Interview: Andrew Weatherall
January 25, 2010
Good interview from Expletive Undeleted with Andrew Weatherall discussing being narky in the early days, MP3s and the reforming of PiL. Refreshing to see something raw in this day and age. Nice work chaps.
Thanks to Andy C for the heads up.
[Apiento]
‘Sup Magazine: Carl Craig Interview
October 16, 2009
Carl Craig talks Dilla’s ‘Big Booty Express’, Steve Reich, Detroit (of course) and why Leonard Cohen’s band need to loosen up. Interview from ‘Sup Magazine by Kelly “K-Fresh” Frazier and photography by Dennis Duijnhouwer.
[Apiento]
Interview: Dave Lee
June 21, 2009
Dave Lee has a new CD Sunburst Band album hitting the shops soon so we caught up with him to do a quick interview. The CD brings together all the remixes to date of The Sunburst Band and very good it is too. Anyway, the album is in the shops soon but until then here’s Dave.
What is this new CD you are promoting?
A new CD from The Sunburst Band, with all the best remixes we’ve had done plus a few new ones exclusive to this fantastic double CD. Some of the remixers included are Dennis Ferrer, Milton Jackson, Henrik Schwarz, DJ Meme, Grant Nelson, Idjut Boys, Yam Who, Recloose, IG Culture….as well as a few boring ones I’ve done.
Is it as bent as your other releases?
It’s a bi CD… This CD will have sex with anything. Pretty much like me. But it’s maybe a bit more expensive than I am.
What DJ’s have been supporting it on the scene?
The remixes have been played by Carl Craig, Ashley Beedle, Gilles Peterson Jimpster, Kerri Chandler, Seamus Haji, Groove Armada, Danny Krivit, Fedde Le Grand, Danny Rampling, Dimitri From Paris, DJ Spinna, DJ Spen, Domu, Tony Humphries, Glenn Underground, Roger Sanchez, , Jazzanova, Laurent Garnier, Benji B, Ben Watt, Karizma, Prins Thomas, Quentin Harris, X-Press 2, King Britt, Osunlade, Faze Action…..WOW!!!!!!
Does the scene still exist?
Which scene? For house music, yeah I guess. Though it’s not going through a particularly strong period in terms of crossover success, there is still some good music being made. The problem is there is an awful lot of rubbish out there. Possibly a bigger problem is the fact that a lot of the shit seems to sell pretty well.
Where does the inspiration for the Sunburst Band come from?
My love of disco, boogie, jazz funk and heavily soiled underwear.
If you could take the Sunburst Band back in time where would you like them to play live?
Be nice to have them playing during the Battle of Hastings, though I suspect we’d have problems with the amps.
And who would be your three dream front women to front the project?
Patrice Rushen, Minnie Ripperton and Philip Schofield wearing a bra/panties and blonde wig
Have you been thrown out of any bars recently for inappropriately touching anyone?
Why are you asking me this? You know it was part of the settlement that i can’t talk about it.
You have possibly the best collection of ‘pure’ disco in London. Why are you such a rubbish DJ? I never see your name on posters round Shoreditch.
I don’t know, I often ask myself that. And I’m such an arrogant c**t too!
Why don’t you DJ at some good clubs rather than that Southport Weekender with all those old blokes?
In the next couple of months I’m playing Lovebox, Garden Festival in Croatia, Beachdown Festival Brighton, Zouk Singapore, a couple of decent places in Italy . I guess lots of the trendy London places have gone very electro/minimal/deep house – though I like some of that stuff (not all night) its not what I’m known to play, so I guess I’m not the obvious choice. The other factor is I’m pretty expensive and though I do occasionally play for less I can’t do it too often as its what finances everything really. Also, lots of the well paid gigs are pretty good and on several occasions I’ve done things for nout and they’ve been shit, as though the promoter might love good music he’s crap at organising his night. Anyway, I will always stick up for Southport as it is a wicked event, a mixture of ages and has a great vibe.
Cheers Dave.
Peace.
[Apiento]
Interview: Map Of Africa
June 20, 2009
This interview by Jaclyn Marinese with Map Of Africa first appeared in Issue 18 of ‘Sup Magazine.
[Apiento]
Last Call For The PCO Under 5’s
June 12, 2009
If you are open minded and of a balearic nature you might want to check out Music From The Penguin Cafe who are playing at the ICA this Saturday and Sunday. Expect new compositions from Arthur Jeffes and lots of PCO material. Reports of the Manchester show (hello Moon & Mike) were it was a lovely night all round with a standing ovation at the last. Here’s an interview with Arthur Jeffes from today’s Guardian.
[Apiento]
Last time man like DB told all about his early days as a producer, and about hanging about outside cutting houses whilst Jah Shaka prepped his soundbombs. In the second part of his interview about cutting houses, how disco stole Sly and Robbie’s flying cymbal and turning sound system clashes into band clashes.
How much of a disadvantage were you at, making English reggae? And how much of a problem was it that you didn’t come from Jamaica in the first place [Bovell moved to the UK from Barbados aged 12]?
I had to go the extra mile. I had to make sure my stuff was stinging. By the time I done ‘Silly Games’, I showed them my craft and it was totally FM sounding and wasn’t off the radio – still isn’t off the radio! – and I’d created a new drum beat. The intention was to make every tune with that drum beat in that reggae style, but the success of it… I couldn’t. People would have thought it was all I could do. Sly Dunbar had the same one on every tune! We called it “Flying Cymbal” but it was so infectious disco had it and called it disco.
