Reverence of Those Gone Before
Our ska and reggae aficionado considers the flair, passion…. and tenderness of a reggae legend
Column by Guy Shepherd
Seamless. That is the transition between last month’s Riddle column and this one. You may remember that I was embarking on my first mission to the Notting Hill Carnival with my five year old son. It was Daddy Bliss. The rain stayed away on the Sunday, we sampled spicy foods until he found some that weren’t too much so, the grapefruit juice kicked in and we had a dance at Gaz’s Rocking Blues on Talbot Road and then another at The People’s Sound System just around the corner. The former played live music that just made us bounce and the latter those pulsating ska, rocksteady and reggae “Old Hits” for which I have such adoration.
It was here that we heard one of my favourite records, “Long Shot Kick the Bucket” by the Pioneers. Luckily, my boy seemed to love it too. It tells the legendary tale of a horse called Long Shot who died during its first race in Jamaica having been backed by punters, some from the reggae trade. My own vision of a bunch of dreads, sitting around chugging herb as they witness on the radio or at track side the poor horse’s demise, always tickles me when I listen to their sound that just simply lollops along. There are a number of musical tributes to Long Shot but the aforementioned is my favourite so, go on, YouTube it, sit back and enjoy along with the other tunes I mention below. My son and I paid our own tribute by simulating the race (a piggy back), he digging his heels into my sides, hitting my bottom with his imaginary crop and laughing hysterically much to the amusement of some older Jamaican tourists who filmed us.
Death is something that is not celebrated very much here in Blighty. We are usually very somber about it, preferring to grasp onto the hope from those Books that there is something beyond. My body will stop one day and I will slowly dissolve back into the earth to form new bodies of a terrestrial nature so I’m going to continue to make the most of it right now. What we can leave behind beyond death is a legacy to improve future lives, whether financially through charity and philanthropy or artistically. Words, sculptures, paintings, jewellery and music can transcend mortality and soar beyond our own lives into the future.
It was therefore with some sadness but also many happy memories that I reacted to the demise of the legendary trombonist Rico Rodriguez, shortly after Carnival, aged eighty. Many obituaries are available but, for me, he was one of the king pins in the Jamaican and British reggae scenes from its start to present. I saw Rico play in a number of bands, most recently ‘boning in Jools Holland’s myriad ensemble and he always played with panache, a loving smile and twinkle in his eyes. A man passionate about his art. From the Long Shot era, his contribution to the Dandy Livingstone classic, ‘Rudy a Message to You’ is absolutely sublime. The solo is so moody and rolling that you can’t help pushing your shoulders back, sticking your chin up and tippy-toeing your feet. Then there is the “Ba, Ba-Daaa” pulsating its way through The Specials “Ghost Town”. Wow… Perfectly chilling and haunting. What a talent. We will miss you, Rico, but will fondly remember every time we hear your beautiful brass.
It is so important to remember stories about people and their achievements and it is one of the most cathartic things to actually write them down. Almost five years ago to the day, I was out for a walk with my son who was only a handful of months old. He was actually in a buggy, not walking. I may be a biased, doting and loving father but he is not that advanced. It was very early in the morning. I usually had the 5am-ish feed so that my now ex-wife could have a very well earned rest. After the feed, come rain, wind or shine, we would go for a walk before I went to the shop for the day. On this particular day it shined. In fact it was perfect. Azure skies and the crisp, fresh, dewy greens of Kensington Gardens vibrated as we made our daily pilgrimage to kiss Peter Pan. The little boy that never grows up is another nod at the immortality of legacy in art thanks to Mr Barrie.
Our circumnavigation of the park in the early morning sunshine popped us out, he asleep and me smiling, on the north side and we perambulated toward Notting Hill Gate. On a left wiggle through to Kensington Church Street, we hit a wall of commuters getting on and off a backlog of buses at the stop. Things suddenly turned a little claustrophobic and frenzied. The pram was being jostled and I feared that my young hero would awaken so I moved it as far as I dared to the street side to let the throng dissipate until my shoulder rubbed on the red paint of one of London’s two storey mobile monuments. I turned my head towards the bus and came face to face with a septuagenarian man sitting inside. We seemed to be separated by a million miles due to the window but our noses were but centimetres away. I studied his angled cheek bones, milky brown skin, frizzled and straggly white beard, enormous hat brimming with dreadlocks and those sparkly black eyes that were piercing into my own as recognition took control and I mouthed the name, “Rico?”
The look of quizzical surprise that passed over his face was magical. The realisation that I was a fan, confirmed by my mimed impression of a trombonist, made his beautiful face light up with a smile that scorched through the brightness of the day. My amateur dramatics continued as I jumped up and down in awed celebration and when I pulled back the cover of the buggy to reveal my sleeping baby, he lit up even more and blew him the tenderest of kisses. Not a word could be spoken but, in that brief moment, the immortality of music and the mortality of man were in plain truth laid bare. The bus pulled away but his smiling face and waving hand followed us until it rounded the corner. Then he was gone. Now he is gone. Thank you, Rico, for that wonderful personal moment which I will remember every time I hear your fabulous tunes.
Celebrating death has to be the way forward. It has certainly been the way of the past beyond these shores. October is traditionally a time to honour the dead. In northern climes it is thought to have stemmed from the end of harvest when the land is bare and we are closest to those in the ground. Catholics enthusiastically celebrate “All Soul’s Day” and in Mexico the “Day of the Dead” is a kaleidoscope of colour, bones and skulls. GUY&MAX aren’t about to start making ghoulish jewellery but one of our brand ambassadors is hosting a “Day of the Dead” party as an alternative to its more famous calendar neighbour, Halloween. For those lucky enough to have invitations, the tequila will flow and the costumed dance will fittingly follow as we party in remembrance of those who still continue to enrich our own lives from the grave and inspire us to create for the benefit of future generations. 