THE KINGSTON STUDIO SCENE

By Jesse I (May 2004)

With the help of Chris Blackwell and his Island record label, Bob Marley took reggae to the world, in a rock music format. While The Wailers were originally a vocal trio, the name was soon appropriated by Marley's backup band, a crucial part of his success. For those who couldn't get their heads around the idea of a singer without a band, Bob Marley and the Wailers presented a whole package that people could relate to - a far cry from the soundsystem and studio scene that has always driven Jamaican music. So while we can thank Bob Marley for introducing the majority of the world to reggae music, I think we can also blame the marketing of Marley for the many tourists who arrive in Jamaica every year only to be disappointed at the lack of real live reggae bands.

The fact is, live reggae bands have never been very common in Jamaica, resorts aside. The famous reggae backing bands (such as The Upsetters, The Revolutionaries, The Agrovators) all existed primarily as studio constructs, recording music behind closed doors for delivery to the people via the soundsystems and dancehalls. These days, the live bands are even more in the background, with many studios creating backing tracks (better known in the reggae world as "riddims") entirely on computer.

If the dancehalls of Jamaica are the places where reggae lives, then the studios of Kingston are the places where reggae music is born. Having satisfied my urge to experience true dancehall reggae culture in Jamaica, I was determined to dig deeper into the Jamaican recording industry and see how these tunes are made.

The island is full of studios, from the roughest ghettos to the richest uptown neighbourhoods, from the archaic to the ultra-modern. I could have started my exploration at any number of places, but I chose Black Scorpio, an independent studio that has been a force in the business for decades. I began by meeting the big man himself, Jack Scorpio, a hardened veteran of the business with the facial scars to prove it. After being given a tour of the two-story studio complex, I sat down with Jack in his office to interview him about his life in music. He seemed genuinely excited to meet someone from Australia who not only knew and loved his works, but helped spread the word and get the sounds on air. As soon as the interview was finished, he was on the phone calling up artists to come in and meet me. I arrived at Black Scorpio in the morning, but didn't leave until long after sunset; having met, interviewed, and recorded custom Chant Down dubplate specials with the likes of Luciano, Everton Blender, Turbulence, Pinchers, Prestige, Paul Elliot, and more.

My next stop was Syl Gordon's 321 Strong, a studio he built with reggae artist Buju Banton, but now runs alone. Black Scorpio was a great low-key introduction to things, but wasn't in session when I arrived, making 321 Strong a comparative hive of activity.

Modern reggae is based around "riddim" culture, where a producer comes up with a rhythm-backing track, and voices any number of vocalists over the top. Generally these will be released simultaneously, allowing a soundsystem selector (who we in Australia would generally call a DJ) to play the particular cuts on a riddim that fits their tastes and style. On the first of many visits to 321 Strong I was lucky enough to sit in on a session with Natural Black, a young artist from Guyana who has built up a good name for himself over the last few years. This was an amazing insight into the making of a song, as I watched him listen to a new riddim for the first time, and "vibe" lyrics to fit it on the spot. Natural Black spent several hours working on a new song (with input from both Gordon and manager Roger Grant), before eventually taking away a copy of the riddim track for further homework.

On one of many return visits to 321 Strong a year later, I happened to catch one of dancehall's hottest artists Vybz Kartel at the next stage in the process - actually recording the vocals to a new dancehall riddim. While the softly spoken rastafarian Natural Black preferred to work in peace and quiet, Kartel was there with his entourage - presumably to help provide the vybz! Here was one of contemporary dancehall's biggest stars, in his element - spitting rhymes into the microphone, Guinness bottle in one hand, spliff in the other. An artist like Vybz Kartel would rarely go a day without visiting a studio somewhere on the island, as you have to work extremely hard to keep your place on top of things. He knows that he can't rest on his laurels, or another hungry artist with soon take his place - and so he keeps the tunes coming, on riddim after riddim.