Lloyd Bradley told me that cutting houses had a very specific job in that world of reggae, and didn’t move out of that world until punk came along…
The invention of the cassette ruined it too. D’you know, by the time Lovers Rock had hit I’d stopped using Hessle because by the time I cut Yuh Learn I’d learned not to cut my stereo tapes in mono any more. I wasn’t aiming at sound systems any more. I was aiming at radio and the wider ear.
Was there overlap between what you’d call ‘wax culture’ and the uptown places?
The dub cutters were John Hessell and a place in the West End called LTS, London Transcription Service. LTS was owned by a friend of mine’s brother, Bill Farley in Tin Pan Alley, Denmark St. Shaka used to use there. I quickly stumbled on a guy called John Dent. John Dent was first called Sound Clinic and he was the cutting room that was attached to Island Records. That’s where I cut The Slits, Linton Kwesi Johnson. This guy has cut all Bob Marley and all U2. As cutting engineers in this country go, he’s the man. He built another cutting room called The Exchange in Camden. Him and Graham, then he left and went and opened his new cutting rooms called Loud.
Can you give me an example from the time at Island, with John Dent, when something clicked for you as an artist?
There was another guy called Aaron Chakraverty at Master Rooms. He made me realise how far I could push that piece of plastic to reproduce and enhance, even, what you intended from the mixing room.
That post-punk period was really interesting…
I produced Orange Juice. There was a song called ‘Wheels Of Love’. I’d done what I call a skid mix, which involved lots of backwards sequencing. If you hear the 12” version you’ll hear it. Once I’d done it I needed to go to the cutting room to hear how they sounded.
Why could you not know that in your studio?
Too much bass makes the wave got like that (shows jump in the air). The skid was a piece of information backwards that could trip the cutter head and make the cutter head think it’s a square wave, and think it can’t read it. If you printed a record like that, it would jump. The first few copies of the Pop Group album I cut, I lifted the cutter head before conventional standard dictated. It was just another crazy idea.
Was there a link between early pirate radio, back in the early ‘80s, and cutting houses?
You’d have to ask Dread Lepke about that. He’s going to open a radio station in Ghana, for his sister. You know, Rita Marley.
Who would you bump into at a typical cutting house?
You’d try not to bump into people. It was inevitable at Hessle’s, because people would just turn up, typical sound system stuff. Count Shelley, Neville The Enchanter, they’d be everywhere cutting dubplates. You’d have to phone up and book a particular cutting time: here on Monday, there on Tuesday. come the weekend you have to have dubplate!
It hadn’t occurred to me the volume of music people would be getting. How important have cutting rooms been to UK street music?
It was the only means to liberate the stuff that was being recorded. Before I pressed Matumbi’s ‘After Tonight’, that song was on the sound systems of Great Britain for about two years. People were flocking to London to see me to get a dubplate of that, from Birmingham, from Manchester, from Leeds, from Coventry, from Doncaster, from Bristol.
What did they have to do to get their dubplate?
Chat to me at the right time…. and pay me, basically. They’d be cut to order. People would bring their deposit or cash or a postal order. You had to go to the source, to get a dubplate. If cut a dub for someone and I heard they let someone else cut it, they weren’t getting no more dubs from me. You had to go to the source.
Going to the source. What impact does that have on the music?
It just allows me to know where the music’s gone. It would allow me to know if I was popular enough to do a live show. If my tune was being played on the Bristol sounds, I could safely go to Bristol with my band and do a show there because people knew my music, people would come. Birmingham, the same.
Who else was in the same position as you? A DJ and producer and musician?
I used to get a lot of flak from the band: what are you? A sound man or a musician? Sometimes the rehearsals might clash with the sound playing out. They’d be like, ‘I’m fed up of going to hear your sound!’
So what are you, soundman or musician?
I am me. I’m both. The soundman did win, back then. This was a time when sounds were more important than bands. It was sounds and oh – there’s a group playing too. I remember arriving once at Acton Town Hall with Matumbi. We arrived and all the sounds had lined the stages with their boxes. I was like ‘Ya! Move dem!’ They deemed it their right. ‘We’re the sound! You’re only a group!’ It was only because I was in both worlds that people would listen. That kind of thing would cause friction. Groups were disrespected by sound systems, people getting turned off so the sound could play. Luckily no-one would do that to Matumbi. We’d plug a desk from the stage into the sound so it went around the room in this enormous PA system. We used to have group showdowns. There was this group called Black Volts, that was led by Michael Bruno, Frank’s older brother. Our band would clash Black Volts in Pountney Hill, just up the road from the Beaufoy, that was the scene of the big sound clashes between Duke Reid, Sir Coxon, Count Shelley, Neville the Enchanter. Those big sounds would have soundclashes there. So we decided to do a group clash. It was a show of strength.
Do people need to know why all this was important?
We found a way to bring [the music] from the studio to the living room, via the cutting room. From the control room, to the cutting room, then to the living room. It’s all rooms, isn’t it? There was room for improvement, in maximising the quality, and the best way to do that was to get it right at the cutting room stage. Even if it lacked something in the control room, in the studio, you could inject, elasticate frequencies, then it would lock them in, so that any reproduction of it would be regular. They are the heroes. Of ears.
