Among the many interesting aspects of my time in Tradewinds going back to 1968 was becoming familiar with some of the popular performers of the day, many from Trinidad. It is generally true that in a popular music career, musicians are generally travelling so much, often spending just two or three days in any one city, that they don’t get to know each other all that well. It is largely through their appearances on the same show, at the same venue, that we get to know each other as people, and the time for that is often brief. Performers are, as the saying goes, like ships passing in the night with often only enough opportunity to say “hello” and “see you later”, but along the way we form impressions of each other.
Lord Kitchener, for example, was a complete contradiction to the common image of the calypsonians in the 1960s as a brash, hard-drinking, carousing creature whose entire life was about partying and flamboyance. Kitch was a gentle, humble man who was definitely cut from the gentleman’s cloth. In the most casual settings, he would usually be the best-dressed person there, often in a tie and his inevitable hat, and he was known to be generous. I was in Kitch’s company many times in Trinidad during the early Tradewinds years, and I never heard him utter a deriding comment or even a harsh word about anyone. I remember distinctly a moonlit night in Diego Martin in Trinidad when we heard the tragic news that the young popular calypsonian Maestro had been killed in a car accident. Just back from a Tradewinds show, we were in a group of performers stunned by the incident. Kitch was there, talking about Maestro as if he had lost a son. The group fell silent as he spoke with his halting but fierce stammer. That was the kind of genuine man he was.
Sparrow, who was a pivotal influence on the growth of calypso, more fitted the cliché image of the kaiso man. Often very close to his favourite Scotch libation, Sparrow remained the showman in private life, full of laughter and the ever-present Trinidad picong. Still performing now, he was one of the first calypsonians to take a professional approach to his craft. Sparrow was a keen student of the calypso art form and paid close attention to the songs of other performers, often, at times in his career, taking a half-baked idea another writer had attempted and turning it into a Sparrow gem. He also fitted the mould of the calypso man as a womanizer, but there again the Birdie was careful to make sure nothing interfered with his performance. I remember an occasion when we were performing together in Detroit, and in the middle of the afternoon, Sparrow comes rushing into my room where some of the Tradewinds guys were gaffing, closed the door behind him, said, “Tell she you ain’t see me,” and dove under one of the beds. Startled does not begin to describe my reaction, but within seconds there was a knock on the door.
When one of our guys opened it, there was a very curvaceous American young woman, rocking back on her heels, and exclaiming, “I’m lookin for de Mighty Sparra; I’m supposed to meet him here.” I was sure I could hear Sparrow giggling under the bed. After we convinced the lady he wasn’t there and she departed, Sparrow emerged only mildly embarrassed (remember this is the legendary ‘Village Ram’) saying, “Don’t worry wid she na, padna. If I go on stage tonight and my knee knocking, she ain’t care, oui.”
There was an amazing diversity of talent in the performers of that time. Gypsy, who is still performing although he’s involved somewhat in politics, is astounding for his ability to improvise lyrics at the drop of a hat. Apart from the conventional Santee Manitay kaiso form that improvers use, Gypsy has the wider dimension of being able to do improv with any song. Gypsy would ask you to name a song and he would instantly take your reply and reproduce a new set of lyrics, complete different from the original, but perfectly fitted to the music. Waiting for an airport bus one afternoon in New York, I heard Gypsy take suggestions for ‘Blueberry Hill’ and ‘My Way’ and improvise, sitting in the hotel lobby, a completely different set of lyrics for each song. Without stumbling once, he sang the words as if they were the original lyrics. It’s an astonishing gift. I don’t know another performer who can pull that off.
The calypsonian Crazy is aptly named. He came on stage once in the prestigious Queen’s Hall in Trinidad, rappelling down on a rope from area above the stage and frightening some front-row patrons in the process. Two years ago in South Trinidad he came on wearing a jetpack and literally flying over the audience. I was once with Ellis Chow Lin On, a calypso promoter, driving in Port-of-Spain and giving Crazy a lift in the process. Crazy was in the back seat prattling away and suddenly fell silent. I looked around and the man was gone. Ellis looked around, no Crazy. As Ellis pulled over, we could see Crazy had scrunched himself into a ball on the floor behind the front seat so he could not be easily seen. He emerged laughing: “I just wanted to see if alyou was paying attention.” The man is true to his name.
Another star was Shadow who broke into the big time with his stiff-legged jump that became his trademark. The year he hit I saw him take seven encores with that song in the calypso tent; a record that still stands. Lord Shorty was a man on a mission with his efforts to change calypso which led to the development of soca; ironically, Shorty took a lot of heat for his new direction – one bandleader actually refused to play it – but he persevered. Andre Tanker, a great song-writer, was notable for refusing to change his style to suit current trends: “Not everybody will like my music; that’s okay. I playin’ what I want.” That was Andre, who loved what he did and actually died in the middle of a hectic carnival season.
There were so many of them: Lord Funny, with his hilarious calypso double entendre songs such as ‘Farmer Brown’ and ‘Fuh Cane’; a singular talent, a genuinely charming man. Gabby, from Barbados, the boss from that country for my money; a professional throughout. I will never forget seeing Gabby in the Cayman Islands, hiding in a van before his performance, so he would not be tired out from crowd interaction before his time on stage.
Being of the similar mind myself I was heartened to see I had company in the Mighty Gabby. They came from another era, those calypsonians, colourful characters, special talents; I don’t think we will see that particular stripe again.
