David Rodigan - Rodigan: My Life in Reggae

Published by Constable

ISBN: 978-1-47212-559-0

Copyright 2017 David Rodigan

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

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Constable

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To my mother, Selina Rodigan.
D. R.

The music Bob Marley created was so magnificent it has transcended all styles and now lives in its own space. Its multigenerational. Young people know the songs because their parents and grandparents played them in their front room or car. When you hear them you dont think of them as Reggae or Ska records but simply as songs that have stood the test of time.

In Bobs lyrics whether theyre about love, broken hearts or social injustice he had something to say to everyone. When people discover his work they become fans for life.

People assimilate those songs almost without knowing it because they have been part of the worlds musical heritage for so long. If I have an audience of students and teenagers, I know I can play Is This Love, which was released more than thirty-five years ago, and I will only occasionally need to bring the fader up because they will sing along to every word.

Great clouds of smoke wafted from the doorway as if the entire shop was on fire. It was a warm night in May, one of those days that seem to go on forever, and as I walked down Fulham Palace Road in London, my ears were still ringing from the sounds of the greatest concert Id ever heard and my head was light with exhilaration from what Id witnessed.

On a night like that night, anything could happen. Now a shop was in flames.

Except that, as I peered into the alcove from where the white plume of smoke emerged, the air began to clear. And there he was, standing in the doorway, leaning on his guitar and clutching a big spliff. He was like an apparition.

Robert Nesta Marley, the King of Reggae, was right before me. The star of the music Id been obsessed with since I was a schoolboy.

Its him! Its him! What am I going to do? I asked my girlfriend Sue. I could hardly think.

Go and say hello, she said.

For nearly a decade my life had been headed towards this point. Since I first heard the infectious My Boy Lollipop in 1964 when I was thirteen and the songs Jamaican singer Millie Small was only a few years my senior Reggae had been my thing. Here I was now, studying to be an actor at drama college but with a love for Reggae that was greater than ever.

Id really thought the shop was on fire because such a great cloud of smoke was belching out a spliff is not like a cigarette when you exhale. Bob was standing there next to Wire Lindo, the keyboard player from The Wailers.

After a moment of hesitation, I took Sues advice and walked over. Marley was not as tall as Id thought but he exuded radiance.

Bob, Im such a big fan. I bought Soul Rebel and Put it On, I gushed, mentioning the groups early hits to let him know how dedicated I was. Catch a Fire is a great album and Ive waited for this day for so long it was such an amazing concert thank you so much.

He stood there and just smiled at me. Yeah, mon, he said. Everyting cool!

Wire Lindo didnt say anything he just stood and nodded. And, with that, this car screeched to the kerb and Bob said, Mi affe go, yknow.

He walked from the doorway and climbed into the car, followed by Wire Lindo.

Then, as the car pulled off in a moment I shall never forget he turned in the back window and waved to me. Talk about a fans joy at seeing and meeting his hero in person! Im standing in the Fulham Palace Road and Bob Marley is waving to me from the back of a car window. I think he must have seen in me, from the way I spoke to him, that I really was a diehard fan and I think he was slightly surprised.

From the moment Id heard The Wailers were to perform at The Greyhound pub in Fulham Id worked myself into a state. Ahead of the show, an article appeared in one of the broadsheet papers previewing the gig and saying this band called The Wailers had a profound musical message. Seeing that in print gave me a feeling of triumph. This music my music was finally being given serious recognition. I cut out the article and stuck it on the canteen noticeboard at Rose Bruford Training College of Speech and Drama in Sidcup. Next to it I pinned the tour schedule. I had to share this.

Shortly before the concert, The Wailers were booked on The Old Grey Whistle Test, the hallowed BBC music programme. I was home from college, with a holiday job pulling pints in The Dog in Kidlington, my home village in sleepy Oxfordshire. I begged the landlord, John Jackman, Please, please, please can I sneak off and watch them? He said, OK, I know you love this music. I went upstairs and I watched The Wailers on the BBC in his front room over the pub. I was awestruck. It felt like everyone was finally being let in on my world. This sound that for years had been mocked and stigmatized as music for skinheads was finally being approved. The programmes presenter, Whispering Bob Harris, was widely revered. Reggae was being given a stamp of authority by the cognoscenti.

On the day of The Wailers gig, 20 May 1973, I arrived at The Greyhound very early with my girlfriend, Sue Rogerson, another student from my year at drama college. There were no tickets and you just paid at the door. It was still light outside when we went in because I was determined to secure a good position. As we walked through the foyer there was a poster for the album which Bob and his fellow Wailers were there to promote: Catch a Fire. He would appear to do just that in the doorway at the end of the night.

Its strange to think of a group of that stature playing in a pub, but The Greyhound was massive, with a high dome-like ceiling. The crowd was predominantly from Londons West Indian community and there was a terrific sense of anticipation. The place filled up until there were even a couple of people hanging on to the rafters in the roof. The lights went down and I was straining to see through the mass of heads in front of me. You couldnt make anything out you just heard a drum beat. Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. And then, out of the darkness, came the sound of The Wailers: I hear the voice of the Rastaman sing, Ba-by-lon your throne gone down The place erupted!

I finally caught a glimpse of them. The three Wailers, Bob Marley, Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh, all sitting on the floor atop a tiny rostrum, beating on their Nyabinghi drums, singing the Rasta Man Chant. They finished the song and stood up. Bunny had this red Fez on and Peter was wearing a woollen tam hat and dark glasses. Bob had on a red and black lumberjack jacket, which he never took off for the entire performance.

During the whole show they hardly said a thing. It was one song into the next and into the next. I was stood in the thick of the crowd, about halfway back and slightly to Bobs left. The thing that blew me away was that it was like listening to their records, only better. This was sublime; the real music that I loved so dearly. Not only was I seeing one of the greatest bands in the flesh but their live harmonies were faultless. There was none of this modern Auto-Tune nonsense The Wailers had been hard grafting for years down in Jamaica, rehearsing relentlessly before they had success. By 1973 they had been singing for ten years, since their earliest days together in the poor Trench Town neighbourhood of downtown Kingston where the great singer Joe Higgs gave them tuition in harmony work so they could pass their audition to perform at the studios of Jamaicas most famous producer, Coxsone Dodd, in 1964. Thats a long time in the music game. Thats why that show at The Greyhound was amazing.