Every little thing's gonna be all White Chapter 4: "Kingston Sessions" (A side)

Deadly.

Headley, what's going on?

Godfather.

Yes, Enrique.

Nice to see you, man.

Good to see you too.

You look like you put on some weight.

I put on some weight.

Is that a compliment?

It suits me.

Speaking of which, you want to grab some of those chicken patties at Devin House?

Yes, I would love that.

Curry ones I love.

I don't eat from morning.

And a cup of tea?

Tea, sure.

I really use the cup of tea.

I know you love your tea.

All right.

Yeah, let's go.

Henry, we need to hear what the record company do to you.

Oh, what Powwow Records did.

Yeah, what a bummer.

Those guys just do have any vision.

I know.

Remember, always two years and one door closed, many more open.

You always.

I know.

You always say that, huh?

Yeah.

Speaking of open doors, you know the guy Richie I told you about, Remember?

I.

I played you some of his stuff.

The saxophonist from New York.

Oh, yes, the white dude from New York.

Yes.

Yeah.

Huh.

I like the way he plays and his tone.

I'm thinking about bringing him down here to do a demo tape with you.

Yes, man.

You know, like I said, I'm ready.

He wants to kick in some money, I'll kick in some money.

I'm ready, man.

You know, let's give it a try.

You never know.

Adley, it's your time.

I give thanks for any little project car, for whatever comes your way.

You know, the kid really is a good kid.

And he really rates you.

He thinks you're great.

Whatever you need for me to do.

All right, I'll set it up.

Because righteousness govern the world.

Broadcasting live and direct from the rolling red hills on the outskirts of Kingston, Jamaica, from a magical place at the intersection of words, sound and power.

The red light is on, your dial is set, the frequency in tune to the Rootsland podcast.

Stories that are music to your ears.

In the winter of 1993, I received an urgent call from my high school friend, Scotty G.

Who was living out in Aspen, Colorado at the time.

His roommate, Richie Pravda, also from our hometown, Woodmere back east, was driving him up a wall.

Richie graduated Lawrence High School two years after us and set up a pool cleaning service in the five towns where we all grew up.

Tasked with the responsibility of keeping the pools and spas of Long Islands rich and famous, sparkling clean.

And once they were empty, scrubbed and covered for the winter, Ritchie would migrate out west and spend powder filled days snowboarding in the Rocky Mountain sun.

And at night, occasionally dust off his saxophone and sit in with one of the local Aspen bar bands.

Ritchie fancied himself a blues musician.

And while life in the quiet suburbs of Long island would afford time and luxury to study the fundamental elements of music, it hardly lent itself to teaching music's most crucial ingredients, like heart and soul.

But it just so happened I knew a musician in Jamaica that was overflowing with both.

And I was sure he could help Richie find his own.

It all started when I mailed Scotty G a cassette copy of my latest Jamaican release, the Eddie Fitzroy album.

Deep in my culture, Ritchie was a lover of reggae, and since the cassette arrived in Aspen, he spent every waking hour playing his sax.

Along with the album, Scotty complained that one of the songs called Going on a Trip was on permanent repeat, and that seemed like a sign from above.

That track was built around a sample of a horn line from the Alton Ellis Studio 1 hit Breaking Up, a song co written by Deadly Headley Bennett, the man who would become Richie's future mentor.

Meanwhile, back in Aspen, under duress, sleep deprived and overdosing on Eddie Fitzroy, Scottie G may have overstepped his bounds when he promised Richie that I would bring him into the studio and record him on his song when we were back in New York.

Of course, it was under one condition.

That Richie could actually stop playing for five minutes and give his roommate a break.

Listen, listen, listen, Richie.

Richie, I can barely hear you over the phone.

I know you can't hear me.

Great.

Over the phone right now.

I can barely hear you.

The connections.

I'm just.

I'm loaded with ideas.

I love this rhythm, man.

Okay, Richie, wait, wait, wait.

Henry, hold up.

I just wanna play you one more thing.

I got one more idea.

One more idea.

You said that like you said that like 10 ideas ago.

Come on, Richie, I gotta go save some energy for the studio.

We're gonna be going in in a few minutes.

Okay, I'll be ready.

Just remember I told you the hours at work, so make sure you give me advance notice.

But you told me your work hours ten times.

Don't worry.

I'm so excited.

All right.

Can't wait to get into the studio.

Yep.

Can't wait to rip when I get in there.

