Current Issue | Archives | Eternal Thunder


Renegade child, ladies' man, devoted dreadlocks

By David Katz

Max Romeo, 1984.
Photo: Norbert Bauer

Like Marcus Garvey and Bob Marley, Max Livingston Smith also hails from the rural Parish of St Ann. Born on November 22, 1944, Max soon came to know hardship. By the age of ten, he moved to Kingston, where he began a transient existence after his mother's migration to England.

"I was taken to Kingston to live with my father," Max recalls. "He was married to another woman then, away from my mother. I spent some time with them, but me and my father's wife couldn't get along, so I had to run away from home. I drifted between my grandmother and my grandfather, both deceased now, and a aunt of mine who's still alive. Altogether it was four of us. I was the first kid, then there was three other sisters, one is also deceased now, and the other two are still alive. I grew more with strange people, because I was like a renegade child then."

Max spoke of his peculiar path to a singing career in his teenage years: "After drifting around for years, running back and forth, here and there, trying to find myself, I followed a friend of mine to a place, and I saw this man was sitting, looking at me. He called me over and said, 'A brown man like you, brown complexion...' Those days in Jamaica, high complexion people were looked upon to live certain standard. I was suffering then, one pants all torn, shirt without sleeves, shoes with hole in the sole and the heel leaning... He gave me a piece of paper and a pencil and said 'I want you to write 20 things in life you think you would want to be.' I sit down and I wrote from mechanic, electrician, painter, carpenter, pastor, singer - the works. He said 'I want you to narrow it down to two.' I was trying to find the easiest of them, so it came down to the preacher and the singer. He said 'Now I want you to choose one of the two', so I choose singer. He said 'OK, from now on, you're a singer, don't let nobody else call you anything other than a singer.' I was about 17 then."

"I left with that in my mind, and then I started working with a guy named Ken Lack, taking records to the record shop and things like that. I keep singing all the time, so he heard me singing one day and said, 'hey, give it a try.' The first song I did was 'I'll Buy You A Rainbow' and it went to number two on the charts. That was 1966. I started with two other guys singing harmony with me, Lloyd Shakespeare, the brother of Robbie Shakespeare, and this guy named Kenneth Knight, and we called the group Emotions."

"After a little while, there was disagreements in the group, and I decided to work on my own, and I met Bunny Lee then. At that time, he was working as a desk clerk at Kingston Industrial Garage, it's an auto parts shop. He wasn't yet really in the business. He used to be around Duke Reid and these guys, like bouncer type of guys, take the records to the radio station, see to it that they play it by any means necessary... Duke Reid gave him some studio time, and Ken Lack and myself put together some money to buy the tapes. Tommy McCook and the Supersonics played for him and he came up with a hit, Roy Shirley's 'Music For You' and Slim Smith, I think it was 'My Conversation.' That was the starting point for Bunny Lee."

"Why not call yourself Max Romeo then?"
- Bunny Lee

Max says that Lee was partly responsible for the creation of his stage persona: "How that name came about, I was standing at this guy's gate, talking to his daughter one morning. I was there from about 8 o'clock the morning talking to her. I stand in a particular pose, and this guy push his bicycle up the road to work. Well, shortly after he left, I leave, but I came back, standing in the same spot with the same pose. He came from work, about to go in, and he look at me and say 'Wait! Same spot, same pose? You must be Romeo!' Bunny Lee catch onto the name and say 'Why not call yourself Max Romeo then?'"

Romeo's first solo outing was "Wet Dream", a song that Lee persuaded him to write. "I started moving with Striker. I was in the studio and if a rhythm was made, I would write songs and ride the rhythm. That's how 'Wet Dream' come into play, that was the first song with Bunny Lee. Obviously, he came with the idea to me about doing a slack song, because they were heavy into […] all these type of artists who was doing like rude songs, 'Shitting on the Dock of the Bay' and all those things. They was really into Blowfly then, that's an American artist. He (Striker) came with this idea about doing this dirty song, and I wrote the song, but I didn't want to sing it. And everybody he go to, everybody refuse to sing the song. Slim Smith don't want to sing it, Roy Shirley said 'no way', John Holt, 'no way', so him come back to me and say 'this song must be done.' So Bunny Lee came back to me and said 'OK, if you don't do it, you're out of here. You can't stay around, you have to do it.' So I said 'OK.'

