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Home , 2 Tone Records, Dance Hall (Jamaican), Dennis Bovell, Desmond Dekker, Dub poetry, Handsworth Revolution

“It Dread Inna Inglan” – Subcultural Identities in British Lyrics

Diplomarbeit

zur Erlangung des akademischen Grades eines Magisters der Philosophie

an der Karl-Franzens-Universität Graz

vorgelegt von

Georg SEEREITER

am Institut für Anglistik

Begutachterin: Ao. Univ.-Prof. Mag. Dr. phil. Maria Löschnigg

Graz, 2019 Ehrenwörtliche Erklärung

Ich erkläre ehrenwörtlich, dass ich die vorliegende Arbeit selbstständig und ohne fremde Hilfe ver- fasst, andere als die angegebenen Quellen nicht benutzt und die den Quellen wörtlich oder inhaltlich entnommenen Stellen als solche kenntlich gemacht habe. Die Arbeit wurde bisher in gleicher oder ähnlicher Form keiner anderen inländischen oder ausländischen Prüfungsbehörde vorgelegt und auch noch nicht veröffentlicht. Die vorliegende Fassung entspricht der eingereichten elektronischen Version.

Datum: ………………………… Unterschrift: ………………………… Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to dedicate these pages to the memory of Dr. Hugo Keiper, who had been the supervisor of this thesis before he, sadly, passed away. He will be remembered as a dedi- cated professor, who was teaching literature with passion, profound knowledge and a refreshing sense of humour.

Furthermore, I would like to thank everyone who supported and inspired me during the process of writing, which includes many of my friends, my family and my partner. I am particularly thankful to Dr. Maria Löschnigg, who immediately agreed to supervise my thesis after the unexpected death of Mr. Keiper, and whose constructive feedback was very helpful and motivating for my work. I also want to thank Mr. Andrew Gray, Academic Services Librarian at Goldsmiths University of , who gave me a very warm welcome and assisted me during my research stay in London. Finally I want to thank the University of Graz Office of International Relations for supporting this stay with the grant for short-time mobility.

Table of Contents

Introduction...... 1

1 Historical Development...... 3 1.1 The Foundations of Reggae: American R&B and the Jamaican Culture. 3 1.2 Migration to Great Britain...... 6 1.2.1 The ‘Windrush Generation’...... 6 1.2.2 Early Afro- Culture in the UK...... 7 1.2.3 Disillusion and Racial Tensions...... 8 1.3 The and the Birth of and ...... 10 1.3.1 Early Jamaican Music Productions...... 10 1.3.2 The Blue Beat Era – Ska in Britain...... 11 1.3.3 Rocksteady, Rude Boys and -Reggae...... 12 1.4 The – ‘Roots and Culture’...... 15 1.4.1 Jamaican and the ...... 15 1.4.2 Britain’s Vibrant Reggae and Dub Scene...... 18 1.4.3 UK Reggae – Youth Culture of the ‘Rebel Generation’...... 20 1.4.4 Riots, Punk and Rock Against ...... 21 1.5 The – From Underground to Mainstream...... 23 1.5.1 The ‘Two-Tone’ Ska Revival...... 23 1.5.2 Pop and Reggae Crossover...... 24 1.5.3 , and the Question of Gender and Sexuality...... 25 1.5.4 ...... 27 1.6 Reggae in the 21st century: Continuities and New Developments...... 28

2 Analysis of Song Lyrics...... 31 2.1 “” – Black Insurrection in Dreadful Times...... 31 2.1.1 The Song...... 32 2.1.2 Context and Speech Situation...... 33 2.1.3 Structure...... 33 2.1.4 Close Reading and Interpretation...... 34 2.1.5 Summary...... 38 2.2 “Street 66” – Dub Poetry between Mysticism and Militancy...... 39 2.2.1 The Song / Poem...... 40 2.2.2 Context and Speech Situation...... 40 2.2.3 Structure...... 41 2.2.4 Close Reading and Interpretation...... 41 2.2.5 Summary...... 47 2.3 “Why?” – Reggae Music and Anti-Fascism...... 50 2.3.1 The Song...... 51 2.3.2 Context and Speech Situation...... 52 2.3.3 Structure...... 53 2.3.4 Close Reading and Interpretation...... 53 2.3.5 Summary...... 60 Conclusion...... 62

Works Cited...... 65 Films...... 67 Songs...... 67 Introduction

In the history of modern popular music, Great Britain has been the birthplace of numerous musical developments that have defined a variety of genres, such as rock, punk, heavy metal and . Being the home of , the Rolling Stones, Queen and Elton John, the UK has produced a number of bands and artists that are celebrated as icons of the international pop and rock universe. With regard to all these famous stars, however, one easily forgets that Britain has also been the centre of an extremely prolific reggae culture, which might not have been as commercially successful, but nonetheless creative and influential on a musical level. The importance of reggae in the context of British pop-culture seems to be terribly under-acknowledged, which might also be due to the fact that public representations of reggae are often dominated by a range of clichés. On the one hand, reggae tends to be dismissed by critics as Jamaican feel-good music with simple rhythms and lyrics, sung in incomprehensible Rasta-slang, that mainly deal with the benefits of smoking cannabis (or ‘ganja’). On the other hand, reggae is disproportionately represented by the idolized figure of , who was the only real pop-star the genre has ever produced. If we look closer, however, we will realize that reggae has a long and fascinating history that is far more complex than these stereotypical images suggest.

It was in the early 1960s, when Jamaican musicians started to play a Caribbean interpretation of American R’n’B, which resulted in a catchy off-beat rhythm that would spark a musical revolution around the world. With the birth of ska music, which was the forerunner of reggae, the small island of became one of the most important export nations for new musical trends. After a period of increased immigration from the Caribbean to Britain during the 1950s and -60s, Jamaican culture and music also gained ground on this side of the Atlantic. In the urban centres of the UK, where Afro-Caribbean communities had settled, a thriving reggae scene developed, which gradually be- came independent from the Jamaican standards. Transplanted to a new environment, reggae music in Britain soon developed its own genuine character. The often harsh living conditions of Afro-Car- ibbean immigrants caused the emergence of an increasingly rebellious youth culture, who used reg- gae music to reflect on their experiences of living in Britain as marginalized black youths. Being thus influenced by specific social and political factors and drawing inspiration from both Jamaican and local youth cultures, UK reggae is the artistic expression of a highly diverse and hybrid subcul- ture.

1 The aim of this thesis is to identify specific characteristics of that British tradition of reggae through an in-depth analysis of song lyrics. Music in youth culture serves the function of providing a common ground, a shared identity for the individuals associated with a particular group. Based on this assumption, this thesis aims at studying the various identities reflected in British reggae songs. What views, beliefs and ideologies are expressed? What are the attitudes towards the British society and what kind of relations have there been to local youth cultures, such as the punk and skinhead movements? In order to answer these questions, the lyrics of three songs by Britain-based artists are thoroughly analyzed. The selection of the songs has been made according to specific criteria and is therefore not representative for all reggae in the UK. The primary condition was that the songs exhibit meaningful lyrics that, in one way or another, touch upon social, cultural or political aspects of life in Britain. This needs to be stated, since reggae originated from Caribbean and American traditions of dance music, in which a sophisticated lyrical content did not necessarily matter. Although reggae has adopted a more politically-aware focus over time, there are still many varieties within the genre today that seem to prioritize sound over words. The songs selected for this thesis represent three sub-genres that each have a particular focus on social-criticism: roots reggae, dub poetry and two-tone. These styles of reggae also have in common that they were mainly popular in the 1970s and -80s. For the study of British reggae, this period is particularly interesting, as the scene gradually grew more independent from Jamaican influences and defined its own identity at that time. The first part of the thesis provides a historic overview of the development of reggae and Afro- Caribbean culture in Britain. Obviously, it is not possible in a thesis of this scope to provide an exhaustive history of such a diverse and complex subject. Therefore, the aim of the first part is to sum up the most significant developments, reaching from the origins of the Jamaican sound system culture in the late 1940s to the continuities of reggae in the 21 st century. With regard to specific aspects of this cultural history, the lyrics are then examined and interpreted from a literary perspective. Methodologically as well as structurally, the analysis was partly inspired by Gerfried Ambrosch’s diploma thesis on punk lyrics.1 Besides the semantic focus, the analysis also takes into account phonetic criteria, such as metre and rhymes, and examines how structural features as well as the use of poetic devices interact with the meaning of a song. In the conclusion, significant subjects matters of the songs are discussed, and parallels as well as distinctive features of each song identified.

1 Ambrosch, Gerfried (2010). “Punk Lyrics and their Cultural and Ideological Background: A Literary Analysis.” Dipl. Karl Franzens University of Graz.

2 1 Historical Development

Although this thesis is primarily about the reggae culture in Great Britain, it seems impossible to tell this story without taking into account its Jamaican origins. As we will see in the course of this historical outline, British reggae has always been strongly influenced by the diverse cultural and po- litical developments in Jamaica. Particularly in the early stages of reggae, the British scene was al- most entirely dependent on what was being produced in Jamaica and it took some time until the first reggae bands emerged on the British isles. And even then, reggae in the UK was firmly rooted in the Caribbean immigrant community, and artists often drew their inspirations from the latest musical trends in Jamaica. Is it adequate, then, to speak of ‘British reggae’, and if so, since when? It seems that any attempt to describe a particular cultural movement as an isolated and clearly defined phe- nomenon is hopeless and, in fact, quite problematic. This might especially be true for the history of British reggae with all its complex relations to colonialism, migration and the cultural exchange that went along with it. Moreover, considering Britain’s history of colonialism, racism and in the West-Indies and other parts of the empire, one should be aware of all the critical implications the term ‘British’ might evoke in this specific context. Hence, the term ‘British reggae’, as used in this thesis, is by no means intended to function as a national appropriation or limitation of a diverse and international subculture, but merely to summarize all the many aspects of this culture that devel- oped within the UK. In order to take into account the complexity of the situation, the following his- torical outline will examine the British reggae culture not as an isolated development, but against the backdrop of its Jamaican roots. As we will see, the relation between these two strands of the in- ternational reggae movement has always been characterized by a vital exchange and mutual inspira- tion.

1.1 The Foundations of Reggae: American R&B and the Jamaican Sound System Culture

Whenever we listen to people talking about the foundations of reggae, be it academics, artists or fans, at some point we will certainly come across the term ‘sound system culture’. And, indeed, it seems plausible to begin the story of reggae not with the emergence of a particular style of music, but rather with the medium through which it was transmitted: the sound system, typically consisting of a record player, an amplifier and large, custom-made loudspeakers. It might seem odd, at first, to link the essence of a music that owes so much of its popularity to its profound spiritual messages to

3 a stack of speaker boxes. However, it would be a mistake to limit the sound system to its mere phys- ical qualities. In fact, the sound system has always been much more than just a technical device to play music on (very loudly), it can rather be seen as the social institution around which the Ja- maican music culture has evolved. But first things first.

According to Lloyd Bradley, sound systems initially emerged as a form of advertising strategy in the mid-1940s, when shop- and bar-owners set up large loudspeakers in front of their premises, playing American R&B and to attract the attention of passers-by (cf. 2001: 4). With regard to the general scarcity of radio sets and gramophones at that time, one can imagine how appealing such an opportunity to listen to the latest music must have been. And even though there was very popular Caribbean music, such as the Jamaican traditional and Trinidadian calypso, it was black US-music that was the favourite sound mediated through the sound systems. David Katz ex- plains that, although Britain has long been the dominant colonial power in the Caribbean, “the USA continues to exercise not only the greatest industrial, financial and military power in the region, but cultural dominance as well: the airwaves of Jamaica [...] are disproportionately filled by American radio and television programmes” (2003: 3). Besides being always available via US-radiowaves, Marc Griffiths argues that might simply have been more danceable than the local music styles (cf. 1995: 9).

Soon the concept of the sound system began to spread around Kingston, inspiring people to build their own speakers and organize dances on street corners and in the yards of the city’s poorer areas. The sound systems offered a sort of entertainment that was directly addressed to the poor masses, which seems to have been a key factor contributing to their success. Katz points out that in the 1950s few Jamaicans could afford to attend live concerts in clubs and consequently the local jazz scene was a rather elitist environment. Therefore the local sound system dances, which usually had low entry prices, were welcomed by the people living in the ghettos (cf. 2003: 4). „Within ten years or so, the sound system had become a social phenomenon in its own right, and its operator, the sound man, one of the biggest men in his area“ (Bradley 2001: 5). Each sound system usually had a local residence, which led to fierce competition between them. Sound system operators eagerly tried to promote their system as the most exclusive one playing the latest records and featuring the best dancers and deejays. The Jamaican deejay, however, was much more than just a person who played the records, he also was an entertainer and, moreover, representative of the local sound system. As Bradley highlights, there was always a strong connection between the deejay and the audience: if the deejay played songs the audience liked, he would be rewarded with their admiration and loyalty and thus push the status and reputation of his sound system (cf. 2001: 10). Different sound systems

4 occasionally competed against each other in a so-called ‘’, a battle over the favour of the crowds and the ‘dominion’ of a certain territory. Although these ‘clashes’ were usually performed on a purely musical level, the competition between sound systems also led to physical violence at times. Some operators would even send gangs of thugs to intimidate rival sound systems and disrupt their dances (cf. Katz 2003: 7). Trying to explain the importance of the Jamaican sound system, Bradley compares it to the football teams in the UK: everyone has a favourite one to which they are absolutely loyal (cf. 2001: 4).

As with any cultural invention, there seems to be some sort of dispute going on among veteran- members of the scene about which was the very first ‘real’ sound system. While we might not be able to fully resolve this question here, most sources seem to agree that the first system to become widely renowned in Jamaica was Tom the Great Sebastian, founded and custom-built by hardware store owner Tom Wong in Kingston in the 1940s (cf. Katz 2003: 5). After being the leading sound man in the scene for some years, Wong had to cope with two major rivals by the mid-1950s, namely ’s Trojan Sound System and Clement “Sir Coxsone” Dodd’s Downbeat Sound System. Reid was particularly notorious for applying quite aggressive methods to gain a leading status in the scene. Having been a policeman in the Kingston ghettos before his career as a sound man, he now used his connections to the underworld for terrorizing his rivals (cf. Bradley 2001: 29). However, operating a sound system successfully required much more than ‘strong-arm’ tactics. A major factor, of course, was the economic status of the system owner. As good records were rather difficult to get in Jamaica, the more affluent among the sound men made trips to the Southern USA to purchase the latest records, which, despite being a costly enterprise, proved to be highly beneficial for the suc- cess of their sound systems (cf. Partridge 2010: 56). Yet, although these imported sounds remained essential in the scene throughout the 1950s, it was also common to play Jamaican mento at dances and especially Tom the Great Sebastian was known for its variety of Caribbean and Latin music, which was particularly popular among the wealthier parts of the audience, whereas the ‘ghetto folk’ were said to prefer the harder R&B (cf. Katz 2003: 7).

We see that at this early stage the sound system served a variety of social and cultural functions and even at a time when reggae music as such did not exist yet, the sound system culture already exhib- ited features that are still characteristic of reggae today: an absolute appreciation of music, espe- cially of rare and exclusive songs (or ‘tunes’), strong ties and interaction between musicians/deejays and their local audience, which results in a shared sense of community, a certain ‘do-it-yourself’ ethic and an orientation towards ‘common’ people and street culture rather than a sophisticated cul- tural elite.

5 1.2 Migration to Great Britain

1.2.1 The ‘Windrush Generation’ Besides the emergence of the Jamaican sound system culture, another social phenomenon made the post-war period an important era for the later development of reggae: an unprecedented wave of mi- gration from the Caribbean to the British Isles. The Beginning of this period of migration was marked on 22 June 1948 by the iconic arrival of the SS Empire Windrush in Britain, carrying about 500 young Jamaicans (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 11). However, migration had been a shaping factor of Jamaican society long before the ‘Windrush generation’ (as this first generation of immi- grants is still referred to today). Under British colonial rule, Jamaican economy depended strongly on sugar cane plantation and slave work, and when slavery was officially abolished in 1834, many of the former plantation workers ended up in poverty. The island was struggling with overpopula- tion and a lack of resources on various levels, which, as Hiro suggests, was to a large extent a direct result of the reckless exploitation and the inordinate import of slaves by the British Empire (cf. 1973: 3). Despite their formal emancipation, the prospects for large numbers of former slaves did not look bright in Jamaica, which is why many of them decided to migrate in search for work. In the late 19th century that search took them to places such as Panama, Honduras and Cuba, while from the early 20th century up to the 1950s, the USA remained a favourite destination, mainly for sea- sonal work (cf. Hiro 1973: 4). In 1952 the so-called McCarran-Walter Act drastically restricted im- migration to the United States and consequently the movement of Jamaican migrants increasingly shifted towards Great Britain during the 1950s and -60s (cf. Foner 1985: 709).

It seems there were several reasons for people from the Caribbean to choose Britain as their new home (if they even planned to stay at all). As Eddie Chambers puts it:

These immigrants had been brought up and educated to regard themselves not as ‘Caribbean’, or ‘West Indian’, or even ‘Jamaican’, ‘Trinidadian’, or ‘Barbadian’ […] but instead, to regard themselves as British. As literal members of the British Empire, they were after all, moving from one part of that Empire to another, to the epicentre of the Empire, the ‘Mother Country’. (2017: 2)

Above all, however, it was the considerable economic pull-factors that made Britain an attractive destination. After years of war and recession, the post-war period finally brought about an economic upswing and workforce was needed in many branches of trade (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 11). As Bradley notes, “London Transport, the National Health Service and the British Hotel and Restaurant Association all ran aggressive personnel recruitment campaigns in the West Indies”

6 (2001: 112). Although Glass and Pollins emphasize that, at that early stage, the figures on immigra- tion from the West-Indies (i.e. the anglophone Caribbean) were hardly more than estimates, they suggest that the number of Afro-Caribbean migrants living in Britain rose from about 15,000 in 1951 to some 126,000 in 1959 (cf. 1960: 4). Of all the migrants from the West Indies, Jamaicans held – by far – the majority (cf. ibid. 1960: 16). That upward-trend in immigration from the Carib- bean reached its peak in 1962, when more than 34,000 newcomers arrived in Britain in one year (cf. Hiro 1973: 6). Due to the Commonwealth Immigrants Act of 1962 the numbers of new arrivals dropped dramatically in the following years and who did come to Britain during that period were predominantly relatives of people who had already settled there (cf. Foner 1985: 709).

