Exodus Chapter 2: "We and Dem"

Henry K.

Henry K.

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.

How does the system break a person?

Get them to conform, have them happily trade in their individuality, their uniqueness, to be part of a machine, a cog in a wheel.

It doesn't happen overnight.

The system is patient, meticulous.

The system has forever.

We don't.

We're human.

We want it all and we want it now.

I got news for you.

The system is happy to oblige.

If you like money, if you need money, if you'd like to have some money.

The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed is good.

Greed is right.

Greed works always.

Be closing, be closing, be closing.

The rich get richer.

That's the law of the land.

Show me the money.

Uh huh.

Yeah.

Henry, pick up the phone.

Okay, Mom, I got it.

Henry, I got it.

Can I listen?

No, mom, please.

I got it.

Hello?

Hi, Henry, this is Glenn Hudloff, general manager of Island Trading Co.

Here in New York City.

How are you today?

Hi, Mr.

Hutloff, how you doing?

Great, Real great.

We received a copy of your resume over here.

A copy of my resume?

Uh huh.

We'd love to set up an interview with you for a job we're trying to fill.

Cool.

I'm not sure how much you know about Island Trading Company, but I know you're familiar with our owner, Chris Blackwell.

Chris Blackwell?

Yes, I am.

I'm assuming when Mr.

Hutloff said familiar with Chris Blackwell, he was alluding to the fact I spent two years stalking him and just about everyone else at the Island Records A and R department in hopes of getting a record deal.

I don't think anyone ever officially got back to me with an answer, which I guess was my answer.

Pretty much the same reaction as the other 28 record labels, production companies and publishers.

I sent my demo tape out.

At some point I stopped mailing music and started sending out resumes.

So, just some background on Island Trading Company.

We manage various Blackwell business ventures, including Bob Marley Music, Palm Pictures, which is his film company, and Island Outposts, a resort lifestyles brand.

We also share our offices here in New York with Island Records.

Really?

Island Records?

Um, listen, Henry, we know you want to be in the music business.

Yes, I do.

Uh huh.

But right now the job opening is really just for a T shirt sale.

A T shirt salesman?

It's nothing glamorous, Henry, but it is a starting point, and it could lead to something up the road.

Well, Mr.

Hutloff, you do know that I was banned from the offices over there at island, right?

I've heard the stories.

We'll get you off that list.

Well, when can I come in?

I'm available all next week.

As you know, we're located on 4th and Broadway, right above Tower Reference.

I'm going to pass you over to Kat at the front desk, and she'll set up an appointment.

Who is Chris Blackwell?

Exactly?

And that's the reason he's the coolest man in the music business.

I'm cool like that.

I'm cool.

In an industry filled with music moguls with oversized egos looking to outshine their artists, Chris Blackwell, the reclusive founder of Island Records, has always been content being the man behind the curtains with an uncanny sense for spotting authentic talent and the marketing prowess and money to make them stars.

He has silently crafted the careers of some of the most important acts in music and has earned all the honors and awards given to industry giants, including his induction into the Rock hall of Fame and the title as the most influential music executive in the past 50 years.

From my days as a college intern at ross records in D.C.

and throughout my time working at Tough Gong Records in Kingston, it seemed everyone I met had a Chris Blackwell story.

And like tales told of his island recording artist, Bob Marley, it's often difficult to tell the truth from myth.

Apparently, Mr.

Blackwell likes it like that.

Praised by many as a prophetic genius responsible for bringing Jamaican music to the world.

Criticized by others as someone who exploited the island's most valuable resource, its people.

After all, Chris Blackwell, through his mother's lineage, Blanche Lindo Blackwell is a descendant from one of Jamaica's most powerful families, who for centuries profited exporting commodities from the Caribbean.

Rum, sugar, spices.

Oh, yeah, and West African slaves.

After being kicked out of boarding school in England, Blackwell returns to his childhood home of Jamaica, like many teenagers, struggles to find his place.

Children of wealthy parents usually don't have to struggle as hard.

And thanks to family contacts, he gets a job as a gopher on the set of the 1961 James Bond movie Dr.

No being filmed on the island.

Hello, New York.

Your Pan Am 323 just landed.

Kingston, Jamaica.

Ian Fleming, the author of the Bond series, had a residence in Jamaica, where he wrote and set several of the Bond stories.

The writer's real life adventures almost as exciting as his fictional alter ego, a young naval officer In World War II, Commander Fleming is sent to the Caribbean on a mission to scout out the possible threat of German U boats spying in the area.

It's never disclosed if he ever finds the enemy.

But he discovers Jamaica, falls in love with her unspoiled tranquility, dreams of returning to the rugged north coast cliffs and once again being absorbed by endless tropical sunsets.

When the bloody and unforgiving war finally ends, Commander Fleming fulfills his dream and returns to the island.