"It was in Studio One, Coxsone himself was at the control board. I went 'round the mike and I start when the rhythm start (sings) 'Every night, me go to sleep, me have wet dream.' Coxsone shot off the board and get up and say 'Bunny, where you get that fool fool singer from?! I won't be a part of this foolishness! What kind of idiot business that you bring me into?' By this time now, Errol Thompson, he was an apprentice then at the studio. So Bunny Lee say 'We rent the studio, and we no really want a man to dictate to me how fe run my session. This man going fe do this tune and if you don't want fe do it, let the apprentice come.' So ET come 'round the board, and ET did the session. (Striker) took it to England to do some business with Pama with a bunch of tune, then he threw mine in as a make up, and that was the birth of 'Wet Dream.'"

A huge hit in the UK (despite a radio ban due to song's rude lyrics), "Wet Dream" paved the way for the recording of his first album, A Dream. Unfortunately for Max, the rude image of such early banal hits has stuck to him, despite the growing maturity and political relevance of his later work.

A committed Rastafarian by 1969, Max quickly changed the focus of his songs to all things spiritual and political. "The transition was a personal commitment," Max recalls. "I started to listen to other (rude) songs from Lloyd Charmers, Prince Buster and I started to say, could I play these songs for my kids, proudly say 'come on, listen to your dad'?"

"I said if I'm going to deal with Rastafari, then I might as well dedicate my whole life and my whole career to the cause..."

"Then I started being philosophical about life. I checked Muslim, it was too restrictive. I checked Buddhism, too much restriction. Christianity was a no-no, 'cause I already condemned that from the beginning. Then I stumbled into Rasta, stumbled into the faith and everything about it attracts me. It's a self-practice, there's no church to throw offerings, there's nothing pressing, it's an in thing; it's what you eat decide how long you live, and it's how you live decide how clean you are, and I start to assess the whole situation, I said 'I'm more comfortable with this.' Then I said if I'm going to deal with Rastafari, then I might as well dedicate my whole life and my whole career to the cause."

Max continued working with Striker as both lead and harmony vocalist: "I do a lot of harmonies on a lot of songs that Bunny Lee produced, I was like the harmony singer at that time. 'Bangarang', I sing a little harmony on that, a lot of Derrick Morgan's tunes I do harmony as well. I was like the harmony singer at that time." After such success with Striker Lee, he started work with Striker's close associates, the up and coming producers Lee Perry and Niney the Observer. "We were always together," Max recalls, "Niney, Scratch, Bunny Lee, myself, we're always together on each other's sessions." Max says the first song he recorded for Scratch was a guest vocal on the tune "Selassie", credited on release to the Reggae Boys in 1969. "Glen Adams carry good harmony, and Reggie (Alva Lewis), they were the Reggae Boys originally. Those two were the Reggae Boys and I was just doing an harmony on that song at the time, I wasn't really a part of the group."

A memorable Niney production of Max from the early 1970s in which Perry had a hand was "Rasta Bandwagon," in which Max castigates the growing number of false dreads. As Max remembers, "'Rasta Bandwagon' was done for Niney, but it was being distributed for us by Upsetter because by then, Upsetter had this little distribution going, so we decided to support it. We started to produce a few songs for that distribution and 'Rasta Bandwagon' was one of those songs. If you notice there is no drum in that song. I fired the drummer on the session, Horsemouth. It was the early days of Horsemouth, and every time we did a good take, he's off to the bathroom or somewhere, so I just fired him off that tune and said 'do it without a drum.' At the end of the day, we just use the stick they use to beat the bass drum in Niyabinghi wrapped in a little piece of cloth, so we just touch bass, boom!"

According to Max, the politically damning "Ginal Ship" was produced by Striker, not Scratch, although a 1971 Pama Supreme single lists Perry as producer: "I think that was produced by Bunny Lee. The melody line is 'Old Fowl Dead In The Market', it's an old calypso melody. In those days, when you're writing songs, you have to be close to a melody so it touch a chord in somebody and they can relate to it. You had was to do it that way, because it was a new beat, so the rhythms and melodies can't all be new. You have to be as close to traditional as you can, in order for them to get that taste..."

"'Ginal Ship,' it's like more a political thing. In those times, the political pressure was brewing up, it wasn't there full scale like now. Politicians was just getting that real crooked attitude, the way they are now. The ginal is the politicians who are hiking prices every day; not doing anything for the people but they're reaping a lot. They are the ginals. Ginal ship is the act of being a crook, (sings) 'crookedness mash up the country,' that's what I'm saying really."

"I wrote that song, I produced it. Nobody want to hear it..."

