System Clash: Sir Coxson Outernational

Back in the early ’70s I was studying at the art college in Cheltenham in the heart of the conservative Cotswolds. It was hardly the most cosmopolitan town and while there was a dedicated crew of Northern Soul devotees, there was little interest in what was going on in the emerging world of black music. Thus, the two main sources of information for me were Blues & Soul and Black Music, and it was through these magazines that I sensed something was going on with reggae – the sounds of young Jamaica that my skinhead brother had given me a taste for.

It was the writings of Chris Lane and, perhaps more significantly, Carl Gayle, AKA Jah Ugliman, that introduced me to the world of sound systems. I started frequenting a tiny record shack in Barton Street in Gloucester, a nearby town with a long-standing Afro-Caribbean population, and gradually began to decipher the music and the underground that promoted it.

I was eventually inducted into “sound” through a local Saturday night blues dance run by a man called Skinny. Of that first session, I recall arriving way too early. Skinny and his family were still having their dinner, but rather than turn me away I was offered a bottle of Guinness and a seat by the fire. First-hand, I witnessed them finish stringing up the system while they set up the basement for the session ahead. It was when they turned on the set and wardrobe-size speaker boxes rumbled into life that I finally got to appreciate the concept of “sound.” As the clock ticked past midnight the rooms filled up and the whole basement vibrated to the bass while the treble seemed to hiss and zip around the room. Through a haze of heat and smoke the selector and his MCs delivered a selection from a single turntable that rattled my brain and confirmed I knew nothing. There was whole world of music out there to discover.

Upon arriving in London in ‘73, I settled in Dalston – heaven for this reggae devotee – and by chance got a commission to write a piece on the founder of Coxson sound system, Lloyd Blackwood. He had just released the King of the Dub Rock album and I arranged to meet him at his residence on the fourth floor of a red brick council block in Wandsworth. (Affluence and sound systems rarely go together.) A tall man with dreadlocks, chiselled features and a deep baritone voice greeted me. Lloyd possessed a gravitas that was commensurate to the Knighthood he had bestowed upon himself. When he spoke it was on behalf of all Sound Men and the art of Sound.

Since his arrival in London from Jamaica in 1962 – carrying a box of 7-inch singles – Lloyd’s life has been focussed on playing music. Sir Coxson sound emerged in ’69, built around a team of young, hungry ambitious, record crazy rude boys with name like Gunsmoke, Pebbles, Castro and Festus. “By building a team you are building a Sound in the long term,” Lloyd told me.

Having witnessed the demise of many a good sound through lack of teamwork, he recognised the value of youth and the need for fresh ideas. In Sound it’s each to his own and Coxson’s collective approach stands in sharp contrast to Jah Shaka whose singularly unique approach to the music ensured he selected, controlled and worked the mic on his set. For decades Lloyd and Festus provided the foundation on which a constantly shifting team was maintained. Seek out Molly Dineen’s Sound Business film which homes in on one of Coxson’s key selectors, Blacker Dread, to see how their approach to teamwork helped mentor an up-and-coming sound system – Young Lion.

Coxson maintained long-standing links with Jamaica’s finest producers and artists and boasted an unrivalled selection of music. The first UK system to play dub, Coxson set the pace in equipment, pioneering the use of echo, reverb and equalizer. Ironically, they paved the way for a wave of wattage-obsessed sound systems but Lloydie regularly quipped, “You can’t dance to wattage… I’m more interested in the quality and selection of music.”

Over several years my relationship with Sir Coxson Sound System deepened. Along with my good friend and photographer Jean Bernard Sohiez, AKA Frenchie, we became regular faces at their dances and sound clashes. JB documented the scene while I wrote and even did the artwork for flyers and the sleeve of King Of Dub Rock Pt. 2. We travelled with the sound and touched down in clubs as far away as Huddersfield high on the Pennines in the North. They were on a mission. It was their job to carry the new music to Afro-Caribbean communities all over the UK and they did it, despite consistent police harassment, in the sun, rain and snow, year in year out. They organised a Peace Dance after the Brixton Riots and while they united generations Coxson unflinchingly gave voice to the youth, providing a critical link in the cultural chain that connected them to their roots back-a-yard and in Africa. Sound system fed an underground network that was, with the odd exception, totally off the UK’s cultural radar.

Digging through some pieces, I came across one article I’d written for Subway News in Boston. It was about an August Bank Holiday on the eve of Notting Hill Carnival. We’d travelled to Northampton for a clash between Sir Christopher, Jah Shaka and Sir Coxson Outernational (as they were then known). A cricket match was scheduled for the afternoon and a dance at night. The venue, the MFM Youth Club, was formerly a church that stood alone on derelict ground and as one approached it seemed to be vibrating to a massive amount of bass. Inside it was corked. The heat was incredible and the music intense. We edged our way through a solid mass of people rocking to a stubborn cut of “Row Fisherman Row” which boomed from the banks of speaker boxes stacked 12 feet high all around the hall.

After checking Lloydie I headed to the balcony. It was like a vision from Dante’s Inferno. Beneath a thick web of cables the dancers rocked in rhythmic unison. A red glow from Shaka’s corner diffused into a mist of herb smoke and two young dreads danced mantis-style on a window ledge silhouetted against the glow of light outside. It was Blacker Dread who said to me, “This dance is different!” and right then a girl fainted beside us.

Coxson ran a fine, crisp selection but on this night it was Shaka who pulled the crowd behind him… endless cuts of an Upsetter riddim, one after the other… pure drum and bass… pure bass… and eventually, bouncing around the hall was Shaka’s echoing voice, “Ah who seh…seh…seh?” That is Sound! It’s in the moment… it can be that one tune that connects with the spirit and lifts the crowd in rowdy appreciation.

On the other hand it can it can be that steady build to a definitive climax. That was the case at one major west London Cup Clash. Coxson, Fat Man, Shaka and Soferno B. The hall was rammed. Tension and skirmishes between different sound followers could easily have spilled over into serious violence. A lot of preppin’ went into ensuring that Coxson sound was tip-top but on the night Lloyd was noticeable by his absence. As the session unravelled, the tension in the Coxson corner mounted. There was a huge sigh of relief when it was announced that Lloyd was on his way from Heathrow airport, fresh from Yard and armed with music for the dance.

That’s how serious this business is. Upon arrival he unloaded ten glistening acetates devoid of titles and numbered in the sequence in which they were to be played. The only one not numbered was the one which read “Cup Winner.” Blacker and Festus unloaded each selection complete with on-the-mic affirmations as to why they – not their challengers – were the champion sound. When the final dub plate dropped and the “Five Man Army” – underpinned by the “Drum Song” riddim – filled the hall, the place went ballistic. Coxson sound was declared winner of the Black Star Liner Cup.

In the end, following sound is a partisan business. It provided a huge part of my musical and cultural education and, for that, I thank all sound men – from Skinny to Jah Shaka. But if you were to ask me which sound was the UK Universal Field Marshall, I’d have to Say Sir Coxson Outernational.