[Emma Warren]
Dennis Bovell was born in Barbados and moved to England when he was 12. At school in Wandsworth he discovered tape looping, with the help of a broom handle, and created his own cut-up of Bob and Marcia’s ‘Young, Gifted And Black’ with a teacher-performed trombone piece on top. The sound system top boy created Lover’s Rock smash ‘Silly Games’, formed UK reggae band Matumbi, wrote the soundtrack to seminal south london flick ‘Babylon’ (check it if you can) and produced a host of post-punk gems from Orange Juice to The Slits to The Pop Group. But this interview is mostly about that forgotten area of UK sound system culture, the cutting house – the place where DJs and producers have been going to get their dubs cut since reggae arrived in the UK in the 1960s.
The full feature, by Emma Warren, contains interviews with the UK’s foremost reggae historian Lloyd Bradley as well as drum ‘n’ bass don DJ Zinc and Jason Goz from Transition Mastering Studios, will be in the next issue of the super-fly dancehall and grime fanzine Woofah. Pick up the print version or check it online at Woofahmag.com. And you can check Emma Warren’s monthly half-hour Wandering Feet podcast, featuring music from kizomba hip hop dudes Ritchaz e Keke and Silkie and interviews with William Orbit, Deadbeat and Musinah here.
People know about pirate radio and all that, but they don’t know how important cutting rooms were. Do you agree?
Without cutting rooms we wouldn’t have had what we had. Cutting rooms are most important. The transition of the music, from the studio to the turntable.
How did you discover cutting houses?
About the age of 15 there was a recording studio built in my school in Wandsworth. The school was called Spencer Park, then it was renamed John Archer after the first Mayor of colour, and since completely abolished. The site where it was, directly opposite Wandsworth Prison, was a hospital during a time of war. Then it became a school. There was a bell tower in the building which was turned into a studio. Our school had a thriving orchestra, a thriving drama group and it was positively one of the best schools in Wandsworth. The studio wasn’t built for the drama department, it was built for the English department to record plays. At the same time, I was involved with a group of lads and we were called Roadworks Ahead. We helped ourselves to quite a lot of the Government’s gear, to adorn the stage when we played a gig. The headmaster made us take them back. I’d made friends with lads that lived down the end of my road, and lads who knew I could play the guitar. Norman Hitchock, Colin Short, Derrick Chandler and me: that was Roadworks Ahead. The studio was built and one day I hit upon an idea to make a loop. This involved recording a piece of a popular reggae tune and editing it together so it went round and round constantly in a loop, with a broomstick to keep the tension on the tape recorder. I created a loop from what was the number one reggae tune at the time: Bob and Marcia’s Young Gifted and Black.
Was this a new idea for you? Or were you inspired by other people doing it?
No. I had the idea. At this time I was messing around with tape recorders. No-one had done it before as far as I was concerned!
This was when, ’67, ’68?
Yes. I was a kid of 14, 15, playing with a tape recorder, in charge of the school recording studio. But I was also a musician and I suddenly had the ability to tape from disc on to this tape. I brought in my copy of Young, Gifted And Black and realised there was a bit of the song where they weren’t singing, so if I took that I could then make my own record without having to have a band and no-one would know where it came from.
How many bars did you have?
Two bars.
I thought you were going to say six, eight…
I took two bars of that song and I made a loop. And in order to make it play without going whrrrrrrwhrrrr (does wonky time sound) I needed tension. An old Ferrograph, it was. A broomstick came in handy to steady the tape. Then copying that onto another reel… we were blessed, we had two tape recorders, just ¼ inch two track tape. You’d have to mic the whole band up to record it – we did that as well – but for this purpose we didn’t. That record is why I became known as Blackbeard the Pirate later on, because I’d done this in my school days. I invited members of staff who played trombone and flute to join me in my adventure and to play a trombone version of a very popular song, Guantanamera. To be marrying that with Young, Gifted and Black! I did that.
I guess that makes you the original fusion man. So how did this record lead you to the world of cutting houses?
It was customary for sound systems to play dubplates. Except in those days they weren’t called dubplates, they were called ‘wax’. I took it to the local cutting house, which was owned by R.G Jones. Now R.G Jones is one of the most reputable studios in this country. It’s in Wimbledon, right. And old man Jones, he’s long passed away now…
Reputable how?
Cliff Richards recorded there. The first black group from Scotland, Average White Band, their first album was recorded there. Mutumbi’s first recordings were recorded there. RG Jones were the first people to have PA Systems. Old man Jones was intrigued by this school boy who was cutting wax.
How did you know about him? Did you know about cutting houses generally?
It was probably the Yellow Pages to find him. It was Wimbledon and I lived in Clapham Junction so it was the closest one.
So he was intrigued by what you’d done?
I didn’t tell him what I’d done! But he was intrigued that kid of my age wanted to cut an acetate. So he explained to me about the frequencies and the cutter head and I made this acetate and sold it to this soundsystem called Jim Daddy. It must exist somewhere. It was the only one I made. The only other person would know about it was the teacher who played on it, he was a young one so he’s probably still alive. I’d like to find that man again.
