Musical Youth: "Pass the Dutchie"

16 September 1982

"Apart from singer Dennis who weighs in a little older, they all seem to be around ten, but play better than many "grown up" groups."

— Dave Rimmer

A great deal happened in the world between 1982 and 1992. The Soviet Union went from global superpower to defunct nationstate. Democratic socialists became neo-liberals who didn't seem a whole lot better than the conservatives they took over from. Hit TV shows like M*A*S*H and Taxi had given way to Cheers and Seinfeld. Young athletes like Maradona, Wayne Gretzky and Magic Johnson hit their respective peaks and then gave way to a younger generation. And I went from being five to fifteen: from just starting elementary school to high school.

The world of pop music that I really began to explore over the second half of this ten-year period was one filled with adults. The post-Live Aid second wind enjoyed by the likes of Paul McCartney, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan — with more recent acts like Phil Collins, Dire Straits and Sting having been adopted by the Baby Boomers; seemingly overnight, they all became old — made this especially stark but even younger bands weren't singing to the kids much. The Minipops had been contrived, as was the 1988 burst of 'Mall Madonnas' Debbie Gibson and Tiffany. Between "Pass the Dutchie" and "Jump" there had been a dearth of music made by kids for kids to pop the imagination. I was too young for the former and a little too old for the latter.

When I say that Minipops and Tiffany were contrived to appeal to youngsters, I should acknowledge that Musical Youth and Kris Kross were manufactured, albeit not as obviously nor as cynically. While Daddy Mac and Mac Daddy decked themselves out in the requisite hip hop uniform of baggy jeans and baseball shirts (worn, as was their wont, backwards) and had a hit single with "Jump" that was "written" by about three dozen people, Musical Youth got their start as a result of the fathers of boys Kelvin and Michael Grant and Junior and Patrick Waite. Fredrick Waite Sr had been a veteran of reggae groups in his own right and he took on lead vocals until Dennis Smeaton joined just prior to their breakout. While accomplished musicians in spite of their tender ages (though I don't think any of them were as young as Dave Rimmer reckons, even if fun-sized Kelvin and Michael actually appear to be even younger), their piss-poor attempt at miming in the memorable video for "Pass the Dutchie" gives off the distinct impression that it may have been adult sessioners playing in their place. This wasn't the case but the group didn't help their cause any.

As I blogged previously, I had no contact with "Pass the Dutchie" way back when I was five. As a number one hit in the UK, I probably ought to have been aware of it earlier than my forties; but as a chart topper in Canada as well, there seems to be no good reason why it passed me by beyond the fact that I wasn't in a position to be listening to it in 1982. If I hadn't heard it then, what chance would it have five, ten or twenty years later? What is unfortunate is that it would have done me a lot of good and there's every reason to expect that "Pass the Dutchie" would have been my favourite song ever had I chanced upon it. Children getting into pop may need the guiding hand of adults but the presence of slightly older kids in the charts can be just the sort of musical mentor that I would have needed.

And despite my claim above of Musical Youth being contrived, what they released was anything but manufactured pop. Having cut my teeth as a music fan on the formulaic — though, admittedly, occasionally brilliant — late-eighties pop of Stock Aitken Waterman and the family friendly, boy/girl next door images they cultivated in their charges, it's wonderfully refreshing to come across a band of youngsters who'd clearly cooked up something from their own collective imagination (though ironically co-produced by one Pete Waterman). It's a cover sure (in fact its a mash-up of "Pass the Kouchie" with U Roy's "Rule the Nation" and U Brown's "Gimme the Music) but one that they brought enough of themselves into while not sacrificing any musical authenticity. Expunging the original's drug references probably ought to have rendered this a ham-fisted and watered-down recording, consigned to going no further than a very rough home demo on a dodgy tape recorder. The very fact that they pulled it off to the tune of an addictive hit record is nothing short of remarkable.

It probably wasn't inevitable that Jamaican music's seventies golden age and UK ska's two year window of chart dominance would usher in a reggae pop boom but that is indeed what happened in the waning months of 1982. New Pop had gone on sabbatical and five London lads stepped up to fill the void. Musical Youth were never spoken of alongside the progressive leftist pantheon of the Rock Against Racism or Two Tone but what they had to offer may have been just as radical and self-sufficient. British kids of all races could only look on and wonder if they too could be part of the generation to rule the nation.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The French Impressionists: A Selection of Songs

The French Impressionists? Let me guess: an especially hopeless punk group hailing from Exeter who we'll never hear from again. Well, no. In fact, they happen to be a Scottish jazz combo who just about live up to their pretentious name — and who, sadly, we wouldn't hear from again. Vocalist Louise Ness avoids the deadpan delivery of her contemporaries and instead goes for the sultry. There's no attempt on their part to give their material that new wave/post-punk edge; instead, they seem perfectly happy as a jazz act who might play a few Edinburgh/Glasgow hotel bars, plenty of Aberdeen/Inverness dives and as many jazz festivals that would have them. Well worth further investigation which is no small feat for a band we wouldn't hear from again. Take that hopeless punks hailing from Exeter!

