words: Spin Doctor
photography: Alicia’s Eyes

When meeting Jazzie B, one thing is abundantly clear – here is a man with an enthusiasm for not only the music but also the business of music, and it is no coincidence that over 30 years since his start in the industry, he is still traveling the world playing music and spreading “a smiling face, a thumping bass for a loving race.” 


Sitting down with him as he prepares to head off to Dubai for another DJ gig, we ask Jazzie about his very first gig, and as the man can chat for days, we let him do just that.

It was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee 1977. Back in those days we had street parties. Labour was in power and the GLC (Greater London Council) encouraged all the different communities to celebrate this day. I was in the early stages of building my own sound system, having borrowed my brothers systems for many years. I wanted to buy this new VSR turntable and this was my claim to fame because I was gonna be paid £14 for this gig. I spent a week setting up my little rig outside my parents’ house – the party was outside my parents’ house in Orman Road, Hornsey, N19 – and it was the local council paying me. All the families made food, we had a big table on the street and I’d set up some speakers that I’d changed about 50 times. Knowing I was gonna get paid, one of my brothers lent me the money to buy the turntable and that was the pièce de résistance.  

Having made his way onto the first rung of the music industry ladder, Jazzie soon found himself in distinguished company.

I left school in ‘79 and obviously I wanted a job in the music business. I was offered all these jobs to be a milkman or with the GPO (General Post Office). I did reasonably well in physics at school, what with my interest in my brothers’ sound system, and I ended up getting a job working at Nova Studios, Bryanston Street in Marble Arch. It was owned by Tommy Steele and I was working as a tea boy, tape operator, cleaning all the spit from the wind instruments, clearing up the fag ends, airing up the farts. I’m a connoisseur in anything Jewish to do with food because during that time I was getting the latkes and salt beef sandwiches from Rubens over in Baker Street. I was also really known for making tea and got so good at it that I got a promotion from being a scrubber to being a tea boy, which meant you didn’t have to empty the bins anymore.

I worked as Richard Dodd’s assistant – a major engineer at the time who recorded Kevin Peek, The Blues Band etc. I worked for Biddu at that studio, recording Carl Douglas’s ‘Kung Fu Fighting’. Then I worked for Kandidate who done ‘Can’t Say Bye’ and Central Line ‘Walking Into Sunshine’, all them soul tunes. And that’s how I really started in the business.

Thomas Dolby was one of the main engineers at Nova. He was a white coat, a technician, and we all worked under him. He looked like Captain Birdseye to me, massive beard, and his pipe was always smoking, even in his pocket. He was an old time engineers you literally had to say, “Yes sir, no sir”, very regimental. Hardcore guy but I did learn a lot.

They did this thing called ‘Repeat’. Every time we was lining up the machines, we had to say out aloud what frequency, how many lines on the faders, and where we were tweaking it to. Then you hear tones and you know what tone each frequency is. All those things had an incredible effect on my ideas of the studio world and more importantly my sound system. All this was pre-digital – everything I did was analogue. Being in a system, I did all the splicing and editing. All my recordings up to the last album for Virgin were done on tape. I had all my own machines, noise reduction units and ways of lining up tape differently just to create this authentic sound.

It was as a sound system that Soul II Soul really found their feet in the early to mid ‘80s, where the original vibe and ethics of the warehouse scene sat well with their intentions.

I didn’t want to do it the same way as my brothers. I forced the envelope; I took it to the next stage. As a sound system they had their backs to the audience. We were a soul sound; we made it inclusive – even the way we set up the rig, so people could interact with you.

I’d been playing out for so long – from weddings to funerals, christenings to birthday parties. With the sound, I was evolving, trying to take it to next stage. Having had so many days in blues parties and shebeens with the red light and the small place and having to turn the sound down, that actually helped and encouraged me to formalize my system in such a way that it was this huge hi-fi as opposed to this massive booming sound. We developed those ideas about sonics in the Africa Centre. Our system was in the middle of the hall, not in the corners. I was into my satellite tweeters, we used to call them flying tweeters, and we would literally go around in the hall, like in the Caribbean where you put all the tweeters in the trees and that gives you a dispersion.

We weren’t going for a muggy sound; we were going for a crisp clean sound. And it’s ironic, these days I’m very much into British engineering because of what I learnt. My personal icon within the whole sound thing is Tony Andrews and the guys who built a system called Turbosound, now known as Funktion One.

I think you gotta look at the legacy of us as a sound system, we were doing well up and down the country. We’d play in Birmingham all the way up to Chapel Town at the West Indian Centre in Leeds. In the ‘80s our sound system was quite well known. In those days, it wasn’t just about having a party; it was the voice of a community.

