You could say I am a person who is hopelessly lost in time. I can never clearly connect dates to events in my life, but I do know that I came to Trinidad in 1984 because it was the year that Sedley Joseph (Penguin) became the National Calypso Monarch. I count that night in the Savannah, when Penguin claimed his calypso crown, as one of the most magical moments of my life. There was nowhere else I wanted to be in the world; nowhere else in the universe, I was convinced, could be more creative than this little island.
It is clear now, looking back on that night, that T&T was a much happier place. Judging by the competition that night, humour was centre stage in our lives. It was even a vehicle for making potent social commentary. There was Penguin singing Livin' in Jail, a humorous but powerful social commentary about people locking themselves into homes covered with burglar-proofing. His second offering, Sorf Man, a witty, sexually charged double entendre about women's expectations of men, turned out to be a timeless classic. Of the 18 calypsoes sung that night, five songs featured humour. That's because All Rounder, Penguin and Crazy were in the competition.
Many of the calypsoes weren't humorous, but they were still light-hearted ditties that conjured up images of celebration. BlueBoy's Fete and Lucy captured the pulse of Carnival. Those were the days when soca stars were welcome in the Calypso Monarch finals. Everyone looked forward to an eclectic Dimanche Gras show with a variety of music: sexy, party songs; jumpy celebration songs; potent social and political commentary. That was the night that Chalkdust performed one of my favourite calypsoes: They Ent See Africa-a sad social commentary on Afro-Trinidadian identity. There was Chalkdust telling the story of a mother showing off her baby, tracing the baby's ethnicity, but "the baby black as a voodoo doll and she ent see Africa yet." To this day, that calypso makes my list of favourite calypsoes.
I knew from listening to calypso on the radio that sexually charged double entendre was a huge part of calypso, but there was nothing like the experience of hearing Baron belt out Jammer and Ah Feeling It in the Savannah. That voice could hold its own on any stage in the world. When it comes to sexy voices, Sam Cook, James Brown and Marvin Gaye had nothing over Baron's voice. It was a time when you could walk down the street and do more than whistle and wine: you could actually sing meaningful lyrics to memorable melodies-melodies that have stood the test of time. Any calypso connoisseur can belt out Jammer, Ah Feeling It, We Living in Jail, Sorf Man, Nature's Plan and Lucy for the very least.
Most importantly, Dimanche Gras offered a glimpse of T&T-our penchant for humour; our love for celebration; our willingness to face social issues. Living in Jail would turn out to be eerily prophetic. It could be the theme song for T&T today. Gradually, the essence of Dimanche Gras would fade and the show would become a blur of mundane songs that slaughtered any concept of melody. Humour, always the most challenging calypsoes to pen-if done properly-would lose its lofty status.
Eventually, we would forget what true humour in the traditional sense really is. Humour would become crass or downright raunchy. It would lose its cleverly crafted double entendre. There would come a day when it would become difficult for a connoisseur of humour to make it to Dimanche Gras. William Munro would rescue soca stars cast aside from Dimanche Gras and create a Soca Monarch competition, and the Calypso Monarch competition would noticeably suffer. The National Calypso Monarch finals would lose its ability to capture many of the best calypsoes and soca songs for the year. Because there were two distinct competitions, traditional calypso would lose its creative edge musically speaking.
As we lost our sense of humour as a nation, calypso lyrics became more ponderous and preachy. It is almost as though we forgot how to make an important statement with a sense of humour. There's no doubt about it: we sacrificed our sense of humour and much of our creativity in that calypso competition. Ironically, the quality of the calypsoes seemed to deteriorate as the prize money went up. In 1984, Penguin won a first prize of $23,800-$8,800 from the Carnival Development Commission (CDC) and $15,000 from Sissons Paints.
There was so much I experienced on that night; so much I knew, but I never dreamed on that night long ago that I would become a journalist who would some day write about calypso. I would come to know all of the calypsonians I saw on Dimanche Gras 1984; I would learn that Penguin got his sobriquet because he read so many Penguin books. I'm thinking about all of these things now because this is Calypso Appreciation Month. It's time to sit down and think about calypso and how it has defined and captured T&T culture.
THOUGHTS
I count that night in the Savannah, when Penguin claimed his calypso crown, as one of the most magical moments of my life.
I knew from listening to calypso on the radio that sexually charged double entendre was a huge part of calypso, but there was nothing like the experience of hearing Baron belt out Jammer and Ah Feeling It in the Savannah.
Most importantly, Dimanche Gras offered a glimpse of T&T-our penchant for humour; our love for celebration; our willingness to face social issues. Living in Jail would turn out to be eerily prophetic. It could be the theme song for T&T today.
