Christian Mathurin, gwoka musician and percussionist.

First time – Father jazzman I am a ‘négropolitain’ (black born in France of French West Indian parentage). I was born in Bordeaux on September 23rd, 1952. My grandmother was Martinican and my grandfather Guadeloupean, Oruno Lara. He wrote articles for the magazine entitled Le Nouvelliste. He did not recognise my father, who thus bore his mother’s name - Joseph-Mathurin. My father was an only child. He was raised in a wealthy family, his mother was a pharmacist. They had a piano at home, and he learnt to play it. He was the youngest primary school teacher in Martinique, the first also to own a motorcycle. My mother was the daughter of a family of eleven, many of whom were reputed to be good dancers. Since I was born in France, and am from Bordeaux, I know very little about my French West Indian origins. During WW2, my father defected to the USA via Dominica. There he experienced segregation. Besides his name, de La Chevrotière, the Americans always thought they would meet a white person and not the black that he was. As a black person, he had to enter from the back entrance, by the kitchen, to be admitted to the nightclubs and other bars and restaurants. He went to Louisiana, New York… That’s how, by meeting up with jazz pianists that he discovered that way of playing, of harmonising the music. Chords that were not used in traditional music like the biguine. That’s how I came to be raised in this musical culture. My father always feel asleep whilst listening to his vinyl records. I do the same with the radio or CDs.

Christian Mathurin

My father went to Bordeaux to study Maths. He played the piano in various bands in Martinique then in Bordeaux. I remember my father partying with Pierre Louiss (the father of Eddy Louiss) in his Tartane restaurant.
I was raised in this ambiance of musicians and music. My father had a good jazz nightclub. As a boy, I always had Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong playing in my ears… he didn’t listen to much traditional music, a few biguine songs. At home, he played jazz and in the orchestras he played local music.
I don’t really remember my father as a child because we didn’t see him often. He was a party animal. He spent Sundays at home.
He also worked for the Marines then as a Maths teacher and finally doing research work for the CNRS.
He was in Paris and my mother in Bordeaux. When they separated, my mother returned to Martinique and I found myself in Paris with my father. This is when I got my first radio. My father had a record player. I spent my time taping songs, doing sound editing, etc. I didn’t really play any musical instrument. Furthermore, I wasn’t very motivated to learn. My father had sent me to live with a lady in Aix-en-Provence to learn how to play the piano but I didn’t get along with her. That more disgusted me with music than anything else. Only classical music. It didn’t grab me On the other hand, my little brother learnt how to play the violin. And he played it quite well too. I have another brother who has a musical ear. He has specialised in reed instruments, the clarinet, saxophone… he was musically inclined. He could hear something and play it back immediately on his instrument. He also played percussion instruments.
My father resigned from the CNRS because of his political beliefs. I think he was a Communist. He belonged to the French West Indian student associations. During the Algerian war, he came back from the protests full of blood. At the time, things were rather violent, especially for Black people.

First visit to Martinique – the Ivory Coast – first contact with the drum

My father then worked on cooperation initiatives in Abidjan. I was 13 at the time. The first time I came to Martinique was during this period. We had visited one of my father’s aunts in Anse Pichevin, a district of Fort-de-France. So we were raised with all the modern comforts, such as toilets. For instance, in Martinique they used latrines, showered in the yard where the pig was tied nearby. There was no running water. There was a small shop opposite. People slept on bags on the ground. That really struck me. I thought Martinique was a really under-developed country.
I didn’t know African Africa, but the commercial one, with the ministers with pool-side villas. With people who had boys as guard dogs. The guy is there to take care of the dogs (guffaws). A chauffeur used to carry us to school in a Mercedes. Bowling, Coca Cola, vanilla ice cream. It’s these types of memories that are conjured up. In the middle of Africa. We travelled across Trenchville in an air-conditioned car.
I remember the first time I saw drums being played in the Ivory Coast. It was in Djamé ( ?). In Trenchville too, on Friday and Saturday evenings. I used to go and listen.
I was drawn to the drum from the time I was a child. My first contact with a drum was when I was in Bordeau. I was drawn to the tumbadoras that an African group were using. I told myself that one day I would play this instrument.

