Carnival Friday in the city of Port-of-Spain and, outside my window in the Bajan countryside, workmen are jamming a jack-hammer, the Hilti firing almost as rapidly as the computer-generated throwaway beats we now call soca without sneering, and 1974, my first Carnival not under parental supervision, comes back to me, gloriously.
What dreams and what energy Shadow’s Bass Man gave us! Since David Rudder took that baton, though, is there anyone he could hand it to that could run with it, instead of merely keeping time? Does anyone even discern they’re in a relay race? Is there anyone under age 50 in the Limers’ Republic who might yet anchor our hopes? (How old is Ataklan? Bunji? Nigel Rojas?)
Will anyone in any power make a change instead of making change for every blue note they can get?
Bass Man was both our music and the world’s, like Satisfaction, like Sweet Child O’ Mine, like Hey Jude. Without it, Bahia Girl could not have been written; and, without Bahia Girl, there could not have been Get Something and Wave.
It all turns, for me, with that Bass Man from Hell, turns and turns away in the widening gyre, until we cannot hear the Farrell on Green Corner.
On Carnival Friday, Trinidadians think even less than usual (and, born ingrates, rhyme “WB Yeats” with “toilet seats”). If the Arabs gave the world the concept of zero, Trinidadians at Carnival time give the world a sub-zero way of thinking: if Descartes was, because he thought, we’re not even firetrucking here.
In that context, I offer this affectionate parody of the great moment, as a people, that this pivotal song represents. Because I know, though, how ignorant we are of ourselves today, I will include Shadow’s lyrics before my own extended version.
Enjoy the Conny-Voll and the wee-wee trucks and the replacement of “All-o’-we-is-one” with “All-Inclusive-has-won”; and try to remember the former myth was at least one that was worth believing in.
Bass Man
by Winston Bailey
I was planning to forget calypso
And go and plant peas in Tobago
But I am afraid Ah cyah
make the grade.
’Cause every night I lie
down in mih bed
Ah hearing a bass man
in mih head
I don’t know how this
thing get inside me
But every morning, he
driving me crazy
Like he taking my head
for a panyard
Morning and evening, like
this fella gone mad
(Pim-pom) And if I
don’t want to sing
(Pim-pom) When he start
to do he thing
I don’t want to, but I have to sing-and-sing-and-sing-and-sing
(Pim-pom) And if I don’t
want to dance
(Pim-pom) He does have me
in a trance
I don’t want to, but I
have to prance to his…
(Pom-pom-pom-pim-pom / Pidi-pom-pom…)
One night I said to the bass man
Give me your identification
He said “Is me, Farell,
Your bass man from Hell
You tell me you singing calypso
So I come up to pull
some notes for you”
I went and I tell Dr Lee Yeung
That I want a brain operation
A man in my head
I want him to dead
He said it is my imagination
But I know I hearing
the bass man
Base Man
by Shadow Copycat BC
I was planning to forget Carnival
And binge-watch “Black Sails”
in Maraval
And say, “Firetruck away”
with fake soca today
At most, take een Jouve
in Paramin
And chase my puncheon
with aspirin
And stay ahead of both the stoosh and the dread
I don’t know how this
thing just escape we
Two days that save the
whole year going crazy
We throw ’way all the
hope of the panyard
Carnival costume is
now Chinese bastard
(Bling-bling) And it don’t
matter what you sing
(Ka-ching!) Them does leggo to any-firetrucking-thing
I don’t want to, but I have to think-and-think-and-think
(Bling-bling) And if you give them half a chance
(Ka-ching!) They will monetise the romance
I don’t want to, but I
hold a séance
to this…
(The money-the mon-ey, the money-the mon-ey, the money-the mon-ey, the money-the mon-ey/ Is all we want, is all we want, is all we want/ The dollar bills, the dollar bills, blue hundred dollar bills/ Paul, yuh mother can’t)
One night I said to
the Trinidadian
Give me your identification
He said “You know
firetrucking well
Is my own soul I will sell”
I praising Allah, Vishnu and
Jesus Christ
Just to sell them out
at the best price
I went and I tell Dr William
Is your Federation zero sum
That still punishing we
Lost West Indian identity
He said it was my imagination
But we feeling the lash
of the base man
Who sell out we soul for
Great House control
Your choice now is
whip or be whipped
Man doesn’t bail a sinking ship
Lemmings prancing to the cliff, headlless chickens
jumping up as if
Oil price bound to rise,
we don’t compromise
I don’t know how this
thing get inside me
Thinking what, with some thought, what we could be
I don’t know how
this thing could elude we
Unchaining men does
not set them free
(Bling-bling) And it
don’t matter what I say
(Ka-ching!) The stoosh
will jump up anyway
I don’t want to, but I have to turn-and-turn-and-turn away
(Bling-bling) And if you only
look around
(Ka-ching!) You will see what right there be found
I don’t want to, but I going down-and-down-and-down-and-down
n BC Parodies is playing with Shadow’s great words in the heart of darkness.