So the tune went to the sound systems. And…
From thereon in, I was doing that kind of thing.
Now you had a place to get the music out.
I had a place to get my wax cut. And an outlet. The first one we did, we sold it for £3. In 1967 went a long way. It was a lot of money! A lot of people were getting £3 a week.
What were cutting houses generally like?
After that I found another cutting house, owned by a man called John Hessle. John is the architect of dubplates in this country right across the board. He was less expensive than RG Jones. He was cutting in mono, so it was the same on each side of the record. In fact, a lot of my stereo tapes were melted down into mono by using him, but sound systems were largely mono anyway. So it wasn’t that bad cutting a dubplate for a system on a mono lathe. He was an old Jewish man and they had a lathe in their front room in Barnes.
Another person with a cutting room in their house…
Another person, yes. RG Jones was a proper studio. Hessle’s was in his house. In Barnes. In Nassau Road.
What was the picture when you knocked on his door?
First was ‘what was this black kid doing in this neighbourhood’. John was blind, he’d been wounded by shrapnel and he lost his eyesight but his hearing improved. He had this mobile recordings business. I went on mobile recordings with him as a youth, to record Jaspar Carott. Before he was big on TV he used to record for a label called Sweet Folk All. Sweet Folk All! I’ve got loads of Jasper Carott records from before he was famous. Once I went with Hessle to the Royal Albert to record the Latvian Song Festival. A 500 voice choir no less! And John, he was a neighbour of David Rodigan. I met Rodigan then, before he was Rodigan the DJ, when he was Rodigan the actor. He did one of the first Guiness adverts on TV. Way way waaaay before he was Rodigan the DJ. He was curious what was going on and John Hessel would slip him acetates and he got to meet Shaka, everyone else.
Who else would be there?
Me, Sufferah. Shaka. Shaka would be camped out there all day. Be using the cutting room all day and no-one else could get in, then John would get pissed off ‘I’m not cutting any more tonight, this is my home!’
Shaka was in there, no-one else could go in. So where do you wait?
In the street, van loads of black people, the neighbours going (puts on posh voice) ‘what’s going on dear?’ I didn’t wait in a car. I was the first person, one of the first people, to go there and word spread. I was there before Shaka, before Coxone
So what did these cutting houses do before? Were they linked to soundsystem culture?
Not at all. They were tape to disc. Ordinary transcription service.
So the people who came from Jamaica, who were cutting dubs for their sound systems, where were they going?
John Hessel told me himself that he was intstrumental in building the Treasure Island studio. He was a friend of Duke Reid in Jamaica, before Duke Reid passed away. This was a Jewish guy, a white guy. I owe that man a lot, for taking me as a young man and telling me about the frequencies. He was instrumental in guiding me in how best to put the frequencies on so they reproduced properly. He was afraid of tripping the cutter head. You’d have to send to Germany for a new one and that cost wong. He wasn’t about to trip that for a dubplate for some young black boy. He’d send me back to the studio to remix it if my treble levels were too high.
I’m interested in the fact that cutting houses provided a sort of schooling…
It happened for me from talking to the cutting engineer. He’d been alive during the war, enough to be blinded. Him an elderly man, me a teenager. Whatever he said was gospel. If John said it, I had to do it. By this time I’d moved away from looping and moved into recording. I was recording with Matumbi and engineering. I’m interested in placing microphones and all that. I want the best for my product and I want to sound as heavy as the Jamaican stuff. And John was the best man to talk to.
Part two follows soon.
[Emma Warren]
An Interview With Wally Badarou: Part Two
April 24, 2009
Enjoy the second part of our Wally Badarou interview as we discuss first sessions, ‘Echoes’, Island Records and Badarou’s favourite Compass Point moments. Take a look at Badarou’s official website for more great photos and insight.
What was the first record you played on at Compass Point and what do you remember of the session?
Grace Jones ‘Warm Leatherette’, officially; with ‘Nightclubbing’ starters in reality. It all started unpretentiously, with the title song and a couple other tracks. Only when we cut ‘Private Life’, we realised something serious was in the making. Sly, Robbie, Sticky and Mickey’s ominous groove, Barry’s rock-solid pulse and hard-edged solo, Grace’s eerie combination of talked verses and sung choruses, it all triggered the melodic hook and the spacious swells I came up with. This was a very special night for all of us, as we suddenly realise each one of us key role in the sonic outcome; genuine mutual respect grew between ourselves ever since.
That experience paved the way to the more substantial ‘Nightclubbing’ album, making us more confident in what was setting us apart. Joe Cocker, Gwen Guthrie and others benefited from that momentum.
The Compass Point All Stars made me specialise in melodic hooks and counterpoints. Or perhaps vice-versa: it made more obvious what I had within. I’ve always been a melody man. My sounds always came from that quest. Given the right surrounding and groove, hooks like the hi-pitched intro to Grace’s “I’ve seen that face before” would come fast and easy to me.
It wasn’t just you guys working at Compass Point. Who else did you bump into? What accidental benefit did people like Iron Maiden or other non-funky Nassau people bring?
Befriended Paul and Linda McCartney, The Thompson Twins, ex-Kraftwerk member Emil Schult. Also met Ringo Starr, AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Carly Simon, and quite a few movie people too, like Elia Kazan, 007 and ‘Thunderball’ author/producer Kevin McClory, ‘Spiderwoman’ Sonia Braga, Dennis Hopper.