Music listened to - dance

At the time, even in Africa, I used to listen to rock-‘n-roll - Jimi Hendrix, Otis Redding ( ?), James Brown, soul music. I liked rock because when I was in Aix-en-Provence, the radio programmes, especially Salut Les Copains on Europe 1 played a lot of English rock music such as the Rolling Stones. Yet the musical jazz culture of my father was omnipresent at home. My father listened to this music constantly, even in his sleep as I’ve already said. He had stopped playing the piano a while ago, and in Africa he got another one. He played some standard tunes for me on the piano such as Summertime, Stardust, Tenderly... sometimes we even played those pieces with my brother on the clarinet, my father on the piano and me drumming on a stool. Then I lost the urge. Dancing was more my thing. I used to go to the nightclubs often to dance. I learnt the steps by myself. When I used to dance, people would sit down and watch me. Especially when I visited France during the holidays. I remember when I was hired as a DJ in Chamonix. I danced in the streets and passed a hat.

Fall-out with my parents – the streets - dope

In Abidjan when I was around 16 I began to have problems with my father’s wife. It was the year I sat the bac (baccalaureate). I was in the scientific section. I must admit I was fairly bright at Maths but because of the problems I encountered with my mother-in-law, I submitted a blank copy at the end of the exam.
That had a great impact on the rest of my life. I severed ties with my father, and left Abidjan to stay in a boarding house in Montpellier.After two weeks I left and found myself on the streets. I earned a living by doing chalk drawings on the pavement.
Still music-crazy, I started to play in a blues band (like Canned Heat). I played an old pair of bongos. We played in a nightclub in Montpellier. I had never learnt how to play the bongos. The image that comes to mind when I remember that nightclub is the wine, the pot and the blues. I was crazy about music, but since I was penniless I stole records from the record shops. A lot of blues records such as Jimmy Hendrix, Muddy Waters, Lightning Hopkins ( ?), John Lee Hooker. And also soul music with James Brown, Otis Redding ... One day I was caught red-handed with 4 or 5 33’ long-playing records. I have done a lot of foolishness in my time. I ask Jesus to forgive me – but that was another time and place. That was a rebellion against the system, the idea being to take back what they had taken from us. The worst thing was I was high when I was caught. I had swallowed all the LSD I had on me.

Stormy return to Martinique – dance - painting

When I recovered from my ‘trip’, I was already in Martinique because in the meantime my mother had someone come collect me. She was aware that I’d left the boarding house and that my father had given up on me and no longer bothered about me. She had made enquiries in order to find me. I remember that day well. It was at Christmastime, I was on a pavement in the process of drawing when someone tapped me on the back. I turned around, and there was my mother whom I hadn’t seen for the past four or five years. She said to me : « Christian, what are you doing on the streets ? I’ve come to collect you, I have a plane ticket for you. Come back with me to Martinique ». I had that image of Martinique as an under-developed country in my mind. I really didn’t want to go back. So I didn’t follow her. I went with her to midnight mass, and then we separated. She returned to Martinique. A month later, the police arrested me and told me either I go to prison or go back to your hovel (Martinique) – your mother has made a request. I have a blank in my life due to the LSD I had ingested. Because next thing I knew, I was getting off the plane in Martinique.
It was early 1968, there was no herb or pot in Martinique. I still used to dance and I started to frequent the nightclubs. I had some problems because of the sleeveless shirts I wore. This didn’t exist in Martinique either at the time. « No, sir, you can’t enter my club dressed like that, go and dress properly ! »
At the time, in Martinique, the music that was popular was not that of Ryco-Jazz as yet, but the boogaloo. It’s a very repetitive music, with very simple rhythmic partitions. There were no music schools at the time either. Learning the various musical styles was done by listening to foreign records. So the quality of the remake depended on how much of a musical ear the musician had and so the musical quality of local groups was haphazard.
I started painting again, but on paper this time. I painted French west Indian personalities that I sold to the American tourists who came in droves from the cruise ships anchored in the harbour in Fort-de-France. I managed to earn quite a few dollars. I earned a good living through painting. I used to return to my mother’s house in the evening. Then I would paint all night. I had developed a technique for mass producing my paintings. So in the twinkling of an eye I could do 10 paintings for you. Once I had finished the ten paintings, I went to the port in the morning. I sold each painting for around 50 francs. They were snapped up. People liked what I did. I did quite well for my young age.

Ti-Emile - Calfétè

And then I started drinking rum. An tonbé an ronm la, rèd ! An té ka bwè ronm menm ! I started to frequent the bars. They always played music there. That’s how I discovered local music.
One evening, some friends took me to Bezaudin, Sainte-Marie, to a swaré bèlè. That’s where I met Ti-Emile, and started to see him on a regular basis. That’s where I fell madly in love with the drum. I also knew a tanbouyé called Calfétè. He is not well-known like Vélo, but in terms of drumming, they are on the same level. Even now in Martinique people who knew him say that he was a master tanbouyé, one of a kind.