The focus on sound and community were not forgotten when it came to the Africa Centre which became the Soul II Soul’s home every Sunday for four memorable years.

The Africa Centre came about in the midst of the warehouse scene and everybody was ripping each other off, there were too many gangsters at that stage and I just got bored with it. London’s West End had always been exclusive. Black people weren’t allowed in the clubs, or if you were, there was a quota. That shit really annoyed me.

We were in Brent one day and this guy Freddie came along and he said I’ve got the ideal venue for you. He brought me down to the middle of Covent Garden and I was about to turn back and say ‘You’re way out of your depth’ and he was like ‘No, no, no’. We went down King St and I was about to walk past it. It looked like Beacon Books. They had the restaurant downstairs, The Calabash Centre, and when you went into the hall it was an art gallery. They had no funding and needed money so Freddie said ‘you can get this place for £2’.

The beauty of the Africa Centre, which turned the whole thing on its head, was that it was built by the church used as a sanctuary for refugees. We’d put a sign in the front saying ‘Members Only’, so even when the Old Bill or CID used to come in and try to make out they were punters, they could never get in ‘cause we’d say ‘We’d love to let you, even though your shoes are a bit unusual for the rest of your outfit, but you’re not a member.’ They tried on numerous occasions to close us down but because it was a refugee place, we always hid behind that.

The place only held around 300 people but I remember doing dances, particularly on Bank Holidays, where I would literally have two sessions in one night. I get the mic and we’d actually say to the punters who had already paid to get in ‘Look, I’ve got about 500 people outside, how about you guys leave and give these guys an opportunity to have a rave?’ and on more than three or four occasions they left. It was a real sense of the community. The night played host to everyone, a lot of models, journalists, loads of artists whether it was Goldie or Howie B. Everybody was there. Trevor Nelson, Norman Jay, CJ Mackintosh, Judge Jules, Vicki Anderson, Bobby Byrd, Daryl Pandy. When the Africa Centre came along, it was a home for artists because there was nothing like it. What was really nice was a whole cross section of people, it was like carnival.

We paid attention to artists, we had artwork draped around the building. And you had probably the best dancers from all the districts coming in because they knew it was a place to throw down. You had an array of photographers, everyone from Normski to Dobie (Tony Campell). A lot of my early photos were done by Dobie.

You had barbers like Paul Mystic who are now stylists. There was a secondary room where we had two barber chairs and a record stand. Trevor Nelson used to sell his records because he used to work for M&D Records and Roy Da Roach used to have Quaff Records. There’d be fights in the bar because this one’s nicked mi record. We had a girl there, Angie, she was knitting, crocheting, and she’d be throwing down moves whilst knitting. People really found their niches there, it was an incredible energy.

Musically, Soul II Soul stepped away from the reggae played by the majority of other sounds at the time.

I grew up listening to everything. I was heavily into Bowie and T-Rex. Sonically it moved me. I was influenced by Tom Jones, Lou Rawls, Engelbert Humperdinck and a lot of country and western. My parents listened to that because it goes back to folk music, where they tell stories. When you listen to Lord Kitchener and all the Calypsonians, they tell stories but the stories were more like blue movies. Kitchener’s talking about how big his bamboo is. Country and western was a bit more clean, the ladies liked that.

My greatest recollection of music from that time was Curtis Mayfield, who became my encyclopedia, James Brown, Motown, every Stax record you could think of, which at the time wasn’t taken very seriously because it weren’t hardcore. But when you think about it, reggae was essentially R&B. Even if you go back to Duke Vin and Reid and Coxsone Downbeat – they played R&B records. It was so hard to get music in them days, so a lot of the artists used to cut cane so they could go to America and buy the equipment and buy the records. That’s how the whole transition happened, we mimicked the R&B.

When you look at the old reggae sound system in the UK, it was all a bit of a nonsense. We all liked it, but as we evolved we wanted our own sound. Hence Lovers Rock was formed. Loose Ends became a derivative of Lovers Rock. So we have people to thank like Eddie Grant, like Dennis Bovell, who was probably our most prolific artists.

Jazzie’s later forays into recording and production were very influenced by the sounds working the dancefloor at The Africa Centre. This lead to work with many of his heroes from whom he learnt even more about the business he loves.

We were using the first drum machines, we had an SP12 when I used to play at Mars in the 80s, and this massive old Linn. These things had a sampling time of 30 secs but they had their own sounds that you could program and would all shape the idea of us making our own music. If you listen to Club Classics Volume 1 the stage is set via the Africa Centre, because all the dubs we were running ended up on Volume 1.