The list goes on, of people who felt like either enjoying a bit of that unconventional chemistry, or simply vacationing in Blackwell’s land. Looking back, they made Compass Point the more legendary.
Was there anything specific about the technology you were using, or anything else you created or accidentally invented at this point?
I had my first go at an S.C.I. Prophet V during the first sessions. It was the dream machine I could hear on seminal albums by Hancock, Weather Report and the likes, so I asked for a rented one. Waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, I had more than sufficient time to study it, so I could be fast at getting just the sound I needed by the time Sly & Robbie were “ready to burn” later on. I was so fast and productive with that single machine, I eventually got nicknamed ‘Prophet’.
Funny enough, I never owned one: when I finally could afford it, I directly went for the Synclavier, a multi-fold groundbreaking monster at the time. That latter system made me one of the first tapeless producers ever. But again, as technically impressive as my fully computerized and speech-controllable ‘Studio-W’ room might have looked, I was not too concerned by technical achievements. Here I was with the best sampling machine in decades, and yet I always kept a very minimal sample library. What mattered to me was philosophy behind the architecture, the music it allowed me to create, yielding in my most favorite solo work, ‘Words of a Mountain’.
As technically sophisticated as we did sound sometimes, the Compass Point All Stars as such only had a very few pieces of gear to deal with otherwise, apart from Sly’s Simmons and Oberheim DMX drum-machine snippets. No extensive programming time allowed anyway: we’ve always focused on the performance, to keep the momentum going. The chemistry was augmented with Alex Sadkin, Steven Stanley or Andy Lyden’s interactions; the performance made the sound.
How did you feel about the way the Compass Point All Stars were used/favoured by disco, specifically Larry Levan and FK?
Or Bill Laswell. All good friends of mine. Yet, as clever and remarkable as remixes might have sounded from the day they were invented, they never matter to me much, as long as people could get the originals. Call it ego or self-respect, I believe any genuine musician still wants one’s performance released un-manipulated, and views the remix phenomenon as a flattering tribute to one’s original idea.
It may feel disturbing when the remix proves way more successful than the original, specially when the original was meant to compete in remix territory, i.e. the disco. This was hardly our case. But if ever existing, frustrations could only be short-lived: at the end of the day, the remix is still a tribute to the original idea, and the composer remains the winner on both accounts anyway.
When you were making ‘Echoes’, do you remember what other music you were listening to at the time?
Well I was listening to everything everybody was listening at that time but, quite honestly, I never wanted ‘Echoes’ to be inspired by any of the ongoing chart of the time. I really wanted it to be apart, driven by past memories rather. ‘Echoes’ were musical tales, based of forceful moments in my childhood, my teen days, my life in Africa, in Europe, everywhere and everything I had been. Hence the apparent ecclecticism throughout the album.
Are there other outtakes from ‘Echoes’? It would be amazing to hear alternative or extended versions of the tracks.
Not that many outakes, reason being that I only had 24 tracks and limited studio time to deal with. So, apart from ‘Endless Race’, everything had been carefully demoed beforehand. To tell you the truth, demos are even more interesting than outtakes, as one can hear were it all came from, stage by stage, discarded directions et all. One must remember: midi sequencers did not exist yet, total recall and automation were a rarity. Apart from the drum-machine, everything had to be manually played from scratch, for good. Hard decisions were to be made before entering the studio, unless you were a million-seller before.
Why such big gaps between your artist albums? ‘Echoes’ was released in 1983, with ‘Words Of A Mountain’ following in 1989.
Several reasons: I had a busy life sessioning all over the world, co-writing and producing Level 42 in the UK, film-scoring in L.A., finishing ‘Studio-W’ in Nassau, all the while re-immersing myself in symphonic works, for the new direction Chris Blackwell and I decided my next record should aim at was classical. Moreover, with what still looked like a symbolic succes for ‘Echoes’ back in those years, I lacked the self-confidence and thrive that would have urged me to deliver sooner. That been said, I am still not quick at following those two with a new one …
Going a little more general now – what made Island Records so special as a label?
To the risk of repeating myself, just one and only one person. It was all down to Chris’ visions and intuitions, and the Compass Point All Stars were just one in many. As an artist, you could only respect the way he could bet on something he really likes, regardless of the moods and the losses. He could make mistakes, huge ones sometimes. But you wanted to be part of it, because it never was business as usual. Think of it: who else could have had Bob Marley and U2, or Steve Winwood and Salif Keita under the same logo without looking like just another closed-department company? There was style and dedication behind everything he approached.
I know you are modest man when it comes to pin pointing certain eras but when you look back to that time of Compass Point what are you most proud of?
I honestly feel more privileged and honoured than proud. As I said, there I went, unaware of what I was to deal with. And before I could realise it, I had been part of quite a few pages. I never was striving for it, things just happened. Friends of mine keep on telling me it had to do with talents I unknowingly had too. Perhaps, but there we are: I was not aware of them, at least not to the extent they are nowadays.
We honestly thought that more important things were being achieved elsewhere, in the US, in the UK. This is no modesty, it is a fact. Like everybody, we had heroes; James Brown, The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Sly & Family Stone, Herbie Hancock, Weather Report. The air was filled with ubiquitous smash hits by the Michael Jackson, Eurythmics, Lionel Ritchie, Kool & The Gang, etc, who seemed to leave little room for our ‘uniqueness’ back then.
