Interview by : Maxime Nordez
Pictures by : Sebastien Jobart
on Monday, May 16th 2005 - 15 437 views
Guitarists who have left their mark on reggae are not that numerous and can be counted on the fingers of one hand. The one we had the chance to meet is certainly among the very first. A virtuoso guitarist, Earl Chinna Smith has worn out the studios of Kingston and played on so many sessions that he now refuses to count his collaborations: it is impossible to remember them all.
News, projects and memories: Earl Chinna Smith willingly took part in the interview. A look back at an exemplary career that the musician has placed under the sign of Jah.
Reggaefrance / Do you come to France often?
Earl Chinna Smith / Oh yes! Many times. The first time was with Jimmy Cliff in 1979. France has loved reggae for a long time. We’ve played in almost every city. I’ve been to MIDEM several times too.
What are your impressions of last Saturday’s show at the Zicalises?
Nice! The coolest thing is that some artists were playing in France for the first time, like Kiddus I, the veteran Bob Andy and that Jazz Jamaica-style group I love: the Skatronics. As for Junior Murvin, I’ve known him since we met at Scratch’s (Lee Perry, ed.).
Is there any Jamaican musician you don’t know?
I know a lot of them, it’s true, but there are tons of new artists. It’s very good that artists renew themselves. There are many old singers who help create a big-family spirit. It’s all a question of livity. Jamaica remains a small place compared to the rest of the world. We are all very close.
Let’s talk about what you’re up to: you have a dub album coming out with Mutabaruka?
Yes, it’s already available. It’s called ''Check it dub !'' and it’s a global concept. We have a serious catalogue in our possession and we’re reissuing. I’m not a venal person, I’m not trying to sell as many CDs as possible. This one is the first and we’ve seen that it works rather well.
You like to vary the experiences: this dub album follows the acoustic experience of Inna Di Yard for Makasound...
Yes, because music isn’t just one thing. Music is everything. There are different audiences in reggae. Some like classic line-ups with bass/drums/guitar and others enjoy new stage experiences like a single guitar and a piano. People know how to appreciate new vibes, like when I just accompany a singer on guitar. We add a percussion set, which is what we’re used to doing inna di yard and it’s the whole concept of Makasound. When you play guitar alone, it’s easier, you don’t have to worry about the PA (laughs). It’s something natural for us. We’ve always done that, we get into a common vibe and we create.
Was it the first time you had recorded an album like that?
On a “commercial” label, yes. We even did a bit of video to show the whole world how it goes. We’re not doing anything wrong, are we? (laughs) It’s about showing the spontaneous side of our approach. We want people to understand and appreciate this conviviality. When we do it at home, we jump all over the place (laughs) and even on tour, in the tour bus, in the supermarket... we play and sing all the time! It’s a way of life.
And what is your way of life like at the moment? Are you on tour all the time?
No, not really. I’ve calmed the touring down a bit to concentrate on my catalogue. I want to re-release things recorded years ago. What’s certain is that I’m not controlled by that famous germ called money. I do what seems good to me. I still do sessions abroad, it’s very enriching. Then I come home.
How did you learn to play guitar? You have a very particular way of approaching the instrument...
It comes from the fact that I grew up in the sound systems with my father. One day, one of the DJs turned up with a guitar and I found it in the best of taste. I wanted to get close to the instrument. But in Jamaica you have certain principles that mean you can’t touch. I was as if hypnotised by the look of this instrument that was going to become my passion. I lived in Greenwich Town, where there were lots of musicians like Slim Smith, Delroy Wilson, Bunny Lee... it’s a musical village. We spent our time singing and taming the music from the United States (he sings) ''come on baby let’s the good time...'' then we composed our own songs and the guitar came along with that. Until 1964-65, we had no access to TV, then we started to see guitars. A guy from the village bought one to accompany himself singing. I remember his name was Earl Zero. He mimed playing guitar but couldn’t play. At the start of Soul Syndicate, we lived right near the beach. We moved between 9th Street, 8th Street, 7th Street along the railway line, 6th Street and 5th Street, where I lived on East Avenue. What I learned musically came during the 60s and the Soul Syndicate experience. I wasn’t yet part of the band but we gathered on the shore and played for the girls.
You were building your musical ear?
Yeah man! I learned guitar progressively, song after song. Then came the day when the guitarist had to leave for the United States for his studies. I already knew all the songs and the bass player gave me my chance. After a few months, I became the leader of the band. I took it very seriously and worked hard at the guitar until my fingers bled. I played all kinds of styles because for me, music is made of different tendencies. You have the Caribbean, tropical, Asian, European tendency... I told myself I had to look into each of those styles to improve my playing.
Did someone like Jimi Hendrix, for example, inspire you?