1.2.2 Early Afro-Caribbean Culture in the UK This steady influx of African- laid the foundations for a thriving black subculture that was emerging in Great Britain during the 1950s. This is not to say, however, that the black British population formed one cohesive community. As far as London is concerned, Gilroy emphasizes that there were remarkable demographic divisions along socio-economic lines:

The student population concentrated in Bayswater, Kensington and North London diverged sharply from both the new workers who were beginning to make their homes in and Ladbroke Grove and the older seafaring community centered in the East End. (1987/2002: 212)

Koningh and Griffiths point out that as soon as Jamaicans found a home in the various inner cities of England, there “came a longing for the old familiar things such as the taste of their own food and the sound of their own music: a recreation of the Jamaican culture in Britain” (2003: 15). Thus Afro-Caribbeans began to create for themselves spaces where they could live and celebrate their na- tive cultures. As many British pubs refused admittance to blacks, it became popular among black communities to host illegal all-night parties in private houses and basements, so-called ‘blues dances’ (cf. Partridge 2010: 103). These underground events became increasingly widespread in late 1950s South London and, according to Sullivan, “were of inestimable value as sites of cultural ex- pression, social cohesion and autonomy for the Afro-Caribbean community, as well as for the preservation and dissemination of Jamaican music in the UK” (2014: 58). Interestingly, there were, in fact, Jamaican musicians in Britain, who also performed at official venues at that time. However, as Bradley points out, they were mainly associated with the jazz scene, “which catered almost ex- clusively to an indigenous white audience – perhaps some visiting black American servicemen or seamen, but virtually no West Indian residents” (2001:122). Thus, like the Jamaican sound system, the blues dances could be seen as an emancipatory instrument to cultural self-determination, in that

7 they allowed a poorer and marginalized community to create their own genuine subculture from the bottom, instead of merely consuming what the mainstream cultural industry had in stock for them (which apparently was not much, anyway).

Hand in hand with these basement dances went the introduction of the sound system culture to the British context. “In areas of the UK where West Indians settled, sound systems and the activities that went with them – dancing, playing dominoes, drinking, chatting and socializing – became nor- mal parts of everyday life” (Ward 2014: 10). One pioneering importer of Caribbean culture, espe- cially with regard to music, was Jamaican expatriate and former deejay for the legendary Tom the Great Sebastian, Duke Vin, who started the first authentic sound system in Britain in 1955 (Bradley 2001: 115). Only a short time later, Vin’s friend William Campbell, also known as Count Suckle, founded his own sound system, which allowed them to stage the sort of dancehall rivalry that was elementary to Jamaican sound system culture (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 15). While American R&B was still the most popular music at the dances and sound systems, British record-labels such as Melodisc started to specialize in Caribbean music styles like calypso by 1957. And it did not take long until the major labels also realized the economic potential in the growing Afro-Caribbean com- munity and started to release records oriented towards their tastes (cf. Griffiths 1995: 10).

1.2.3 Disillusion and Racial Tensions Despite this early emergence of a lively black subculture, Afro-Caribbean residents were struggling with major problems in the 1950s. The living conditions of immigrants were often bleak, institu- tional racism and open hostility from white Britons were a serious challenge to a peaceful co-exis- tence between different cultures.

The first generation of Afro-Caribbean migrants mainly settled down in the inner city districts of England's major cities, such as London, , Nottingham and Bristol (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 13). As far as London is concerned, Glass and Pollin state that newly arrived immi- grants, in fact, did not have much choice of where to go, since most central areas were either too ex- pensive or did not offer sufficient vacant housing space. As a result, many ended up in derelict working class areas in the north, north-west and south of the capital (cf. 1960: 48). As opposed to what recruitment campaigns of British businesses had suggested, British society was not overly welcoming towards Afro-Caribbean newcomers and rigid ‘No Blacks’-policies were a common practice on the housing market (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 12). Other forms of such as exclusion from pubs, hotels, barber shops and other public places were part of the everyday experience of black people in the 1950s (cf. Hiro 1973: 34). And even though work might

8 not have been hard to find, many of the West Indians were doing jobs below their qualifications (cf. Bradley 2001: 112).

In addition to that, racist political groups were starting to exploit the increasingly tense atmosphere in the poor working-class areas. There is clear evidence that fascist groups such as Oswald Mosley’s Union Movement deliberately focused their agitation on areas with a high black population, such as London's North Kensington, to stir unrest and spread racist propaganda throughout the 1950s (cf. Glass and Pollin 1960: 172). The of the “hot-blooded young West Indian male”, who does not only take jobs but also women from the white man, fell on fertile ground in the working- class districts of Britain’s cities, where, by the late 1950s, unemployment had become a serious is- sue (Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 13). Therefore it is no surprise that the situation eventually esca- lated and slogans such as ‘Keep Britain White’ were put into practice. Disillusioned black youths on the one hand and frustrated whites, incited by racist fearmongering, on the other hand, were the ex- plosive combination that erupted into some of the worst ‘race riots’ Britain had seen up to that point. The most dramatic events were to be known as the ‘Notting Hill riots’ of 1958, which lasted for several days. According to Bradley, the riots were started by attacks on young blacks by gangs of Teddy Boys, a sort of early white working-class youth culture (cf. 2001: 113). Nonetheless, the riots had a negative and lasting effect on the public image of the Afro-Caribbean community, and despite the fact that the violence was initially started by white youths, “the ‘colour problem’ in Britain became nation-wide and world-wide news” (Glass and Pollin 1960: 147).

The racist hysteria of the 1950s, fueled by far-right politics and a sensationalist press, reached its tragic climax with the murder of Kelso Cochrane, a 32-year-old immigrant from Antigua who was stabbed to death by a gang of white youths in Notting Hill in May, 1959. Despite clear evidence for a racist motive, police investigations and media coverage tried to portray the case as robbery and neglected the role of fascist groups such as the National Labour Party, who had been recruiting youths in the area (cf. Rowe 2006, online). The experience of racism, violence and ignorance would significantly shape the relationship between Britain's Afro-Caribbean population and the ‘estab- lished’ society in the years that followed.

Devastated by the murder, many blacks concluded that they could not rely on the British legal system for protection, but rather needed to look after their own interests. As a consequence of this progressive polarization of the black community and the authorities, the 1960s saw the emergence of a more confident, militant, cohesive, black community – a ‘colony society’ within Britain. (Partridge 2010: 104)

9 1.3 The 1960s and the Birth of Ska and Rocksteady

1.3.1 Early Jamaican Music Productions With the sound systems as a driving force, Jamaica had become the home of a vibrant music scene by the late 1950s, which was, however, still dominated by American R&B. But this would rapidly change with the advent of the 1960s, for which there seem to be several reasons. One factor signifi- cantly affecting the musical development in Jamaica at that time was the emergence of the new rock’n’roll style in the USA. As Griffiths explains, this new trend made it gradually more difficult to obtain classic R&B records in Jamaica and, being no longer able to rely on the US market to please their audience, sound system operators were impelled to record their own songs locally (cf. 1995: 9). For some reason rock’n’roll did not seem to find favour with Jamaican listeners, “and this is where Jamaicans took control of their musical output – sound system style!” (Huxtable 2014: 31).

The earliest Jamaican recordings were still R&B but it would not take long until musicians began to incorporate more Caribbean elements to give their tunes an authentic, home-grown character. And, despite the long dominance of black American music, Jamaican artists could draw inspiration from a wide range of different Caribbean and African musical traditions that were represented on the is- land. Apart from the aforementioned Calypso, there was also “the acoustically played ‘mento’, a mix of remnants from the Spanish Latin rhythms and the African styles of call-and-response” as well as “the Burru style of African drumming which originated from the West African Ashanti tribe” (Huxtable 2014: 23).

One innovation that revolutionized Jamaican music was the characteristic off-beat rhythm that has defined reggae and all its numerous sub-genres ever since. According to Bradley, the first song to introduce this rhythmic structure was Higgs and Wilson’s “Manny Oh”, which was released around 1960 and became a big hit in Jamaica (cf. 2001: 52). Arguably, early soul and R&B songs were of- ten based on an off-beat structure as well and “Manny Oh” was not much more than a Jamaican in- terpretation of that American sound. But early recordings of Jamaican artists such as , , Rico Rodriguez and Don Drummond, some of whom would later form the semi- nal band , demonstrate a gradual refinement of this rhythmical pattern with the typical guitar-chop on the off-beat and additional emphasis on the second and fourth step. “The resulting rhythm was both unusually complex for the Western popular music of the time and almost irre- sistibly danceable” (Anderson 2004: 206). This early Jamaican music that would eventually become known as ‘ska’ was still notably based on R&B, boogie and blues (cf. Griffiths 1995: 9). However, the newly defined sound with its unique Caribbean character immediately appealed to the local au-

10 dience, as Bradley points out: “shifting the accent in this manner was enough to make the music stand out in a way that nearly all Jamaicans could identify as theirs” (2001: 52).

It seems difficult to determine when exactly the Jamaican R&B turned into ska and where the ex- pression ‘ska’ originates from. It is more likely that ska was not invented as such, but gradually de- veloped around the turn from the 1950s to the -60s. Yet, many sources suggest that DJ and sound system operator was a key figure in that development. According to Paul Kauppila, Buster did not only play a vital role in introducing elements of jazz and indigenous Caribbean influ- ences to the music, but also in popularizing political issues, such as black consciousness and Ja- maican nationalism (cf. 2006: 86). And especially with regard to the question of a Jamaican national identity, the point in history when ska emerged does not seem to be coincidental. After years of ne- gotiations, Jamaica finally gained independence from Britain in 1962, and this historical event was followed by official celebrations across the country. In the course of this national euphoria, radio stations began to feature Jamaican ska in an effort to define a genuine national music, which deliv- ered the newly establishing sound to an audience way larger than that of the sound system dances (cf. Bradley 2001: 94).

1.3.2 The Blue Beat Era – Ska in Britain From the very beginning, Britain played an important role in the production and distribution of con- temporary Jamaican music. The facilities to record music and press vinyl were rather limited in Ja- maica, therefore much of the production process of early ska records took place in Britain. Usually the master tape of a Jamaican recorded song was sent to Britain, where it was pressed on vinyl and then sent back again. Although they were initially produced for the Caribbean market, the masses of imported ska tunes also led to the popularization of that music within the UK (cf. Huxtable 2014: 32). Thus a lively partnership began to develop between Jamaican artists and sound systems on the one hand and British producers and record labels on the other. In the early sixties it was one label in particular that represented Caribbean music in Britain like no other: Blue Beat. In fact, the label, which produced ska veterans such as Laurel Aitken, became so influential that the term ‘blue beat’ was commonly used to refer to Jamaican music in general before ‘ska’ became widely known in the UK (cf. Bradley 2001: 127). Although, in terms of music, the Afro-Caribbean community in Britain was still largely dependent on what was being produced in Jamaica, there were also first ventures into recording UK-based ska as early as in 1961. One of the most influential ska (and later reggae) pioneers in Britain was Jamaican-born trombonist Rico Rodriguez, who played -band of Planetone Records, the first black-owned label in the UK (cf. Partridge 2010: 107). Before a large-scale commercial distribution network for Jamaican music was established, records could be

11 found in small West-Indian shops, where they were sold besides Caribbean food and Afro-cosmetics (cf. Griffiths 1995: 11).

As the popularity of the distinct ska-rhythm was growing, Jamaican music successively made its way out of the ‘shebeens’ and blues dances of the West-Indian underground into major venues of London's vibrant West End. According to Bradley, the first West End club to move from jazz to ska was the Flamingo in Soho (cf. 2001: 143). Another, yet more influential club was The Roaring Twenties on Carnaby Street. Commenting on the importance of The Roaring Twenties, Sullivan notes that “the club became famous, drawing in stars like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, and was significant in introducing white British youths to Jamaican music” (2014: 59). Opportunities to play at West End clubs were also welcomed by sound systems like Count Suckle and Duke Vin, as they attracted audiences from all over London, whereas typical Caribbean strongholds in North- or South-London were characterized by more locally-oriented music scenes (Bradley 2001: 144).

The ska-hype of the early sixties is best marked with the enormous success of ’s “” (1964), which reached a number 2 listing in the UK charts. Other than in the days when Jamaican music was mainly a domain of an immigrant subculture, hits like “My Boy Lol- lipop” made ska available to a (white) mass-audience (cf. Partridge 2010: 108). However, the song, like many other reggae hits that followed, was notably produced to appeal to the mainstream-prefer- ences of British listeners, who were not used to the “rough’n’ready Kingston variety” (Bradley 2001: 151). One of the first white youth cultures to become associated with ska music were the mods (from ‘modernist’), a working-class cult that revolved around fashionable clothes, Italian mo- tor scooters and a cultivated rivalry to their more shabby-looking and leather-clad counterpart, the rockers. By the mid-sixties culture became widely associated with the style and music of suc- cessful bands such as The Who and The Small Faces, but early representatives of the scene shared a profound admiration for black music like R’n’B, soul and the highly danceable ska (cf. Sullivan 2014: 69).

1.3.3 Rocksteady, Rude Boys and Skinhead-Reggae By the mid-sixties the ska-era was slowly coming to an end, as the music in Jamaican began to change to a slower, more soulful sound that came to be known as rocksteady. The large brass section of the typical ska band disappeared and the slower rhythms allowed for more playful and melodious -lines, giving the bass the prominence it still has in today’s reggae. Bradley sug- gests that people were yearning for a new sound, as “so much ska had taken on a frenzied, galloping quality as a result of the radio-promoted, government sponsored optimism” (2001: 163).

12 Moreover, the emergence of rocksteady is closely linked to the appearance of the iconic social type of the ‘’. In the imagery of Jamaican popular culture the rude boy is often romanticized as a fearless, ‘sharp-dressed’ anti-hero from the ghetto with a certain affection for gun shooting. This image is also reflected by the popular motif of a gun-slinging cowboy character that decorated the covers of many rocksteady records. However, the rude boy trend also reflected the harsh realities of many young people living in post-independence Jamaica. Inspired by the initial optimism of that era, numerous young males from rural areas moved to the cities seeking jobs and prosperity. “Many of these rural-urban migrants ended up with their dreams shattered, ultimately unemployed in the shanty towns of Kingston. The increasing numbers of unemployed, frustrated young men was one important reason for the growth of lawlessness in Kingston” (Hope 2006: 89).

The everyday violence, spawned by political conflicts and gang-rivalries, eventually found its way into Jamaican dancehalls via the rude boys (cf. Sullivan 2014: 18). However, the reception of this phenomenon in popular culture was rather ambivalent. On the one hand, the ghetto-outlaw was given prominence by a significant number of ‘rudie’ songs such as “Rude Boy Train” by and “A Message to You Rudie” by Dandy Linvingston (cf. O’Brien Chang and Chen 1998: 40). On the other hand, several songs explicitly criticized the rude boys and the violence that was associated with them, as for example ’s “Crime Don’t Pay” and The Valentines’ “Stop the Violence” (cf. Bradley 2001: 189). The omnipresent rude boy theme also indicates a shift in the mu- sic away from ska’s musical flamboyancy to a more lyrical focus on current social issues. O’Brien Chang and Chen insist that the rocksteady era was very fruitful in both musical and lyrical terms: “Never before or since, some say, was music at the same time so melodically sweet, rhythmically engrossing and lyrically interesting” (1998: 41). Nevertheless rocksteady, as a genre, was relatively short lived, as the sound and lyrics of Jamaican popular music were changing once again towards the end of the sixties, resulting in what would finally become known as ‘reggae’.

In the UK rocksteady became popular around 1967 through hits such as “007” by Desmond Dekker and “Train to Skaville” by (Griffiths 1995: 12). By that time, “sound system culture had spread to most major British cities.[...] Sounds were very much based on the ruling systems in Jamaica, exploiting any connections that existed between the UK’s and Jamaica’s systems” (Sulli- van 2014: 59). But especially the London borough of Brixton was developing into the epicentre of the scene and the first record shops opening around Granville Arcade became pivotal meeting points for black youths and fans of Jamaican music (cf. Bradley 2001: 235). The important status of Brix- ton is also reflected in song titles such as “Brixton Cat” and “Brixton Rocket” by the early British reggae band Rico And The Rudies. Along with the music, black youths in Britain also adopted the

13 rude boy style from their Jamaican role-models. With their black , ties, pork-pie hats and their reputation as dope-smokers and petty-criminals the ‘rudies’ clearly stood out. For Brake and Dhank, these sub-cultural expressions constituted a “visible attack on the respectable, mainly white world of wage labor” (1983: 9).

Interestingly, the Jamaican ska and rocksteady sounds found unlikely followers in the working class areas of South- and East-London, namely the . This youth culture, which by the late 1970s had become almost synonymous for neo-Nazism and racist violence, might seem an odd group to associate with Afro-Caribbean culture. But in order to understand this peculiar relationship one has to study the origins of the skinhead-culture, which turn out to be much more complex than the me- dia-hyped image of the violent Nazi-thug might lead us to believe. According to Griffiths, the - heads grew out of the mod scene, which is also where they adopted their liking for Jamaican music (cf. 1995: 22). In the mid-sixties many white London youths began to develop the mod-style into a more militant direction and while the mods seemed to represent a more socially-upward class-iden- tity, the skinhead lifestyle, which typically included football, drinking and street-fights, overly em- phasized a working-class identity. “Characterized by cropped hairstyles, braces, Doc Marten , and tight Levi jeans, this style used industrial working-class imagery to produce a conservative masculinity in a period of political, economic, and cultural upheaval” (Back 2000: 130). It is inter- esting indeed, how the skinheads tried to reinforce clearly defined concepts of class and gender, while at the same time the newly emerging counter-culture set out to challenge the bourgeois class- and gender-identities they found oppressive. Taking into account the cultural developments of the sixties that, for certain parts of the Western population, went along with a perceived loss of tra- ditional value-systems, it appears all the less surprising that working class youths started to get in- volved with the Jamaican subculture. As Back puts it, “the ghetto rude boy celebrated in rocksteady and ska music mirrored and enabled the expression of a commensurable white masculinity and its fantasies of urban mastery” (2000: 133).