As time goes by, it’s only now that all the Grace Jones legacy, augmented by Tom Tom Club’s ‘Genius of Love’, and Gregory Isaacs’ ‘Night Nurse’, and Black Uhuru ‘Chill Out’, Gwen Guthrie, Ian Dury, etc, sort of build a long line of albums with legendary impact, that people started to inter-connect them with the Compass Point All Stars. But looking back, we did stick to the style that was ours, not because we were brave at resisting the mainstream, but because it was the only thing we knew how to do best collectively.
How is that history being taken forward?
That, only you-know-who knows. I can’t make plans regarding the Compass Point All Stars.
What are you doing over the coming year? About time for a new album perhaps? The world would be a better place Wally….
Don’t you worry. I am working on that.
What are you aware of that has been influenced by you?
Difficult to say, despite all the feeds an comments I get on my site, myspace and facebook walls. It really depends on what part of what I did we are talking about. For instance, Andy Lyden recently told me that, with Massive Attack rendering of ‘Mambo’ through ‘Daydreaming’, I had been (both him and I had been) like pioneering that trip-hop sound. Perhaps. But then, were we looking at achieving what I understand trip-hop has been trying to achieve ? Were we looking in the same direction? Does it matter if we weren’t? The same goes to how ‘Hi-Life’ seemingly influenced both zouk music of the french Antilles and African music at the same time. Influence is a whole phenomenon yet to be rationally investigated.
If you were to suggest someone listen – really listen – to one thing you did at Compass Point, what would it be and why?
As the Compass Point All Stars, ‘Private Life’. It is, like Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’ or Weather Report’s ‘Birdland’, without pretending to sum a whole career through just one song, yet the kind of piece that tells best what the artist really stood for, what set him/her fully apart, what makes his/her planet such a vibrant yet distinct world on its own. ‘Private Life’ had all the grits and the meat, the colors and the fragrance, the rawness and the sophistication the Compass Point All Stars were capable of, right from the early days.
Finally, as I get older and move through music and genres I find myself being drawn to the music of classical composers such as Debussy and the like. If you had to give three pieces or albums of classical modern music to start me off what would they be?
I would start listening to:
Holst ‘The Planets’
Debussy ‘Images’
Stravinsky ‘Petrushka’
Then I’d go on listening to:
Ravel ‘Daphnis & Chloe’ / ‘Tombeau de Couperin’
Fauré ‘Dolly suite’ / ‘Pavane’
Stravinsky ‘Firebird’ and ‘Rite of Spring’
To further get a sense of how they all keep on influencing major film composers today, I would also give a listen to Benjamin Britten’s work. Then I would move to more contemporary composers like Bela Bartok, Gyorgy Ligeti and Arvo Part.
That’s it. Cheers Wally.
You are welcome.
[Apiento]
An Interview With Wally Badarou: Part One
April 22, 2009
Let’s go back. Back to a time when studios had no midi systems, where were no sequencers and keyboards were played, not used to create three second loops. Digital technology was just about to appear, and snare drums would take ten years to recover. Music was built around skills: the capturing of a performance. Three takes and ‘next’. It would take a room, a vibe, a locked-down rhythm section, a keyboard player and guitarist with room to move, an engineer ready and a switched-on producer, full of great ideas. Add to this the vocal performance of an artist at the peak, or beginning, of their career and you have the recipe for something special. If it takes place on a tropical island, all the better.
For a certain period of time (and it was a long period) a studio in Compass Point in Nassau had that something special. The house band consisted of Sly & Robbie on drums and bass, Mikey Chung and Barry Reynolds on guitar, Sticky on the percussion and Wally Badarou on keys, rounded off with Steven Stanley, Alex Sadkin and the boss, Chris Blackwell, behind the desk. The Compass Point All Stars, as they were named, made incredible records. Grace Jones, Tom Tom Club, Gwen Guthrie, Lizzie Mercier Descloux, Robert Palmer and many others benefited from the coming together of these people and as time leaves more and more room to appreciate this music, you realise just how special it is.
Wally Badarou was key to this band, and we were lucky enough to track him down. As it’s the fiftieth anniversary of Island Records this year we decided to focus on the Compass Point era and those sessions in Nassau. Badarou’s soundtracks are well loved, his solo albums seminal, and it’s his playing with the Compass Point All Stars that is the topping on perhaps the ultimate melting pot in western music. The Muscle Shoals hit it from a soul angle, but the Compass Point All Stars got you from all sides. Wally took a large amount of time out to answer our questions and open the door on those early Grace Jones sessions. So back we go…
So Wally, how did you initially end up working at Compass Point?
Record producer & friend Daniel Vangarde (father of Thomas Bangalter, Daft Punk) knew Chris Blackwell as Island Records used to distribute The Gibson Brothers, one of Vangarde’s productions. Chris was looking for a keyboard player to join to the recording team he was putting together for a Grace Jones album. Daniel recommended me to Chris. We had a very brief phone conversation regarding schedule and fees. I landed in Nassau in early 1980, for what was to be just an album session initially, and ended up being a near-12 year experience.