Used by Michael Manley as his 1972 election campaign slogan, "Let The Power Fall" was Max's Rasta adaptation of a Christian hymn. "I figured that if I could use that as a medium to deal with my Rastafarian faith, I figured I would say 'let the power fall on I' instead of 'on me oh Lord' and then I put a story to it, because it was just a sing along, one verse singalong chorus. I added some depth, made a story, 'let the wicked burn in flames Far I,' so I transform it into a song rather than just a chorus. There was this guy Pat Cooper who was supposed to be working as (Manley's) PR. They contacted me and he said they want to use it, so I said 'OK, I need a promotion, so why not?'. I felt all right about it."

In the early 1970s, Scratch produced the memorable "Babylon's Burning" (who Max says features "me and the Heptones, excluding Leroy Sibbles") and later "Three Blind Mice" in collaboration with the great King Tubby. As Max recalls it, "Scratch built the rhythm, King Tubby produced the vocal with me. I voiced it in King Tubby's studio for King Tubby at that time and he mixed the dub. His sound was the first to play about 14 different versions of the song, all different type of cuts, all different type of things happening in various parts of it, 14 different cuts of 'Three Blind Mice' he had, before it hit the street!"

Max's "Macabee Version" caused a strong impact through its radical lyrics, but according to Max the creation of the tune has "a very sad story behind it. I wrote that song, I produced it. Nobody want to hear it, the radio station - 'rubbish.' The record shop - 'rubbish.' I went to Bunny Lee, I said 'help me with this song' and he took it to the radio station. The day I asked him to help me with the song, I walk away and a guy come and offer me $200 for the song, a guy named Willie Francis, Little Willie label. Willie Francis came to me and said 'Look, I see you struggling with this, it not going nowhere. I'll give you $200 and I'll take the song and deal with it.' $200 then was a lot of money, it was $1.75 US for one Jamaican dollar, so I said 'OK Willie.'"

"He gave me the $200, and I walk away from Caribbean Distributors on the left hand side of the street over to Bunny Lee's shop on the right hand side; Bunny Lee had already asked them to play it at the radio station and it was played. KG send his van down for 1,000 copies. Now here I am with 200 lousy dollars in my pocket, and yet this guy order 1,000 copies of the record, he just run me out of his bloody shop! So Bunny Lee said 'OK, no feel no way, you have the rhythm? Yeah, let's voice it again, and let me and Willie Francis sell it.' So I voice it again, this time with Derrick Morgan saying 'Hail I Jah! Rastafari,' a different cut, right? He was selling it, and Willie Francis was selling it, making money, and all I get for my song is a lousy $200! I was a sucker for that song."

A stunning work of seriousness and conviction, Revelation Time shows the strength of Romeo's singing and song writing abilities.

In 1975, Romeo recorded Revelation Time with producer Clive Hunt at Lee Perry's Black Ark studio; the disc is something of a landmark in that it is the first reggae concept album. A stunning work of seriousness and conviction, it shows the strength of Romeo's singing and song writing abilities. "The entire thing was recorded at Black Ark," says Max, noting the exception of "Three Blind Mice" which was done at Randy's. "There was this company that emerged, the same guys that was doing PR for Michael Manley, this guy Pat Cooper, and he's got another brother named Tyrone, he had this little company going called Sound Tracks Limited. He had Bob Andy, Geoffrey Chung as a producer. I don't think Clive Hunt was in it then, but a few heavies; it was that upper type of atmosphere."

"I was in the office one day and I saw Geoffrey Chung come in with a bill for mixing a 45, the bill was like $20,000. Pat Cooper takes care of it. Now, if I want to see the Prime Minister, no sweat... One day he came to me and said 'This company's not going to work, Max.' I said, 'Too much money's going out and nothing's happening. Look man, I'm not an informer here, but the way you're paying out, spending $20,000 mixing one 45, this is not Motown! Case in point, I'm going into the studio now with $5,000 and I'm going to produce an album to you, mixed and ready for production.' He said, 'No, you can't!' I said, 'Give me $5,000.' He gave me the $5,000 and I came back with two reels of mixed two track tapes with Revelation Time album on it."

"They went and did a deal with United Artists on it, behind my back, which was kind of... But Max Romeo on United Artists, that was more important to me than the bloody little pennies they were collecting on it anyway. So I didn't say anything, I just keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to rock the boat, I wanted to be on United Artists with even one record even if it was a mediocre. You know what I mean? This was UA here! That was my approach. That was how the whole album came into conception."

Continue to part two »

September 2003