That was the first time I heard “Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)” by the British group Soul II Soul. Soon the song was everywhere, becoming the anthem of the summer. The Virgin Records single topped the U.K. charts for over a month and could be heard in pubs, nightclubs, warehouses, supermarkets, at the kebab shop, down at the hairdressers’, and, yes, in classrooms. Even my Mum was singing it. A song so far-reaching that it would eventually carry across the Atlantic. And just like Soul II Soul’s earlier breakthrough hit, “Keep On Movin’”—which helped propel the somewhat cockily (yet accurately) titled debut album Club Classics Vol. One (released as Keep On Movin’ in the U.S.) to reach multiplatinum-selling status—the sound of “Back to Life” was a uniquely modern, Black British take on American soul music, incorporating elements of dance, reggae, hip-hop, funk, and post-punk; influenced by the environment and culture from which it came. Turn on the telly in ’89, and there would be Soul II Soul cofounder and talisman, Trevor Beresford Romeo, better known as DJ Jazzie B, locked in a groove holding his keytar. One of the self-styled “Funki Dreds,” Jazzie sported a shaved head, back ’n’ sides, with a crop of dreadlocks on top. Alongside him, sharing the stage on both of the groups groundbreaking singles, was featured vocalist Caron Wheeler, who would often be seen wearing a brightly colored garment with a matching headpiece, looking resplendent with her long locs and regal jewelry. With its roots as a North London sound system, no British band had ever looked, or sounded, quite like Soul II Soul before; the original lineup consisting of producer/songwriter/vocalist Jazzie B, the singers Do’reen Waddell and Rose Windross, programmer/producer Nellee Hooper, fellow Funki Dreds (DJs and MCs) Aitch B, Jazzi Q, and Daddae Harvey, with assistance on songwriting and production by keys player Simon Law (aka the Funky Ginger). “We were the ones that called the sound system a DJ collective,” says Jazzie B on hands-free in his Mercedes Benz G SUV, currently moving at a snail’s pace in rush-hour traffic through Camden, London. “Because of our Caribbean background, we started off as a reggae sound system, yeah? So that set the tone, but unlike most sound systems that were exclusive [to reggae], our sound system Jah Rico—which became Soul II Soul—was inclusive , and that was the difference between us and all the other sound systems out there.” Jazzie B’s first sound-system gig was at a street party in Finsbury Park for the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, a playlist that mixed reggae with other genres, including the one that gave him his nickname. “I played everything from jazz, to a bit of funk, a bit of ‘Armagideon Time’ by the Clash, to commercial soul, reggae, the Upsetters, Dennis Brown, Augustus Pablo, ‘Ziggy Stardust’ by David Bowie, ‘Bennie and the Jets’ by Elton John, and
people like the Carpenters as well,” Jazzie laughs. “Y’know, 1977, fella!” A Jamaican tradition, the sound system was brought over to the U.K. by the Windrush Generation in the post-war immigration of the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s. Music events were put on by members of the community for the community, featuring local DJs, rappers, MCs, and stalls selling food, drink, alcohol, and other concessions. The rigs at a sound system, piled up high, were as tall as a monolith—portable setups that at 30,000 watts plus could power a bass line to rattle your ribcage. The nucleus of the early Soul II Soul sound system was made up of Jazzie B’s school mates, Aitch B and Jazzi Q, along with cofounder Phillip “Daddae” Harvey. “We came up with the name not just because of the music we played, it also stood for Daddae and myself,” Jazzie once told Classic Pop Magazine . “Two souls moving together.” With many more contributing to the collective over the last four decades, Jazzie says it’s difficult to recall exactly everyone that has contributed to the cause. “Are you ’avin’ a giraffe? It’s like from when we started, it has literally been at least sixty people, maybe more! People coming and going from the first gig to the next phase where I was a soundman and recording engineer. We were all just making music…” At this point, having turned off the ignition in his car, Jazzie’s phone signal starts to cut out. “Ah wait, one second, let me put you back on…here we go, how’s that? Back to life!” He laughs, somewhat pleased at the apt use of pun. “The sound system was a way for us to cut our teeth,” continues Jazzie. “Because the radio stations and most parts of society never really paid attention to the Black community, so this is where we honed our craft to eventually become artists and be involved in our own productions, because instead of us drinking sixteen pints of beer or going out for a good ol’ kicking, we lived for sport and the sound system.” To the reggae purists at the turn of the ’80s, it might have been considered “fuckery” to spin a soul track on a sound system, but to the devout Rastafarian, wearing dreads for any reason other than as a symbol of the Lion of Judah was a downright sacrilege. Says Jazzie, “You gotta remember, with punk, with the mods, and the rockers, you’re talking about a pivotal time in British culture where attitude was especially important. So, when you’ve got that attitude, it’s like, ‘Who cares what anyone else thinks about our dreadlocks, music, or whatever.’ So you gotta put your head in that mindset of someone in their early twenties, in a British society that had lost its place when it came down to the system of class. Margaret Thatcher changed the way we lived entirely during that period of time, all those things coming from the idea of being working class, with the
95
Made with FlippingBook - PDF hosting