What were your thoughts when Chris Blackwell first brought up the idea of the Compass Point All Stars?
All he was concerned about initially was to cast the right musicians for that specific Grace Jones album. Only when he heard the sound that was generated, he understood what he had, and thought of something that could last much longer than the initial project. We almost did two albums for Grace in the first period, ‘Warm Leatherette’ and ‘Nightclubbing’, the latter to be completed and released afterwards. The team was so productive that we also did several other single projects within the same period, like ‘Some Guys Have All The Luck’ by Junior Tucker. As we kept on coming back to Nassau to start and/or complete these and other projects, Chris eventually nicknamed us ‘The Compass Point All Stars’.
He immediately thought of it as a ‘band’. I was quick to observe that a real ‘band’ needed to stem out of a co-opting process, shaped around a clear leader. As it turned out, he was the Compass Point All Stars sole leader; which inevitably implied, in the long run, that things would not survive his complicated business life.
What were your first impressions of Sly and Robbie? What did they bring? And what worked about the combination of you and them?
I had heard of them initially, but hardly knew any of their work really before I met them. Barry and I were rather annoyed to be rushed to Nassau days before everyone else, so we weren’t in the mood for good impression at first, to be quite honest. At that time, I felt I had more important things to do in Paris, and Compass Point was to be just another job, that I was eager to be done with as soon as possible, and return to the day to day life of a busy Parisian session player. It took me a while to realise where I was, and who I was playing with. For the better actually, as we just went bluntly to business from minute one, Chris Blackwell included. Looking back, this probably helped in forging a long lasting friendship between all of us.
Sly & Robbie were to be the modern reggae core of the combination. Barry and I were to bring rock and electronic overtones to the picture. It all worked out well beyond expectations. Probably because we all brought much more than what was initially expected from us individually: Sly & Robbie, Mickey and Sticky were all open to new horizons already; Barry brought his unique mixture of powerful rock guitar and subtle writing skills; my natural eclecticism allowed me to create classical, jazz, funk and/or African textures and counterpoints wherever needed.
The studio was custom-built. Must have been pretty impressive. What was it like?
At first glance, it honestly did not seem that different from major studios I used to work in, in Paris or London. MCI boards and multi-tracks, JBL 4312 speakers and Auratone monitors were common in those days. Sure the rooms had their own sound, but so had quite a few facilities around the globe. Major studios always had their acoustics carefully designed by highly professional experts.
What was most impressive ironically was the over-relaxed atmosphere and nonchalant pace. The people made the difference. Despite numerous attempts to work in daytime, sessions wouldn’t start before sunset.
What made Compass Point so special? There seems to be a certain vibe to all the music that came out of the studio?
Chris Blackwell (above), period. He was the soul behind anything that went on down there. Even in his absence, people remembered where they were, and why they were there. But whenever he was around, just his presence was enough to propel anything to higher levels still; production, performance, maintenance, mood, anything. There was a solution to all problems suddenly. Things just had to “happen”, that was it. And most of the time, they did happen. Grievances and frustrations could not last, grander goals were at stake. He made us all deliver our best. The minute you entered the premises, you were impregnated with that quest for unconventional style and excellence.
How much was it to do with the fact that people were hanging out together?
The fact is, there was not much hanging out together really, specially in the begining. Alex, Barry and I would go to restaurants sometimes; Sly, Robbie, Mickey and Sticky had their own lives. Now and then Chris would invite us all at his house for dinner. But otherwise, if in the recording situation, incredible things happened, outside of the studio, we were quite estranged to each other. Only when musical outcome started to impact the outside world, we realised we could learn deeper from each other; then we got closer somehow, but never to the point of walking down the street as a band. We had our individual agenda and, as happy as we were to be delivering the music we did, once we stepped out of the studio, we were just eager to return to our solo business. We didn’t feel like staying on the island too long, as paradisian as it looked. Only Chris fully understood our potential, and dreamt of us gradually aiming at a real ‘band’ situation, sort of permanently based at Compass Point. This never really happened.
When you think of that place in your mind, what do you see?
A million pictures, far too many to express here. It’s not only what I see, but what I hear, what I smell, what I feel. It is all that went on between us, added to what went on with the incredible line-up of legendary icons we happened to meet and work with. It’s all of the things I discovered, misunderstood, experienced; all the things I’ve reached for from within “Studio W”, my all-computerized Synclavier-fitted personal room. It’s the tropical and salty humidity, as well as the conch chowder and curry chicken at ‘Traveller’s Rest’, our beloved restaurant nearby. It’s the kindness of the Bahamian people. It’s Chris Blackwell smile when we were ‘rocking’. It’s the rides aboard the blue CJ-5 Jeep Alex and I co-owned. It is all worth a full length motion picture (that I am attempting to write).
Where were the main places people went outside of the studios?
Well, you’re in Nassau Bahamas, so you name them: pool and beach in daytime, restaurants, casinos and clubs at night. Not my cup of tea really. Nor Sly, Robbie, Mickey or Sticky’s. It all sounded like paradise but, believe it or not, we seldomly took advantage of all that was at our disposal over there. Compass Point was quite remote from downtown Nassau so, apart from basic shopping around, a few restaurant in town, and the traditional ‘Junkanoo’ parade at New Year’s Eve, we hardly left our apartments. I was so absorbed by the myriads of things I wanted to achieve, I could rarely be seen near the beach or the pool for the first ten years of my stay there, despite many invitations from Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth, who frequently went sailing around the islands. Only when I was about to leave, in the early 90s, I finally had a taste of it.
