Prince Buster tribute: don't call me Scarface

Prince Buster tribute: don't call me Scarface

The king of Jamaican ska influenced musicians across the globe

ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT
Prince Buster tribute: don't call me Scarface

'Al Capone's guns don't argue" declares the singer, Prince Buster, at the beginning of the classic ska track Al Capone. Then in comes the drums, the choppy guitar on the afterbeat, not the downbeat, punchy brass and the chukka-chukka rhythm vocalised by the band. Welcome to the ever-popular world of ska music, one of Jamaica's most potent musical exports, and the forerunner of rocksteady and classic roots reggae, the latter of which would take the world by storm and elevate Bob Marley to global stardom.

I was just 12 when Buster had a Top 20 hit (peaking at number 18) in the UK with Al Capone but I remember it well, especially the opening, and the irresistible stomping dance beat. In many ways, it was Prince Buster who fired my own interest in Jamaican music.

Sadly, Prince Buster, born Cecil Bustamente Campbell, is no longer with us: he died on Sept 8 in Miami, Florida, at the age of 78. Tributes poured in from all over the world, as musicians and fans paid homage to one of Jamaica's musical giants. To give an indication of his influence consider that Asia has a host of ska bands, from Japan's Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra to the pioneering Put3ska from Manila (now disbanded) and ska scenes (often fused with "mod culture") in Jakarta and Bangkok.

And before that ska had already taken root as "rebel music" in South America as bands like Brazil's Os Paralamas do Sucesso (a World beat favourite), Argentina's Los Fabulosos Cadillacs, as well as France/Spain's Mano Negra, all of which began with ska as their chosen genre. More recently, Los de Abajo, a Mexican band that has featured regularly in World beat, has had great success with ska songs like their wonderful Spanish- and English-language covers of the Fun Boy 3 song, The Lunatics (Have Taken Over the Asylum) -- this song is a big favourite with Bangkok's club fans at my DJ nights.

Then there was the ska two-tone revival from the UK in the late 1970s, led by bands like Madness (name taken from one of his most popular sings) and The Specials, which paid homage to Prince Buster as ska music's main man. The revival spawned similar two-tone movements like Manila's ska scene in the 1990s.

I've written in depth on the history of ska in previous columns but it is worth mentioning its origins. Prior to the first ska tracks, several musical entrepreneurs in Jamaica had introduced huge sound systems that played the latest rhythm and blues singles from the USA, especially New Orleans. It was at the sound system of Tom the Great Sebastian that he heard R&B hits from the Clovers, Fats Domino and Shirley & Lee. By 1959, as the sound system subculture was developing, he formed his Voice of the People Sound System; to get records no one else has Prince Buster planned to go to work in the USA in order to buy more records. When the working trip was cancelled he decided to make his own music, which turned the rhythmic pulse of R&B on its head. His first release was a single called Little Honey in 1961, which was followed quickly by Oh Carolina -- which he produced for the Folkes Brothers. It was a smash hit across the island that catapulted Buster to fame and fortune. Many great hits followed (and these are just some of my own favourites): Madness, Wash Wash, Al Capone, Rude, Rude, Rudee (features his character Judge Dread), Ten Commandments (From Man To A Woman), Jamaica Ska (Dog War), Judge Dread, Freezing Up Orange Street (a slower song, and a forerunner of rocksteady) and Ghost Dance.

Buster was instrumental in developing ska along with the legendary Skatalites, and the two also contributed hugely to the slower rocksteady style that followed, which in turn paved the way for mature roots reggae to flourish in the 1970s.

In his own writing and producing, Buster was inventive, innovative and often anarchic. His meeting with boxer Muhammad Ali led him to convert to Islam in the mid-60s and to release politically-charged songs like his cover of Louis X's White Man's Heaven Is Black Man's Hell. He was also one of the first writers to pen highly suggestive and lewd lyrics (some of his Judge Dread singles were banned in the UK), which when attached to alter-ego characters he created like the tongue-in-cheek parody figure Judge Dread, who has entered Jamaica's urban folklore.

You can't get better than that as a musician. He brought joy and "righteousness" to his own people and on the journey to do that, he took it to the rest of the world. Someone somewhere on the planet will be playing one of his songs right now.


This columnist can be contacted at clewley.john@gmail.com.

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