Lee Scratch Perry is doing a victory lap. With a worldwide tour, a new album and a documentary at hand, the 72-year-old reggae and dub icon is reaping the rewards of a 50-year career.

Somewhere between the height of Scratch’s artistic peak in late-’70s Kingston, Jamaica and his upcoming collaboration with genial party enabler Andrew WK, he became a symbol of cross-genre musical experimentation. Who could be more appropriate to launch Harbourfront’s summer season of cross-cultural mixology?

 Scratch has been called insane, brilliant and a charlatan, but a musical figure with his longevity can’t be reduced to a one-word description. In conversation, he is more linear than expected, even serene at times. That said, his self-assessment is vintage Scratch:

“I’m in No. 1 shape. I feel like Jesus Christ. I feel extremely good, strong and confident. My music is a part of Jesus Christ come back to life. Everyone who’s on my side and believes in what I’m doing, I’m so happy with them because I know they were sent to be a part of me. I believe in them, they believe in me. They are the God blessed.”

What the hell this guy is talking about, you may well be wondering, and why should you care?
The roots of his career’s second act go back 13 years to a profile in the Beastie Boys’ Grand Royal magazine. A 24-page spread detailed his life story as one of the most important reggae and dub producers of all time. He was the man who galvanized Bob Marley’s talent, and his sonic sandstorms of echo and phase-shifting created some of the most psychedelic and spiritual music ever to emerge from Jamaica and post-punk England. Giving ample space to Perry’s quotable quotes and inimitable fashion sense, this article introduced Perry to a fan base that wasn’t raised on reggae but marvelled at this purportedly insane genius.

The older he gets, the more Scratch has attracted disciples from disparate walks of life. Such is the case with WK, who describes himself as not much of a reggae fan and had only a vague idea of who Scratch was prior to interviewing him in 2007 for a panel at South by Southwest. He was as familiar with Perry “as I am with George Martin or Brian Wilson. I knew that this guy was a pioneer of a certain kind of music and had a respect for him at that level.”
 WK was so blown away by the experience that he offered his services to Scratch’s label. Repentance, which features appearances from Moby, Blondie’s Chris Stein and Brian Chippendale of Lightning Bolt, comes out Aug. 19 on Narnack Records.

“I liked the idea that we could work together without either of us knowing all that much about the other as a person,” says WK. “It was a clean slate. We could make something new for the both of us.”

One track I heard, “War Dance,” is the most interesting thing Perry has done in years. Over a lurching and slightly comical dancehall groove, Perry’s recitations and no-wavey guitars are sprayed across the stereo spectrum. The song never seems to lock into an efficient rhythm, but that’s part of its charm.

WK describes the mixing process, saying, “It was almost like, ‘How do we fit all this in?’ I have a tendency to make pretty dense music, so working with Lee really taught me a lot about removing things.”

The sound touches on the ambience-within-repetition so characteristic of Perry’s Black Ark studio in the ’70s, expressed through the computerized vocabulary of dancehall production.
(Don’t suggest that to Scratch, though. “I don’t do the dancehall reggae,” he insists. “I do spiritual soul music in reggae form. Spiritual pop music, spiritual disco music, spiritual rock music, spiritual dub music in reggae form. I do even spiritual jazz music in my way. But I don’t do the dancehall stuff, I’m not much into it.”)

When talking about Scratch, WK sounds like someone who has seen the face of Jah.

“His presence is so strong that you start to feel his energy before you even speak to him. He’s at a place that’s so advanced — I really can’t think of another word for it — that some people wouldn’t be able to recognize that. They might think he’s crazy or they might think he’s difficult or however they would interpret what is, in fact, extreme genius. And we’ve seen that happen many times through history where often times genius is mistaken for insanity because there’s nothing to compare it to.”

The Upsetter documentary, which screens at Harbourfront on July 5, promises to set the record straight. Scratch seems pleased enough with it. “I saw it one time!” he says. “I thought the idea was OK. It’s a little bit mixed up, but I think it was OK. I’m not crying.” Scratch is keenly aware that a large part of his interest to novice fans is his mad-scientist persona. Is he comfortable with that? He doesn’t hesitate: “If I didn’t have that crazy character — my super-intelligent power — I don’t think I would be working so long. I don’t think I would be there now.”

Scratch’s true super-intelligent power is to avoid being classified as an oldies act. Few fans expect veteran musicians to surprise them, but Perry’s fans would be disappointed if he didn’t. The element of surprise remains fundamental to Scratch’s appeal, says WK.

“Even outside reggae music the name Lee Scratch Perry carries a lot of power. People who are looking for comfort in something they understand won’t find it with him. They’re going to find really far out experiences.

“If they like the feeling of being taken out of their element, then they’re gonna love him.”

 

SIDEBAR: THE WEST VS. THE UPSETTER

Andrew WK is the latest in a long line of odd collaborators for Perry, including artists as wide-ranging as The Clash and Robert Palmer. Here are three of his most unusual encounters.

Linda McCartney
According to David Katz’s excellent Perry biography People Funny Boy, Paul McCartney first met Scratch in England during the mid-‘70s. Paul and Linda never actually worked at the Black Ark, but contracted Scratch to lay some bed tracks for them. “Sugartime” and “Mr. Sandman” eventually surfaced on Linda McCartney’s posthumous album Wide Prairie in 1998. “Linda McCartney was pretty talented! No, really, she was,” Scratch said, “and her husband, he is a good man, a clean man.”

Simply Red
Scratch remixed Simply Red’s version of Bunny Wailer’s “Love Fire” in 1989. At the time, this seemed like a calculated move on the band’s part to curry some much-desired critical favour. What most critics didn’t know was just how keen Mick Hucknall was on reggae — Hucknall did his idol justice years later by co-founding beloved reggae reissue label Blood and Fire. One of its early releases was The Congos’ Perry-produced 1977 album Heart of the Congos, which gave Perry some of the best press of his career.

John Martyn
Considering that this iconic British singer/songwriter has always loved guitar effects, his partnership with Perry wasn’t all that strange. Around 1976, Martyn took a break from recording and spent either weeks or months in Jamaica (“I stayed rather longer than my visa,” he says). Island Records mogul Chris Blackwell introduced him to Scratch, and Martyn ended up on sessions at the Black Ark. When Perry went to England in 1977, he returned the favour, co-producing Martyn’s classic proto trip-hop track “Big Muff.” Martyn later recounted, “He thought the title was hilarious, so he got into crazy lyric writing. I remember him dancing around, hitting bits of equipment. It was very spontaneous.”

Email us at: LETTERS@EYEWEEKLY.COM or send your questions to EYEWEEKLY.COM
625 Church St, 6th Floor, Toronto M4Y 2G1