Colson Hopital - Grocavla - Hair

Then I had a problem with alcohol. They sent me to the Colson psychiatric hospital. That where I really discovered the conga drums. There were some of them in the hospital’s waiting room. A guy was drumming on them, a great conga player, Grocavla. In my opinion, he is one of the greatest conga drummers in the Caribbean. In the same lineage as Mongo Santamaria or Tata Guines. He could play so fast! He played 8 congas. He did solo performances. He played, inter alia, with Ryco-Jazz. During the popular dances, he could play solos lasting half an hour. And people danced to his solos. He left and went to Canada with Marius Cultier. There he took a drug that did him in.
So it was at this point that I really started to play the congas, whilst dancing all the time. Then in early 1970 I met a guy who had played in France for the musical entitled Hair. We produced it in Martinique, and both of us were responsible for the choreography. I also danced. When we performed at the Rex in Guadeloupe, there was a whole hullabaloo because the girls danced topless. The music was live. Grocavla was on the congas, Jacky Alpha on the percussion, and Jean-Claude Naimro on the piano.

SERMAC Therefore I’m talking about the period when I was with Ti-Emile. I become Eugène Mona’s good friend. Yet I still had this problem with discipline, I always wanted to be free, apart from the rest, crazier than anyone else. This is why I was never able to join a folk group or play with Mona, apart from the partying we did together. Yet I used to drum with them. I learnt a lot, especially through my contact with Calfétè. Calfétè didn’t always come to Fort-de-France ; sometimes he stayed in Sainte-Marie. Ti-Emile was lodged in Fort-de-France by Aimé Césaire. This is where you can see the importance of the cultural aspect of Césaire’s achievements. He opened the OMDAC, the future SERMAC, Jean-Paul Césaire came on the scene. When I left my mother’s house, I took up residence at the SERMAC. I used to sleep there, and was one of its first residents. I had my own room. I also used to do theatre with a guy who had come to produce Césaire’s play entitled “A Storm”. It was a hit. So we followed on immediately with the playa “Man for a Man” by Bertolt Brecht. At the time, artistes who were invited to perform at the Fort-de-France Festival slept with the Martinican artistes in the schools. There was a hintof cultural struggle in the air.

Christian Mathurin and his sons.

Guy Conquet – making the gwoka

And then one day, who should come to the SERMAC from Guadeloupe ? Guy Conquet !
Ti mal, an vin sendiké èvè sé boug a Konket la. A lépok an té ja ka fimé zèb. Yo bizen zèb. An ni zèb. That’s how I met the musicians accompanying Conquet : Ady Gatoux, Linlin, Philippe Angèle, Jean Bénito, Charly Lamotte, Baguy… I became their friend.
At the time, I used to play the congas. They nicknamed me Patakoum because of one of the conga phrases that I used to do all the time.
I had a problem with rhythm. I could do lots of things but I was constantly in motion. I never played the same thing. This is why I couldn’t play with anyone. I was too crazy, but people liked what I did. I made them go wild. I was crazy about what I was doing. An pa té ka moli. An pa té ka fè dèyè. Tout moun arété joué, an ka kontinyé tou sèl anmwen. An pa té mélé épiw. Besides, one of the first documentaries to be recorded by the OMDAC’s video workshop was about me.
With Conquet’s musicians I discovered the ka, and how to make it. In Martinique at the time we didn’t know this type of drum. Dédé Saint-Prix who in the meantime had fallen in love with the gwoka asked me to make one for him and for Kali too. The first ka that they received, I was the one who had made them. I was the only one in Martinique who knew how to make gwoka drums. You could still find salt meat barrels back then.

Tanbou Palé Ban Nou - Ballets from Senegal

During this period, we formed a group with Marie-Jo Prajet called Tanbou Palé Ban Nou. Marcé, Paco Charlery were part of it… all the great Martinican percusssionists who are now recognised a s such. There were phrases that I alone could play. All the fellas can tell you that this is true. We played for the 3rd edition of the Fort-de-France Festival.
Then the ballets from Senegal came to Martinique. They did three performances at the Louis Achille Stadium. They were staying next to the stadium at the Hôtel Martinique ( a hotel-school like the Copatel in Guadeloupe). I stayed with them for three days. I was at the hotel with them, I didn’t let them stir one bit.
Thus I was able to grasp the technique they were using to stretch the skin of their djembe drums. They have a lot of drums, and when they do their solo, they light a fire in the wings to heat the drums and this is how they stretch the skin. A guy does a solo, he has just taken a hot drum. While he’s playing, the previous soloist puts down his drum near the fire to stretch the skin again. Since the skins are so hot, I don’t have to tell you that their hands have lots of calluses.