The skinhead culture certainly contributed to the growing popularity of Jamaican music in Britain, as Desmond Dekker’s “Israelites” (1968) and Lee Perry’s “Return of Django” (1969) became what Sullivan calls “skinhead anthems” (2014: 69). This growing market on the British isles did not re- main unnoticed in Jamaica and many Jamaican musicians moved to Britain, where they were hop- ing to make better business (cf. Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 54). This resulted in a growing number of Jamaican-English bands that especially catered to their skinhead-audience. The large number of ‘skinhead-songs’ that were released at the time, such as Symarip’s “Skinhead Moonstomp” (1969) and Claudette & The Corporation’s “Skinheads A Bash Them” (1970), bear witness to the impact

14 the skinheads had on the early reggae scene. Soon the music of both British and Jamaican bands of the late sixties, such as Symarip (formerly the Pyramids), the Cimarons, and Desmond Dekker, were generally referred to as ‘skinhead reggae’. And although the British reggae bands were quite successful in the UK, they were hardly acknowledged in Jamaica, “largely be- cause they just never sounded like the authentic JA product“ (Griffiths 1995: 23).

However fruitful the symbiosis between reggae and the skinheads might have been, effectively it did not last very long. On the one hand, the skinheads were increasingly engrossed by far-right groups, such as the National Front, who actively recruited youths in the skinhead and hooligan scenes as the foot-soldiers for their racist politics (cf. Back 2000: 133). On the other hand, the reg- gae subculture itself was about to experience substantial changes too, as Brown points out:

By 1970, as reggae increasingly moved outside of the West Indian community, the honey- moon occasioned by the skinheads’ infatuation with the music was giving way to turf battles between black and white kids over the control of key clubs. More importantly, by 1971, reg- gae was changing, slowing down and adopting new themes. Under the influence of Rastafari- anism, the music increasingly began to deal with mystical notions of Africa and black libera- tion that had little to do with the “party music” that reggae had been. Combined with a rising spirit of black pride – exemplified by Bob and Marcia’s “Young, Gifted and Black” – the shift in focus began to make the music less congenial to young white aficionados of ‘skinhead Reg- gae’. (2004: 161f.)

1.4 The 1970s – ‘Roots and Culture’

1.4.1 Jamaican Roots Reggae and the Rastafari Nowadays the term ‘reggae’ is often used to refer to Jamaican popular music in general, including ska, rocksteady and the numerous subsequent sub-genres. But in fact it was not before the late six- ties that ‘reggae’ became widely used to define a music that was gradually moving away from the sound of the classic rocksteady era. The first recorded use of the word ‘reggae’ in a musical context was in the song “Do the Reggay” (1968) by Toots and the Maytals (cf. O’Brien Chang and Chen 1998: 42). The musical changes from rocksteady to early reggae were rather subtle and gradual, with the rhythm slowing down and the bass becoming more present. “In a sense reggae combines all the previous forms of Jamaican popular music – the ska riff on top of a slowed down rocksteady bass line with a dash of mento influence” (ibid.: 43). However, reggae was more than just another fashionable sound, because what really defined reggae as a genre was its profound political and spiritual messages (cf. Katz 2003: 95).

15 The driving factor behind this re-orientation within the Jamaican music scene was the advent of Rastafarianism. McAlister describes the Rastafari as follows: “Rastafari, also spelled Ras Tafari, re- ligious and political movement, begun in Jamaica in the 1930s and adopted by many groups around the globe, that combines Protestant Christianity, mysticism, and a pan-African political conscious- ness” (2017, online). Describing the complex political and social history of Rastafarianism at length would go far beyond the scope of this thesis, therefore we will only take a glance at some crucial cornerstones in the development of this movement in Jamaica. One key figure in that development was Jamaican publicist and politician Marcus Mosiah Garvey (1887-1940), who became well known for spreading anti-colonial and pan-African thoughts and the idea of repatriation, i.e. the re- turn of the to the ‘motherland’ (cf. Partridge 2010: 15). “Garvey is said to have told his people to ‘Look to Africa, when a black king shall be crowned, for the day of deliverance is near’” (Smith, Augier and Nettleford 1967: 5). Followers of Garvey’s teachings saw this prophecy come true, when the Ethiopian regent Ras Tafari Makonnen (1892-1975) declared himself emperor of Ethiopia in 1930 and adopted the name I. (cf. Partridge 2010: 17). During the 1930s Leonard Howell as well as other Jamaican ‘Garveyites’ began to preach the concept of Haile Selassie I as the African messiah, the Living God or simply ‘Jah’, which became the core element of Rastafarian theology (cf. Smith, Augier and Nettleford 1967: 6). However, as Salter remarks, not all Rastas share the idea of Haile Selassie as a deity (cf. 2005: 16). Rastafarianism, in general, has never been an orthodox and institutional religion, therefore the ways in which Rastas express their beliefs have always been fairly diverse (cf. Partridge 2010: 22). Despite the differences in lifestyle and spiritual practice, Salter tries to sum up typical characteristics of the Rastafari as follows:

A predominantly male youth protest movement whose adherents are deeply critical of wider society (Babylon) and wish to separate from it. They most frequently mark their separation from society by growing long matted hair (dreadlocks) and adopting an alternative lifestyle (which often includes vegetarianism, smoking marijuana, and adopting a distinctive argot, but does not always include these things). (2005: 8)

As this description suggests, Rastafarianism can also be seen as a social protest movement with im- manent political implications, rather than a mere spiritual community. The reason for that might lie in the social history of the Rastafari, which was plagued by injustice and by the Ja- maican state. From the beginnings of the movement, Rastas were a marginalized group within Ja- maican society and subject to systematic and (cf. Bradley 2001: 79). During the 1950s, the Jamaican press established the image of the Rastafari as lower-class criminals associated with antisocial behaviour and violence, which notably influenced the public reception of the Rasta community (cf. Dijk 1995: 69f.). Despite these hostile conditions, Rastafarianism began

16 to grow rapidly at that time, as its rebellious anti-establishment stance and promise of a “new age of peace and love” particularly attracted the underprivileged masses living in Jamaica’s poor ghetto-ar- eas (Partridge 2010:21). In the course of the 1960s the Rastafari became increasingly politicized by the ideas of Malcolm X and radical civil-rights activism in the USA, and the actual strength of the movement became visible in April 1966, when Haile Selassie’s visit to Jamaica was welcomed by a crowd of more than 100,000 Rastas surging to the airplane under the eyes of helpless police forces (cf. Bradley 2001: 192).

There are certainly numerous factors that contributed to the growing popularity of Rastafarianism, in retrospective, however, there seems to be that the alliance between the Rastafari and reggae music was crucial in that development. The first recorded encounter between Rasta culture and popular Jamaican music took place as early as in 1959, when Prince Buster engaged Rasta Drummer Count Ossie to play the drums in the song “Oh Carolina” (cf. Bradley 2001: 60). Yet it would take more than a decade until this experiment became suitable for mainstream success. Nei- ther ska nor rocksteady had any visible links to Rasta-spiritualism, nor did the ‘skinhead reggae’ of the late sixties and early seventies. The song lyrics of these early proponents of Jamaican music dealt with a variety of topics, such as love, personal issues, sound system culture, crime and differ- ent social realities. Political and spiritual contents, however, were not common before the seventies, which became the era of ‘roots reggae’.

In the reggae documentary Roots, Reggae, Rebellion Prof. Carolyn Cooper from the University of the West Indies illustrates how reggae music was discovered by the Rastafari: In the 1940s and -50s, self-sufficient Rasta camps, such as Leonard Howell’s so-called Pinnacle commune, were centres of Rastafarian culture, social experiments aimed at establishing a living alternative to the colonial rule of ‘Babylon’. However, during the fifties many of those camps were raided and destroyed by and military. Subsequently, numerous Rastas migrated back to the ghetto districts of Kingston such as Trenchtown, where they encountered the vibrant sound system scene. Many of the local musicians soon showed an interest in the Rastafari movement, although this was not yet re- flected in the music. However, the Rastas, who had been deprived of their camps as cultural centres, increasingly recognized music as a new means to rebuild their identities and spread their rebellious messages (cf. Hale 2006, film).

Among the first artists to adopt Rasta-inspired themes in their lyrics were the Abyssinians, and deejay , who began to sing about slavery and other controversial political is- sues around 1970. However, the first roots-reggae artist to achieve mainstream success was Bob Marley, who has remained the symbolical figurehead of reggae ever since. Marley had been an ac-

17 tive musician since the early 1960s and as a member of the vocal group he had undergone the developments of the ska and rocksteady periods. The -release of (1973) finally marked Marley’s arrival in the roots-era. Moreover, according to O’Brien Chang and Chen, that was a turning point in the history of Jamaican music, as for the first time people actually paid attention to the lyrical content, whereas in the years before, rhythm and sound were generally considered much more important than the words (cf. 1998: 58). Combining a rebellious rude boy at- titude with conscious and highly political messages, this charismatic singer would soon popularize roots reggae and Rastafarian motifs around the world. As Alleyne points out, “several Jamaican per- formers – such as Desmond Dekker and – achieved international hit single status in the late 1960s, but sustained commercial impact at the all-important album level did not arrive until Bob Marley’s emergence” (1998:66). As this observation suggests, the iconic status of Marley was not only due to his artistic output but, to a large extent, to his economic potential. Bob Marley was marketed as a rockstar, a concept that was totally uncommon in the Jamaican music business. As popular music in Jamaica was mainly consumed via the sound system rather than performed live, the single tune and its immediate effect on the dancefloor was considered much more important than the actual artist, whereas in Britain and the USA famous bands and artists tended to be idol- ized. Of course this situation changed drastically with the ascent of Bob Marley, who “provided a heroic personality around which the international mass-marketing of reggae could pivot” (Gilroy 1987/2002: 225).

1.4.2 Britain’s Vibrant Reggae and Dub Scene In the early 1970s the sound system culture started to grow significantly in Britain and many new sound systems were founded, such as the London based Sir Coxsone Outernational, and Fatman Hi-Fi (cf. Sullivan 2014: 62f.). “The 1960s and ‘70s also saw a rise in clubs that catered to sound systems on permanent basis – clubs that were owned and run by Caribbean people” (Huxtable 2014: 54). As Sullivan points out, Coxsone Outernational was not only the resident sound system in the famous Roaring Twenties club throughout the seventies, it was also the first UK sys- tem to gain a reputation within the Jamaican scene (cf. 2014: 61). In 1973, reggae sound systems were also introduced to the annual Notting Hill Carnival, adding a contemporary flavour to the tra- ditional steel band parades and delivering the latest roots reggae to an international mass-audience (cf. Todd 2017, film). In the BBC documentary Reggae Britannia, musician and producer explains that the sound systems were essential for the promotion of new reggae tunes in Britain, as, apart from occasional chart-hits, the mainstream media largely refused to play reggae at that time (cf. Marre 2011, film). With the sound systems thus working as an independent distribu-

18 tion network, reggae spread to most major cities in the UK. Significant reggae scenes started to de- velop in Birmingham and Nottingham, which both had large Afro-Caribbean communities (cf. Kon- ingh and Griffiths 2003: 158, 166). In the West, Bristol became another centre of the scene. Bur- dened by its history as a port for slave trade throughout the 18th century, the city today has “a dis- tinctly multicultural demographic that sets it apart from [...] many other British cities” (Sullivan 2014: 147).

Eager to promote the latest imports from Jamaica, the various sound systems delivered the Rasta-in- spired roots-sounds from artists such as Big Youth to the dancehalls allover Britain. Around the same time, another new sound, called ‘dub reggae’ or simply ‘dub’, became increasingly popular at the dances. Dub essentially started as a more experimental variation of roots reggae that highlighted rhythm and bass while lyrics and melodic parts were reduced and manipulated by various sound ef- fects. This new sound was not as much defined by particular bands as by Jamaican sound engineers and producers such as Lee “Scratch” Perry and , who, by experimenting with echo-ef- fects and sound-mixing techniques, produced psychedelic sounding and bass-heavy variations of roots-reggae songs, which were usually pressed on the B-sides of the original tune. These dub tunes, or ‘versions’, as they were called, can be seen as an early form of the re-mix, which later became a common technique in various genres. Coxsone Outernational and Jah Shaka were the first British soundsystems to introduce the new dub style, which, according to Sullivan, was “deeply Afro-centric, tapping into roots reggae’s preconceptions with African music and culture” (2014: 65).

Besides the thriving sound system community, a young generation of British-Jamaican bands was emerging by the mid 1970s. London based Matumbi, and as well as from Birmingham set themselves apart from the upbeat skinhead-reggae that had been charac- teristic for the UK scene in the previous years. Their early releases were notably inspired by the Ja- maican roots reggae, their songs frequently dealt with Rastafarian and Africa-related themes and overtly criticized racism, poverty and the dark history of slavery. And with Bob Marley hitting the international pop-charts, the reggae fashion also reverberated in the British rock’n’roll universe: Led Zeppelin’s Houses of The Holy (1973) contained the reggae-inspired song “D’yer Maker” and Eric Clapton’s cover-version of Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” became a top-hit in 1974, just to name two examples.

19 1.4.3 UK Reggae – Youth Culture of the ‘Rebel Generation’ As we can see, the British reggae scene of the early seventies still had their eyes on Jamaica when it came to new developments in music and culture. However, instead of merely copying Jamaican reg- gae, bands such as Steel Pulse and Aswad addressed issues that young British listeners could iden- tify with. As Huxtable emphasizes, “the UK [scene] always maintained its own flavour, and the en- vironment played a large part in this” (2014: 54). That environment, for large parts of the Afro-Car- ibbean community, was shaped by rather harsh conditions at that time. The government’s anti-immi- gration policies of the late 1960s and the omnipresent image of the black delinquent youth, which had been rendered through years of racist media coverage, had a grave impact on the lives of people of colour in the UK.

In the early 1970’s there were outbreaks of ‘Paki bashing’ (i.e., attacks on Asian people); ver- bal abuse, attacks on homes and property, assault, and occasionally murder were carried out on black people. Both Asians and Afro-Caribbeans complained of police harassment and dis- crimination. (Brake and Dhank 1983: 5f.)

Many of the skinheads who had been dancing side by side with black youths during the days of ska and rocksteady were now the vanguard of far-right street violence, and regular protest rallies held by the National Front in various inner city areas assumed menacing proportions. It should be clear by now that the issue of racism and violence against minorities in the UK was by no means a nov- elty of the seventies, however, several social and economic factors seemed to contribute to a partic- ularly tense atmosphere back then.

It was easy to see the slowly burning tinderbox that eventually ignited oppressed ghetto areas of inner cities a few years later, by which time the UK had mass unemployment, a rapidly di- minishing manufacturing industry and all the other unpleasentness that went hand in hand with living in Thatcher’s Britain. (Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 182)

It should not be a surprise that these hostile conditions had a considerable effect on how immigrant communities perceived the British society as a whole, and the role they played in it. Especially for young people of colour the exclusionary environment in which they were growing up also formed a basis for new (sub-) cultural identities: “They are united in the vulnerability they share as a racial- ized and marginalized group, in the wound they seem to carry as a collective cultural burden” (Gilroy 2016: 327). It is important to note that most Afro-Caribbean youths of that period no longer formed an actual ‘immigrant’ community. Many of them were born in Britain and the differences to their parents’ generation became apparent in the 1970s. According to Chambers, the first generation of Caribbean immigrants were characterized by a certain loyalty to Britain and the willingness to assimilate to British society, whereas the second generation, to a large extent, “were at best ambiva-

20 lent of their Britishness.” (2017: 6). Taking into account the fact that wide parts of the black popula- tion in the UK were still struggling with poverty, exclusion and blatant racism by the mid-seventies, the disillusionment of the black youth appears all too comprehensible.

For this young generation of disaffected Afro-Caribbeans, roots reggae and Rastafarianism offered a cultural space that accepted their ‘outsider’ status. In a society, where certain groups are discrimi- nated, youth culture can provide support for those rejected by the mainstream society, in that it functions as a surrogate community which embraces the ‘otherness’ of its members (cf. Brake and Dhank 1983: 13). The British roots-reggae scene of the 1970s reflects the black youth’s longing for a new assertiveness very well. In a recent interview, Jamaican-born artist and political activist Lin- ton Kwesi Johnson described the situation as follows: “Reggae music was the umbilical cord that connected my generation of Jamaican youth to Jamaica. […] It was rebel music and we identified with it because my generation was basically the rebel generation” (Lowndes 2017, online). Follow- ers of the reggae subculture expressed their rebel-identities not only through music, but also by growing dreadlocks and adopting a particular jargon that was influenced by the Jamaican patois. The film Babylon, which revolves around the everyday struggles of ‘Blue’, a young member of a South-London based sound system, draws a vivid and realistic picture of the lifestyle and culture of Afro-Caribbean youths in late 1970s Britain (see Rosso 1980, film). Additionally, the anti-authori- tarian attitudes and spirituality of the Rastas along with the psychedelic dub-sound and cannabis- smoking was also embraced by white post-hippie youth cultures of the 1970s (cf. Partridge 2010: 157f.).

1.4.4 Riots, Punk and Since the late 1960s social and political tensions in Britain had been growing more acute, “but 1976”, as Sullivan emphasizes, “was a major turning point in the situation” (2014: 71). The follow- ing years saw a wave of social unrest and riots, especially in Britain’s inner-city areas. The causes for these developments may be complex and we have already pointed out the problems of unem- ployment and economic pressure under Margaret Thatcher’s government. According to Brake and Dhank, however, an additional factor was “the development among black youth of a politically aware youth culture that rejected racist, capitalist society” (1983: 4). In 1976, social conflicts even- tually surfaced on the Notting Hill Carnival. The carnival, today one of London’s major tourist at- tractions, was initiated in 1959 as a community event celebrating Caribbean culture in response to the aforementioned racist violence and the subsequent Notting Hill ‘race riots’ (cf. Brown 2013, on- line). And despite being a cultural event with a festive character, the carnival was always kept under close surveillance by suspicious authorities, which in 1976 resulted in serious rioting among young

21 carnival-goers who felt provoked by oppressive police tactics (cf. Brake and Dhank 1983: 7). These incidents foreshadowed a period of urban insurrection that would culminate in the riots of July 1981, which lasted several days and erupted even in smaller towns all over Britain. As we have seen before, British media have often demonstrated a particular tendency to link crime and public disor- der to black youths. However, as far as the events in 1981 are concerned, more radical commenta- tors have criticized this view, as it disregards the aspect of class as well as the fact that people of all ages and ethnicities were involved in the riots.2

The heated atmosphere of the time and especially the fear of neo-Nazi violence provided fertile ground for a variety of grassroots protest movements that emerged in the late seventies. As Gilroy emphasizes, this process was not primarily advanced by traditional political forces, but rather by black and white youth cultures (cf. 1987/2002: 156). One organization that would have a consider- able impact on both the music scene and the political landscape of Britain was Rock Against Racism (RAR), which was founded in 1976. The formation of RAR occurred in the aftermath of an Eric Clapton concert in Birmingham, where Clapton expressed his support for right-wing politician Enoch Powell and his xenophobic views. Many fans were outraged by these remarks of a musician who had become popular playing music that was significantly influenced by black musical tradi- tions, such as the blues. The strategy of RAR, which soon had local groups all over Britain and oc- casionally cooperated with antifascist mass-movements such as the Anti-Nazi League (ANL), was to organize concerts that promoted both contemporary music and anti-racist activism, a concept that proved extremely popular. By their disbandment in 1981, RAR had not only organized hundreds of concerts and carnivals, which had attracted up to 80.000 visitors, moreover they had raised a critical awareness among young people of the dangers of racism and groups such as the National Front (cf. Manzoor 2008, online).