(Click here to see my original review)

Musical Youth: "Pass the Dutchie"

16 September 1982

"This cover of an excellent Mighty Diamonds song — originally it was "kouchie" they were passing — boasts some fine youthful "biddley-biddley-bong" toasting and a rock solid rhythm."

— Dave Rimmer

Beverley Hills Cop. Bull Durham. The Flight of the Navigator. The Goonies. Gremlins. The Neverending Story. Planes, Trains & Automobiles. Risky Business. Robocop. Say Anything. Terminator. True Blood. Withnail & I. Popular eighties films all, none of which I have ever seen. Feel free to take this time to lift your jaw off the floor, if that's how you feel you must overreact to such news. Movies unseen have a strange power to astonish people in a way other forms of entertainment do not. If I say, for example, that I've never read Charles Dickens' Bleak House, which I haven't, I'm likely to be answered with either a "oh really?" or a "oh you should, it's great". If I've never seen Swan Lake, which, again, I haven't, then I'm probably most likely to get a response of "neither have I". But movies seem to be a medium in which many people assume we have as a common reference point. Of course, it's all bunk. Some cultural touchstones make an imprint and other just pass us by as if they never happened.

I'd never heard "Pass the Dutchie" until a few months ago (not so surprised by this discovery, are you?), around the time I began compiling a list of Smash Hits Singles of the Fortnight. While I decided to embargo most SOTF's that remain unfamiliar to me until I have to deal with them, this one piqued my curiosity due its status as a number one hit (the first one we're encountering on here though the next one isn't far off). If not exactly a near universally loved chart topper handed down from one generation to the next like "Bohemian Rhapsody", "Wuthering Heights" and "Ghost Town", it may be more in the vein of "Maggie Mae" or "Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick" or "The Only Way Is Up", a huge success that those present at the time took great pleasure in and remember fondly to this day (it was recently the subject of a How We Made feature in The Guardian), if not so much those of us who missed out. It may even have more than a little of the zeitgeist to it.

Being very much of its time, it's tempting to dismiss "Pass the Dutchie" as dated. It's a term I try to avoid using — even though that hasn't stopped me in the past — because it's unhelpful and smacks of being a cop-out argument. In any event, I wasn't there at the time (well, I was five-years-old in '82 but given that my favourite album at the time was Sesame Street Disco it wasn't as if my tastes were refined enough even for Musical Youth) and didn't even have knowledge of this song a half-dozen or so years later when I was approaching the age of Dennis, Kelvin, Michael, Patrick and Junior and might have understood it so how can I say one way or the other if it hasn't aged well.

Listening to it now, however, I can happily say that there's plenty going on to enjoy. Tom Ewing's analysis makes the case that if it is gimmickry then at least it's "gimmickry with ambition, the very best kind." (Perhaps this also explains why we're both so fond of "Mouldy Old Dough" by Lieutenant Pigeon since it's a prime example of a creative novelty hit) Kelvin Grant's very youthful toasting contrasts well Dennis Seaton's smooth — though not slick — vocals. Some Caribbean clichés have been added (a reference to Jah here, some delicate steel drums there) but it refuses to be married to a reggae purity — there's far too much pop ebullience in the way for any of that nonsense.

Pop to be sure but not manufactured pop. Having cut my teeth as a music fan on the formulaic — though, admittedly, occasionally brilliant — late-eighties pop of Stock Aitken Waterman and the family friendly, boy/girl next door images they cultivated in their charges, it's wonderfully refreshing to come across a band of youngsters who'd clearly cooked up something from their own collective imagination (though ironically co-produced by one Pete Waterman). It's a cover sure (in fact its a mash-up of "Pass the Kouchie" with U Roy's "Rule the Nation" and U Brown's "Gimme the Music) but one that they brought enough of themselves into while not sacrificing any musical authenticity. Expunging the original's drug references probably ought to have rendered this a ham-fisted and watered-down recording, consigned to going no further than a very rough home demo on a dodgy tape recorder. The very fact that they pulled it off to the tune of an addictive hit record is nothing short of remarkable.

It probably wasn't inevitable that Jamaican music's seventies golden age and UK ska's two year window of chart dominance would usher in a reggae pop boom but that is indeed what happened in the waning months of 1982. New Pop had gone on sabbatical and five London lads stepped up to fill the void. Musical Youth were never spoken of alongside the progressive leftist pantheon of the Rock Against Racism or Two Tone but what they had to offer may have been just as radical and self-sufficient. British kids of all races could only look on and wonder if they too could be part of the generation to rule the nation.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Jam: "The Bitterest Pill (I Ever Had to Swallow)"

Blimey, what pitiful pack of singles poor old Dave Rimmer had to sift through. Far too many covers and more than a smattering of established acts who were floundering creatively. I  didn't have much desire to write about yet another Jam single but the glut of inspiring records has left me with little choice. Coming in the group's imperial phase, "The Bitterest Pill" made the runner-up spot in the charts — held off by the young bucks above — and is a decent first attempt at grand gesture lush pop, something Paul Weller would improve upon in the next three years. Irritatingly overloaded with garbled, indecipherable  lyrics, it doesn't quite work although I've long had a distant fondness for it as something you'd never expect The Jam to record. It's almost as if Weller needed something new to come along.