The birth of the djembe-ka I asked them to give me a (djembe) drum. One of the guys tells me that he will give me one, but in exchange I have to give him a symbolic amount of moneyI think I gave him 1 or 10 francs at the time. Whatever money I had on me. In the space of one afternoon, he took a new barrel and mounted a djembe for me.He taught me the plaiting and tension techniques for the djembe. And yet the day I tried to tighten it – you know that I’m impatient –I did what I could, but I couldn’t manage to tighten it correctly. It produced a rather average sound, and so I had to heat it. One day, the skin cracked. I was far from mastering the African way of mounting the skin but since I used to make gwoka drums, I had a guy make two metal hoops for me. That’s how I managed to mount a new skin but using the gwoka mounting technique. The djembe-ka was born. I was still in Martinique. Takouta – tanbou Gwadloup – Vélo When I came to dance in Guadeloupe with the musical Hair, I stayed for six months. I was with a girl in Baie-Mahault. When I got fed up, I returned to Martinique by hitching a ride on a sailing boat. Actually, I spent nine months on this boat travelling throughout the Caribbean. A rather bizarre lifestyle, full of unexpected turns and twists. I butt up again in Martinique in the year when the group Takouta is invited to perform by the Fort-de-France Cultural Festival. Some Martinican students studying in Martinique were with them. When they were on holiday in Martinique, we used to play in a small percussion group. They talked to me about Takouta and percussion in Guadeloupe as being simply extraordinary.

Christian Mathurin with the djembe-ka which once belang to Vélo.

When the group came to Martinique, they stayed with me. I had become a friend of Marceau, Linlin, everybody. They suggested that I return to Guadeloupe with them and then to go on to Désirade. I spend almost six months in their company in Désirade. Then we go to Guadeloupe where I meet Vélo one day in Pointe-à-Pitre, at the Morne Laloge, at Takouta’s place (near to Ady Gatoux’s mother’s house). We had just come back from Désirade. I knew him already from Martinique through his records, especially one record with a yellow cover and a triangle. I used to listen to a lot of his records. I loved the sound he had. I was told it was a guy going downhill, an alcoholic etc.

Vélo and his drum – Linlin – polyrhythmic takout’

Vélo didn’t have a drum. He played Linlin’s drum. At the time, he was already a heavy drinker. He sojourned time and time again at the psychiatric hospital. People thought he was mad. Everyone knew it was Vélo, but no one took any notice f him.

Vélo’s real drum was the one he used in his records, a ka. You can see him seated on the jacket of the record Anzala / Dolor / Vélo. When he went to play in St. Martin, he had a few problems and had to return to Guadeloupe. They had to sell the group’s drums, including the one belonging to Vélo.
Vélo gave me another version according to which his drum had been stolen where he used to leave it at Linlin’s mother’s house. So he didn’t have a drum anymore.
Linlin was the one who lent him his drum to play. Ady (Gatoux) and Michel (Halley) played the boula and he did his solos. They didn’t play the rhythmic takout’ (or takouta) with him, just contenting themselves with accompanying him on the boulas to Vélo’s music. Why? Because they had a lot of respect for him.
Vélo considered Linlin like his own son (on the drum). Linlin used to play the takout’a lot. Up till now, I haven’t seen someone play like him. In my opinion, during the period where Takouta was Takouta he played even better than Vélo.
In terms of the takout’rhythm, make no mistake. People today who claim to play the takout’, and the takout that Takouta used to play is chalk and cheese. Intriniscally speaking, in relation to greatness. It’s just like Charlie Parker and the people who play Charlie Parker today. They are copying Charlie Parker but what they play is far removed from Charlie Parker. There was an intensity in the music, I tell you! Even the animals were entranced with Takouta’s music. They had a goat that used to dance when they played. In a bar where they played, I saw rats come close together and tap their heads to the beat.
Vélo hadn’t really reached this dimension because he had a competitive spirit. But the takouta fellas played a polyrhythmic beat. Takouta had created real polyrhythm. There was the rhythm where Ady, Michel played a bass line and Linlin would add the final touch. There was something they used to say: Linlin chèché, Ady konprann, chèché konprann!

