It’s a been a long time coming, as the song goes, but fans of Studio One are starting to realise that a golden era has crept up on us.
For those who aren’t reggae-crazed like myself, a recap is in order. The simple way of putting it is that Studio One is the Motown of reggae, though that’s not entirely accurate. But like the Detroit label, the studio has an identifiable sound (several, down the years), its records are highly collectable, it recorded artists when they were young and hot and helped make them stars, it was run by one figurehead-producer (Clement ‘Coxsone’ Dodd), it used visually appealing imagery on its records that weren’t really appreciated at the time, it has a status among fans of reggae and beyond, and its influence over what followed it was disproportionately strong. Oh, and you never write it off, as we are learning today.
For the best part of four decades, Studio One’s music could only be bought from Studio One. It had licensed records to all and sundry during the 60s and early 70s, but then Mr Dodd decided that the bulk of his material ought to be bought only from him and outlets he distributed it to. Companies abroad showed interest – United Artists released compilations in the mid-70s; RAS, and more lastingly, Heartbeat, issued fine records chiefly for their domestic US market – but for the most part if you wanted Studio One you bought the notoriously crackly Jamaican, and later, New York pressings that came from Mr Dodd’s own operation. He shuttered his famous studio in Brentford Road, Kingston, Jamaica, and opened one in Brooklyn, where he also ran a record shop. He also had two other outlets, one in Philadelphia and one in London. The Philly branch is long since closed. But the London one lives on, and is one of the reasons for the fans’ current state of excitement. Mr Dodd passed away in 2004, having opened channels for his music to be reissued in the UK via Soul Jazz, and his daughter Carol, who now runs Studio One, mindfully respecting its traditions, has maintained the link. She has also signed off some gloriously authentic 7” pressings from the Japanese label Dub Store Sound. There is loads of great Studio One music emerging, misty and mellow yet still heavyweight and to-the-point.
As well as issuing the superb roots compilation Black Man’s Pride, reviewed in last month’s RC, Soul Jazz has been putting out unreleased single-sided “dub plate special” 12” vinyl in two editions, one of 250 copies in a handsome series sleeve, and the other in a very limited edition box with a silk-screened art print and badges. Both editions boast an etched reverse side. Three have been unleashed at the time of writing; Alton Ellis & Cedric Brooks’ Black People, Carey Johnson’s Go Ahead, and The Official’s superb Distant Drums (thankfully not Jim Reeves’ football chant). This is not a barrel-scraping exercise: each unreleased gem is as musically tough as old boots.
Let’s make it personal. In 1980 a mate played me a version mix of Burning Spear’s New Civilization. I asked him where he got it and he said “Peckings”. I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about. Another mate told me it had shut. Then I got made homeless. I was kipping at a friend’s flat in Kilburn and took a bus to Hammersmith, which went through Askew Road, W12, where I saw a mad array of ska and rock steady albums in a window: Peckings Studio One Record Shop. It wasn’t open, but I had to get off and gawp. The next Saturday, I went there, buying Sugar Minott’s Give Me Jah Jah 12”, Judah Eskender Tafari’s cut of Never Conquer and [New] Civilization Version on the Iron Side label. Thus began a mutually rewarding relationship: I take my hard-earned to the shop, they take it off me!
George, the shop’s founder, was a lovely guy. I used to call him Mr Peckings, unaware his surname was Price. If he wasn’t in the shop, he never grumbled when you called him out of the bookie’s. He’d somehow wheedle obscure Studio 1 45s from Mr Dodd for you, once he knew you; the fact he’d been distributing his music since 1960 helped. I never went to the shop and came out empty handed. Though he’s no longer with us, the shop lives on thanks to his sons Chris and Duke, and a Friday evening or Saturday afternoon visit is a must to soak up the vibes. Everybody knows everybody, the music thumps, and people turn up whether they want to buy tunes or not. Though the shop moved across the road, it still feels old school.
George was a trusted partner to Mr Dodd in Jamaica with exclusive rights to distribute his records in the UK. Chris did some shifts in Dodd’s shop in New York. The family knew everyone in reggae; George put on dances, and Prince Buster might be on the door, “enthusiastically” laying out those who tried to get in without paying.
George pressed some Studio 1 12” in the 80s and in ’75 was given a 1/4” master tape of a dub album, which never got pressed.
Original Studio One dub albums are highly collectable. There were 12, with mixes miraculously crafted from 60s and 70s two-and four-track originals. Now Duke, AKA the Dub Duke, has released a 13th: that tape from 1975, baked to perfection. Jamrec Dubwize comes in two sleeves, one a Peckings generic diecut 12” (some of Mr Dodd’s dubs also came in generic sleeves) and a limited signed and numbered special edition with stickers by Peckings’ late designer Gary Crook, an image of founding father George taken by his granddaughter Peaches, and a background that Duke, a very decent amateur artist, hand-sprayed in the shop. The sound quality is excellent and the music rocks like a hammock in a Force 9. There are unissued cuts of Joe Frasier, Rockfort Rock, Things A Come Up To Bump: tried and tested rhythms. But there are uncommon tunes too, most remarkably a fiery dub version of the overlooked Less Problem, a jazzy 1970 Sound Dimension single. However, after a short time on general sale, a rights dispute made Jamrec Dubwize vanish from some stores, adding to its collectability. Like Soul Jazz’s tasty dubplates, it’s an instant rarity, albeit for very different reasons. Peckings also cuts 45s and 12” on the Peckings The Supreme imprint (see Single Cream), building them on classic 70s reggae rhythm tracks.
A golden era for Studio One collectors? By recent standards, definitely.
