Lee 'Scratch' Perry, Jazz Café, London

Reviewed,Rahul Verma
Monday 14 January 2008 20:00 EST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

A Lee "Scratch" Perry gig is a paradox. Alongside King Tubby, he invented dub, and as a producer, he brought magic to, most notably, Bob Marley and The Wailers' early spiritual reggae. Both are virtually impossible to reprise live.

He has built up an impressive body of work as a reggae artist in his own right, but in typically maverick fashion, the septuagenarian prefers to largely ignore it live. Instead, this gig consists mainly of Perry (backed by bass, guitar, keys and drums) toasting, rambling, and, occasionally, singing. It hasn't stopped a far larger and more diverse audience turning out to see him at London's Jazz Café than for the evergreen Roy Ayers a week before.

The band starts by striking up a hearty, offbeat ska bass line, and as it unfurls with a hint of psychedelic rock, Perry celebrates his Rastafarianism with the chant "Jamaica, Africa, Rastafar-I", and rhymes "love" with "rubadub". He directs the audience's dancing – "kick, kick, skank, skank" – and offers a demonstration, before officiating over an impromptu exercise class ("touch your toes"). He's wearing a natty, customised three-piece suit, and, taking off his hat, reveals a full head of cherry-red hair to complement his beard of the same colour. "I don't exercise any more, I just sexercise, I'm 72," he says.

Perry made his mark by "upsetting" and going against the grain, and so it goes with his live performances. Rather than present the music he's most famous for, or run through his back catalogue, or even promote his more recent material (last year's Grammy-nominated album, End of an American Dream), he gives us an insight into his thoughts, however peculiar.

After an hour of generic but nourishing reggae, ska and rocksteady, he wanders off the stage as unassumingly as he came on to it, with the audience baying for an encore. He obliges with a cover of the rudeboy-turned-conscious reggae polemicist Max Romeo's anthem "War ina Babylon", produced by Perry with the Upsetters backing.

This was Perry the human being laid bare, which is far more than you get with most performers.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in