Time spent with Vélo – djembe-ka

When I followed Takouta to Guadeloupe,I had taken a boula eand a calabash (chacha) with me. My djembe and all the other drums I had, i had left them behind in Martinique. Because I wanted to cool the crazy side of my playing. By listening to the Guadeloupeans, I’d understood that I needed to learn the base rhythms.
So, in Takouta I played the boula and the calabash. I didn’t play either the rhythm or anything else in the takout’ structure, I learnt the 7 base rhythms with Ady especially.
Then I started to go with Vélo to the community festivals and the Pointe-à-Pitre market place. On partait avec un tambour et une calebasse et on passait le chapeau dans le public. While there, I asked my wife, who had remained behind in Martinique, to send me the djembe drum.
I offered it to Vélo. I remember that he came to Pointe-à-Pitre with it. He said : look, I was given a leg. That’s what he called the djembe, because of its barrel-like shape. And that’s how Vélo was the first to have a djembe in Guadeloupe. And also the first djembe-ka because it was already mounted like a ka, with 6 pegs at the time.
This enabled people to play Takout and Vélo. Before when Vélo used to play, Takouta would play the traditional way. Once Vélo had his own drum, he could play with Linlin. Linlin knew Vélo’s drumming technique by heart. He even added phrases to Vélo’s, types of counterpoint. He was just fantastic.
I had the opportunity of seeing Carnot, Vélo, Ady and Linlin play together. It was for the Baie-Mahault community festival. They played until 4 am, until daybreak. This was the only time I saw Carnot and Vélo play together, because they didn’t get along well at all. Especially with a Linlin who had a unique way of playing the boula.
Linlin was born with sound in his spirit. Each of his fingers was like a small stick. He had a way of rolling that was just incredible. It sounded like the crapauds that you hear at night in the French West Indies. There was a purity to his music, something that transcended the world. I’m very moved when I evoke this topic. He was someone who was very polite. I never heard him insult anyone.
Vélo was not easy to live with. Basically he was a good man. He had a good Guadeloupean upbringing. The social rules of Guadeloupean society – politeness, respect of the elderly, he had all that in him.
I’m going to tell you something, Vélo was responsible for my coming off the wagon, because I saw how evil alcohol could be.
At one point i said to myself that God had given Vélo a gift and that if Vélo had acquired the status he should have, then Guadeloupe would already have become independent and Vélo would have lived at the Centre des Arts. However, since the devil had got him to drink to stop him from doing positive things, he was always an outsider. Playing for 50 francs and sometimes a plate of cold colombo served at 2 am. I experienced all these things with him. Right up to his death, he never had the recognition he deserved.
I remember going to see Henri Debs. On his records is written The saviour of French West Indian music. And he recognised this. Vélo died in April (1983) and I went to see Debs in January because we had forced Vélo to follow a cure. I had asked Debs to let Vélo record a record so that he would have some cash in retirement. And with the money gained we would have built a small house for him, and we the musicians would not have touched this money. Debs refused under the pretext that he was an alcoholic. At the time he’ just recorded the Gwo Siwo / Gwo Kato record. He told me: « Right now it’s Gérard Pomer who is the great drummer, Vélo is too far gone in alcohol, he doesn’t know how to play the drum anymore ». I replied “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re going to regret it one day. Mme Debs who was also present said to her husband : « what this young man is telling you is a good idea. You should listen to him ». When he came to Vélo’s funeral, I cursed him

Gwoka as a money earner Same thing with Lockel. He had distributed a tract against us because of the money we were making by playing gwoka in the street. Yet people should know that it was only to get a bite to eat that we passed the hat, not to get rich. The tract said : « gwoka-drug, gwoka-hotel, gwoka-sex, gwoka-hat, gwoka-begging ». But this was not begging. We were street performers. When we finished playing, with the money we went to a restaurant behind the Plaza to eat. Everyone got his portion. We were united by the drum. We worked for a year like civil servants. In the morning from 9am to noon, stopping for lunch, and then going back in the afternoon and the evening. From June to July we saved money and so we were able to go to Antigua in September. This was during the month of August.

Christian Mathurin

We had this connection through an Antiguan fire eater who used to dance with us on bottles - Ady, Linlin et Marceau.
Michel Halley was not with us anymore. He had founded the group Gwo Siwo to play Takouta music. But without Ady and Linlin he couldn’t make it. At least, it wasn’t the same sound. It was something else, the Gwo Siwo sound with the Jasmin brothers who were no doubt good drummers. But that was nothing to do with the
Takouta. Michel tried to do a Linlin sound, but Linlin is like Charlie Parker. Michel is a good musician, but his style is different to that of Linlin.

Linlin

I never saw Linlin do the same phrase twice. There were never useless or overbearing notes in the way he played. Vélo too.
I remember when we used to play in a club in Gosier, le Scarabée. We would get settled, and the public would be speaking. Linlin would strike up one beat on his drum and people would suddenly stop what they were doing. He had a unique way of striking up a sound.

