Calypso
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william_kent
Well-known member
bassbeyondreason
Chtonic Fatigue Syndrome
1912:
bassbeyondreason
Chtonic Fatigue Syndrome
This is 80s/90s but I don't care, it needs to be heard to be believed:
william_kent
Well-known member
Lord Power & Calypso Quintet - Penny Reel
from 1958, Jamaican, anyone into ska should recognise the tune - the title was also adopted as a nom de plume by one of my favourite music journalists ( who also happened to be the scourge of various reggae forums, a troll supreme, rest in peace )
sus
Moderator
Does anyone know what's up with all the calypso artist names? Lord Power. Sir Lancelot. Duke of Iron. Lord Melody. The Executor. The Tiger. Macbeth the Great. Lord Invader. The Caresser.
They're amazing, obviously, but what's up with it—random seed + mimesis? Or a whole system of sensibility?
They're amazing, obviously, but what's up with it—random seed + mimesis? Or a whole system of sensibility?
william_kent
Well-known member
What @luka said. You get the same thing with reggae - Lord this, General that, Major something, Sir whatever - all remnants of Empire and preoccupation with rank and status
i.e., King Tubbys, Prince Jammys, Sir Coxsone, Duke Reid, Major Worries, Admiral Bailey, Lieutenant Stitchie.... and the list goes on...
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william_kent
Well-known member
Lord Jellicoe - Big Bamboo
calypso / mento is slacker than most dancehall
william_kent
Well-known member
well, I suppose "Dr No" was supposed to be set in the Caribbean ...
{ you can probably skip the next block of text }
my parents had a first edition of the Ian Fleming book, Dr No, which I now have possession of, but although they can sell for thousands ( big collector market ) I was disappointed to find out that my copy is lacking a slipcase, a fact I only found out when I visited Bletchley Park a few years ago and, by chance, one of the little nissan huts contained a temporary Ian Fleming exhibition with some James Bond 1st editions on display, and my heart sank when I saw the glass case containing Dr No in a pristine slipcase - I had no idea up to that point that such a thing existed and my dreams of making it big in the bibliophile world were crushed, but not to worry... however, Bletchley, a town which before I had only ever passed through on a high speed train turned out to be true to its name... like someone dry heaving, comprising of a shoddy excuse of a shopping centre ( a chemist and that video game chainstore that smells of stale BO - although, fair dues, I bought a playstation game from there for a pound ) and a decrepit high street consisting of a couple of charity shops and a Costa Coffee where I was able to have a piss...
[ resume reading ]
but, the point I wanted to make is... John Cooper Clarke's autobiography makes some points about the James Bond novels being one of the first introductions in the UK to "brand loyalty":
The deceitful opulence of Bond's lifestyle, with its early stirrings of label snobbery and brand loyalty, instilled in me a desire for a degree of international sophistication. Bond only wore Sea Island cotton shirts; his suits, made by Benson, Perry & Whitely of Mayfair, came with a full chest ( not applicable in my case ), gently suppressed waist and, round the back, a centre vent ( side vents not being an option on a single-breasted coat ), Roped sleeve heads and gauntlet cuffs also featured. Even his cigarettes were bespoke, a Macedonian blend of Balkan and Turkish tobaccos from Morelands, lit with an oxidised Ronson lighter. He washed his hair with Pinaud's 'Elixier' - 'that Prince of shampoos' - and drank strong black coffee from De Bry in New Oxford Street, Mention is also made of Floris, although the use of cologne is not entirely approved of.
[ Brett Easton Ellis, eat your heart out ]
His ( John Cooper Clarke ) autobiography was notable to me as it contains an entire chapter ( or two ) slagging off a woman who was part of our raving crew, contains details that maybe I did not want to know...but..while I'm feeling nostalgic.. at the end of a night at the Hacienda hosted by some of the Eton space cadets that were in our orbit ( on the guest list, "we're from Hulme and we don't pay!" was our mantra [1] ), she turned to me and said "that was very 'tracky'" after hours and hours of bleep and bass, a night where I collapsed into a wall after huffing a bottle of amyl nitrate, like falling into a fluffy cloud, and when I went to get some fresh air near the front doors, who walks in but Ice-T, surrounded by guys with the thickest necks I have ever seen, so much for his "I keep it real, I don't need security" boasts, next thing I see is he's in a corner with one of the dealers from our crew, scoring some White Doves...
[1] any area in Manchester and environs has the same refrain, I was once on a tram where some scallies were proudly telling me, "why buy a ticket - we're from Salford and we don't pay" just before the ticket inspector turned up and got the transport police to arrest them, but it's the thought that counts...
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