Keyboards in Jamaican music – pt 1: ska and rocksteady

This had originally intended to show the development of piano/keyboard playing in Jamaican music, but rather than just do a step-by-step timeline, I’ve picked out a few favourite tunes that have impacted upon me as a musician.

The first one is ‘Broadway Jungle’ by Toots and The Maytals. I love the piano riff that goes on throughout the tune, it’s the icing on the cake of a typically joyous Toots and The Maytals performance. The piano does an intro that is a little like Jackie Mittoo’s El Bang Bang, and it may well be Jackie playing on this track.

The next track I’ve chosen, Killer Diller by Jackie Mittoo is a departure, as it features the electric organ playing the main melody. It’s a Booker T & the MGs/Watermelon Man-type track but in ska, and, reflecting the influence of jazz on Jamaican musicians, the organ solo is in the soul-jazz mode.

Napoleon Solo, is a classic piece of rocksteady. On piano again is Jackie Mittoo, heard with the Soul Vendors which was a splinter group from The Skatalites. (Could be Lynn Taitt and The Jets.) I could almost imagine this as something from a 40s big band but adapted to the one drop style. The piano has a nice, understated jazz touch.

Ali Shuffle AKA ‘Rock Steady’ (and Seven Wonders Of The World) is a tribute to Buster’s friend Muhammad Ali, and it’s another organ-led piece, played by Winston Wright. What’s notable is the middle eastern tinge, which may have been a musical nod to the fact that both Ali and Buster were muslims. Coincidentally, John Coltrane and Yusef Lateef were also exploring African and middle eastern elements, as was the genre called ‘exotica’ through people such as Martin Denny and Les Baxter. This sound crops up in some of Don Drummond’s work and was later mined by Augustus Pablo in his output. Anyone familiar with The Specials will recognise Ali Shuffle as a precursor to Ghost Town.

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Britain’s almost-forgotten subculture: jazz funk, electro, fusion from the 70s/80s

Out of all the musical tribes that emerged in post-ww2 Britain – mod, skinhead, Northern soul, punk, ska etc – there is one particular movement that’s been largely overlooked by historians.

Spanning roughly from the mid 70s to the late 80s, there was a thriving and musically diverse underground club scene around jazz funk, electro (or electro funk) and dance-oriented jazz fusion.

It’s a direct predecessor of today’s dance music club culture that first swept the country in the late 80s. Yet it’s a scene that rarely crops up in documentaries on Britain’s musical tribes.

I interviewed a couple of friends of mine, Chris Thomas & Ossie Labad, who were avid fans of the music as well as DJs, and have gigged extensively. They’re both featured in one of the few books written about the jazz funk movement. (The 2009 work ‘From Jazz Funk & Fusion To Acid Jazz The History Of The UK Jazz Dance Scene’ by Snowboy.) We spoke about this and much more. West Yorkshire, where the music had a strong following, was the point of departure though in fact the movement was one that was spread across the country.

They talked specifically about their experience as part of the movement in the 80s but also shared many valuable thoughts on music subcultures in general. It was a real education for me. I myself didn’t participate in their scene though as a musician & music lover, I also got heavily into jazz, and was aware of many of the artists they mentioned.

One of the best quotes came from Chris Thomas, who pointed out that those old-school music subcultures prided themselves on exclusivity whereas in more recent times, music is valued on its accessibility – i.e. the more well-known it is, the more hits it gets on Youtube, the better it’s perceived to be.

There are two aspects of the scene that struck me. Firstly, the music was contemporary rather than a retro reviving of older, rare styles. Secondly, the jazz scene in particular had a young black audience ranging from adolescents, no different from their descendants today that listen to grime and other similar styles. It belies the image of jazz as being quite separate from youth culture.

For anyone wishing to delve deeper into the topic, I recommend you check out Snowboy’s book, as well as the online writings of Greg Wilson and Seymour Nurse. Many thanks to BCB Radio in Bradford for their support in the production of the show.


Reflections on ‘Mirror In The Bathroom’


 Mirror In The Bathroom is a remarkable song by British band The Beat, who came to prominence in the late 70s 2 Tone movement.

It went to number three in the British charts back in 1980 (it was their third single), and was their biggest hit. Yet if you were to ask anyone who knows the song to say what it’s actually about, chances are they’d go blank. It goes to show how a song can strike a chord with many people without them needing to understand it. In a lot of ways, it’s such a danceable record that the meaning is quite secondary to the ‘beat’. I’ll come to the lyrics later.

The music

When I first heard the Beat’s debut single, a cover of Tears of a Clown, I felt they had something different going on from their 2 Tone peers. From the beginning of the band, they’d set out to fuse the energy of punk with the supple, lilting rhythms of reggae. Among others, they initially took their musical cues from fellow Birmingham band The Equators but quickly established their own signature sound.

‘Ska’ became used as a convenient catch-all phrase to categorise the songs made by bands associated with 2 tone; look a little closer and you realise that ‘Mirror in the Bathroom’ isn’t ska at all. It’s a new music.

There’s a rich variety of musical ingredients in the pot. In Mirror, you have a mixture of uptempo steppers-reggae drums, dubby/Velvet Underground-styled bass, new wave guitar chords – neither major nor minor thanks to Dave Wakeling’s “wrongly” tuned guitar. On top of that, there’s Saxa’s jazz-tinged tenor sax with its soulful, dark yet sweet melodies. On paper, this mixture of styles shouldn’t work, but it does. Bassist David Steel’s description of their sound as a ‘weird chemistry’ kind of sums it up.

There isn’t one single element that defines their sound. Like with all great groups, the sum is greater than the individual parts. Though if I was to highlight an ‘x-factor’, it would have to be Everett Morton’s drumming. The drums always determine the sound of a band, and Everett’s playing – a sprightly Sly Dunbar-type of rhythm – gives the whole thing a unique energy, groove and edge.

The lyrics

If you listen to the words, what you have is a collection of images involving mirrors. That in itself is odd; what makes it even more obscure is the fact that there isn’t really a ‘story’ woven into the three verses. There’s an element of mystery about it, and you sense only the writer is privy to its meaning. Interestingly, the only other lyricist whom I’m aware of that writes in this way is Lee Thompson, saxophonist and founder member of Madness. Here’s Dave Wakeling revealing how he came to pen the lyrics.