I mean, reggae's never heard a sound like this.

Okay, Richie, I'm sure it hasn't.

Don't make me wish I didn't.

Please.

And let your roommate get some sleep.

Please.

Alright.

I got it.

From my early days producing music, I was all about working with new talent, the undiscovered treasures.

And not only because I couldn't afford to work with the more established artists.

But because I considered myself undiscovered, a diamond in the rough, I knew how challenging it could be to get any kind of break in this business.

So addition to my Henry K label, I also partnered up with mixing engineer extraordinaire Delroy Dr.

Marshall Harrison to form One Up Records, which produced more dancehall oriented material.

Not the standard Kingston fare, but new talent with a sound and songs that had potential to cross over to an international audience.

When I was hired as a director for indie label Pow Wow in New York in 1994 and I finally got my foot in the door, well I jammed it open just long enough for my whole crew to step in with me.

One of my first Pow Wow releases featured some of those early artists from 1 up on a 12 inch LP.

It was three different original songs and one instrumental, all recorded on a bouncy mid tempo hip hop rhythm.

It was common in the world of dancehall to put out multiple songs on the same beat.

It was called a juggling rhythm and designed specifically for club play and radio mix shows.

By having more than one song on a beat, it allowed DJs to seamlessly mix one into the next and a great single would guarantee play for all the others.

The lead song on the a side of the powwow 12 inch was Mr.

Bully Woolly, recorded by the young Kingston 13 MC Casanova, an intense powerhouse of a DJ that we signed to one up.

Casanova's song Mr.

Bully Woolly was a rare condemnation of the widespread domestic abuse that was happening in Jamaica's inner cities.

It was a subject that everyone knew about but seldom discussed, which is why we thought it was important it should be the lead single for the 12 inch.

Another cut on that 12 inch was Sing Jae's Scarface's catchy melodic track Foreigner.

From early on, in studio sessions, Scarface had demonstrated the ability to come up with sing along hooks that became instant earworms.

The upcoming performer just needed the right break, which ironically would come a few years later during a violent altercation when he had his jaw broken with a metal pipe.

Scarface would need his mouth wired shut for an extended period of time.

The injury would cause permanent damage, resulting in his vocals having a higher pitch and more nasal tone.

And that was literally just the break he needed.

His new sound was a smash in Jamaica and for added luck, Scarface changed his name to Mr.

Vegas, which made all the difference.

His 1998 song Heads High became a worldwide sensation, reaching the Billboard charts, and Vegas has been one of the Island's most successful dancehall acts ever since.

The third single on the record, Wild west in the Ghetto, was sung by Sugar Moses with a vocal style patterned after his hero, reggae superstar Aini Kamozi.

The song, a depiction of daily life in the rough and tumble tenements of Kingston.

And midway through the track, rapper and college friend Jesse James Itzler steps in, spitting eight bars of witty New York banter to lift up the track.

This was Jesse's first commercial feature since being dropped by his label a couple years earlier.

The industry was giving my friend a tough go.

But later that year, Jesse James would have the last laugh by figuring out a way to buck this system and sell his own records.

An innovation that would cause those same record labels to come crawling back to Jesse in the end.

And the final track on that powwow 12 inch, was an instrumental version of the rhythm, which I titled Ghetto Sax.

After all his practice and persistence, Richie Pravdor earned his spot to be a featured artist on that record.

The hardworking only son of A World War II vet spent hours in that dank basement of his parents Long island home playing along with Marleyan culture cassettes until they were worn out.

And now that same kid from Woodmere was living his dream, basking in the glow of the studio spotlight.

Oh, yeah, Richie caught a case of that sonic fever.

Loved the attention, all eyes on him when he was playing, which was fine with me.

I liked the confidence in this kid.

Like a samurai donning his sacred head wrap before battle.

So too did Richie ceremoniously put on a red golden green sweatband around his head and mirrored sunglasses before stepping into the booth.

Richie had the look of a reggae Kenny G and the swagger of Bill Clinton on Arsenio hall, making the saxophone look hip.

There was something there.

What I wasn't sure, but definitely something.

Henry, are you sure you don't want me to come in a little earlier on that solo?

Yeah.

Richie, you don't.

Richie, no.

No, you don't.

It's perfect where you come in.

Remember, you gotta give it a little time.

Let the song build before you come in with the solo.

It just sounds a little mellow.

I know I could do better.