Our idea of the production merged with the idea of being a DJ. It’s always been a producers market but we took it one stage further with the concept of featuring artists.  Russell Simmons having his first vocalist artist, Alyson Williams, came to us. The Family Stand came to us. Michael Jackson came to us, though we never finished it off. But my biggest claim to fame is working with Fela Kuti, Isaac Hayes and Barry White.

Fela Kuti wouldn’t let no other Westerners touch his stuff so that was an awesome exchange of minds and deep conversations. James Brown was interesting, the fact that I’d followed his journey from a child. I’d been quoted saying something about him while he was incarcerated and apparently I was one of the five people that he wanted to contact as soon as he got out. From there until his untimely death we were very close. I recorded his 79th album for Scotti Brothers. I toured with him for about three months and just spent a lot of time with him.

As we were in Jazzie’s record room come office and the original theme of the interview was due to be on his record collection we eventually got onto our surroundings and the records on his wall.

These records in here are what I play and arranged by the from the different era’s I played them – that’s Africa centre, You can even see the state of them and how they all mash up. Those are my cherished albums, that’s the Fridge, then I did a little stint at these parties at the YMCA, there to here is all my hip-hop which I like, and a lot of that stuff at the top is stuff I go thru for my radio show; this is my current stuff so I’ll pull stuff in and out. So my last radio show I did I found that – ‘Think’ by Patra. So this end is the current pile.

This is my most treasured record, I got that from the producer and the Jones Girls, if you listen to my vocal arrangement it’s based around the Jones Girls and the Emotions, This is their first record that they ever made – Will You Be there. Sheila gave it to me before she died. The Jones Girls’ I recorded with them too.

Stuff that’s here. This is like my wardrobe. I wear these all the time My ready to wear. My boxfresh stuff is there.  I only wear once then back in the box. The rest of my records and that I got in the lock up and I go there twice a month. I did a party for size don’t matter and it was all vinyl 7inch so I had to go to the lock up. The good thing about the mayhem of my lock up is the shit I find up there. I collected folk for a while, everything from the Dubliners to Tammy Wynette. I went thru a mad phase of that. I’ve always been into fusion from your Herbie Hancock to your Idris Muhammed. I did that almost as a backlash to everything else. I hated collecting tunes that everyone was after but I have to confess that I was responsible for some of the bootlegs that came out during the rare groove era. Once a scammer, always a scammer. I collected glasses, book matches, stamps. My dodgy nephew who got involved in drugs nicked the book that had all the good bits though. And of course I had a massive trainer collection which I won award for – which I still think is a bit wack. But anyway. I had an award; I had 1200 sneakers at one point. I had the upstart of having a stores, so I thought id stop collecting and star making them

Most of my records I inherited from my brothers. I’ve got records that are the same age as me, from the 60s, some really weird stuff. I think I might have as much of a reggae collection as I do R&B soul and hip-hop as I inherited so much stuff from my brothers. I used to be the guy who’d be out buying a box in the second hand shops round Southend and where beaches were, before it became popular. I was a fan of Bowie, Bennie and the Jets, I liked the percussive instruments like piano, and I think I did a little stint at trying to understand pop music and the concept of writing. What were the ingredients in it? Which is why I bought a lot of that. Coz I had a record shop so it’s kind of like on the scale of 1-10, I was always boxing my weight but I have had a lot of luck. The record shop was part of the store. We had a few stores actually.

Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions. I think my biggest brother played Curtis all the time and it wasn’t until much later when I began to play the piano that I really got into Curtis because he made such a difference I think what he how he wrote his lyrics and he was so melodic, and when you’re a musician and you’re trying to find yourself you always need to latch onto somebody and he’d have odd chords – happy notes and sad notes – and when you listen to SIIS everything I do is in a minor kind of era but it’s all the sad chords which end up being from a romantic point of view when you listen to Caron it’s the opposite which is why lovers rock works so much – it sounds like a virgin singing but against something hard, so it’s the cross between the rough and the smooth. And I found that with Curtis – it was just incredible because he never sung about it like that, al to of the stuff they san, the impressions, they were originally protest songs, but because he sang in a falsetto it was pretty incredible. There were very few artists who could touch you like that. You listen to Donny Hathaway, there was so much pain, which is why you could hear that in his vocals. Marvin as well there’s a pain in his tone. Sometimes you’ve gotta get on your tiptoes to do that. There’s characteristics in music that I cant quite put my finger on it – when you listen to a certain tune as a DJ… the heart of hip hop when you first hear it, it was called eletro… when I first heard the Detroit house music, I mean the guy who was behind it Trax Trevor was a cunt and making music for nothing, but there was something in that pain and grittiness. And when you hear Masrhall now, Adonis now, Owens now, you think something’s missing. And I learned from an early age even about my djing skills it was something that… Rodigan really reinforces that. What we think ‘oh I’ve heard that 50 million times’ emotionally for other people there’s such a connection, so it’s important as a broadcaster that you always deliver this. I can tell you as gossamer that there are tunes I was calling bangers in the days that people were saying ‘that’s shit’ and I’m playing them today and people are saying ‘wtf is that’.