Were you visiting any clubs at the time?
Not as band. I can only speak for myself so, as a matter of fact, I had stopped being the intense nightclubber I used to be in the 70s in Paris, with the advent of disco. That was intense back then, because in Paris, in between Donna Summer’s hits, one could enjoy George Benson’s ‘This Masquerade’ and Fela Kuti’s ‘Lady’ all in the same night, at the same club. I could not find that kind of variety in following decades. I went nightclubbing a couple times in Nassau during the 80s, unimpressed. I was quite unaware of the club scene in New York. Maybe for the better … because, from Grace Jones ‘Pull Up To The Bumper’ to Gwen Guthrie’s ‘Padlock’, the music we were doing was not ‘forged’ towards the dance floor. We did what we did simply because we liked it.
I remember going to the Garage once, as well as the Palace in Paris. As old school as it may sound, they both looked huge to me, deprived from that sense of communion only smaller clubs can offer. Huge dance floor, huge bars, huge snare drums, huge everything and vibes diluted. They meant a totally different experience from what I used to enjoy.
Back to the Compass Point sessions – was one person acting as musical director, or were the arrangements worked out by the musicians together?
No musical director other than Chris Blackwell himself. Chris did not even ‘direct’ anything. One does not direct Sly & Robbie. As a synth programmer and player, I never was directed, neither at Compass Point, nor anywhere else in the world. I always came out with my own ideas, and so did everybody in Nassau. Arrangements were a constant interaction between us, to the last recording minute.
Could you describe how a session would come together? Can you give us an example?
Sessions for Grace Jones and Joe Cocker had a fairly simple schedule, since they were mostly based on covers: in the control room, Chris would make us all listen to the original (or demo) a couple times, while Sly and Robbie would be building ideas mentally. Then we would all go in the recording room. Sly & Robbie would try out their ideas while I would be quickly programming a sound, and Barry and Mickey were setting up their gear. By the time I was improvising something, the tape was already rolling, and there went the first take ! We would then give it two more trials, not more. Chris’ smile and body language were the verdict. If we had it, we had it. If not, too bad. We would call up the next song. That meant, Chris had quite a number of songs ready for treatment beforehand.
What was Steven Stanley like to work with in the studio?
Very active, and yet non-obtrusive during recording. His unbreakable enthusiasm was a booster. But nothing compare to mixing time. Then, he was the absolute king of the room. As soon as he had the riddim section cooking, he was non-stop dancing the rest of the time, and the console was both a musical instrument and a choreography partner to him. It ‘talked’ to him, they had conversations, and the speakers were never loud enough. Automation was still science-fiction dream, and we had a genuine real-time performance, that I wished someone had taped. Pure genius.
Do you still stay in touch and do you know where he is now?
We never really kept in touch and again, outside of the studio, there was very little communication. I sometimes get news by Tom Tom Club’s Chris and Tina. I know he is running his own studio, back in Jamaica.
Is he someone who is an unsung hero in the story?
Well I can only talk from within Europe. Here in France, he definitely is. But so was the whole of the Compass Point phenomenon anyway, at least up until recently. It took time for people to realise who was responsible for what they heard, and to connect projects between them.
Who else was instrumental at that time who’s been missed out of the history books?
I believe Alex Sadkin still did not receive due respect for his contribution. He was visionary in running near perfect mixes right from preparing for the first takes. Today’s total recall inherent to digital production makes it common practice. Talking about digital precision, Joe Cocker’s ‘Sheffield Steel’ album, despite its minimal success, still has very little to envy, compared to today’s digital productions.
Engineer Andy Lyden was not involved in the main Compass Point All Stars sound, yet he was my invaluable partner on my “Echoes” album. He did my percussion under “Mambo” (as sampled by Massive Attack in ‘Daydreaming’) resonate far beyond what I envisioned, just as he did on my contribution to “Countryman” soundtrack. He now lives in France.
Wives and friends played an important role too, and so did studio manager Loraine Fraiser. Keeping the studio technically up and running on a tropical island was also quite an achievement. I take this opportunity to praise the work of Paul Jarvis, Moses Cargill and Ozzie Bowe.
Quite a few legends contributed but were hardly quoted as being ‘Compass Point All Stars’: Robert Palmer, ex-Wailer Tyronne Downie and Bahamian bass player Kendall Stubbs (now of Bahamen “Who let the dogs out” fame), for example.
Did you actually live on the island when working at Compass Point or were you moving around and flying back for sessions?
I personally did both. I was a constant traveller anyway, working Level 42 in the U.K., film music in L.A., and other projects in Paris or New-York. So were Chris and Tina, for both Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club agenda. Nevertheless, we were neighbours at the ‘Tip-Top’ condo Blackwell had built behind the studio. Alex did reside for a while. I never spent more than six months in row there. Steven and Andy were to reside on a more permanent basis. The rest of the team would come and go between sessions.
Part 2 to follow soon…
[Apiento]
Click here for Test Pressing RSS
Apiento
Giacomo
Adam K
The Correspondent
Tim Hayter
Emma Warren
Dr Rob
Andy M