Furthermore, the RAR events facilitated a lively exchange between the reggae subculture and the mainly white punk movement. Highlighting the group’s anti-racist and multi-cultural take on music, RAR concerts usually featured punk and new-wave acts such as , Sham69, and The , while the headliner would usually be a reggae act, such as Steel Pulse and Misty in Roots. Seeing black and white artists performing together on one stage had been quite uncommon in Britain before the successful RAR-campaigns. This newly established connection be- tween different youth cultures also found expression in the music of these bands. Notable punk

2 See for example Like a Summer with a Thousand July’s – and other Seasons (1981). This booklet, published in London by a certain B.M. Blob (probably a pseudonym), provides an extensive and detailed analysis of the 1981 riots from a radical class-perspective. Online version available on: http://www.revoltagainstplenty.com/index.php/recent/34-archivelocal/37-like-a-summer-with-a-thousand-julys [2019, February 13].

22 bands such as The Clash, and (all founded around the same time as RAR) em- ployed elements of reggae and dub and played cover-versions of popular reggae songs. Bob Mar- ley’s song “Punky Reggae Party” (1977) can be seen as a musical tribute to this peculiar British liai- son. At first sight, the ‘scruffy’ punk style did not seem to have much in common with the conscious and spiritual roots reggae, but if we take a closer look we can find many parallels, indeed. Accord- ing to Koningh and Griffiths, “the punks and the Rastas formed part of the great dispossessed, and were drawn together as a result” (2003: 180). Both scenes were largely ignored by mainstream me- dia and radio stations, and both addressed real-life issues and controversial subjects in their lyrics. “In a sense, roots reggae was every bit as revolutionary as punk, in its dedication to turning over the established order and defying all things Babylon” (Sullivan 2014: 72).

1.5 The 1980s – From Underground to Mainstream

Nowadays, the late 1960s and -70s are generally referred to as the ‘classic’ era of reggae and most of the songs that are considered reggae classics were produced during that period. This is not to say, however, that there were no innovative developments in the genre after the seventies. But it seems that never again was reggae so clearly defined and easy to grasp. Although each band and each sound system was unique, there seems to have been a certain culture that connected them, a charac- teristic sound and style that simply defined reggae during that period. From the 1980s onward, how- ever, we can observe a process of diversification caused by various cultural and economic develop- ments, some of which will be discussed in this section.

1.5.1 The ‘Two-Tone’ Ska Revival Sparked by the seminal label and bands such as , , Madness and , Britain’s music scene experienced a ska-revival in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Most of the bands were multiracial and so was their music, which is often just referred to as ‘two-tone’. The rhythms and instrumentation of classic Jamaican ska were blended with the speed, energy and confrontational attitude of punk-rock and new wave. The generation of two-tone bands can be seen as a product springing from the contact between black and white youth cultures, which was established during the Rock Against Racism campaigns. Hence two-tone was not just another musical trend, but an inherently political subculture. In a depressing period of urban riots, neo-fas- cist street violence and cold war, these young bands were “committed to and demonstrating unity in music as well as in the rent social fabric of British life” (Heathcott 2003: 200).

23 Besides the new style of music, this second wave of ska, which sprang from places such as Coven- try, Manchester and London, also produced highly characteristic visual aesthetics, which drew from a wide range of pop-cultural sources. The typical two-tone outfit was a fashionable mix of the styles of mods, skinheads, and rude boys: black suits, white shirts, dark sunglasses, braces, pork-pie hats and the obligatory chessboard pattern representing the unity of black and white British youth. Just like the skinheads did in the late sixties, these bands used “ska, reggae, and the Rude Boy image as an idiom for social rebellion” (ibid.: 184). Moreover, as Back emphasizes, two-tone bands, “whose members were all born and raised in Britain, made explicit the imprint of Jamaican music that was partially concealed in skinhead culture.” (2000: 143). In fact, the relation between the explicitly anti-racist two-tone scene and the skinheads was quite ambiguous: on the one hand the skins formed a considerable portion of the audience, on the other hand they would frequently cause major disorder and politically motivated violence at gigs (cf. Brown 2004: 158). Studying multiracial British youth cultures such as soul and reggae, Les Back observed that the encounter with black music, being a product of a specific social and historical context, can actually lead to a wider understanding of racial among white listeners (cf. 2000: 147). The example of the skinheads, however, proves that such a development does not necessarily take place. Nevertheless, the two-tone era revealed how black and white cultures had gradually converged in the British underground over the decades. While the scene had widely been isolated from the (white) mainstream in the early days of British reggae, two-tone created a hybrid genre that demonstrated the creative and social merits of and solidarity.

1.5.2 Pop and Reggae Crossover Two-tone demonstrated that reggae was more than capable of mingling with other musical styles and cultures and, in fact, we can observe an increasing number of reggae-crossover acts throughout the eighties. In general, the term ‘crossover’ refers to the crossing of borders between different musical styles, Alleyne, however, uses it more specifically “to describe the commercially-propelled movement of otherwise marginal music into the mainstream market“ (1998: 66). Despite occasional hits, British roots-reggae of the seventies can be regarded as a sub-cultural phenomenon which was firmly rooted in the Afro-Caribbean community. The uncompromising attitude and ‘’ ethos, typical of any undeground-music, is why reggae was often compared to punk. “Like punk, reggae received little airplay. There was a hardness and ‘reality’ inherent in both genres, and a com- plete lack of any hype or commercialization in their promotion” (Koningh and Griffiths 2003: 181). However, as far as reggae is concerned, this description seems no longer adequate by the mid- 1980s. Numerous pop-bands, such as the Police, UB40 and Culture Club became highly successful

24 playing reggae or reggae-inspired music in the eighties. The pop-reggae song “Pass the Dutchie” by , a band of schoolboys from Birmingham, became a number-one hit in 1982. Although these acts bore slight reference to the rebellious reggae tradition, they represented something very different from political roots-songs, such as Steele Pulse’s “” (1978). Both music and lyrics were clearly oriented towards a mainstream audience and social criticism was turned down to a degree major labels and radio stations could agree upon. As Alleyne puts it: “The emergence of more songs of love and peace, with appropriately light-hearted accompaniment, im- plied a desire for mass-market consolidation at the possible expense of temporary marginalization of a militant, confrontational position” (1998: 68).

This process of commercialization was not only forwarded by novel pop-reggae bands but also by groups that were considered pioneers of British roots-reggae, such as Steel Pulse, Aswad and Ma- tumbi. Roots-sound and radical messages were gradually giving way to digital music technology and apolitical but mass-appealing content, which might have boosted their careers on an economic level, but also dissociated them from their traditional fan-base (cf. ibid: 72). During that period, Ma- tumbi, especially their guitarist and producer Dennis Bovell, coined a new style that would become known as , a melodic and smoother variation of reggae with romantic lyrics. As lovers rock became increasingly popular in Britain, more and more women found their way into the other- wise male-dominated reggae scene, as both artists and listeners of lovers rock were predominantly female (cf. Sullivan 2014: 78).

1.5.3 Dancehall, Ragga and the Question of Gender and Sexuality With the popularity of roots-reggae fading after Bob Marley’s death in 1981 and the development of digital music technologies, Jamaica’s reggae scene, once again, was about to experience major changes. ’s smash-hit “Under Me ” (1985) introduced a completely new sound that would virtually take over Jamaican music overnight (cf. Sullivan 2014: 55). The instru- mental track of the song, the so-called ‘Sleng-Teng ’, became the prototype of dancehall-reg- gae (or simply dancehall), which would dominate the market throughout the 1980s and -90s. The sound was electronic and minimalistic (synthesizers and drumcomputers gradually replaced the whole reggae-band) and ‘toasting’ became increasingly popular. Toasting is a fast, chat-like style of singing, comparable to American rap, that originates from the deejay-tradition of 1970s sound sys- tem culture. Unlike in U.S.-terminology, the Jamaican ‘deejay’ was not the actual disc-jockey (who, in turn, was called ‘selecter’) but the person who sang (or toasted) improvised rhymes over dub-in- strumentals and entertained the audience (cf. Anderson 2004: 210). Toasting and the sound systems also had a significant influence on the american hip-hop culture that was emerging in the under-

25 ground of the Bronx, , in the early 1970s. In fact, two of the most influential hip-hop pioneers, namely DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash, both were of Afro-Caribbean origin (cf. Heathcott 2003: 199). In the UK, toasting and the new dancehall-style was made popular by young artists such as Tippa Irie and , who were members of the London-based sound sys- tem Saxon Studio International. Their lyrics also indicated a shift away from Rasta-spirituality to- wards more mundane issues and reflections on everyday life in Britain. Tippa Irie’s “Complain Neighbour” (1985), for instance, was a satirical homage to the British petty-bourgeois, notorious for calling the police because of loud music coming from their neighbour’s flat. Smiley Culture’s “Cockney Translation” (1984), on the other hand, wittily translated London’s cockney slang-expres- sions into Jamaican patois. The style of dancehall and its more aggressive variant called ‘ragga’, which developed in the , have remained extremely popular in Jamaica, Europe and North America to this day and with artists such as Shaggy and Sean Paul, dancehall topped the pop-charts around the world.

However, despite unabated popularity and enormous commercial success, dancehall artists have been heavily criticized for spreading sexist and homophobic views. While sexually charged lyrics had been quite common since ska and rocksteady, many dancehall artists did not only perform an exaggerated ideal of masculinity, they also expressed notions of sexuality that degrade women to mere objects of male sexual desires. In the 1980s, the so-called ‘slack’ style (i.e. dancehall with sex- ually explicit content) was spearheaded by a Jamaican singer called , whose work in- cludes titles such as “Wreck-A-Pum-Pum” (1984) (meaning “destroy a vagina”). According to Gilroy, reggae’s shift away from radical social commentary towards more reactionary contents (i.e. , violence, materialism) partly reflected the socio-political changes in Jamaica after the transition from the social democratic government of Michael Manley to the conservative regime of Edward Seaga in 1980 (cf. 1987/2002: 252f.). David Kapp criticizes the fact that reggae does claim to challenge social injustice, while it tends to completely ignore the issue of oppression of women, which, according to the author, also stems from conservative gender models, which are firmly em- bedded in Rastafari culture (cf. 1992: 69). And although dancehall-reggae helped a number of fe- male Jamaican artists rise to fame, such as in the 1980s and Lady Saw in the 1990s, visible attacks on the in the scene were an exception. One rare example of how the prevail- ing dancehall-machismo was countered artistically is London based female singer Ranking Ann, who, as a member of Saxon Studio International, released emancipatory songs, such as “Liberated Woman” (1982) and “Feminine Gender” (date unknown).

26 In the 1990s and early , Jamaican ragga and especially artists such as , and , were under critique for inciting hate and violence against gay people. Facing this new musical trend and actual outbursts of homophobic violence in Jamaica, the UK based LGBT- rights activist-group OutRage! started a campaign called Stop Murder Music in order to raise aware- ness of the aggressive in the reggae scene. Although the anti-gay songs by ragga artists are seen as a big part of the problem, OutRage!-activist argues that a culture of homo- phobia is deeply rooted in Jamaican society and reinforced by governmental policies and institu- tions such as the police (cf. 2007, online). The discrepancy between reggae’s struggle for social jus- tice and the obvious persistence of oppressive gender models within the scene is a highly fascinat- ing and important topic. However, for matters of time and focus, this section can only provide a short glance at a fairly complex field of study.

1.5.4 Dub Poetry In the late 1970s and early 1980s artists such as Britain based and Benjamin Zephaniah as well as Kingston’s Oku Onura set the foundations for an experimental art-form called dub poetry (cf. Sullivan 2014: 80). Partridge describes dub poetry as a “form of performance poetry for which reggae rhythms are a central, defining feature” (2010: 199). It can be performed acapella (i.e. without musical accompaniment) or, following the deejay tradition, spoken over dub and reg- gae recordings. What sets dub poetry apart from the toasting of the dancehall deejay, however, is that the lyrics are usually far more sophisticated in a literary sense and exhibit highly refined rhyth- mical patterns. The words, usually spoken in Jamaican patois, are often arranged in structures that perfectly converge with the ‘riddim’ of a reggae-.

Facing the process of commercialization and the materialistic lifestyle associated with the dance- hall-culture of the 1980s, Sullivan critically observed that “Jamaica had no more space for roots music, dub or even spirituality” (2014: 55). The emergence of dub poetry could thus be seen as a reaction to the perceived loss of reggae’s connection to its roots. Especially the works of Jamaican expat Linton Kwesi Johnson (LKJ) demonstrate a highly political social criticism that has kept alive the rebellious spirit of 1970s roots reggae.

Almost all of his poems are devoted to fight against racism on the one hand, and the effort to construct a distinctive Afro-Caribbean cultural identity on the other hand. With his use of performance and dub, Johnson achieves a revival of Afro-Caribbean oral tradition through his poetry. (Sarikaya 2011: 161)

LKJ’s language is direct and confrontational, while at the same time his poems provide very subtle analyses of a diverse range of socio-political issues such as institutional racism and police brutality

27 (“It Dread Inna Inglan” [1978], “Reggae Fi Peach” [1980]); exploitation of immigrant workers (“Inglan Is A Bitch” [1980]); resistance to violent Neofascism (“Fight Dem Back” [1979]); the pas- sivity and lack of solidarity among the black British middle-class (“Black Petty Booshwah” [1980]) and more self-referential titles such as “Dread Beat An’ Blood” (1978) and “Bass Culture” (1980). Although Johnson’s poetry quite clearly springs from a Jamaican roots-reggae tradition, his texts hardly show any influence of Rastafarianism. His criticism of a Babylonian society seems to take a radical socialist perspective rather than a spiritual one, which might stem from his involvement in the British branch of the Black Panther movement during the 1970s (cf. Partridge 2010: 205). Ben- jamin Zephaniah, on the other hand, has a Rastafarian background, which has had a notable impact on his work (e.g. see his debut album Rasta [1983]). Nevertheless, his social-criticism is profound and his texts reveal a militant stance against authoritarianism and also deal with issues such as veg- anism and animal rights. While LKJ is widely regarded as a pioneer and the figurehead of the dub poetry movement in the 1970s and -80s, Zephaniah has remained very active to the present day and repeatedly proved capable of adapting his energetic lyrical performance to new musical develop- ments in the reggae scene.

1.6 Reggae in the 21st century: Continuities and New Developments

Throughout its long history, the Reggae culture has repeatedly demonstrated a high degree of cre- ativity and inventiveness. Although the scene has always celebrated its roots and traditions, it has never hesitated to adapt to new styles and trends. Thus, although the importance of roots reggae de- clined towards the end of the 20th century, the sound and messages of reggae have lived on in vari- ous cultural shapes. Dancehall reggae, for example, has proved very dynamic and influential, and through its impact on other music styles such as , pop and the Latin-American has remained very popular to the present. Older styles such as ska, on the other hand, have experienced revivals in different sub-cultural contexts. In the 1990s, U.S.-bands such as Sublime, and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones combined punk and hardcore music with elements of ska and founded what is today referred to as ‘third wave ska’ (cf. Heathcott 2003: 201). This American style of ‘ska-punk’, which was faster and more aggressive than the two-tone sound of the early 1980s, had a considerable impact on the punk scenes all around the world. Additionally, within the wider context of the punk and hardcore culture there persists a lively scene of left-leaning ‘traditional skinheads’ who are dedicated to keep alive the rude boy style and ‘skinhead reggae’ of the 1960s,

28 and as Amy Winehouse demonstrated with various cover-versions of old ska and rocksteady hits, these Jamaican classics still appealed to a mainstream audience in the late 2000s.

However, from the early 1990s onward it was mainly electronic dance music that carried on the her- itage of reggae into the 21st century. In the late 1980s, acid-house and music became ex- tremely popular in Britain through illegal ‘’ that were held in abandoned warehouses and rural areas up and down the country. At first sight, this so-called free-party scene, which can be seen as a counter-movement to the commercialized club-culture of the 1980s, bore little resemblance to reg- gae. Yet, as Huxtable emphasizes, the concept of the reggae sound system was vital for the develop- ment of -parties (cf. 2014: 113). For the ravers of the late 1980s and early -90s the free-party was what the blues dance was for Afro-Caribbean youths in the 1960s: an opportunity to celebrate their own music and dance collectively, free from institutional or legal restraints.