It’s hard to say what’s my favourite, everything conjures up all different memories and because I love the smell of acetate and oxide it’s all good. I know a lot of musical people come in here and go ‘Oh I expected you to have loads of records’. Good! I ain’t got none. When I go to your house I cant move and when I say ‘oh what’s that tune’ – ‘oh I’ve never played it.

(via www.derek-yates.co.uk)

Tell us about your stall in Camden.

That’s where all the bits and pieces started from… Originally we were selling jeans, second-hand clothes, t-shirts became more and more popular. We had a lock up in the old Bowman’s building for the sound system. You had a massive courtyard in the back so you’d drive the van in there you used to have little raves there, there used to be gangs of us in them days and we’d hang about with these artists Mutoid Waste who we’d hang out with. If you get a chance to se the lock up – bit like that organized chaos. And we had a shop front wed have speakers and trainers. As we got a bit of notoriety we upped our game. We had the stalls in Camden, the stalls in Dalton up in the Waste. The Bowman’s guy offered us a shop front for the same money as a market stall so we didn’t have to run for our pitch any more. The freezing cold thing is funny at certain times of the year, you were pulling brasses, pinching the ladies arses, it was a lovely time, everything was going off in Camden at the time, people sniffing solvent t abuse, George Michael being about it was truly incredible time. From the Market stalls to the shops and from the shops we started to pay more attention to details. From there it jus escalated, we had a store at the hypermarket in Kensington, we had a store in Tottenham court road which Trevor used run – Mad Hatters. We had two shops in Camden, selling our clothes, records. Japan was a massive territory for us. I’d gone there on a cultural exchange in 85/86 and we were going back every 3 or 4 months coz it was going off. Hitoshi took us to Korea. We were one of the first lot of darkies to go to Korea who weren’t American and they embraced us with open arms. We went to the world that’s underground. We were manufacturing clothes in the bundles. What we were paying for pounds, we were getting for pence, so I jus went silly – I made everything  - Louis Vuitton shirts, Christian Dior shirts, all my jackets, I made a mesh LV waistcoat, a Catherine Hammett parachute thing, I was naughty as sin. And when I was making it all, one time he copied my design and I lost the plot. We’ve gone down there and they copied the funki dred shirt and it weren’t mine and I was like wow hats going on there? And that was it that really put me in my place. And then the records started to come out you jus got really popular and then everyone ripped me off and I learnt it was the biggest form of flattery. That was the most one of the tuning points in my life – for someone to emulate you meant they couldn’t do it on their own so they needed your influence. And that’s probably the 1st time I recognized SIIS had had an impact. Because after that my music got copied, my haircut got copied, in a fundamental way our way of life got copied and that’s what made me not so bitter about what happened with SIIS success in Britain. We’d had so many accolades from America, I didn’t set out to change the world, but by black America recognizing what I was doing as a black Englishman form a colonial background was such a giant step in our social evolution it meant for the first time black America who didn’t understand the Diaspora outside African-America became to realize people existed all over the world. Being honored by the NAACP was just awesome, here’s a person who came from buying records, selling records, to actually now have a career making records and influencing people who made records… I don’t think my parents would have ever imagined that would have been possible.

It’s 20 years since Club Classics Volume 1 but you’re still as busy as ever.

I’m still hungry, still get very excited playing out, I love the youth, they’re showing me things I wouldn’t think about. The social aspects of what I do – whether teaching kids music or coaching football – really do conclude this whole ideology of the multiculturalism, the blend. I grew up in a class system where there was always a glass ceiling, but through my music I’ve managed to achieve so much. The journey of music is so intense that it’s a world you can properly educate and a form of civilization, it’s like books, a world of knowledge.

Tune into Jazzie B’s show every Friday on BBC London, 8pm – 10pm.
Back II Life happens every Sunday at Centro & The Den, London WC1 featuring very special guests. He also headlines the SoulBrew New Year’s Eve party @ East Village & The Doctor’s Orders Brighton @ Jam on 16th January.