If a riddim is taking the dancehalls by storm, nobody wants to be left off it - but without some big names to start with, a riddim won't get much attention. This often means that the big name producers will have no trouble attracting talent to their riddims, but newcomers have to work harder, or have particularly deep pockets. But for every aspiring producer in Jamaica, there are many more aspiring artists, all waiting for their chance to record. As my contacts and confidence grew, my exploration of Kingston's various studios took me all over the city. Very soon I came to recognise the same faces, sometimes meeting the same struggling artist multiple times in one day as he did the studio circuit hoping for work.

I learned to deal with the various studio hustlers and hangers-on very quickly, but every studio situation brought new challenges, and there were plenty of them at Exodus - something which is known in Jamaica as a "dubplate studio". These are like the poor cousins of a regular studio, set up only to record vocals for exclusive soundsystem play. In other words, when a selector wants a cut that nobody else in the world can play, they pay an artist to sing a custom version of that song for them alone, usually with the name of their soundsystem being promoted. Dubplates are where the quick money is for artists, and Exodus was packed full of people hoping for a break, food for their next meal, or in some sad cases, their next hit of crack. All kinds of threats and intimidation tactics are used to separate a visitor from their money, but the most interesting moment came after Ras Crucial and I had already voiced some dubplates for our own Chant Down soundsystem. A young artist called Predator was there, cutting dubs to capitalise on his tune "Nuh No Head", currently riding high on the charts. When he saw me in the crowded room, he pointed at me and shouted to nobody in particular "How much money has he got?" He then walked up to me, and tried to stare me down with two extremely bloodshot eyes. I just stared back at him, before asking in a broad Aussie accent, "Are you alright, mate?" He backed off, clearly not knowing what to make of me, and I silently breathed a sigh of relief.

Jaro dubplate studio was similar in set-up, but with a less threatening atmosphere. Here we recorded dubplates with Capleton, one of the biggest artists in reggae over the last decade, and a personal favourite. The studio itself was about half the size of PBS's Studio 5 and crammed so full of people that everyone's sweat was turning to condensation on the walls. My shirt was literally soaked from top-to-bottom, but nobody would leave and miss seeing the "King of Fire" at work. While normal studios are professional setups with proper soundproofing, at the dubplate studios they simply fit as many people into the booth as possible - any background noise simply adds to the atmosphere!

In total contrast to the dub studios are the personal home studios that many of the big names maintain. Beres Hammond's "Silekshan Studio" must be one of the nicest on the island, state of the art facilities perched high up at Stony Hill with a beautiful view. I honestly felt honoured to be able to spend time there, not just once, but on two different days. Likewise, Freddie McGregor's backyard Big Ship studio was a real treat - as was a tour of his garden, complete with sweetsop and sugarcane to munch on.

While I was primarily interested in the modern studio scene, I was lucky enough to see some of the old legendary places as well. After interviewing Big Youth (who ruled much of the 70s with the first real Rasta toasting) at his home, I drove with him downtown to Orange St, where we recorded a song at Leggo's studio. After the cutting edge setups elsewhere, it was a real surprise to come to Leggo's where they didn't even have a CD player installed. Nonetheless, it was an amazing feeling to be at a site of so much history, across the road from Studio One's record shop, literally next door to Prince Buster's record shop, and just down the road from Augustus Pablo's old "Rockers International".

Also downtown is the famous Randy's at 17 North Parade. The original studio is still upstairs, complete with the original organ used on many early reggae classics (including the likes of the Wailers and Augustus Pablo). However, everything is now covered in thick dust, and mountains of sleeveless 7" singles - a real challenge even for the serious reggae collector!

My other studio visits in Jamaica have included Digital B, Mixing Lab, Anchor, Tuff Gong, Junior Reid's One Blood, Tony Rebel's Flames, Down Sound, and even a recording session held in a hotel room at the Hilton. While any visitor to Jamaica can take in a true dancehall session, I feel extremely blessed to have been able to visit the places I have. To hear the fruits of some of these visits and recording sessions, tune in to Chant Down Babylon on Saturdays from 5-7pm, or check out http://www.chantdown.com for details on upcoming Chant Down Sound dances.