Although the anarchic concepts of the free-party movement are still represented in the contempo- rary techno underground in Britain and Europe, the acid-house hype was quite short lived. By 1994, another electronic genre called ‘jungle’ (or drum’n’bass) had taken over Britain’s clubs. Jungle pro- ducers put fast hip hop and techno synthesizers on top of reggae , which re- sulted in a sound that combined the slow, melodious reggae rhythm with frenetic beats and digital sound effects that were popular in the rave-scene. The music was produced digitally, but it was very common to mix in sound-samples of popular reggae songs and, just as in dancehall reggae, jungle- parties would often feature vocalists who ‘toasted’ over the tunes. Hence, as opposed to the rave culture, the Jamaican influence on jungle was quite obvious. Jungle began as a mainly black youth culture in areas of South-London and Bristol, which had been strongholds of the UK reggae scene, and many early producers, such as Shy FX, DJ Krust and Roni Size, were sons of Jamaican immi- grants. Some artists were associated with Rastafarian culture, particularly the pioneering jungle pro- ducer Rebel MC (later known as Congo Natty), whose work bore references to typical roots-reggae motifs, such as Afro-centrism and the Ethiopian emperor Haille Selassie. Such explicit relations to the roots-reggae tradition, however, were an exception in the jungle scene. In an interview, the in- fluential drum’n’bass producer Kirk Thompson (alias DJ Krust) expressed the wish of his genera- tion to separate from their parents’ Afro-Caribbean traditions: “All our parents [...] were from Jamaica. You sort of rebelled against that upbringing, because they were still stuck in that Jamaican mentality. We weren't exactly Jamaican. We were Jamaican/English” (Sullivan 2014: 162f.). This statement neatly reflects the hybrid nature of jungle itself: the imprint of Jamaican culture was clearly there, but as opposed to earlier variants of UK reggae, jungle was not a mere import from

29 Jamaica, but a genuinely homegrown music that developed autonomously in the urban centres of multi-cultural Britain.

Via the ‘junglist movement’, reggae and dub elements found their way into numerous subsequent electronic genres that developed in the late 1990s and 2000s, such as breakcore, and rag- gatek. However, the reggae culture is still present outside the spheres of electronic dance music as well. Britain has many sound systems that are dedicated to the music and do-it-yourself traditions of the early reggae sounds systems. One of the most popular systems is Channel One, which has been active since the late 1970s and still delivers original roots reggae to major events such as the Not- ting Hill Carnival and reggae festivals around the world. More recent sound systems, such as the Glasgow based Mungo’s Hi-Fi, on the other hand, have been crucial in defining contemporary vari- eties of reggae and . Visitors of Bristol or areas in South-East London can breathe the spirit of the thriving British reggae culture on every street corner: old and new record shops special- izing in reggae are still as common as regular reggae concerts and sound system sessions. And that reggae-spirit has long found followers outside the UK as well. As Huxtable points out, a lively sound system scene has developed in many parts of Europe over the past years (cf. 2014: 116). Some areas in France, Italy and the Balkans have very active scenes today, with events that range from small underground sessions in anarchist squats to large-scale commercial reggae festivals. The contemporary reggae scene in Britain and Europe is vibrant but fairly diverse and can hardly be de- fined in simple terms. However, it is still characterized by the duality between tradition and innova- tion that seems to be a typical feature of reggae in general. Therefore the future of reggae will cer- tainly bring about fascinating new developments, while at the same time the uplifting of ska and rocksteady, the mystical words of roots reggae as well as the deep and heavy bass of dub will always keep reverberating in the endless spheres of the reggae universe.

30 2 Analysis of Song Lyrics

2.1 “Handsworth Revolution” – Black Insurrection in Dreadful Times

Artist: Steel Pulse

Song: “Handsworth Revolution”

Album: Handsworth Revolution

Release date: 1978

Genre: Roots Reggae

Length: 5:15

1 I say: The people of Handsworth Know that one hand wash the other (so they say) So, let's join hands my bredren Make the way for our children (our children, our children) 5 And their children (their children, their children) Ensuring that they get life's fair share of, equality..

Doesn't justice stand for all? Doesn't justice stand for all? Doesn't justice stand for all mankind? 10 We find society putting us down Crowning us, crowning us, crowning us, crowning us A place of evil, oh, oh

Handsworth means us the black people Handsworth means us the black people 15 We're talking now, speaking Jah Jah language!

It's a long, long way we're coming from To send this message across, across Its been hidden, forbidden, concealed, unrevealed Its got to come out in the open that 20 Babylon is falling! Babylon is falling!

It was foolish to build it on the sand Handsworth shall stand, firm - like Jah rock - fighting back We once beggars are now choosers, no intention to be losers 25 Striving forward with ambition And if it takes ammunition We rebel in Handsworth revolution

31 Handsworth revolution Handsworth revolution 30 Handsworth revolution

Dread town, dread town, dread town Dread town, dread town, dread town

Dread we are for a cause, deprived of many things Experienced phoney laws, hatred Babylon brings 35 We know what you got to offer, we know what's going on Don't want no favours, 'cause there is still hunger Innocent convicted, poor wage, hard labour Only Babylon prospers and humble suffer

They are brothers in south of Africa 40 One black represent all, all over the world Can't bear it no longer, blessed with the power Of Jah Creator, we will get stronger And we will conquer And forward ever, and backward never

45 Handsworth Revolution Handsworth Revolution Handsworth Revolution Revo- Revo- Revolution Revo- Revo- Revolution 50 Revo- Revo- Revolution Revo- Revo- Revolution Revo- Revo- Revolution

2.1.1 The Song The song “Handsworth Revolution” is a typical example of the era of conscious roots reggae, which in the UK was led by bands such as Steel Pulse, Aswad, Matumbi and Misty in Roots. Musically it is notably influenced by the typical Jamaican roots sound of the mid-seventies: the rhythm is slow and steady and the mood of the song is defined by the characteristic bass line that keeps going con- stantly throughout the whole song. The percussive elements, consinsting mainly of shakers and fills of African djembe drums, are rather subtle. Guitar and organ parts remain in the background, while the melody is mainly defined by the lead singer’s voice, which is complemented by the chanting of the background vocals. The lyrics are sung in standard English and apart from a few expressions that are typically used in ‘Rasta talk’ (e.g. Jah Jah [15]; Jah rock [23]), the song exhibits no signifi- cant linguistic traits of Jamaican patois.

32 2.1.2 Context and Speech Situation As the title indicates, the subject matter of the song is a revolutionary situation in the Birmingham suburb of Handsworth. It was already pointed out above that Birmingham, and especially the Handsworth area, which was also the home of the band Steel Pulse, has long been a centre of the Afro-Caribbean population of Britain and, in fact, the area witnessed several riots and uprisings, namely in 1981, 1985, 1991, 2005 and 2001.3 As discussed in section 1.4, the late seventies in Britain were characterized by political protest, social unrest and the rise of politically aware and radical youth cultures. “Handsworth Revolution” quite clearly reflects various aspects of this pre- cise historical context.

In addition to the quite explicit spatial and temporal situation of the song, the reader/listener can also identify an overt lyric persona on the intratextual level. The song begins with the words I say… [1]4, but in the rest of the song the fictional speaker only refers to themselves in the plural form (our [4]; us [10, 11, 13, 14]; we [10, 15, 16, 24, 27, 33, 35, 42, 43]). The listener thus gets the impression that the ideas and feelings expressed in the song do not represent one single fictional speaker but rather a collective lyric I. The lines 13 and 14 reveal who that collective speaker is, namely us the black people. We can therefore assume that “Handsworth Revolution” is intended to represent a col- lective black perspective on life in British society, more precisely in Handsworth, Birmingham. There is only one instance that gives a hint about the fictional addressee, or the lyric you: We know what you got to offer [35]. There is no clear evidence of who exactly is addressed here, but it is likely that the you refers back to Babylon in the preceding line 34. Following this assumption, the song could be interpreted as a collective poetic attack on the system of Babylon, which metaphori- cally stands for ‘the establishment’.

2.1.3 Structure As far as the external structure is concerned, it seems somewhat problematic to categorize the vari- ous passages into a clearly defined verse structure, which has several reasons. First, the song lacks a regular rhyme scheme which could indicate coherence between the according lines. Second, the chord structure of the instrumental track remains the same throughout the song and therefore does not provide orientation for categorizing the lyrical parts. Yet, we can identify three individual verse sections, each consisting of twelve lines, or two sestets [1-12; 16-27; 33-44]. The tercet following the second and third verse respectively, constitutes the refrain that contains the hook Handsworth Revolution [28-30; 45-47]. In terms of structure, the tercet after the first verse [13-15] would serve

3 Cf. 4 Numbers in brackets indicate the line(s) of the song where the respective element can be found.

33 the purpose of the refrain as well, however, the words it contains differ from the other two refrains. The dread town passage after the second refrain can be regarded as a bridge [31-32]. Hence the structure of the song lyrics can be indicated in the following manner: verse – refrain (?) - verse – refrain – bridge – verse – refrain – outro.

2.1.4 Close Reading and Interpretation [1-3] The first line explicitly states who the song is about, namely the people living in Handsworth, Birmingham. These people are then characterized by means of a common figure of speech: ‘one hand washes the other’, usually refers to the act of helping each other and providing mutual support. What is implied here, is that the people of Handsworth form a community who stick together in sol- idarity. Attributing the Handsworth population with that sense of community also puts them in con- trast to Western capitalist society, which, especially in the reggae culture, is often associated with properties such as as egoism and greed. With his appeal to joining hands, the speaker reminds his fellows of their dependency on each other and the necessity of working together. The term bredren (i.e. brethren) is an archaic expression for brothers and common in biblical texts. However, it is also widely used in Rastafarian contexts to refer to one’s friends or associates.

[4-6] This passage opens a future perspective on the community’s present struggles: the reason why they have to act now is to ensure a just life for the next generation (and the generations after). This implies, of course, that the present state of the people of Handsworth is far from satisfying: justice and equality have yet to be achieved. The image of the child is given prominence in this passage, not only by forming an identical end-rhyme (children – children [4-5]), but also by repetition of children in the background vocals. The child in poetry is commonly associated with pureness and innocence, which emphasizes the speaker’s hard feelings of injustice. Moreover, the children sym- bolize the community’s own future. The full-rhyme between bredren and children [3-4] stresses how the next generation’s fate is connected to the community’s present actions: only if they stand together now, will they eventually be able to live as free individuals who are seen as equal. By re- ferring not only to their children, but also the children of their children, the speaker assumes that there is still a long way to go.

[7-12] The speaker asks: Doesn’t justice stand for all (mankind)? Of course this is a rhetorical ques- tion, as the speaker knows the answer very well. A democratic state, such as Great Britain, should theoretically ensure that all citizens are treated equally before the law. However, in practice, certain people are discriminated against – be it for the colour of their skin, their religion, their gender, their sexual orientation or for whatever reason. The speaker repeats the question three times, which puts

34 emphasis on this discrepancy between the democratic ideal and reality. Despite living in a democ- racy, the speaker and his community find themselves oppressed by society. The reference to being crowned (i.e. being elevated to the highest position of power) is a paradox, since it is in stark con- trast to the experience of being put down by society, as described in the preceding line. The state- ment makes sense, however, presuming that crowning us does not refer to the literal meaning of be- ing crowned, but rather to the colloquial use of this expression, meaning to get beaten on the head. In addition, the image of the crown could also be understood as a reference to the biblical crown of thorns that Jesus was made to wear by his tormentors as a symbol of ridicule. The comparison to the sufferings of Jesus supports the speaker’s role as a victim of injustice, because the crucifixion of Christ represents an unjust act of violence par excellence, at least within a Christian worldview. With regard to this experience of oppression and pain, society, or perhaps Britain in particular, is perceived as a place of evil.

[13-15] Here the listener gets the first explicit clue about the identity of the (collective) lyric I: Handsworth means us the black people. This statement has a number of strong implications, as Handsworth does not merely refer to a specific place in the Midlands of England but becomes a symbol for all black people of Britain and their struggles. Moreover it is a reclamation of space in the midst of an environment that is perceived as hostile. Handsworth comes to represent a bastion of black resistance within a racist society. This contrast between the established society and the area of Handsworth is highlighted by the use of assonance (place of evil – black people [12-13]). Here, the song reaches a turning point: the preceding passage deals with an oppressive society and experi- ences of injustice, but now the lyric I appears to gain confidence and the tone becomes more con- frontational. By asserting that We’re talking now, the speaker declares that the black people of Handsworth will no longer stay silent, which is further reinforced by the synonymy talking / speak- ing. They speak Jah Jah language, which means the language of the Rastafarian god. Jah Jah lan- guage also carries a self-referential meaning, as this particular song, and reggae music in general, represents the language of the Rastafari, which is the voice of the oppressed and an expression of resistance.

[16-21] The long, long way the speaker talks about here, might refer to the long history of deporta- tion, slavery and migration that many of the Black British population share. The epanalepsis (long, long…) structurally imitates the length of the way. But no matter how far they had to travel and how dreadful their journeys have been: now they are here to speak up. The anapestic tetrameter in line 18, complete with internal rhymes and synonymy, rhythmically as well as semantically underlines the idea that their voices had been suppressed for too long. And they do not seem to be content to

35 merely accuse the system that has kept them down for so long, but to declare its approaching end: Babylon is falling. Even occasional listeners of reggae will notice the pervasive presence of the term ‘Babylon’ in the reggae culture. From the mystical roots reggae of the seventies to modern jungle, phrases such as ‘burn down Babylon’ and the like have become a persistent generic formula – a sort of reggae mantra. Just as in the Judeo-Christian tradition, the ancient Mesopotamian city of Babylon seems to carry a fairly complex symbolical meaning, which in Rasta discourse is specifically related to the colonial history of the African diaspora. Partridge briefly outlines the meaning of Babylon as follows: “Throughout the Bible, and particularly in the Book of Revelation, Babylon functions as a symbol for all that is evil, brutal, oppressive, and, indeed, Satanic in the world. […] Hence, as in Christian eschatology, so also in Rastafarianism, the fall of Babylon is a central motif” (2010: 30).

[22-30] In lines 22-23 the speaker suggests that this ‘Babylon system’ is not as strong and stable as it might appear, in contrast to Handsworth – the very antithesis to Babylon – which shall stand firm like Jah rock. Jah rock is probably an expression for the island of Jamaica (similar to the more com- mon Rasta term ‘Jamrock’). This simile does not only equip Handsworth with the physical qualities and everlasting nature of a rock/island, but also highlights the cultural and historical connections between the black people in Jamaica and those living in Handsworth/Britain. Besides, this passage also contains another biblical reference to the “Parable of the Wise and Foolish Builder”5. The fol- lowing lines describe a process of insurrection: the formerly oppressed ones now take their destiny in their own hands. They leave the path of suffering and set out for the counterstrike. It is worth mentioning that this song, being written years before the infamous 1981 riots, already considers the possibility of a militant and armed uprising in an inner city area of Britain. The song clearly articu- lates the frustration and disappointment felt by many black British youths of that time. Moreover, it is an expression of a generation that is determined to physically attack the society and institutions (above all, the police) that have caused them so much trouble and despair. The second verse closes with the anticipation of such an uprising, when the speaker announces their rebellion in Handsworth Revolution (which is the hook of the song, repeated three times in the refrain). Com- pared to the first verse, the second verse is characterized by a more powerful imagery and a sense of assertiveness – an impression that is additionally supported by a more sophisticated use of rhymes.

[31-32] The words dread town allow for different interpretations, as the term ‘dread’ carries a rather ambiguous meaning. On the one hand, dread can be understood in its literal meaning, which would describe the town of Handsworth as a place of worries and fear. On the other hand, dread also refers to dreadlocks and is commonly used to refer to a person associated with the Rastafari movement. In

5 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parable_of_the_Wise_and_the_Foolish_Builders

36 the latter case, dread town functions as a synecdoche, in that the dreadlocks stand for all the Rasta- fari, and, perhaps more general, the Afro-Caribbean community who claim Handsworth as their home and territory. Additionally, the accumulation of plosive sounds (dread town…) creates a rather angry sound effect.

[33-38] Here the speaker elaborates on the reasons for the rebellious mood in Handsworth. Dread again refers to Rasta culture in this context, and more generally, it symbolizes a culture of resistance and political struggle. The speaker clarifies that the people of Handsworth choose the way of the dread not just as a fashionable lifestyle, but for specific reasons, as for example the experience of poverty and a corrupted system of justice. This causal relation is also underlined by rhymes (cause – laws; things – brings). The hatred Babylon brings evokes several possible connotations. Babylon can be understood as the society as a whole, or the ‘system’, which expresses their hate via institu- tional racism, injustice or in the shape of fascist political propaganda. The term ‘Babylon’, however, is also used more specifically in Rasta talk to refer to the police. Hence, this line could be a refer- ence to police repression against people of colour. In lines 35-36 the speaker seems to anticipate some sort of reaction by the entity that is accused here. He states, however, that the people of Handsworth are not willing to accept any compromises that Babylon might offer. As long as there is poverty, injustice and exploitation – that seem to be the conclusion – any collaboration with Baby- lon will only benefit the system and, in the end, worsen the situation of the poor. This attitude also reflects some radical left-wing ideas and demonstrates that Steel Pulse are perfectly able to combine Rasta spiritualism with elements of anti-capitalist analysis and militant insurrectionalism. The asyn- deton in line 36 concentrates different aspects of injustice and exploitation to a dense image of mis- ery.

[39-44] The reference to South Africa, where the regime was still in power, demonstrates the importance of pan-African ideas in the roots reggae culture of the seventies. It can be seen as a sign of solidarity between black people who live in completely different parts of the world, but who are all struggling with post-colonial racist ideologies. This experience of suffering is presented as a foundation for a shared black identity that is supposed to create unity among all people of African descent (no matter whether indigenous or in the diaspora), which is a core element in Rastafarian thought. By following this pan-African idea of the Rastafari (i.e. with the power of Jah), black peo- ple will finally manage to overthrow (i.e. conquer) the century long realm of (white) oppression. This message is phonetically accentuated by the use of alliteration (can’t bear it no longer, blessed with the power). The final verse ends with a polysyndeton that underlines the continuing struggle

37 and leaves the listener with a militant and optimistic outlook. The struggle will be fought until the final victory.

2.1.5 Summary Concluding the analysis of Handsworth Revolution, we can see that each verse section has a partic- ular thematic focus. The first verse introduces the situation of the people of Handsworth and criti- cizes the injustice and oppression that black people still experience in Britain. In the second verse, the song notably switches to a confrontational mode and calls for resistance. The final verse analy- ses and tries to explain why this resistance is necessary. It can also be seen as a justification for an approaching militant struggle. Interestingly, the speaker returns to key Rastafarian motifs at the end of the final verse, which can be seen as an offer to the listeners, who might feel affected by the sub- jects of the song: if they want to join the black struggle for freedom and justice, Jah and the ideas of the Rastafari can show them the right path.

38 2.2 “Street 66” – Dub Poetry between Mysticism and Militancy

Artist: Linton Kwesi Johnson

Song/Poem: “Street 66”

Album: Bass Culture

Release date: 1980

Genre: Dub poetry

Length: 3:43

1 di room woz dark-dusk howlin softly six-a-clack, charcoal lite defying site woz movin black; 5 di soun woz muzik mellow steady flow, an man-son mind jus mystic red, green, red, green … pure scene.

no man would dance but leap an shake dat shock tru feelin ripe; 10 shape dat soun tumblin doun makin movement ruff enough; cause when di muzik met I taps, I felt di sting, knew di shock, yea had to do an ride di rock.

15 outta dis rock shall come a greenah riddim even more dread dan what 20 di breeze of glory bread vibratin violence is how wi move rockin wid green riddim di drout 25 an dry root out

di mitey poet I-Roy woz on di wire, Western did a scank an each one lawf: him feelin irie, dread I. ‘Street 66,’ di said man said, 30 ‘any policeman come yah will get some righteous raas klaat licks, yea man, whole heap a kicks.’

