guy I do not require to share an intimate relationship with whatever. Furthermore, nobody else in this town requires the immediate co-existence of King Saul, except sometimes in the capacity of bailiff or bodyguard, as he is known locally and far and wide by one and all as an extremely callous integrity indeed.

Many citizens express wonder that King Saul is not a deh in boneyard already, alongside such infamous Back O'Wall rude bwoys as Two Gun Keith, Ryging, Lance Scott, Woppi King and Bur O Boy, as he is generally implicated as being no backward participant in the Western Kingston war effort – let me tell you say! – and is known often to hold a gun on his person, which he will sometimes produce to shoot at people if, for instance, he does not like the political party they favour.

The word is King Saul shoots many an innocent victim back in Jamaica, as well as others not so innocent, and it is not unknown for him to practice his skill with a hatchet in this man's town either, and the reasons he is usually to be found around artists of musical disposition is that some of the individuals in this field are as notorious wongdoers as himself, and besides, King Saul allows it to be understood that he finds the escort of creative persons like Militant Barrington and Tapper Zukie and Jah Lacey a very agreeable and glamorous pursuit.

Well here am I disposing of a Jamaican pattie and debating whether or not I can cross the street and vanish into Tavistock Road before I am spotted when I hear a large "Wha' 'appen Jah Reel!" and suddenly Militant Barry is striding over to me and pumping my right hand down and up in greeting.

"Irie" I reply, very tasteful, "The man cool?"

We stand there exchanging responses for a few moments, where I learn that the parties are out in search of food prior to negotiation of a Fat Man Hi Fi session at Phebes, but decline the patties upon discovering that these are filled with meat. Tapper Zukie speaks for all with his declaration that he does not nyam deaders and describes a supermarket in Queensway from where ital vegetable samosas are obtainable and to which he proposes we proceed, myself included. It is also arranged that I am accompanying the said quartet to Phebes later on, in order to pay my respects to Keith Hudson who is just arrived in town from JA and scheduled to be in attendance at the venue with a selection of his new music.

Now of course, I do not desire to go to Stoke Newington's Phebes Club, even to pay my respects to Keith Hudson. More pertinently, if I do desire to go to Phebes I do not necessarily desire to go with Militant Barrington and Tapper Zukie and Jah Lacey and King Saul, particularly King Saul, as it is written: blessed is the man that walketh not in the council of the ungodly, and anyway, a guy is sometimes judged by the people he is seen moving with, especially around sound systems, and King Saul is likely to be considered careless company. But since my fellow travellers are of sensitive temperament and may easily form the impression I am putting the old birds eye on their unquestionably generous invitation and take offence, I profer not argument nor resistance as I am squeezed into the back seat of Militant Barrington's car and we head off.

Now this Phebe's Club is a large, ungainly foundation, some three stories high, that complies in every respect with the provisions of the Town and Country Planning Act 1962 and all regulations or orders made thereunder. It boasts a somewhat uncertain patronage – on many occasions the place is funerally empty, with less than a score of citizens swelling its interior; at other times, particularly when a name act or top sound is billed, the house gets so ram up that ordinary breathing becomes an extraordinary feat. On this night of which I am speaking, Phebes is doing very brisk trade indeed. Fat Man controls a vast youth following in this part of town, where he is hailed the most celebrated Tottenham talent since Mr James Greaves. In the upstairs lounge his No 2 set is regaling its crowd with more cut variations on the currently popular 'Get In The Groove' rhythm, like Gregory Isaac's 'Slave Master' and Big Joe's 'Natty Dread A The Curnal', as well as other commercial and lovers rock pliants, such as customs approval with the close moving couples that inhabit the dance floor.

Downstairs in the basement the No 1 sound, as toasted by A Roy the Humble Lion, is mixing up the medicine in most Phensical dispensation and bawling a woah fe poor Ramses. It is a very large room and full of smoke, with a small stage at one end and the sound system perched on the edge of this stage, and around the sound, and in a frenzied display of natty locks, is the entire population of North London's roots and culture brethren, as well as a great number of transportine dreads from Brix and Lewisham, and various militants in the army of Ras Tafari. They include personalities such as Pepe Judah, Festus, Coxsone, Moa Ambassa, Sir Fray, Jah Superior, International King, Bro P, Scorcher and Moody Judah, plus a proportion of characters of musical calibre like Errol Dunkley the Man, Gene Rondo, Ason Gayle, Ras Elroy, Byron Otis and Kelso Christian, and these are wedged up against a mesh of samfie men and soul vendors and other stepping razors such as Bootleg Sammy, Pretty Bwoy Patrick, Keen Kenny, Freddy the Cat, Screwface, Oliver and many other high shots. They are all compressed together and intent on this single figure cavorting stage centre, twixt A Roy and Fat Man himself, the man from Shooter's Hill, Mr Keith Hudson.

Now the object of this collective curiosity, nay homage, is a hatless individual with shoulder length locks and hirsuite chops described in an immaculate three-piece suit of delicate pastel, Mafiatone style, the inevitable red, gold and green belt casually dangling around his waist, beringed fingers, and wide-soled dub shoes protruding from the helm of his bandalou-cut strides and with, on closer acknowledgement, a variety of mutable expressions gleaming from his proud, sometimes red eyes.

Well, as I say, Phebes is well ram up on this particular occasion when I walk into the room with Militant Barrington and Tapper Zukie and Jah Lacey and King Saul. King Saul lets loose a hearty wha' 'appen as we enter, and the dreads all look around, and the next moment there is space cleared alongside Fat Man and company not only for King Saul but for Militant Barrington, Tapper Zukie, Jah Lacey and me, too. it is really quite uncanny the way there is suddenly room for the five of us when there is no room whatever when we come in.

All the while Hudson is selecting from his assortment of slate – and to which A Roy prefaces each choice with a "Humble Lion" refrain – the man from Shooter's Hill is dramatising the fruits of his genius in gymnastic exposition. Breathing ital earthhquake, fire and brimstone from his nostrils and clenching his fist skywards in defiance of oppressors, the elegantly attired dread steps and struts before the acolyte fraternity like the proverbial best dressed chicken in Phebes, declaiming the wicked.

This continues for a number of hours until around 6.00 am the patron of the establishment, a large guy by the name of Big Lance, squeezes his way through to the sound and announces that he is compelled to close the club at this time as Babylon deh pon street and would the idren please leave in peace and love and remember, each and every night all roads lead to Phebes, in tune to entertaining sounds from this sound, Sir Fray sound, Jah Shaka sound, One aim One God One destiny.

As we file into the bitter dawn Hudson stops me in the corridor and offers his own explanation of the Vernon's Yard affair (in reference to the eight LP deal with Virgin Records which commenced in 1976 with 'Too Expensive'). "They tried to make a Bob Marley out of me," he harangues, "But Bob Marley is not me and I am not Bob. Bob Marley is my elder brother, he is a Reuben and I am a Joseph so Bob mus' come first. It is written I am given to go forward in my own way, not as Bob Marley but as Keith Hudson."
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DannyL

Wild Horses
I did read some stuff speculating if King Saul was actually real or not but who cares really? ”A very callous integrity" indeed
 
john eden

john eden

male pale and stale
That piece is great and is always worth rereading. I'd always assumed "King Saul" was that yard deejay who ended up in Tottenham?

And was not someone to mess with.

EDIT no he didn't that was I Roy: He had an LP with a white cover that had "dedicated to Stoke Newington Church Street" on the back or something?
 
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