Dub poet Linton Kwesi Johnson is back — this time with his band in tow. He spoke to ITUMELENG OA MAHABANE
‘IT feels good to be back,” Linton Kwesi Johnson says. He is not wearing his trademark hat. He doesn’t always wear the hat, he protests: “I am wearing a cap now.” The cap is adorned with Rasta colours and has the insignia “Jamaica” printed on the front.
He looks surprisingly obliging, even amused, for a man who has been virtually forced to venture outside to be photographed, even if he does moan: “I actually hate this part of the job.”
He is glad to be back in South Africa, not least because people were disappointed when he did not perform to music at last year’s Arts Alive festival. So this year he is back with the Dennis Bovell Dub Band. The show, aptly titled The LKJ Showcase, will not only include the poet’s works, from his earliest recordings to the latest, but will also showcase the artists who perform on his record label, LKJ Records.
The artists — Bovell, Steve Gregory and John Kpiaye — are all famous in their own rights. Saxophonist Gregory has performed with musicians ranging from The Rolling Stones to Queen and Van Morrison, while Kpiaye, resident guitarist for the Dub Band, has lent his guitar skills to the music of Eddie Grant and Aswad. The title track for Kpiaye’s solo CD, Red Gold and Blues, is something of a jazz favourite in this country. All three artists will play selections from their solo recordings.
Johnson pulls out a packet of Silk Cut cigarettes, lights up, and orders a bottle of mineral water. He explains that LKJ records is the realisation of a dream that goes back as far as 1980. “I realised that to exercise any independence, I had to run my own
Recording for his own company, he does not have to deal with the pressure of having to release albums to a prescribed schedule — a process alien to his manner of work. He does not go into a studio and sit down to work. Rather, he writes his poetry at his own pace, and when he feels he has enough for an album, he goes about putting it to music.
There are, of course, problems with a small independent company, one of them being that distributing records is much more difficult. “But,” he says with a measure of satisfaction in his voice, “we do what we like and like what we do.”
“It has been four years since the release of your last album, Tings an’ Times …” I venture. “Soon,” he replies with a smile, anticipating the question. “Soon” could mean anything. Johnson has never been one to ride the crest of his previous recordings — Tings an’ Times came out six years after the previous album, LKJ Live in Concert; it included the track Mi Revalueshanary Fren, a song about the changes that were happening in Eastern Europe at the time: “Husak ‘e ‘ad to go, Ceaucescu ‘e ‘ad to go, just like apartheid wi’ ‘av to go …”
We turn to the South African revolution. Has the death of apartheid meant anything more than the rise of the black bourgeoisie? “It’s inevitable,” he says. “This has been the trend in all the African countries that have been through a revolution. First the black upper class come into their own.” Then, hopefully, they help the rest of the population along.
This confidence in the black middle class seems to belie his words “de black petty bourgeoisie dem full of crap”, from an earlier recording. I decide it best not to point this out. But Johnson, it seems, is not immune to the NM factor: “If this country can produce people of the stature of Nelson Mandela, then there is hope.”
Speaking of popular people, is he aware of his own appeal in this country, especially among the African youth? He smiles. In fact, his whole face lights up. “I was walking in Alexandra when a Rasta came up to me and said: ‘LKJ I like your music.’ That made my day,” he says, his lips now nearly, but not quite, spread across his face. “That made my day,” he repeats. He pulls out another Silk Cut and lights up.
LKJ has on previous occasions warned of the demise of reggae, blaming it on the ascendancy of dance-hall deejays. Now, however, he feels reggae may be on the rise again. He appears to agree with people like Jamaica’s Buju Banton, who believes culture and soul are returning to reggae. In fact, he credits DJs like Banton with helping to overcome a lot of the negativity that came with the influence of DJs in reggae. He says there have always been these cycles in reggae; now this one is coming full circle and creativity is returning to the music.
In answer to that question about inspiration, he answers: “Just life and the struggles of black people.” And will he be coming back? “Who knows what the future might bring.”
Okay, last questions. Why do we never hear about LKJ the man? “That’s because I’m very careful to shield myself from the vagaries of the press,” he replies. Which brings us to Story, the first song from Tings an’ Times; what was that about? “Private feeling and faces, and public feelings and faces.” he replies equally abruptly. “That’s all I can say about it,” he says, with a hint of apologetic amusement.
LKJ performs at Mega Music in Johannesburg at 8pm tonight and tomorrow