39 hours beat di scene movin rite when all of a sudden 35 bam bam bam a knocking pan di door. ‘Who’s dat?’ asked Western feelin rite. ‘Open up! It’s the police! Open up!” ‘What address do you want?’ ‘Number sixty-six! Come on, open up!’ 40 Western feelin high reply: ‘Yes, dis is Street 66; step rite in an tek some licks.’

2.2.1 The Song / Poem Strictly speaking, “Street 66”, like most other works by Linton Kwesi Johnson, is a poem, although it was recorded as a song with musical accompaniment. The hybrid nature of the artifact, situated somewhere between music and poetry is characteristic for the genre of dub poetry. As a written poem, “Street 66” was first published in Johnson’s second collection Dread Beat An’ Blood in 1975, the recorded version was released in 1980 on his third album Bass Culture. The instrumental track on the recording is rather subtle and minimalist. Drums, bass and guitar form a slow and ‘laid-back’ reggae riddim without any flamboyancy. The only peculiar feature is the sound of the harmonica, which is rarely heard in reggae songs. It adds a slightly melancholic tone and simultaneously creates an atmosphere of suspense, as it inevitably reminds the listener of the deadly silence just before the ultimate shootout in a Western film. Johnson’s serious, low voice converges perfectly into the monotony of the sound. As typical of Johnson’s work, the poem is performed in Jamaican patois and creatively transcribed into a non-standardized written form. The text used here was taken from the Penguin edition of Mi Revalueshanary Fren: Selected Poems (Johnson 2002: 9f.).

2.2.2 Context and Speech Situation As far as the subject matter is concerned, “Street 66” differs, to a certain degree, from many other poems by LKJ. Militant anti-authoritarian attitudes as well as the fight for justice are deeply rooted in LKJ’s poetry, and therefore most of his works articulate a strong social criticism. Many of his texts deal with specific historical topics and attack concrete manifestations of injustice. In other po- ems, however, his critique of racism, poverty and oppression is wrapped in a highly artistic form and reflected from a subjective viewpoint. In that latter group, of which “Street 66” is a brilliant ex- ample, the political dimensions of the text become more subtle and need to be extracted by the reader/listener. As far as the speech situation is concerned, the speaker provides some quite explicit clues for identifying the spatial and temporary context. The setting seems to be a reggae party, prob-

40 ably in a private house, as the arbitrary address ‘Street 66’ suggests. The intervention of a police of- ficer at the end of the poem suggests that it is an illegal event, perhaps some kind of ‘blues dance’, as private reggae parties were called in the Afro-Caribbean underground of Great Britain. The refer- ence to the popular Jamaican reggae deejay I-Roy allows an approximate temporal localization of the scene in the early seventies (I-Roy had his first single published in 1969) and the time of the day is explicitly indicated as 06:00 pm. The lyric I primarily appears as an observer who describes the scenes around him and relates various personal impressions, such as the effects of the music [cf. 12- 14]. Except for the third stanza, the poem is written in past tense and thus reads like a retrospective account of the portrayed events, a story told by the lyric I who witnessed the events as a party guest. Other individuals who are identified in the text are a man called Western [27, 36, 40], who might be the host of the party, and a police officer [37].

2.2.3 Structure The poem is structured in five individual stanzas without any recurring refrain passages. There is a more or less consistent rhyme scheme, as each stanza ends with a rhyme (internal rhyme in first stanza [7]; rhyming couplets in the other four stanzas [13f., 24f., 31f., 41f.]). The metre does not consistently follow a regular pattern, however, the use of tetrametres clearly prevails.

2.2.4 Close Reading and Interpretation [1-7] The first stanza begins with a very figurative description of the spatial and temporal setting of the poem, in which the author makes use of a wider range of poetic devices. The first sentence de- scribes the light and atmosphere of the room, as perceived by the lyric I. In the beginning, the room is dark-dusk, and the alliteration as well as synonymy already underline the notion of an almost complete absence of light. Yet, it is only the beginning of the night, as the reference to the time, namely six o’ clock, reveals. In describing the room as howlin softly six-a-clack, the speaker person- ifies the room and thus attributes it with somewhat human qualities. Despite the darkness, the room is perceived as soft, a sort of safe and welcoming space. In the meantime, the light has turned from dark-dusk to charcoal lite (i.e. light), a very dim atmosphere as stressed by the internal rhyme (...lite defying site, i.e. sight), before it finally turns to utter darkness (movin black). The gradual fading of the light is framed by an end-rhyme (clack / black), which through LKJ’s characteristic pronuncia- tion becomes a perfect rhyme. The author demonstrates a very fine artistic precision in expressing different stages of darkness as the evening proceeds into the night. He makes creative use of words, such as the oxymoron charcoal lite, to describe the obscure grey field between white and black.

41 In the next passage, the speaker turns to the soundscape surrounding him, which was muzik mellow steady flow. This verbal representation of a smooth and monotonous reggae riddim reflects the physical experience of consuming this music via the sound system. For the lyric I the music is not just a sonic phenomenon, but a wholly pleasant sensation that seems to put him at ease. The allitera- tion of m-sounds throughout lines 5-6 phonetically imitates the repetitive bass that puts the speaker’s mind in a trance-like state of mystic red, as he might be staring into the oscillating red and green strobe lights of the sound system technics. These small lights become the focus of his atten- tion, as they might be the only source of light penetrating the darkness of the room. Additionally, red and green are both colours with strong symbolical meanings, which underlines the intensity of the speaker’s experience. Of course, red and green, with all their symbolic implications, represent a stark contrast. On a traffic light, red means ‘stop’ and green means ‘go’, to mention the most trivial example. More generally speaking, red is a strong colour signaling alert, while green is usually con- sidered a soft and soothing colour. Perhaps this contrast reflects indecision or some sort of inner conflict in the lyric I. Anyway, the whole experience seems to resolve, or at least suspend, this con- flict, as man-son’s mind was first mystic red, but in the end he sticks with green. All these impres- sions, the music, the interplay of darkness and light and a stream of feelings and sensations accumu- late to what the lyric I perceives as a pure scene.

[8-14] Instead of merely dancing, people leap and shake, which indicates an ecstatic mood in the party. The dark, mellow and mystic scene turns into wild movement, an atmosphere that hits the guests like a shock. The shape of the dancers’ ruff (i.e. rough) movements reflects the heaviness of the music that is tumblin doun (i.e. down) over their heads. The notion of something tumbling down, as well as the phonetic qualities of the rhyming sounds (soun, doun, ruff, enough) perfectly imitate the downward movement of a low-frequency bass-line. In lines 12ff. the speaker refers to himself for the first time, describing his own reactions to the music that seems to pierce his body like a sting. He might have been struggling with some inner conflicts before, but now, feelin ripe for this kind of experience, his whole personality seems to be captured by the music, so that he simply cannot resist but join in the collective ritual. The metaphor of riding a rock emphasizes the wild and uninhibited manner of the dance.

Interestingly, the whole musical experience is described in words that usually refer to rather hard and painful experiences: tumblin doun, ruff, sting, shock. Thus, through the rhetoric device of synesthesia, the intense reactions we associate with physical pain are projected onto experience of listening to music. In the same year when “Street 66” was first published, Bob Marley released the song “Trenchtown Rock”, in which he captured a similar thought in one memorable line: “One

42 good thing about music: when it hits you, you feel no pain” (1973). On the one hand, this violent imagery might reflect the physical effects one experiences when listening to a bass-heavy dub tune on a massive, custom-built sound system. In fact, getting struck by the vibrations of extremely am- plified bass-waves is an intense bodily experience that can be quite exciting and even unpleasant for people who are not used to it. On the other hand, with regard to the following stanza, the shock and the sting caused by the music, should not be understood as purely physical impacts, but as an expe- rience that also affects the consciousness of the lyric I.

[15-25] The third stanza considerably differs from the other ones in that it is not written in past tense. Therefore this stanza is not part of the retrospective narrative, but rather marks a change in perspective. While in the other stanzas, the lyric I mainly describes what was happening around him, the third stanza seems to depict his inner visions. It thus has a much more universal quality, and reads as if the speaker experiences a spiritual epiphany while he is getting absorbed by the mu- sic and ecstasy of the party. Outta (i.e. out of) dis rock shall come a greenah (i.e. greener) riddim even more dread dan what di breeze of glory bread (i.e. bred?). This reads like a prophecy of some kind, although it seems a bit difficult to decipher. Nevertheless it appears that the lyric I envisions something important springing out of this moment, this experience. Returning to the colour symbol- ism from above, the greenah riddim might refer to some vital and fertile entity, something that is about to grow. Perhaps the idea of a riddim is not solely limited to a musical concept here, but refers to something greater, like a social or cultural movement. Di breeze of glory on the other hand, evokes the image of some indefinite religious entity. In fact, the aspect of religion and spirituality should be examined thoroughly at this point, as it might be more relevant than this vague reference suggests. For this purpose, it is worthwhile taking a glance at another of LKJ’s works, titled “Real- ity Poem”, which was published in the 1970s as well and is also part of the Penguin edition men- tioned above (cf. Johnson 2002: 35f.). LKJ’s socialist orientation and his rejection of Rasta spiritu- alism was already briefly discussed in section 1.5.4, but “Reality Poem” reveals a very clear and profound critique of religion. In short, the poem accuses religion of blurring the sight and distract- ing people from the real problems in the world. It also encourages the reader to rely on science and reality instead of mysticism and religion. “What Johnson tries to create is a kind of enlightenment for his people who seem to be indoctrinated by religious instructions and its illogical teachings, which, Johnson believes, will keep them away from the realities” (Sarikaya 2011: 167). As a Ja- maican born reggae artist, LKJ’s critique is specifically directed against the religious elements in Rastafari culture, which also casts an interesting light on the passage at hand.

43 At first sight, this passage might seem fairly cryptic, but in fact it marks a very important point in the poem, as the lyric I seems to gain some crucial insights at this precise moment. He steps out of the role of a passive bystander to finally articulate his own ideas. The first stanza is dominated by an imagery of darkness and obscurity, an atmosphere that is defying sight! With the anti-religious ideas of the author in mind, the dark and ‘soft’ room with its mellow music is easily recognized as a metaphor of religion, which blinds and lulls its believers. His state of mystic red was, in fact, a state of delusion and indecision. In the second stanza, however, this dim and mellow atmosphere is sud- denly shaken by the hardness of the music and the roughness of the dance. This overwhelming col- lective experience wakes him up and gets him moving. Moreover it seems to disrupt his meditative state of mind and activates his critical thinking, giving him the moment of enlightenment that the author wishes to give to his audience. The lyric I now realizes that the greenah riddim, this move- ment and culture he is part of, is even more dread than the religious elements of it. In other words, reggae culture is much more than just a spiritual community, it is a movement of resistance, a movement that asserts its people of their power and creates unity. Most importantly, reggae music is protest music that should rather address the (often bleak) realities of the underprivileged instead of merely wallowing in mystical millennialism. Consequently, reggae music should encourage people to become active, to move forward (= green) instead of keeping them in a state of indecision and passivity (=red).

In line 21-22 the lyric I refers to himself in first person plural, which means he sees himself as part of a larger group or community. As already pointed out above, LKJ’s writing mainly represents a black working class perspective and his effort to create a genuine black British identity can hardly be missed. Therefore the wi (i.e. we) in the speaker’s thoughts likely represents the black communi- ties, or more specifically the Afro-Caribbeans in Britain, although, as opposed to Steele Pulse’s “Handsworth Revolution”, this is not explicitly stated. In this passage, the ambiguous play with lan- guage continues and relates the party experience with imagery of violence. Vibratin violence can be interpreted as an ecstatic dance in this context, however, it can also be seen in a larger dimension. Why is a description of a reggae party so full of images of violence, if this is supposed to be a pleas- ant and relieving event? Having discussed the tense social and economic situation in 1970s Britain, we can assume that for many black working class youths of that time, different forms of violence were simply a part of their everyday lives. That violence affects the whole community, and as the speaker describes it, it becomes a part of how they move and behave [cf. 22]. It seems that LKJ sought to channel this collective experience of violence and the frustration and anger that went along with it into a culture of struggle and resistance. This combination of art, culture and politics,

44 of music and militancy might be what the lyric I had in mind when he was rockin wid green riddim. This idea is also supported by means of synesthesia, as the colour of green equips the aural element of rhythm with a physical quality, making it a factor in the material world. The drout (i.e. drought) and dry could be seen as metaphors of poverty and privation, which root out the people affected by it. The experience of real poverty and hardship in one of the wealthiest and most developed regions in the world let the mythical paradise of Africa, as envisioned by the Rastafari, seem far away. Dis- illusioned by the hard facts of reality, marginalized Afro-Caribbean youths will turn to a greenah riddim that educates them about the real political causes of oppression, rather than relying on the mystical promises of Rastafarian roots-reggae.

[26-32] In the fourth stanza, the lyric I returns from his ‘stream of consciousness’ back to his obser- vation of the party scene and starts with an intertextual reference to the Jamaican deejay I-Roy, whose music was playing at that moment. The wire functions as a pars-pro-toto synecdoche for the whole sound system. By calling I-Roy a mitey (i.e. mighty) poet, the speaker elevates the artist, and reggae in general, to the ranks of the high arts. With its ghetto origins, simple song structures and often trivial lyrics, reggae was usually considered street or popular music rather than a sophisticated art-form. Calling that reggae singer a poet also works as a self-affirmation of the author LKJ, who thus articulates his claim as a reggae poet and simultaneously locates himself in the tradition of the Jamaican deejay culture. Line 27 introduces a character called Western, whose identity is not further explicated. Yet, the description that follows suggests that Western has a certain standing in the group, as he seems to attract the attention of the whole party. When he performs a scank (commonly written ‘’: a dance style associated with ska and reggae), each one lawf (i.e. laughs), which means that the eyes of the crowd are on him. Perhaps Western is the ‘soundman’ responsible for the sound system or the host of the event. Anyway, the atmosphere of the party seems to be more easy- going and joyful now, as the crowd is laughing and also Western is feeling irie (a Rasta slang term for ‘feeling alright’).

Then Western sends a message to the party crowd, which is phonetically emphasized by alliteration and an end-rhyme (licks / kicks). ‘Street 66’, di said man said, ‘any policeman come yah (i.e. here) will get some righteous raas klaat (strong Jamaican swear word) licks (slang term for hits to the head), yea man, whole heapa (i.e. a whole heap of) kicks.’ Despite the joyful mood, Western makes this rather serious sounding announcement, which, with regard to the following events, can only be interpreted as a warning. Western, perhaps from previous experiences, seems to be well aware of the possibility of the police showing up to turn down the party. However, he clarifies that they will not accept any interference by the police and encourages the guests to physically defend themselves

45 in such a case. In fact, Western’s announcement is more than a call to self-defense, it actively en- courages the people to attack the police, which demonstrates the extremely tense relation between Afro-Caribbean youths and the authorities. In the eyes of Western, however, such an attack is con- sidered a legitimate act. By promising any policeman some righteous hits, Western inverts the com- mon narrative of the police as the ‘arm of the law’. For him, the policeman is not the one who ‘pro- tects and serves’ the citizens, but an intruder and a threat. Consequently, any action directed against this person is considered just and righteous. This idea of righteousness strongly deviates from the official concept of law and justice, which demonstrates that Western and his fellows clearly do not feel represented by the legal system of the state. The vulgar patois curse raas klaat (meaning ‘toilet- paper’: raas = bottom, claat = cloth6), which is used in a similar manner as ‘damn’, ‘bloody’ or ‘fucking’, puts emphasis on Western’s contempt for these repressive forces of ‘Babylon system’.

[33-42] In the last stanza, the poem reaches its dramatic climax with the anticipated arrival of the police. Line 33 reveals that some hours have passed in the meantime and it is probably late night or early morning at that point. The party still seems to be in full (...movin rite) when all the merry-making is interrupted by a fatal noise. The onomatopoetic knock on the door and the allitera- tion of plosive sounds phonetically evoke the approaching end of the party: bam bam bam a knock- ing pan di door. The phonetic effects as well as the straight and clear rhythm in line 35 immediately catch the listener’s attention, just as the policeman’s knocks shatter the ‘ganja’-induced meditations of the party guests and abruptly take them back to the hard world of facts. What follows is a short dialogue through the door between Western and a police officer. Western, feelin rite, still fails to see any wrong in his behaviour and tries to gain some time by asking questions to the officer. The po- liceman, however, unwilling to debate the situation, emphasizes his insistence by repeating the or- der to open up three times. Despite the desperate situation, Western is feelin high, which might not only be due to smoking marijuana. Perhaps his high feelings also indicate a state of raised self-con- fidence. After all, Western predicted this precise turn of events and the actual arrival of the police just seems to verify his negative attitude towards this institution. Thus feeling confirmed in his posi- tion, he finally invites the officer in to receive his painful welcome (tek some licks = take some hits). The poem closes with Western’s anticipation of a violent confrontation between the party guests and the police officer(s), but it is left to the reader to imagine how this stand-off situation will eventually resolve.

6 Cf. https://jamaicanpatwah.com/term/Rassclaat/1354

46 2.2.5 Summary An in-depth analysis of “Street 66” shows that the poem unfolds several highly interesting levels of meaning. On the surface, the poem reflects the speaker’s detailed and figuratively expressed obser- vations of the atmosphere and occurrences during a specific reggae party at street 66. This subjec- tive report of the portrayed events functions as the frame narrative of the poem. Much more inter- esting, however, is the psychological level of the lyric I, whose development in the course of the poem unfolds a very subtle political dimension and quite artistically reflects LKJ’s ideas on music, religion and social change. The political messages and social criticism in “Street 66” are not as easy to decode as in other poems by LKJ, which often deal with specific political issues and precise his- torical events quite explicitly. However, with regard to LKJ’s critical attitude towards the religious implications of the roots-reggae and Rastafari culture, the criticism articulated in “Street 66” be- comes more tangible. Reviewing the close reading of the poem, one can identify different stages of development in each stanza.

• 1st Stanza: The setting is a reggae party. The atmosphere is dominated by an imagery of darkness and obscurity. The dim ambience and mellow music seem to lull the lyric I, putting him in a dazed state of passivity.

• 2nd Stanza: An imagery of movement and violence prevails, the intense impact of the mu- sic causes a shock in the lyric I and disrupts his meditative trance.

