INTERVIEW : NEMO
Interview by : Sébastien Jobart
on Thursday, April 07th 2005 - 13 230 views
Nemo admits he doesn't have the " look for the job ". And yet, after several round trips to Jamaica, he returns to France with an experience and a CV that nobody would turn down. A stateless artist who, after breaking through in Kingston, wants to (re)try his luck in Paris, Nemo is singular in the landscape of French reggae. A first album recorded with the Roots Radics, still unreleased in France, then a second, currently in the making (and featuring duets with Beenie Man, Wayne Smith and George Clinton), are the weapons with which he hopes this time to win over his audience.
Reggaefrance / You've been immersed in music since you were very young...
Nemo / They put me in the Conservatoire very early. I played the transverse flute for ten years: naturally, I grew up steeped in music. Then I rejected all classical music. I quickly formed bands around the age of 14. It wasn't reggae at all, but funk. Little by little there was a second and then a third band, which was quite mixed, with a bit of reggae.
What drew you to reggae?
An anecdote, really. All my records were stolen: 300 Prince vinyls, all the bootlegs, rare records... Three days later, I saw my neighbour throwing out 250 vinyls, including 150 reggae LPs and lots of 7" and 12"... He had bought everything again on CD and couldn't be bothered to deal with them. I knew nothing about it... There was Tiger, Cocoa Tea, Sanchez... The first one I listened to was Big Youth, and I was stunned. Tiger is my deejay, the one who makes me laugh the most, I think. On stage, he's the one who inspires me most. After that I started doing sound systems, around 16-17. I did Les Peupliers, L'Espace Massena... I changed my name a thousand times, from Little Nemo to Captain Nemo, to end up with Nemo.
Why did you decide to go to Jamaica?
To force myself out of my comfort zone. Because I was starting to realise that I was being refused the mic because I didn't have the right haircut, the right skin colour, or because nobody knew me. In the end, nobody wanted to give me the mic. Yet everybody wanted to sing at my concerts. Fed up, I decided to find out whether I had anything to do in this scene. So I went to Jamaica, without any contacts. I was told never to take a hotel in Waterhouse, and that's exactly what I did. Little by little I made friends, who have stayed friends. Then I settled in with an Italian mate who joined me in Ocho Rios. A guitar, two singers... We would set up in front of the hotels. I got by, entered talent shows... My Jamaican friends helped me write my lyrics and correct my patois.
How were you received by the artists?
I never had any trouble. No suspicion, on the contrary, they were very easy to approach. Apart from one or two exceptions. You come from elsewhere, so they're interested. They love music. Except when they're "hype", like Bounty Killer or Vybz Kartel. And even then... Beenie Man was the one I had gone out to find. Two days before leaving, I managed to see him, thanks to Joyce, from Rainbow Castle. She took me to Beenie Man's with Richie Poo, one of the best-known and best-loved selectas on the island.
Three years earlier, we had crossed paths at a show, and I had told Beenie Man that I was waiting for the day when I could afford a combination with him. When I walked in, he recognised me: he asked me to sing, and straight after we were getting down to work. His brother had written a song for our duet, but in the end we wrote it together. He was very generous, whereas for me, if there was only one who was going to act big, it was Beenie Man. Now I understand why some people criticise him. He's just the most envied guy in Jamaica.
You have made several regular trips to Jamaica...
It was above all this last trip to Jamaica that was the turning point. The first day I arrived, I was robbed, at a friend's place. It was chance, just somewhere where white people were going in and out... I ended up with nothing: no passport, no money. That's when I realised who my friends were. It wasn't Jah Thomas who helped me, but Jah Mike, or Gabri Selassie of Rockers International, Augustus Pablo's assistant. It's thanks to him that I was able to get back on the road. There are angels in Jamaica.
How do you feel about being better known in Jamaica than in France?
A prophet is rarely honoured in his own country... There are mornings when I tell myself that, and others when I don't understand. But that's precisely why I'm stubborn, why I'm working hard on an album for France, with duets with Beenie Man, Vegas, and lyrics in French... I'm going to try because I think I have a place to take. It may take a little longer... If there's no progress after this album, I think I'll leave for good. Between Jamaica, Japan, the United States... Try to step back. The problem in France is that people see first and invest afterwards. Here, people like to categorise. I'm neither a reggae artist nor a dancehall artist. I also like hip hop and funk. Reggae and dancehall are in my heart, but I'm a blend of all of that.
You're Italian, you live in France, and you're mostly known in Jamaica... How do you live with this stateless status?
It has become my identity. It was in Jamaica at Easter Fest that I was given my nickname. I take a forward and go down. The speaker wants me to come back up and, as he can't remember my name, he shouts: "hey cross breed, come back !" Bastard race! That's me. I'm a bastard race, a hybrid thing.
That gives the album its title, with Jah Thomas. How did you meet him?
Singing in the street, I saw Jah Thomas without really knowing who he was, I saw his Mercedes and his gold tooth. He took me to record a track, then a B-side, and finally an album. Without telling me anything, he dealt with his partner in the United States, Silver Kamel. And I found myself at Tuff Gong with the Roots Radics. Unlike other foreign artists who do reggae, I'm not modelled melodically or lyrically on any one artist. I change melodic pattern every eight bars, like a flautist in fact. Flabba Holt told me: "You're like a bird whistler". That finch-like side, a bit like Vegas. My vocal style is a kind of singjay, a bit deejay because I like big voices and I naturally have a deep speaking voice. When I sing, it's one or the other. I like playing with my three voices. On stage I have fun alternating between my deejay voice, my airy head voice and my singer's voice.
