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Well, you don't need knowledge of Lee Perry's subsequent and more famous years to listen to these initial Studio One ska recordings from the ‘60s and take note of what was plainly a special talent. Never has there been a clearer case for island-born idiosyncrasy than the one they call The Upsetter. Of course, we should probably stick to that other mirksome moniker of his, "Scratch," and take the story from there.
Perry hailed from the Jamaican countryside where he’d been a champion dancer at one point. Reggae journalist and Perry biographer Dave Katz’s liners place Scratch’s departure for Kingston in 1961. People who have that certain something find a way, and Perry eventually entered Coxson Dodd’s orbit, becoming something on the order of a gopher during the soundsystem days. Those were also the days of ska’s heady and vigorous onset – the musicians that would form the Skatalites as well as future vocal giants like the Wailers and the Maytals would all be his contemporaries.

What Perry lacked in singing talent, he easily made up for with personality and wit. Perry's "weak" singing ability failed to stop Dodd from letting Perry record some three dozen songs of exceptional character and eccentricity. I've read the reviews and commentaries that can't quite get their heads around Scratch's vocal delivery, viewing his ska output merely as an "interesting" beginning of sorts. But most of Perry’s defining life concerns and repeated themes are already fleshed out in these songs. His small axe/underdog moralistic concerns are featured on the loping "Cannot Wrong and Get Right" ("no matter how you fight"). A related and perennial Perry concern was justice, and so on "Help the Weak," Scratch implores those that are strong to reach out. These are aphoristic offerings, of course, but they charm infinitely more than they irk.

Overall, there’s an odd exuberance to Perry’s early vocal delivery, almost flat in tone, but plainly energetic and forever engaging. The cheeky ska-bop that opens on “Feel Like Jumping,” with its lyrical energy seemingly gospel-inspired, shows Perry innately comfortable in balancing the sacred and the profane. And did I say profane? Well, Scratch is certainly a reveler. Don’t listen purely to the moaning woman on the intro to “Roast Duck” saying she's "hungry now." No, let Scratch tell the story about how much he loves the roast duck. Or as a chef of innuendo, it’s only right that on the irresistible "Open Up (Cook Book)" Scratch wants to take a closer look at the recipes before deciding what's tasty... And on it goes.

On his nickname-supplying "Chicken Scratch," Perry adds wit and winks with lyrics about a popular dance at the time. Katz reports that Perry had the musicians in the studio "in stitches," and a rapport with a form of genius you could say was established right then and there. One can only imagine the raucous laughter that followed Scratch's brilliant rampage on "Mother In Law."

Dodd saw in Perry a useful tool, no doubt, leading him to have Perry pen a response to challenger Prince Buster's big hit "Madness." And so on "Madhead," Scratch sarcastically opens up with "it's sad to know you are mad." Funny how ironic that intro now seems.

"Open Up (Cook Book) aka Puss in Bag"
"Run Rudie Run"
Lee Scratch Perry
Chicken Scratch Deluxe Edition
Heartbeat, 2008 (1960s)

Scratch's stay with Dodd ended around 1966 as ska itself was slowing down and evolving into rocksteady. On the ska-steady-ish "Run Rudies Run" from that same year, you get a glimpse of Scratch's own vocal evolution in response to the newer rhythm. The slower, non-horn based sound has him in a more even-keeled pace, less punchy and reliant on the folkish deliveries that defined his wonderful ska output.

What Heartbeat has done for us here is showcase a rawness in the original ska sound that still rattles and shakes hard today. They've also gained partial redemption with this Deluxe Edition, which now blessedly replaces their original 1992 attempt, a release so poor in sound (Dodd's dreaded drum overdubs, for starters) that it remained nailed to its spot in my cd case all these years. One wishes someone had sent a camera crew to Studio One back in the day. It would've been a madman's delight to watch Scratch in his champion dancing mode, impishly crafting smiles all around as he started a long and crazy artistic life.

– Mark Williams
kaiser@dcsoundclash.com

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