• 3rd Stanza: The introspection reveals the speaker’s enlightening visions that are caused by the music and which can be read as questioning the religious Rasta-elements in reggae. He seems to recognize the power of the reggae culture as a real progressive force.

• 4th Stanza: Western’s statement anticipates a violent confrontation with the police, an eventual conflict between the party guests and the authorities of the state seems inevitable.

• 5th Stanza: With the arrival of the police, the cultural leisure-event suddenly becomes the site of a real social conflict. The guests will have to decide if they surrender to the oppres- sor in the shape of the police, or if they stand against them united.

The developments in the poem (i.e. the psychological developments in the lyric I in combination with the outside course of events) could be interpreted as an ideal process of developing a critical awareness and adopting a radical political stance through the influence of reggae music and its cul- ture. The reggae subculture should not just offer a pseudo-rebellious Rasta-lifestyle to its followers, but enable them to understand real oppressive processes in our society and encourage them to put themselves on the front-line of social and political struggles.

47 Furthermore, this dynamic process in the course of the poem is also reflected structurally and lin- guistically. The first three stanzas exhibit a highly artistic and figurative language, the author em- ploys rhymes, alliteration, synesthesia, colour symbolisms, metaphors and a diverse range of other poetic devices. The perspective is highly subjective and the focus is on the impressions and feelings of the lyric I. The last two stanzas, however, show a much more colloquial and vulgar use of lan- guage, best exemplified by Western’s bawdy fighting-talk in heavy patois slang. The perspective switches from the speaker’s subjective perceptions to a more objective observation of the outside events and a great deal of the text consists of quotations of direct speech. Quite impressively, this structural progress from art towards reality mirrors the author’s own concept of art as a tool for shaping the reality and advancing social change. Another of LKJ’s poems, titled “Mekin Histri” (i.e. making history), portrays various places in Britain that became sites of militant popular resistance by immigrant communities, and emphasizes that these revolutionary events form a history of their own, a history that is not written by academics but by the poor and marginalized who form the un- derclasses of British society (cf. Johnson 2002: 64ff.). Therefore, as LKJ considers himself as a part of that revolutionary working-class struggle, his subversive writing should be seen as a poetic con- tribution to this history-making from below. However, with regard to reggae, an art-form that is in- herent to LKJ’s writing, the artist seems to have certain doubts about its rebellious potential, as Robert J. Stewart rightly observes:

The poet conveys an ambivalence toward the music in which his rhythm is based. On the one hand, the dread throbbing of the dub-style reggae is not cathartic but compounds the inner rage of marginalized and alienated youth. On the other, the music is seen as an actual and metaphorical source of vindication and identity - renewing, enabling, and strengthening, as in "Street 66". (1992: 9)

In “Street 66”, this ambivalence is artistically reflected and eventually resolved, as the lyric I seems to decide for the ‘right’ path: he leaves behind the blindness and paralyzing mysticism of Rastafar- ian roots-reggae to finally face the personified oppression exerted by Babylon in a real physical confrontation.

Finally, I would like to point out another interesting aspect of “Street 66”, that has only been broached briefly in the above analysis, namely the rather subtle Western motif. The ‘wild West’ at- mosphere of the song is not only evoked by the aforementioned sound of the harmonica that slightly resembles the theme of the Western classic Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). There are several further elements that reference the Western genre, such as the telling name of the character Western. Besides that, the ominous coyote howls that herald nightfall in a prairie landscape are transplanted to an urban setting in the first lines of the poem (...howlin softly six-a-clack), and the expression of

48 drout an dry [24f.] additionally evokes images of a hostile and godforsaken desert scenery, as typi- cal for the genre. Furthermore, the increasingly suspenseful atmosphere in anticipation of the ulti- mate fight between Western and his gang on the one hand and the police forces on the other, resem- bles the climactic scenes of a Western-film just before the obligatory shootout between the tragic hero and his villainous antagonist. As already discussed in section 1.3.3, the Western motif was all but uncommon in Jamaican popular music. Especially in the rude boy era of the mid-1960s, numer- ous rocksteady and early reggae songs contained references to, then popular, Spaghetti Westerns in their titles or lyrics. Some of those Jamaican classics were later compiled by the legendary Trojan on an album, titled The Big Gundown – Reggae Inspired by Spaghetti Westerns (2004). The Western motif was also prominently adopted in the iconic Jamaican film (1972), which portrays the life of a young man who moves to Kingston with ambitions as a reggae singer, but becomes entangled in a world of drugs, crime and violence. The outlaw image of the Western-antihero perfectly reflected the self-ascribed rebel-identities, first of the rude boys and later the Rastas. In “Street 66”, the Western references serve a similar purpose, as they support the characterization of the dub revelers, above all Western himself, as fearsome ghetto-rebels. Moreover they underline the bitter conflict between Afro-Caribbean youths and the authorities of the British state. The principal antagonism between the erratic but righteous outlaw-hero and the relentless, corrupted villain, as typical for Western narratives, is thus projected on the social conflict between a discriminated ethnic group and an oppressive society.

49 2.3 “Why?” – Reggae Music and Anti-Fascism

Artist: The Specials

Song: “Why?”

Album: None: originally released on the B-side of the single “Ghost Town”

Release date: 1981

Genre: ska, two-tone

1 Why did you try to hurt me? I got to know, know, know Did you really want to kill me? Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why

5 Why do we have to fight? Why must we fight? I have to defend myself From attack last night

I know I am black 10 You know you are white I'm proud of my black skin And you are proud of your white, so

Why did you try to hurt me? Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why 15 Did you really want to kill me? Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why

We don't need no Nor the Ku Klux Klan Nor the National Front 20 It makes me an angry man

I just want to live in peace Why can't you be the same? Why should I live in fear? This fussing and fighting's insane

25 With a Nazi salute and a steel capped A Nazi salute and a steel capped boot You follow like sheep inna wolf clothes You follow like sheep inna wolf clothes We chase you out the , we chase you through the door 30 We chase you out the dance hall, we chase you through the door Cos' we can't take no more of this at all

50 Cos' we can't take no more of this at all With a Nazi salute and a steel capped boot Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why 35 You follow like sheep inna wolf clothes Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why

You're too scared to make a speech During the light Without a thousand police 40 Protecting your rights

To threaten and abuse, Incite or fight But who will protect me From you in the night?

45 Why did you try to hurt me? Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why Did you really want to kill me Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why

With a Nazi salute and a steel capped boot 50 Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why You follow like sheep inna wolf clothes Tell me why, tell me why, tell me why

2.3.1 The Song “Why?” does not belong to the best-known titles by the Specials and was only released as a B-side on the single version of the band’s number-one hit “Ghost Town”. The Specials were formed in 1977 in and, together with the Selecter, the Beat and the Madness, the band was one of the key proponents of the British ska revival in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The Specials’ key- boarder also founded the seminal label 2 Tone Records, which played an essential role in popularizing this second wave ska. The release of “Ghost Town”, with the B-side “Why?”, marked the peak of the band’s short but successful career, and after this release the original lineup split up. Like most Specials songs, “Why?” is based on a ska / rocksteady rhythm with the typical ska instrumentation, which included guitars, bass, drums, keyboard, and . The song mainly sticks to a classic reggae sound and almost entirely lacks punk and new wave elements, such as distorted electric guitars and high tempi, which were also common in two-tone ska interpre- tations. Unlike in most other Specials songs, the band’s Jamaican born rhythm guitarist Lynval Golding sings most of the vocal parts and lead singer Terry Hall only sings in the bridge/outro. The lyrics are sung in plain standard English, only the passages sung by Hall exhibit some elements of patois pronunciation (although Hall is white and does not have any Jamaican background).

51 2.3.2 Context and Speech Situation Quite obviously, “Why?” is an anti-racist song and a musical denunciation of neo-Nazi violence. It has already been discussed above that in the late 1970s and 1980s Britain saw an unprecedented wave of racist and neo-fascist violence that targeted people of colour, immigrants, punks and anti- fascists alike. On a regular basis, gangs of racist skinheads attacked individuals in the streets and terrorized multi-cultural neighbourhoods as well as left-wing meetings, demonstrations and con- certs. Although the widespread image of all skinheads being neo-Nazis is the result of an ill-in- formed and sensational press coverage, it is adequate to say that by the late 1970s, large parts of the British skinhead movement had become an extremely violent youth culture with strong ties to Nazi ideology and organized far-right politics. The popularity of the original skinhead culture of the 1960s had been fading in the course of the 1970s, but around 1980, with the rise of Oi! (a new, stripped down variety of punk-rock, pioneered by bands, such as Sham69 and the Cocksparrers) the skinheads experienced a revival (cf. Brown 2004: 161). Having witnessed the powerful campaigns of Rock Against Racism in the late 1970s, far-right activists also started to recognize the political potential of music and youth culture for their cause and increasingly tried to establish links to the punk and Oi! scenes (cf. Gilroy 1987/2002: 175). Also the two-tone scene, with their admiration for classic ska music and their references to the 1960s rude boy and skinhead culture, soon attracted the attention of this second generation of skinheads.

With racist skinheads entering formerly left-wing or apolitical youth cultures, tensions were rising and concerts would often turn into a battlefield in this conflict between neo-Nazis and anti-fascist music fans. As a matter of fact, people of colour were still the primary target of racist violence, therefore it is no surprise that the first musical reactions to the growing Nazi-threat came from black reggae bands. Steel Pulse’s “Ku Klux Klan” (1978), for example, warns of the re-awakening of vio- lent racist groups. Linton Kwesi Johnson’s more militant “Fite dem back” (1979), on the other hand, calls for a counter-attack against the fascist perpetrators. Now, however, also white followers of the punk and two-tone scenes were faced with the dangers of neo-Nazism in their own communities. Some two-tone bands, such as the Madness and Bad Manners, played a rather ambiguous role in this conflict, as their mostly apolitical and humorous, at times nonsensical lyrics made good party tunes, no matter whether you were a racist or not. On the other hand, there were more politically aware bands, such as the Selecter and the Specials who reflected on these problems in their lyrics and took a clear stance against racism and neo-Nazis. The song “Why?” was written in the midst of this heated atmosphere and should therefore be discussed against the backdrop of this historical background.

52 On the intratextual level, there are several clues to identify both the fictional speaker as well as the addressee. The lyric I is a black person [cf. 9] who became victim of a physical assault the night be- fore [cf. 8]. The assailant, who is the fictional addressee or the lyric you, is a white person [cf. 10] who is characterized as a neo-Nazi [cf. 25]. Although the lyric you is not explicitly identified as a skinhead, the reference to the steel capped boot [25], which was a typical feature of the uniform skinhead outfit, suggests so. The song has a strong focus on the addressee, which creates immediacy and renders the impression of an actual encounter between the speaker and the lyric you. As for the spatial or temporal setting of the song, the situation is rather vague. The reader/listener only knows that the fictional speech takes place on the day after the portrayed attack [8] and the references to British right-wing organizations, such as the British Movement and the National Front [17ff.] sug- gest that the incident occurred somewhere in Great Britain. Whether intentional or not, this impre- cise spatial and temporal setting has a significant rhetorical effect, as it leaves the listener with the unsettling impression that such an attack could happen anytime and anywhere in Britain.

2.3.3 Structure The song consists of three individual verse sections [5-12; 17-24; 37-44], a refrain [13-16; 45-49], a bridge [35-36], an intro that is almost identical to the refrain [1-4] and an outro repeating a passage from the bridge [49-52]. Thus, “Why?” follows a more or less typical pop/rock pattern: intro – verse – refrain – verse – bridge – verse – refrain – outro.

The verse passages each consist of two quatrains, the refrain consists of one quatrain. Some pas- sages show a regular rhyme scheme (AABA [5-8]; ABAB [13-16, 37-40, 45-48]), however, there is no consistent rhyme pattern throughout the song.

2.3.4 Close Reading and Interpretation [1-4] The song starts with an intro that already sets the mood of the song, which is a strong sense of irritation and bewilderment. The questions that are posed here, and later repeated in the refrain, are rhetorical questions. Obviously, the lyric you, who is addressed by these questions, is not physically present at this moment but only there in the mind of the lyric I. Not only in the intro, but throughout the whole song, the speaker repeatedly poses questions to his attacker. The listener gets the impres- sion that the lyric I desperately seeks to establish a dialogue between himself and the person who has attacked him. However, all his questions remain unanswered, which underlines the complete lack of communication and understanding between the two. Above all, the lyric I seems to be preoc- cupied with this one question: why? Unable to ask the attacker personally, the speaker apparently tries to find an answer for what he cannot explain. Quite likely, the speaker is well aware of the at-

53 tacker’s motives, as racially motivated attacks by neo-Nazis were a widespread problem in Britain at that time. Nevertheless, racism does not seem to be a plausible explanation for him. The word why, which, apart from being the title, is repeated many times in the course of the song. This high- lights the perplexity felt by the lyric I with regard to the aggression and violence he was subjected to. Racism, as a complex social phenomenon, certainly is a valid factor to explain a wide range of social and political conflicts on a theoretical basis. However, for the lyric I, who was exposed to ac- tual racist violence, this term becomes little more than an abstract category. Therefore he does not seem to accept the issue of racism as an explanation, he wants to know more about the offender’s intentions, and what kind of person he is. He does not ask, why the lyric you is a racist, he literally asks: Why did you try to hurt me? [1, my emphasis]. What exactly is it that makes the two enemies? The speaker seems to know that, basically, this attack was a random act of violence, since there is no real cause for a conflict between the two of them. This is indeed, characteristic for racially moti- vated violence, as it usually hits the victim at random. The victim is hardly ever the actual cause for the attacker’s anger, but rather the unfortunate individual on whom the attacker projects his ideolog- ically fueled hatred. This utterly irrational motivation for a physical assault seems to shock the lyric I, wondering if the attacker would actually have gone as far as killing him. By asking “Did you re- ally want to kill me?”, the speaker articulates more than his own feelings of insecurity. In fact, this question reveals what alarming proportions the neo-Nazi threat had assumed by that point and how frightening this was for people affected by it. Apparently the aggression and militancy exhibited by far right skinheads had become so serious that, eventually, cases of murder were something to be reckoned with.

[5-12] Continuing his fictional interrogation throughout the first verse section, the lyric I still tries to figure out the reason for their fight, which is additionally stressed by the use of synonymy [5-6: Why do we have to fight? / Why must we fight?]. The contrasting image of attacker and defender, which is drawn in the following lines, emphasizes the opposition between lyric I and lyric you. Fur- thermore, by identifying himself as the defender, the speaker defines his own position as the inno- cent victim of an unprovoked attack. The statement I have to defend myself, however, suggests that he will not simply accept this victimization but confront the assailant, if necessary. This could also be understood as a subtle warning: if my life is threatened by violent racists, any measure to prevent them from another attack is legitimate. Thus, the speaker implies that, although he sees no point in fighting each other, he is not willing to leave offenses against himself unanswered.

The following passage shows specific structural qualities that produce an interesting rhetorical ef- fect. The similar syntactical structures create parallelism [9/10; 11/12] and, additionally, the lines

54 are connected on the morphological level by means of a polyptoton: I know I am black / You know you are white / I'm proud of my black skin / And you are proud of your white. These structural rela- tions create a sense of similarity, and thus undermine the racists’ binary worldview, which tends to differentiate between ‘us’ and ‘them’. The only contrasting elements in this passage are the colours black and white. This is a very fine example of how language can expose the deficiency of ideolo- gies, as it deconstructs the idea of inequality between the human ‘races’. Because, in the end, the listener has to realize that the only real difference between the lyric I and his foe lies in the colour of their skin. As the song fades into the refrain, one may ask themselves if this superficial difference should really be a reason to fight and even kill each other.

[17-24] At the beginning of the second verse section, the speaker expresses his rejection of three well known far-right organizations. The list of three, a common rhetorical figure, draws the lis- tener’s attention to these right-wing groups, and the speaker’s aversion to this ‘ of race-hate’ is underlined by the use of anaphora [Nor the Ku Klux Klan / Nor the National Front]. The refer- ence to these organizations marks a shift in perspective, from the personal level to a political one. By doing this, the speaker implies that the assault on him was not just an unfortunate individual in- cident, but should be seen in a greater political context. The National Front and the British Move- ment were two of the most active organizations of the British radical right at the time, who both had good relations to the skinhead movement, and especially the British Movement openly supported the neo-Nazis’ violent street combat (cf. Brown 2004: 162). The Ku Klux Klan, on the other hand, sticks out between these two British parties, since it is an American organization with no obvious links to the UK. However, as a right-wing extremist vigilante group with a long and brutal history of Afro-Americans in the American South, the KKK has become a daunting symbol of bigotry and white supremacist terror. Especially their secretive appearance, with demonic hooded cloaks and mystic rituals, serves as an antithesis to the ‘clean’ image of modern-day far-right par- ties. Equating the National Front and the British Movement with the KKK counteracts the attempts of these parties to obscure their fascist ideology under a bourgeois-democratic appearance.

The speaker seems to be aware of the connection between these parties and the violence he and many other people are confronted with in the streets. Obviously, it would be a mistake to reduce the problem of racist violence to the disillusionment of neglected white working class youths. Therefore he also accuses the political organizations who support hate-crimes by stirring unrest, especially in the poorer working-class areas, and spreading racist among the British society. The lyric I recognizes their infamous strategy of exploiting the disaffection among white youths to their own advantage, which also makes himself an angry man [20]. Furthermore, by articulating his own

55 anger, the speaker demonstrates the explosive consequences of these politics of racist instigation. They do not only stir up hate against immigrants and people of colour among parts of the white population, but also provoke anger and aggression among the people who are targeted by racist agi- tation. This additionally creates tensions and a climate of hate in areas that are already struggling with a wide range of social and economic problems, such as unemployment, poverty, alcoholism etc. Of course, this is a calculated result of far-right politics, which tends to aim at destabilizing public order and corrupting social relations within vulnerable communities.