I know I could do better.

You can't come in with guns blazing all the time.

Oh, little nuance, you know.

Oh, yeah.

These are things.

Deadly Headley are gonna teach you in Jamaica.

Believe me, I can't wait.

A lot to learn.

Can't wait to get down to Jamaica already.

Can't wait and start to work with Deadly Head.

Yeah, you know, it's got to build a little story, a little climax.

Come on.

Yeah, yeah, I'm hearing you.

Whether it was luck or fate, I met Edley Headley the very first day I got to Tuff Gong to work for Bob Andy, the newly hired creative director for the company.

He'd set up a meeting to schedule Headley for some recording sessions to play on some new Bob Andy tracks, as well as assorted projects for the now revamped Tough Gong label.

Bob was not shy about bragging on behalf of his humble, soft spoken colleague, Headley.

He said Deadly Headley had the Midas touch, writing and performing on more Jamaican hits than just about any other musician on the island.

From Bob Marley's very first recording to Jimmy Cliff's very first hit, Deadly.

Headley's heart and soul, his very essence, was fused, melded into the foundation of reggae.

From that day forward, Headley became a friend, life coach.

Like a saxophone wielding Jedi master, he had a Mr.

Miyagi like less is more approach to teaching about everything from music to love.

His greatest superpower, his ability to accept the disappointments and letdowns of life in total stride with an unflappable peace of mind, brushing them aside the way bullets bounce off Superman's chest.

The cheats, the conmen, the hustlers and phonies.

He'd seen them all, heard them all, worked with them all.

And at the end of the day, he figured out a way to block out all that noise and just play beautiful music.

No matter how bad things got.

The only thing Headley ever heard was the sweet sound of music.

I, on the other hand, was like the frustrated Karate Kid.

An impatient student, too distracted to hear the message through the music.

Or even to hear the music through the music.

Especially after my recent departure from Powwow Records in New York.

Having just produced two hit albums for the label, both still selling and still on the charts, they opted to invest their share of the profits in a high priced producer from LA to deliver them their next hit record.

They were going for broke.

With a potential payday that would be the icing on the cake for old man Herbie's retirement fund.

I decided to play it safe, invest my share in a sure thing.

Deadly Headley Bennett.

Producing and working with Hedley would be a dream come true.

An invaluable lesson I'd have for the rest of my life.

Whether the record sold or not, made money or not, I would still be a winner.

Well, finally.

Headley, this is Richie.

Hi, Richie.

Nice to Meet you, man.

Richie, this is Headley.

Wow, Headley, the new Killer duo.

What an honor to meet you, man.

Such a legend.

And I'm so looking forward to working with you.

I mean, I've been listening to all your stuff.

It's great.

Henry Casey, some good things about you.

I'm looking forward to working with you.

Did Henry tell you my name for the band?

Yes, he did.

Say something.

Sax Amelia.

Isn't it Killer Sax Amelia.

It is.

Very catchy, very catchy name.

Sounds like it could do something in the foreign market.

We're gonna be a team.

Rich and Deadly.

What do you say, Henry?

I love it.

I love it.

Well, Richie, sounds like I was telling Henry, I'm really hoping this could, you know, lead to a great start for both of us.

We're going to bring something brand new to this game.

And Headley, I promise you're not going to have to worry about anything ever again.

Deadly Headley took young Richie under his wing.

He schooled him in the fundamentals of ska, rocksteady and roots reggae.

Taught him the rigorous training techniques that Headley himself learned as a child studying at the famed Alpha Boys School.

Then Deadly Headley brought the aspiring horn player into the studio and recorded a demo tape under the name Sax Amelia.

It would be a blending of two worlds.

Two cultures coming together in a musical and spiritual union.

And more importantly for Headley, it would be a turning point in his career.

A chance for him to release his own material and for once, finally control his own destiny.

But then that little five song demo tape, it led to a six figure record deal.

And would you be shocked to find out that everything changed?

In fact, the only bang bang I do is in the sack.

See, I don't spend my time messing around with no guns.

How about this?

My nights ripping mics and having fun.

See I got the style, flavor but no, I don't have any fear though Bing bing bing I'm coming like a superhero but even guns will kill a man like me.

You know this Stop the violence.

Jesse James and Sugar Moses down in.

The area where my bones grow Bad.

Boys and nude boys is all I.

Know Send for the cops but the.

Cops don't show is like a wild west.

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