Does it flatter you that "Cross Breed" has been selected for the Grammy Awards?
No, it gives me breathing space. I tell myself that it's not completely a dream. It's what made this album not a mirage. I'm not yet earning much from it. In France, it hasn't been released and nobody knows me...
On this album, you sing: “Don't you dare test me the way Sizzla Capleton does, avoid the "buss", the "listen dat", don't spit out the "faya bun"”. Mimicry has become a constant of the French scene...
I wrote this song to spare those who intend to clash me from making fools of themselves. Because that's what I'd spit back at them. It means: "If you want to test me, do it with something original. Really test me, but don't do it with somebody else's words or somebody else's melody." In France there are a huge number of imitators. It's irritating when it's systematic. If you test me with somebody else's melody, I'll recognise it straight away.
Jamaicans do it too, but they do it well. Luciano was Dennis Brown's copycat, but not only that. Then there's a whole family behind: Bushman, Natty King... In Jamaica, they hold each other to account. I've never seen French people sing these songs in front of Capleton, and I don't think they would, because it can go very far. Sometimes we're on the edge of plagiarism. Along the same lines, displaced culture irritates me: transplanting problems that have no reason to exist here.
Are you referring to homophobia?
Among other things. Guns, the bobos... enough already. We live in a different world. The appropriation of all these subjects dismays me a little. Lyrically, I think it's a shame that the French pick all that up. There are talented singers like Straika D who know how to tell stories. Loo Ranks, Difanga, Taïro... And even in slackness! Vybz Kartel makes me howl with laughter even if he sometimes goes too far. For me he's a "stand up comedian", a guy who tells dirty jokes. If he were called Eddie Murphy, it would work very well. But Jamaican culture is what it is. And Vybz Kartel exists within Jamaican heritage, it used to be General Echo. He's interesting.
In France, there is room to develop that. The slack artists don't go far enough, they take themselves too seriously and aren't funny enough. Or they're too close, once again, to Jamaican artists. But fortunately, there are plenty of artists in the shadows who are budding. Reggae is taking off in France. The Paris scene is tough, but when you go to the provinces, in the south, it's something else.
You sing: “I have no particular interest in the clash, the competition, nothing beats the fire, the atmosphere of a good combination.” The clash is now a rite of passage; are you refusing it?
I'm not going to go and clash anybody. On the other hand, if somebody clashes me, I answer. But I prefer to join forces and improvise on the same theme with the complicity of the moment rather than feverishly wage war. Because a clash is always with lines that have been repeated or already written. Real improvisation doesn't exist, it's a myth.
Still on the lyrics: “Lots of Photocopy MCs with no style, no lyrics and no morals get to speak.” You're not going to make many friends...
Yes, but at the same time only those who recognise themselves will resent me... In Jamaica, everybody chooses a character: it's the Commedia dell'Arte. They are all respectable in their excesses. The reality of the market is that a poom poom tune sells far more than a conscious song. Unless you have an exceptional voice. I like singularity. It would annoy me to resemble anybody. My influences include Sly Stone, Björk, Janis Joplin, Ben Harper, Prince, George Clinton... I know I have a strange voice. That's because I got beaten up at 13: twelve fractures of the nose, two and a half months in hospital. But I thank them, it gave me a singular voice, a sort of resonance in the nose.
On Personne, you sing: “Nobody, I am nobody”... Aren't you giving people the stick to beat you with?
No, because it's true. I am nothing. Nemo means “nobody” in Latin. I chose that name for that reason. I want to make people unfurrow their brows, to be a bit of a clown who gives people a good time. And at the same time with committed lyrics. I don't aspire to earn millions but to make music. My only trip is travelling while singing. I want to sing and tell stories. I like self-mockery.
That's unusual in this scene...
I have my identity and I won't change. That's what I say in l'allumette, on the second album. It's a self-produced album where I go through every style, in response to everyone who would like to confine me to one style. It's to tell them "fuck them !". I want to speak to everyone, and I don't want to make people stupider. I will never encourage violence, or stupidity. Responsibility in lyrics is very, very important. I don't want my children to learn my songs with big nonsense in them. Music isn't about that. It can be very vulgar, but for good reason. With vulgarity, you can bring very beautiful things to life, even with raw words, to describe a reality. That's why I respect certain super hardcore artists. But when it's out of place... In a country like France, you can set yourself apart. If you're Zairean, or you grew up in Aubervilliers, you have a thousand things to tell, right there under your nose. Me, I'm neither a badman nor a rasta. I'm a Smile Entertainer, that's what I say in my songs: I want to make people smile. If I can change their daily lives even for a second, I'm happy.
One last word?
I would like to give special thanks to Loo Ranks. There aren't many who support me in France. Recently, at a sound, it's thanks to him that I was able to express myself. I bless Jah Faya, Saï, Eliman, Tarzan, Lion Scott, who defends my cause, my manager Mathieu, and everyone who has helped me. And my enemies too; I thank everyone who doesn't give me the mic, because it forged me, I toughened up. They changed me.
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