However, in the next passage, the speaker shows that anger has not entirely taken hold of him. Ap- parently, all the frustration and negative feelings are forced upon him by outside factors, as, basi- cally, he just wants to live in peace [20]. Asking the attacker, why he can’t be the same, appears quite naive in this context, however, at the same time this question reveals the desperate situation one is caught in, once one has become the target of fascist agitation. Fascism is an inherently vio- lent ideology that is based upon the belief in the inequality of human beings, and which categorizes people into more or less worthy, according to arbitrary categories, such as ethnicity, nationality, skin colour, sexual orientation etc. Followers of this ideology just project these categories upon people, without the people affected by it having a say. Therefore, people who find themselves in conflict with fascist politics, cannot simply ignore this conflict. They can only choose to withdraw further and further, granting their oppressors more and more space, or to actively resist and fight back. As has been shown in section 1.4.4, many people in Britain decided to choose the latter option by the late 1970s. With the rise of Rock Against Racism and groups such as the Anti-Nazi League, Britain experienced an immense wave of anti-racist and anti-fascist mass mobilizations at this time, and, as British historian David Renton explains in an interview, the persistent campaigns and protests of the left largely contributed to the political downfall of the previously successful National Front at the end of the 1970s (cf. Zauderer 2019, online). These anti-fascist protest movements decided that the level to which neo-Nazi violence had risen, was no longer acceptable. For them it was clear that, if you did not want to let fascism grow to a point where it would become a serious threat to large parts of the British population, it had to be stopped now. The lyric I also seems to be at this point, as he does not want to accept the fact that he has to live in fear [23], just because certain groups of people think he is not white or ‘British’ enough. By referring to the insanity of the neo-Nazis’ actions [cf. 24], the speaker does not only express how pointless and futile they are, but also suggests that the violence reached a level that is no longer tolerable, which he emphasizes by means of alliteration [fussing and fighting].

56 [25-36] At his point of the song, the Specials’ lead-singer Terry Hall takes over and, together with the changing voice, the thematic focus shifts again. The bridge is used to further characterize the lyric you and to demonstrate ways how to confront people like him. The first two lines of this pas- sage quite clearly identify the lyric you as a follower of the skinhead youth culture. Nazi salute and steel capped boot work as a synechdoche, as these two features represent a typical skinhead pars pro toto. Considering the fact that the skinhead fashion was characterized by a strictly uniform look, which could be seen in the streets and allover the media, these two features were enough for con- temporary listeners to understand the reference. Besides that, these two elements each work as sig- nificant symbols on their own. A Nazi salute, apart from being a highly provocative gesture, repre- sents the ideology of National Socialism under Adolf Hitler. Surely, this ideology has many highly problematic implications, but above all, it represents a destructive and murderous ideology that led to a World War and the systematic of European Jews. Like no other political movement, National Socialism and its symbols remind us of the evil potential that slumbers deep inside human beings and can motivate us to the most horrible and despicable actions, when unleashed. The steel capped boots, on the other hand, represent militancy and the lust for excessive violence. Obviously, the skinheads did not wear those boots for safety reasons, but to increase the impact when kicking the bodies of their victims. This combination of fascist ideology and an extremely aggressive energy creates a serious threat to any society. Marauding gangs of skinheads were a dreadful manifestation of that threat and a frightening precursor to a reawakening of Nazism in the late 20th century.

This scary characterization of the lyric you is further stressed by the image of the wolf, an animal that has functioned as a symbol for the predatory beast in humans since antiquity (cf. the Roman saying ‘Homo homini lupus’). In this case, the wolf appears in an inverted variation of the idiom ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothing’ [cf. 27]. In the original form of the idiom, the wolf hides its malicious in- tents behind the innocent looking disguise of the sheep. However, in the version that is used in “Why?”, the sheep does not symbolize innocence, but represents a herd mentality and the inability to think and act individually. Thus, neo-Nazis, and the lyric you in particular, are portrayed as peo- ple who present themselves as strong personalities, while, in fact, they submissively follow the au- thority of their ‘shepherds’ and only have strength in large numbers. In a figurative and accurate manner, this reinterpretation of a familiar idiom describes how totalitarian political forces control manipulable characters by giving them a sense of power as part of a greater collective. While this description highlights the dangerous dynamics of authoritarian mass-movements, it also reveals the weakness of their followers as individuals.

57 This understanding of the fragile power of authoritarian personalities seems to encourage the speaker to step out of the defense and become active against the skinheads’ policy of intimidation. Up to this point, the song has been dominated by a sense of irritation and powerlessness. However, this changes considerably as the speaker regains his self-confidence and appears determined to turn the situation around. Clearly being tired of running away from the neo-Nazis, he finally decides to take action against them and expel them from the dancehalls [cf. 29]. The message in this line is rhythmically underlined by employing iambic hexameter, which provides the statement with the mnemonic quality of a football chant or a protest slogan. Additionally, the speaker’s re-established assertiveness is stressed by the use of anaphora [we chase you…]. The reference to the dancehall demonstrates that this conflict primarily is a struggle over the hegemony in the field of youth cul- ture and music. Furthermore, it shows how important the music was, and still is, as a source of sub- cultural identity. Probably more than any other music scene of that time, the two-tone scene was ex- tremely diverse, incorporating elements of the reggae, punk, new wave, mod and skinhead cultures. This and the solidarity between different youth cultures and ethnic groups seems to have been a core value of the scene, at least for its more open minded followers. This sub-cultural safe- space for young people who were dismissed by the mainstream society, was now under threat by an invasive and violent minority of neo-Nazis. Therefore it is all too comprehensible that liberal minded proponents of the scene recognized the necessity to reclaim their cultural domain and de- fend the scene against a fascist infiltration. It becomes clear at this point that these lines, and, in fact, the whole song, are not only addressed to an individual lyric you, but to violent right wing ex- tremists in general. The first passages of the song assume that the speaker’s critique is particularly addressed to the person who has attacked him. In the course of the song, however, the lyric you gradually comes to stand, metonymically, for the whole problem of violence and neo-Nazism among the British youth. Line 31 suggests that this problem has been around for quite a while al- ready, but, so far, nothing has been done to tackle it. Therefore, these lines should not be read as the thoughts of an individual speaker, but as a call to the scene to wake up and finally become active collectively.

[37-44] The final verse section discusses the role of the police in the rise of far-right extremism in Britain. The speaker ridicules the fascists, who might be feared for their aggressive appearance, but who only dare to display their political propaganda publicly under the protection of the police. While the reference to a thousand police might read like a hyperbole, it is, in fact, a rather appropri- ate depiction of a typical far-right protest rally at that time. In the wake of a growing anti-racist and anti-fascist protest movement, public demonstrations of groups, such as the National Front, usually

58 were heavily guarded by the police to prevent interventions by counter-protestors. Events, such as the so-called ‘Battle of Lewisham’, which refers to various, largely successful mass-actions against a National Front march through the multi-cultural London borough of Lewisham in August 1977, proved that militant counter-protest had become a serious challenge for public assemblies of far- right groups in certain areas of Britain. Despite thousands of police officers, the counter-protestors, who included left-wing activists from various organizations as well as outraged local youths, effec- tively prevented the NF from holding their march as planned on that day.7 Moreover, the reference to the police protection subverts the familiar fascist aesthetic of strength and supremacy, since it ex- poses the fact that, contrary to their impressive self portrayal, they are neither invincible nor the movement of the masses. In fact, the Battle of Lewisham and similar occasions revealed the actual scale of opposition to far right politics in Britain and showed that, with the right commitment and organized mass-activism, even the hardliners of the National Front could be fought effectively in the streets. Thus, the massive police protection really symbolizes the vulnerability of these groups in the public.

At the same time, this passage articulates a critique of the police in their role of protecting the far right, which is artistically developed by means of enjambment. At first, the police is simply por- trayed as acting according to their official function, which is to maintain public order as the execu- tive force of a democratic state. Like any democratic institution, the police is supposed to ensure that all citizens can freely make use of their civil rights, such as the right to assemble and the right to free speech. Since British supporters of the National Front and other far right organizations enjoy these democratic rights just as any other citizen, it seems perfectly legitimate that they have these rights protected, as described in the song [cf. 39f.]. However, the run-on line in the subsequent pas- sage completely subverts this view on policing and, in fact, articulates a quite contrary attitude [cf. 41f.]. The reference to the right to threaten and abuse, incite or fight is a sarcastic comment on the delicate issue of freedom of speech. It touches upon the fairly difficult question whether the demo- cratic freedom of speech should also comprise the right to promote hateful and discriminatory dis- course. Considering the fact that, throughout history, authoritarian forces have repeatedly managed to seize the power by seemingly democratic means, this question lays bare the fragility of a demo- cratic state. Having experienced the brutal consequences of blatant racism himself, the speaker is well aware of how fascist agitators exploit democratic rights to spread an ideology that is entirely opposed to the value system of a democracy. The poetic technique of enjambment works very well here in exposing the discrepancy between the pretensions of liberal democracy and its apparent fail-

7 cf. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Lewisham

59 ure to recognize and denounce dangerous, highly anti-democratic endevours. In addition, this prob- lem is highlighted by an end-rhyme that connects the contradicting elements in the text [rights / fight].

Finally, the speaker warns of the dangerous implications of such an indifferent concept of equal rights. While the state seems to make every effort to protect public meetings of far-right groups from any disturbance, allowing them to freely spread racist prejudice and incite hate against minori- ties, it leaves individuals exposed to the violent results of these politics in every-day situations. No- tably irritated, the speaker asks: But who will protect me from you in the night? In a quite unsettling manner, this question expresses the sheer helplessness and fear of someone who has to live under the permanent threat of being attacked and abused. It articulates a victim’s feeling of being left alone, having no support by police or any other institution when walking in the streets at night. Moreover, the speaker points out the double-edged strategy of fascist politics, which is symbolized by the contrasting image of light and night. In the public, far-right groups, such as the National Front and the British Movement, were eager to maintain a democratic appearance, their politicians wore suits and ties as they sold their hate-filled ideology as a legitimate contribution to the political debate, while in the silence of the night, clandestine neo-Nazis, such as the paramilitary squad Col- umn 88, consequently put these ideas into practice. The results were acts of political terror against left-wing organizations and racist attacks on immigrants and people of colour in Britain.

2.3.5 Summary “Why?” starts with the subjective reflections of an individual who became a victim of racially moti- vated violence. In the course of the song, however, the thematic scope is notably extended, as the speaker develops a substantial critique of neo-Nazism and touches upon a wide range of issues that were highly relevant to the cause of anti-racism and anti-fascism.

The personal victim perspective is a significant feature of the song, as it offers an intimate and dis- turbing insight into the thoughts and emotions of someone who experienced actual racist violence. This is a very important contribution to the debate about racism, since it allows a mass audience to gain an understanding of how it feels to be exposed to the brutal consequences of an increasingly racist society. As a matter of fact, racism primarily targets people who are considered as belonging to a minority within a larger society. Individuals who belong to the majority, which in the British case is a white Anglo-Saxon majority, usually do not have to fear becoming victims of racist abuse. This privileged status allows them to comfortably ignore the subject of racism, as it does not affect them personally. When this ignorance reaches a critical level among mainstream society, this can

60 become highly dangerous for communities who are actually threatened by racist politics. Therefore a song like “Why?”, which artistically articulates this notion of helplessness and vulnerability, can be a powerful means of fighting ignorance, as it appeals to the compassion and solidarity of the au- dience.

Furthermore, the song gradually transcends the subjective level of the lyric I and discusses racism and far-right politics as a broad social issue that threatens liberal societies. The reference to contem- porary far-right political parties underlines the notion that racist violence is not incidental but none- theless the deliberate result of specific political agendas. The demagogues of the National Front and the likes create a climate of hate that encourages certain people to vent their aggressions on commu- nities who were previously blamed for a variety of complex social problems. This critique of fascist tendencies in post-industrialist capitalist societies was the focus of modern antifascist activism, which started to develop in Britain, Germany and other parts of Europe in the late 1970s. Alarmed by a rise of militant far-right organizations, this subject became a central point of attention for vari- ous left-wing movements at that time. “Why?” is a remarkable document of that period, which demonstrates how political activism and pop-culture influenced each other. It also reveals how pop- and youth culture were a contested field in the struggle for cultural hegemony between right- and left-wing politics. Since the 1980s, almost every newly emerging youth culture, such as punk, heavy metal and techno, was targeted by far-right activists in their attempt to win support among the youth. The song takes a clear stance against this development and appeals to its audience to keep fascists out of their music scenes. Thus, the song does not only reflect on problems associated with racism and right-wing extremism, but presents a definite strategy to deal with them, which is to get active and, if necessary, confront the neo-Nazis physically. The action-oriented approach, as well as a deep sense of distrust in the police, when it comes to resisting neo-Nazism, additionally highlight the influence of radical anti-fascist ideas on the Specials.

The song “Why?” is an excellent example of the more political side of two-tone, which sums up a wide range of issues that were important to young followers of this youth culture. Above all, it demonstrates the commitment of the scene to raise political awareness among the British youth, es- pecially with regard to the subject of racism. As discussed above, the two-tone scene celebrated the positive sides of a multi-cultural society and demonstrated unity between black and white commu- nities through music. In the end, “Why?” reminds the listeners that such an open society is not something that can be taken for granted, but has to be fought for and defended against its enemies.

61 Conclusion

The literary analysis demonstrates that all three songs deal with a variety of issues concerning life in Britain, especially during the 1970s and early 1980s. In total, they draw a rather dark picture of British society, which perfectly reflects the tense political and economic situation of that period. The songs show striking parallels, in that they each represent a perspective of the oppressed, al- though the displayed forms of oppression vary. “Handsworth Revolution” focuses on poverty, ex- clusion and injustice, as well as institutional racism and a general experience of suffering, while “Street 66” mainly deals with police repression in that context. In “Why?”, oppression is primarily discussed with regard to racism and neo-Nazism, which is represented by the grim figure of a vio- lent skinhead. All three songs articulate bitter feelings of injustice and an anti-authoritarian attitude. Furthermore, they all express the voices of communities that are opposed to the mainstream society. The black people of Handsworth, the party-guests at Street 66 and the anti-racist music fans are each characterized as more or less functioning communities, who share a sense of unity and thus act as a counterpart to the corrupted ‘establishment’. In one way or another, all of these communities metonymically represent the British reggae culture, although there are differences concerning the specific identities of each group.

“Handsworth Revolution” articulates a locally-oriented group identity, as it explicitly focuses on the residents of the Handsworth area. However, it also defines blackness as a significant unifying factor, which is emphasized, for example, by the reference to the South-African issue of apartheid. Black- ness is seen as a rather complex universal identity that creates connections between different com- munities, who might be locally separated, but united in their struggles. The emphasis on blackness and the community’s African origins clearly marks the influences of Rastafarianism, which com- pletely lack in the other two songs. Although the question of black cultural identity is also vital to Linton Kwesi Johnson’s work, it is not that apparent in “Street 66”. Blackness, as a factor, is not ex- plicitly mentioned in the song, but still implied in the references to the Afro-Caribbean reggae cul- ture and the distinctive use of Jamaican patois. Nevertheless, LKJ’s concept of black identity seems to be more ambivalent, as he also acknowledges the contradictions in Afro-Caribbean culture and criticizes certain elements of it, such as the prevalence of Rastafarian mysticism. For him, the col- lective experience of being oppressed by the state as a vulnerable community, seems to be more im- portant than the sole question of ‘race’. Obviously, oppression can also have strong racial implica- tions, especially in the post-colonial context of Britain, but in general, LKJ’s work seems to pro- mote a rebellious working-class identity that comprises all people who face injustice, regardless of

62 their cultural background. In a similar way, “Why?” approaches the issue of oppression and injus- tice from a multi-racial perspective, which is rather typical for the two-tone movement. Of course, the song primarily reflects the experiences of a black speaker, who got attacked exactly for the rea- son of his blackness. However, it also appeals to the unity of all youths in their opposition to racism and neo-Nazis. “Why?” stresses the fact that, no matter whether you are black or white, fascist poli- tics and neo-Nazi violence affect everyone. Thus, the cause of anti-racism and anti-fascism is de- fined as a struggle that creates a collective identity beyond ‘race’.

Although each song expresses slightly different subcultural identities, they are all wonderful repre- sentations of the rebellious tradition of reggae music. They all focus on social criticism and exhibit a high degree of militancy, which shows how the heated political atmosphere of the late 1970s in- fluenced reggae in the UK. Even though each song deals with rather depressing subjects, they also articulate a certain optimism in their youthful passion for rebellion. Together, they demonstrate how music can channel the frustrations and anger of disillusioned youths into a meaningful direction, in that it raises a critical political-awareness and promotes a culture of solidarity. In a time, when British society was struggling with various social and economic crises, the reggae scene provided a surrogate community for young people, and a subcultural space, where they could learn about em- powering ideas and adopt critical, forward-looking perspectives on their lives.

Finally, the lyrical analysis shows – and this is particularly interesting from a literary perspective – that each song uses its own characteristic language to formulate its messages. “Handsworth Revolu- tion” especially works with Rasta-influenced terminology and makes use of Biblical imagery to support its critique of a ‘Babylonian’ society, which indicates Steel Pulse’s relation to the Jamaican roots-reggae tradition. “Why?”, on the other hand, seems to be rather clear and explicit in its lan- guage, which might be a sign of the Specials’ political motivations. The song evidently communi- cates the necessity to resist the proliferation of fascist ideology and violence in youth cultures and the music scene. Therefore, in order to deliver this message unmistakably, ambiguities were to be avoided. Besides that, the Specials, like all two-tone bands, were strongly influenced by , which generally tends to prioritize clear, confrontational statements over artistic elaborations. In terms of literary precision and poetic artistry, LKJ’s “Street 66” certainly constitutes an outstanding example. His sophisticated poetic approach to songwriting is exceptional within the British reggae and dub culture. “Street 66” employs various literary motifs, which produce highly interesting re- sults on different levels of meaning. Not only does this dub poem convey vivid impressions of the early UK sound system culture, but also a very subtle critique of reggae’s delusive mysticism. Be- sides that, it also voices a militant anti-authoritarian stance, all of which is artfully packed into the

63 seemingly trivial setting of a reggae sound system party. Especially fascinating is LKJ’s metaphoric use of language, which draws insightful illustrations of the speaker’s mental processes and sensory perceptions. Thus, combining a sharp-witted analysis of society with literary excellence and a musi- cian’s fine sense of rhythm, “Street 66” perfectly demonstrates the creative potential that lies in Britain’s reggae culture.

Studying British reggae has shown that it is a highly diverse cultural phenomenon that has pros- pered through the contact between Afro-Caribbean traditions and British youth-culture. Moreover, the results of the lyrical analysis suggest that, apart from its fascinating cultural and political impli- cations, it is also a rewarding subject for literary studies. While this thesis focuses on aspects, such as migration, racism, social protest and youth culture, it also touches upon topics that would cer- tainly be promising subjects for further literary analyses, such as questions of gender and sexuality or the continuities of reggae traditions in contemporary pop lyrics.

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