Finds the perfect location on Orcabessa Bay, where he buys and transforms an old donkey racetrack into a villa called Goldeneye, aptly named for his secret mission in World War II.

After a morning of spearfishing and frolicking on his private beach, he would head back inside Goldeneye.

And from his north coast bedroom window overlooking the gentle waves, Ian Fleming would go on to create 007, the world's most famous and charismatic spy.

Come up with intricate plot twists that made his best selling thrillers so engaging.

The tranquil sea wasn't the only seductive view that Mr.

Fleming enjoyed while writing.

He had a beautiful muse they say was the inspiration for his most memorable female characters, including the iconic Pussy Galore.

Her name Blanche Lindo Blackwell, Chris's mother.

By the late 50s and early 60s, the North coast of Jamaica becomes the Hollywood of the Caribbean.

A list celebrities jet in and out as guests at Fleming's Golden Eye retreat or his friend author Noel Coward's nearby Villa Firefly.

Looking for shells?

No, I'm just looking.

I'm just looking.

Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were some of the high profile guests allured by the island's natural beauty and mellow low key vibes.

After sunset, Ocho Rios, upscale resorts and downtown clubs would come to life.

Tinseltown royalty would share hot crowded dance floors with tourists and local revelers rocking to the latest sound fresh from Kingston.

An uptempo groove with hypnotic backbeat called ska.

Blending elements of mento, jazz and rb.

It was originated in the cramped rehearsal rooms at the famed Alpha Boy School in Kingston by aspiring ghetto musicians perfected at all night rum infused jam sessions across the island.

Ska music was starting to trend.

Chris Blackwell is quick to notice.

He sees opportunity to market the music in the United Kingdom primarily to its large Caribbean immigrant community.

A diaspora of tens of thousands that moved to England in search of a better life and settled into working class communities in London, Manchester and Birmingham.

Working long hours for low pay in poor and unfamiliar conditions, they missed their families and longed for their island culture.

Ska music became an instant and gratifying connection to life back home.

The same songs that were blasting at street dances in Kingston were playing in their local London basement parties.

Blackwell had the foresight to see the world was getting smaller and the bridge that connected the Caribbean with the rest of the world was music.

These were more than just great songs to dance to.

These were stories about life and love, politics and play.

The world's oldest form of communication was also the newest.

In 1959, Chris Blackwell starts Island Records.

The name is inspired by Noel Coward's novel Island in the Sun.

He spends years carving out a niche for Jamaican music.

Selling imported records from the back of his Mini Cooper.

Honing in on the right formula for producing and distributing songs true to their Caribbean roots that also cross over to a mainstream audience.

By 1964, he finds the perfect blend and strikes gold when he produces a ska cover version of the 50s RB hit My Boy Lollipop sung by a 15 year old Jamaican sensation named Millie Small.

Sales top over 6 million units worldwide and it becomes the biggest selling Jamaican record of all time.

For the next decade, Island Records gains a reputation as an independent music powerhouse.

With his laid back artist friendly approach and cool zen like demeanor, Blackwell signs and develops a catalog of eclectic talent that tops the rock charts.

Cat Stevens, Jethro Tull, Emerson Lake and Palmer Spencer Davis group with a young Steve Winwood, just to name a few.

Then one autumn night, the stars align over the roof of his London office when the ascending music mogul comes face to face with a struggling but confident trio from Trench Town.

And with a handshake, a reggae revolution begins.

In 1972, the Wailers, Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Livingston had been in the game for a minute.

To their credit, managed to make a name for themselves in Jamaica's competitive, often ruthless music industry.

Climbing their way up the charts with a combination of grit, hustle and raw talent.

Still, it seemed their die hard determination to escape the Trenchtown ghetto had been met with obstacles at every turn.

Undeterred after an abrupt end to a failed European tour, the Whalers were at a crossroads looking to start a new chapter.

Hungry for international success, hungry for dinner, they were broken.

Their current financial situation did nothing to diminish their Kingston swagger.

As they made their way to the Island Records office that Chris Blunden night, Bob, Peter and Bunny knew what they had musically, spiritually, was priceless.

If they could find the right record label that believed in them, the Wailers, their little group from the shantytown slums of Kingston, could conquer the world.

Hey, what a night.

Cool.

I am what you say, Bonnie?

Sure.

Words have never been spoken, my brother.

It is indeed very cold.

That's why a man could never live in Babylon.

Yeah, I see.

I don't trust that bomb guy, Chris Whitewell.

Still, I am I into slavery.

You see, it is the substance of things.

Will find the evidence of things not seen.

You know, Peter, I really think we go and get this deal.

Remember, no matter what happened, Chris Blackwell need us more than we need.

Amen.

Amen.

The Wailers were known for being unruly, uncompromising, rude boys.

A reputation that scared most music executives away.

For Chris Blackwell, that's what he looked for in an artist.

