Tucked into the bowels of the concrete block that is the University of the West on Marylebone Road is an enormous hangar-like space where the Bass Culture exhibition is housed- for another week, I think. It's an exhibition of large, beautiful photographs of black British musicians, or musicians who came to London to record, part of an archive put together at the instigation of the researcher Mykaell Riley who once was the percussionist and co-singer in Birmingham reggae band Steel Pulse.
Last night's event was put together by the equally energetic and inspirational Jacqueline Springer, and it featured Mykaell hosting a panel with Dennis Bovell and Viv Albertine, with the Lover's Rock singer Jane Kay appearing on a giant screen at regular intervals throughout the evening.
The story built up: the contrast between the parenting of The Slits ('none of us had fathers, and me and Ari had slack mothers') and Janet and Dennis, whose parents had Victorian values. Prospective suitors and musical collaborators had to ask permission from Janet's father before they got to date her or work with her, and Dennis's father, despite being an avid Desmond Dekker fan, refused point blank to let this 15 year old guitar prodigy son play in Desmond's band, even though Desmond came round specially to ask (he was kept waiting in the garden, apparently).
Viv described Dennis laying out matchboxes, glasses and ashtrays on a table and weaving a remarkable thread of percussion through the track New Town on the Slits' Cut album; Janet talked about singing with Aswad, and both of them talked about Silly Games being a hit before they even realised. Ari walked in to the Slits' recording session at Ridge Farm with a ghetto blaster on her shoulder with the track blasting out on the radio; Dennis had thought they might have another go at the vocals before it was released. He described Janet cursing him because she had to sing that very high vocal at the end of every set, when she was tired out after an hour's singing.
All of them spoke about the dangerous seventies, and the subject of Rock Against Racism cropped up: Red Saunders, its founder, was sitting in the audience. Eric Clapton tried to shrug his comments off as a drunken rant, and even to deny it later on, but there is a narrative about it in Christopher Partridge's book. Christopher Partridge was a white man dating a black woman at the time, and they were actually at the concert where it happened. He described exactly how they both felt, and it's excruciating to read.
And the violence! Viv's mum used to come to meet her at the tube station with a knife in her coat pocket.
Despite some hair-raising stories (so very 1970s), it was an entertaining and very warm-hearted evening. I sat next to Katy Carr and we chatted to Viv afterwards about family meltdowns after bereavement, which is something we have all experienced.
I understand that the reggae choir is to play there next Thursday; now that will also be a wonderful night.
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