Mandeng

Vélo too didn’t play as many notes as a Armand Acheron or a François Ladreseau who played a lot of very quick notes. Vélo didn’t do all that but he touched the very depths of your soul. He had a special gift. These musicians can’t touch that. For me, the only one of the same stature is Mandeng. He’s the same as Vélo. Together with Linlin, he was the only one who could produce Vélo’s sound. He was really someone to be respected. He played with Kafé. He shared a lot of his talent with François Ladreseau. I’ve already seen Armand watch Mandeng play. He plays simpler things than Armand but of a deeper, more spiritual nature.
I remember when I used to come and play at the Piétonne next to Akiyo. Mandeng was playing the djembe and I was playing a snare drum, a cymbal and two bells.
Mandeng is really good. I played with him once on the Place de la Victoire in front of the Maison de Marie-Galante. Danichou was on the piano and me on percussion. An African who was passing there by chance came to listen to us. He was so pleased that he gave each of us 500 francs. My percussion playing was unique. It wasn’t very good, but it was inspired. That’s what people said about my playing.

Christian’s musical style

In fact, I’ve always played music by trance. It enters my soul and I play. It’s spontaneous. I had captured something with the cymbals. I followed the marqueur. This is probably due to the fact that I am a former dancer and when there’s a dancer present, I have fun with him on the cymbals. I make my cymbal stick to the upturned toes and the hand movements of the dancer. I learnt a lot from playing like that, by following the dancers. I am a sort of parasite of the dancer and marqueur. I used to base myself on their expression to bounce back. I realise now that I must really have irritated some of them, to put it mildly. Paskè, tou koté ou tonbé, an ka koréw èvé on ponctuation final asi fèy en mwen. Because I was very familiar with the phrases of the makè drum especially Vélo’s.

Carifesta Games in Barbados

I also played in Barbados with Vélo. It was in 1978 during the Carifesta Games. At the time, I was playing with Mélina Ogoli. She had created a ballet entitled « Identity ». There was Armand Acheron, Michel Halley, Marceau… The history of Guadeloupe through dance and using Africa as a starting point, to sho what we were made of. There were pieces played by the Nigerian percussionist Babatundé Olatunji which we also played and then we played the gwoka rhythm. The drum’s journey, from Africa to Guadeloupe.
So we produced this show in Barbados. Michel and Armand couldn’t come. We were looking for a soloist and I suggested Vélo. That’s when I saw that people had abandoned Vélo. « Yeah, Vélo is on the street, he’s an alcoholic, he can’t play the drum anymore! » « What are you saying? Take him to Barbados! Give him a chance».

Vélo, a drum hero in Barbados

So we took Vélo with us. He amazed everyone in Barbados. We had hardly landed when they took us to a stadium. Each country was on parade with its delegation. Vélo told us to take the drums, le djembe and my big boula. There was Marceau, Ady, Danichou, Jean-Marie on the flute and Fritz Naffer. Naffer had disappeared because he refused to wear the clothes made from banana leaves that Mélina had designed. He put on his jeans gear and left. Mélina didn’t want him to be on parade like that. When we arrived in front of the VIP box, in front of all the ministers of the different Caribbean countries, Vélo told us to put down the drums. Since Fritz was absent, I had to play the boula all alone for Vélo. I will never forget it. Vélo pinched my leg and said , let’s go, let’s take off. We started to play with such intensity!
The next day we were on the front page of the local newspapers : « Vélo : Master Drummer from Guadeloupe ». Vélo was headline news. People came to see Vélo in the secondary school where we were staying. I was very happy that day because people came and were full of respect for Vélo. People paid for his clothes so that he would always be well-dressed.
We had gone to Barbados under the auspices of the municipal authorities in Pointe-à-Pitre – so a representative from their cultural department accompanied us. He made sure that we didn’t smoke any herb. I’m laughing about it now because we still managed to smoke our herb, incognito. We left the secondary school and went off to smoke. A Jamaican supplied us with the herb. We never had any problems.
Vélo didn’t drink because there was no alcohol. We were in a cultural context. And he was fine. To compênsate, he ate a lot of snacks, especially the small boxes of corn-flakes that we were given for breakfast. He even put on weight because he ate three square meals a day, something he seldom did in Guadeloupe.
In Mélina’s ballet, the 7 gwoka rhythms were present and Vélo didn’t want to play that. He showed the dancers how to dance. Lots of problems and disputes! Mélina almost lost it with Vélo. He wasn’t easy, and a stickler about the way things should be done. That’s not how it’s done! There’s the coda and then such and such! etc.
I suffered on a personal level with this show because there were lots of rhythmic changes and I hadn’t yet quite mastered the gwoka rhythms correctly.
And the worst thing was the other musicians didn’t work on the pieces. They created a good ambiance in the bus, but once on stage the guys didn’t play as they should, they pretended to play. Still we put on a good show. We spent two weeks in Barbados.
We met up with a group of Trinidadian percussionists. They loved us. That’s where I saw the link between our menndé and certain Trinidadian rhythms. They played the same menndé we did with the same marking and phrases. They played on drums made from coconut tree trunks with goatskins and congas too. They loved Vélo. They came looking for us in the evening to party in the school.
We returned to Guadeloupe and everyone recognised that Vélo had fulfilled his duty. It also did him a world of good because he was conscious of his talent. And he also saw that we did not respect him. We called him to come and play a little, but no one hired him to play in the hotels, for instance. Don’t forget that in the beginning, he used to play with La Brisquante, Mme Adeline’s folk group. So now all that was left was the streets.