In a show of respect and trust, with just a handshake, Blackwell advances the wailers £4,000 to record an album for Island.

And those close to the music executive thought he was crazy, that he would never see a finished record or the money.

Chris, man, you can't be serious.

I heard that you gave those Rastas a bag of money to record an album for you.

You think you know these people, they probably spend it all off on ganja already.

You will never see that money again.

Or any music to show for it, for that matter.

Once again, Blackwell shows vision that others fail to see.

He senses the Wailers have something deeper than music, something religious.

Bob Marley is the real thing.

Could it be that Blackwell's faith is triggered by his own mystical connection to Rastafari that dates back to his younger days in Jamaica?

When Chris is left stranded at sea in a boating accident off Hellshire beach, he barely manages to make it to shore.

Exhausted, dehydrated, uncertain if he'll even survive, when miraculously, a local Rastafisherman appears and helps nurse him back to strength with Ital natural remedies and sweet Rastafarian melodies.

Chris Blackwell, privileged white descendant from one of Jamaica's most powerful families, is moved, humbled by the Rastaman's act of life saving kindness.

It's an experience that plants a spiritual seed that yields a pay it forward moment all those years later on a cold London rooftop, when he gives £4,000 to three rebel Rostas with a cause.

Half a billion dollars later, it turns out to be one of the greatest investments in music history.

A decision still paying financial and spiritual dividends.

More importantly, it proved to the record industry that you don't have to compromise the message or integrity of the music to be successful.

Five years after a college internship in the music business, sweeping floors and answering phones, I was now working in New York City for Chris Blackwell's Island Trading Company, sweeping floors and answering phones.

My most creative decision of the day.

Deciding on whether to walk across the street for a cheeseburger platter or order in a Hero Boy chicken parm sub.

Island Records had digitally remastered and reissued the entire Bob Marley catalog on compact disc.

Our company, Island Trading, had the rights to place an insert advertising two Marley T shirts in every copy of the album.

They were selling like crazy, and we were shipping orders nonstop all over the world.

Problem was, the picture of Bob Marley in the insert didn't exactly match the one on the T shirt.

And although I was told it was an innocent printing mistake, some of the customers that bought the T shirts were a little unhappy with, shall I say, the contrast between what they ordered and what they received.

Island Trading Company.

This is Henry.

Yeah, hello.

Yeah, Henry, listen, I got my.

I got my T shirts in the mail here.

And, I mean, what's up with these T shirts?

They whitewashed Bob Marley.

His complexion is completely white.

I mean, come on, man.

What are going over there in Battle Babylon?

Ridiculous, you know?

Yes, we do apologize.

There was an issue with the silk screens at the printer, and we can issue a refund.

Pretty typical of Chris Blackwell to whitewash Bob Marley.

There's something wrong with these T shirts.

And Brian, I don't even know what they did.

Brian, hold up, man.

I know your voice anywhere.

This is Henry.

Your old friend Henry.

No way.

Tough gong, Henry from way back.

What's going on, man?

It's been a long time, my brethren.

Years.

Years.

I can't believe it.

Where are you these days?

What are you up to?

Yeah, man, I'm living in New Hope, Pennsylvania.

I still chat on the mic when I get a chance, you know.

Okay, I'm sure you do.

Yeah, man.

I met this sweet girl named Sarah where I work.

She's amazing, Henry.

She makes me so happy.

Oh, that's awesome.

Brad, you gotta meet her, man.

If you guys are in New Hope, you gotta come into the city, come by island and check out the place.

What?

You want me to come to Island Records?

Yeah, I come.

But I'm gonna bring garlic and a wooden steak.

You know, Lee, Scratch Perry said Blackwell was a vampire.

Oh, really?

Yeah, man, for real.

Okay.

Lee Scratch Perry said he saw Chris Blackwell drink the blood of a chicken in a voodoo ceremony to give Bob cancer.

Well, it's great to hear your voice.

And it's great to hear you're still the same old Brian from Colorado.

Anyway, come in for lunch and I promise we'll keep the chicken blood off the menu.

Yep, the same old naive Henry.

Like a brother.

But remember, I have no friends in high society.

Oh, I couldn't forget Brian, my friend, the sufferer from Fort Collins, Colorado.

Sometimes Brian couldn't find the right words to say to express his feelings, but somehow he always managed to find the right song.

The classic Marley line he sang before hanging up.

The perfect example, the song we in Them, appears on Marley's final studio album, Uprising, released only a year before he died.

The lyrics of the song are a stark reminder that when all is said and done, society breaks down to two simple groups.

We and them.

The haves and the have nots.

Those sitting comfortably inside fancy Manhattan office buildings ordering in chicken parmesan heroes and those struggling to get in the doors.

Now that I worked at island, whether I liked it or not, I was them.

You're one of them now.

I should have let you burn.

Rootsland Podcast is produced by Henry K Association with Vice Box Studios.

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