I loved Jimi Hendrix; it was the first time I'd heard a guitar that powerful (in volume). He was a real example. I wanted to do the same thing but had no way of doing it. I never had the chance to meet him, but one of my breddren lived in Seattle and brought me back an autograph of Jimi's, which I was very proud of and showed to everybody (laughs). I like to capture the spirit of artists, especially wonderful people like Hendrix. Some musicians are aggressive; I prefer the more composed ones. But everyone has a choice: Freedom is a mus'
Can you read and write music?
Well, I read music but I rarely write it. When I do write music, it isn't the way you learn it at a conservatoire. I feel the music.
So you don't need to write it?
For some people I've done it, but you know what they say: Who feels it knows it so...
You played with Soul Syndicate but also with other great names of reggae like Jack Ruby...
As a musician I've never put up barriers for myself. Freedom is part of the music. With Soul Syndicate, we worked with all the producers as a backing band. For a long time we were one of the busiest backing bands around. We recorded, we played live, we put out records. We played for all the producers: Joe Gibbs, Keith Hudson, The Observer, Bunny Lee, Phil Pratt, Randy's... the list goes on!
Do you have any idea how many records you've played guitar on?
No! (laughs) You mustn't start counting. The music doesn't change and there are always just as many excellent producers who go unrecognised. Some tunes aren't necessarily available today. Some producers work hard but will never have the money to realise their projects. Sometimes I'm asked to do sessions. I go, and I leave with a little cassette and no money, but the vibe is there. Sometimes I come across one of those cassettes and realise it's wicked! There are thousands of songs on those cassettes. I have unreleased material by Johnny Clarke, the Diamonds, Tubby. Those songs would be worth gold right now.
As a band, how do you compose?
It's very simple. When you do a session, everybody is gathered in the same room, relaxed, smoking spliffs. Three men go into the studio and start singing, and listening to their singing you realise the riddim is already done. When you hear the harmonies, the music comes by itself. Everyone's creative energy is triggered by the singer and his backing vocals, usually already organised. I don't know how others approach music, but for me there isn't one right way of doing it. It's all about feeling. You have to sound as good as the singers. If on top of that you have a guitar, a drum kit, an engineer, it's a blessing. Sometimes we put the singer to work, but most of the time he already comes up with something very precise. That's what reggae is too. When some guy runs the show and orders: "you play in D, in G, in F.." that isn't reggae.
What do you think of today's reggae, where the voices tend to come first? Music isn't always synonymous with unity any more...
That's how the business and the industry are. It has little to do with how musicians evolve. I'll tell you something, guys: I'd like everything to go back to how it was, and I'm not very interested in what's being done at the moment. All I'm saying is: I don't want McDonald's. But if people keep buying it, there'll be one on every street corner. I'm only talking about music; things are being taken away from us. If you want to stop the damage, you have to rebel against it to find the unity you were talking about. You have to know how to say no to actions that aren't collective. It starts with each individual. Anyway, I respect the new things.
Some current bands are also trying to preserve the roots, like this band from California: Groundation. It's another way of updating reggae...
Yes, I know Groundation, and I've also heard that band from St Croix, Midnite, who are very good too. In Jamaica it's true that the young ones are more turned towards hip hop. I think it's because of the seed: money. People make money easily and the system puts it at the heart of success. Many people become its slaves and would do anything to get it.
But those people forget the spiritual, even sacred side of this music...
Spirituality doesn't necessarily go with it any more. In the 70s, we'd start playing and it was fun; we all wanted to put out a number one. Then the producers started talking among themselves, saying they didn't have to pay us that much. I was only paid $5 a session back then. I remember a session for Bob where I left with about fifty dollars. Then millions of records were sold, and I was told I'd already been paid for that: $50... Boombaclaat! But we give thanks to the Lord for the work we've been able to do. There have always been stories of theft in music. I'll repeat what Bob once said: "I don't make music for money, but if the money comes, it comes." I never focused on that.
And right now, do you feel you're getting by materially? I ask because of all the problems we know about concerning rights, producers, the rip-offs in the reggae business...
I turn to God to thank Him for what I've achieved, not to complain about what I haven't had... Rastafari! I'm content to occupy my place in the Lord's green pasture, like the other sheep. Today's youth are trying to win the world but are losing their soul. Setting up a reggae union would make no sense; you have to save your soul first of all. Only the music must live. I represent the music above all. I don't want to live on one of Babylon's mountains, Zion I is I Home. I play for His Majesty the King. I've played in all sorts of places: clubs, villas, deprived neighbourhoods, but above all I play for the King. I want to take part and offer my works to Rastafari. I'm not here for the business; so many people already take part in that rat race. It's a perpetual war and I don't want any part of it. Reading the Bible, I realised I had my place as a musician. Like Noah, who steered his ark, I must steer mine. I must sanctify myself so as to be pure enough to take my music to another level. I play on a song of Bob's that goes (he sings Want More): "you think it's the end, but it's only the beginning." That's the message.
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