Patrick Jean-Marie – Atika – Jazz in ka

I knew Vélo in his later years. He was sent to for a cure and Marceau and i told him that we were trying to learn, to take off and that he would have to choose between music or rum. The two don’t go together. We told him that we needed to practise. He thought this unnecessary, he didn’t need that. We told him yes it was because he needed to show us what to do.
This was when we started to work with Patrick Jean-Marie. We formed the group Atika. At the time Joël Ogoli was on percussion. As I had played with Vélo, he came to mark in the group. But he wouldn’t come to the practice sessions, it was impossible to get him to come. This was not a problem for Patrick because once it was Vélo, no problem. When Vélo came, he managed to fit into Patrick’s scores. Not all of Atika’s music has been recorded. Patrick used to make us play Miles Davis, John Coltrane, or Eddie Harris but with a gwoka flavour. It was fantastic. We had gone pretty far, further than anyone else up till now. We would have lasted, today we would have been rich, if only we’d had some support. The music was weighed, counted and divided. The music was real. And we had Vélo. After some time, we encountered some problems with Joel. He was scared, he had no confidence in what we were doing. With the arrival of Eric Danquin things really began to pick up. We had had a great tour in the various communes of Guadeloupe, subsidised by the CAC (Centre for Cultural Affairs). It was very difficult because Vélo was often quite drunk. We didn’t see him. Gaston Angèle used to replace him.
Patrick hd recorded the group with a tape recorder. He’d produced the record himself. He had done everything, he was really out of this world.
And then Patrick started to get fed up woith us. He said he’d try to take us towards the sun, and we’d always bring him back down to the ground. The group broke up.

Kat Tèt

I then started to work with José Egui ( ?). He was looking for some musicians for his theatre. I did the sound effects. As he wanted a lot of musical background, I brought him Patrick to play the marimba. From there we roped in Toto Jean-Marie to play the bass and finally Eric Danquin on percussion. There ended up being four of us accompanying the play.
José told us that our music was really great, that we could make something out of it.
He asked us one day what was the name of our group? So we started to look for a name. I remember that. We used to eat in a a restaurant on the Place de la Victoire. So I suggested: Patrick Jean-Marie and his quartet. Then we realised that when it was said in Creole, it was « Kat Tèt ». So that’s why we were called Kat Tèt.
I prospected the hotels and was successful. The Novotel, Méridien, Hamac, PLM. We never used to rehearse.
I will never forget the day when we were on TV. We thought we had rehearsed for TV, one of the pieces that we usually played. And what did Patrick do on the set? Ihe started to play a new piece, Nikita, that we didn’t know at all. We were wondering what it was. Then Patrick said: guys, this is what we’ll play. And then 1,2 123 and off we went. And we played really well. I don’t recall ever having played the congas so well. Eric had found a rhythm on percussion that was fantastic. We had one of these grooves, a kinda jazzy gwoka rhythm, with a bit of samba thrown in.

Kat Tèt, the album

Followinhg that, we played in a hotel with Luther François (a St. Lucian saxophonist). That evening, we find a 100 franc note on our table with the words « prepare four sngs and give me a call ». Signed Alex Monpierre.
Patrick called him. A week later we were in the studio. We hadn’t prepared anything. It was in Larry Gréco’s studio, the Crazy Sound (different to the present-day one), on St. Félix hill.
I was flipping because we hadn’t prepared anything. Patrick had come with the Nikita piece, Luther with two compositions. Alex whistled a salsa melody for us (RCI used it afterwards as their theme song) that we immediately put it together. From the first afternoon of recording, the percussion, bass and piano were already in place.
We got together the next day to do the percussion. I had worked on some introductions that I personally thought were excellent, but the problem was they didn’t go with the piece. I didn’t have the time to take it in and we had to work fast. So I got in a row with the producer Alex Monpierre.He didn’t like what I was doing because I didn’t play salsa the traditional way. So he called up Charlie Chomereau-Lamotte. You can hear me playing on the Nikita piece and the rest is Charlie.
So the Kat Tèt album was recorded in the space of three afternoons. It was a real hit. We received awards. Since the album had been released, Patrick went crazy, he was tripping. It’s mystical. The album was entitled Woman though the songs have nothing to do with this theme. There was Nikita, one of Patrick’s compositions for his daughter, Sky 2000, Hommage by Luther for the bluesmen, Alex’s salsa … (see the vinyl).
Before the album was released, we were playing all over the place. Once the record was released, the group had some problems. I see a sort of curse in a record jacket. We lost the hotel contracts. For a while, we let Alfredo Nascimento (a Brazilian pianist living in Guadeloupe) replace Patrick. But Alfredo wasn’t Patrick, he didn’t know how to play the biguine yet. We really had a hard time. Meanwhile, Vélo died.

Christian and his group

I started to turn towards folk music with La Brisquante. I accompanied dance classes. All the members of Kat Tèt had gone in different directions. Eric Danquin played with Germain Cécé and his Caraïbe Jazz Ensemble. Toto Jean-Marie went to play with Tony Faisans.
I had created a combo with Danichou, moi on percussion, he on the piano. We played in the hotels and restaurants. Toto and the guitarist Philippe Blaze joined us on Sundays when we went to play at the Vieille Tour. Our music had a hint of American folk but with a folk style that was our own, very local in flavour. Among other things, we used the book by Léona Gabriel that was filled with traditional French West Indian songs : Zafè Kò Ida, Gran Tomobil or Régina Coco. Belle Ile en Mer by Laurent Voulzy. The audience really appreciated it. The mother of the owner of the Vieille Tour liked me a lot. She always placed a 50 franc note in my pocket.
We started to get itred of playing the same things. We had difficulty organising rehearsals to enrich our repertoire with new pieces. The owner of the Vieille Tour also started to get fed up, he asked me to come up with a new formula with a saxophone too. I suggested Guy Alcindor, who was in my opinion the best Guadeloupean saxophonist in terms of style and sound. He’s the stepfather and spiritual father of the saxophonist Jean-Claude Descieux ( ?). From percussion I went to the drum kit. We had only one rehearsal, at my house. There was Toto Jean-Marie on bass, Danichou on the piano and Guy on sax. With the addition of the saxophone, the music was really good. We played a lot of bossa nova, Perdido, jazz, Satin Doll, and mazurka, Gran Tomobil. But the clientèle soon dropped off.

Spirituality I have started playing the piano for some time. However, since my conversion to the Gospel, I have put music aside a little. In order to pray, meditate, and listen. Listen because I think the problem I had with music was that I didn’t used to listen. I mean, I had more of an intuitive ear. And then I played it right away. Now I’mtrying to develop an analytical ear. I never used to do that before. I used to listen, feel, and act spontaneously. That’s how I have always played, and that’s why I often had problems with people. Sometimes I went faster than the music and I didn’t always detect the nuances. I never paid attention to listening carefully to everything. A global listening to the music. Now I hear a lot better. I have learned to listen. It’s Christ who has given me this gift. And also he has enabled me to sing because I never used to sing before, I couldn’t do it. I’ve started to do so recently. I’ve learnt to control my rhythmic speed too. I used to have the tempo, but not the beat. You can play a tempo very fast but very slowly in terms of the beat.

Christian Mathurin.

It’s time that has given me this. You need to be wise to be able to play music. You have to listen a lot, you have to be patient. And then you have to play with people with whom you enjoy playing. There must be mutual trust among you.
When God will let me play music again, I’ll do it. But a music made for peace, with people who’ll be of the same frame of mind. Not in a spirit of self-adulation or of competition. No, with a view to praising God. Playing joyful, happy, peaceful music. And no, « wè jòdi, nou kay fou yo on kout mizik ». I never liked this way of thinking. That cannot be. I think that most of all, music is linked to harmony, peace, and love. For it is true that music can be used for war, to lead people to war, for example – military music.
I see for instance in the Adventist church I attend, that even in the churches alienation exists. The faithful sing songs and themes that bear no relation to their culture. Neither the rhythm nor the harmony.
When the gwoka will take its rightful place in church there will be a lot more Christians. Because the man from the Guadeloupean people will be drawn to this, because the gwoka doesn’t belong to the devil but to God. Everything belongs to God. The devil took the gwoka to make people believe that it was only for « vyé nèg ». « Gwoka rum », « gwoka drug ». AWA!

Gosier, Guadeloupe, july 24th 2003