THINKING ABOUT BENJAMIN ZEPHANIAH AND A FEW NICE THINGS
LITTLE BIG MAN HAS PASSED. HIS WORDS & ACTIONS WILL CONTINUE TO INSPIRE.
When Shane McGowan died aged 65 last week, people shook their heads and wondered how he ever made it to pension age. When news broke of Benjamin Zephaniah dying of a brain tumour on Wednesday - also aged 65 – there was a real sense of shock. How did a vegan who practised tai chi for several hours a day and remained amongst the most spiritually and socially engaged of individuals come to be struck down?
Writing these words I’m aghast at Zephaniah being proven so mortal – I only met him once so can’t claim any great insight but he radiated good health and a very positive mental attitude. That his hero, Bob Marley, also died from cancer aged only 36, reminds how the good can be cruelly snatched away too early, while a wretch like Henry Kissinger, responsible for the death and suffering of so many, enjoyed a gilded century.
My encounter with Zephaniah occurred one summer afternoon is 2002. I was writing a feature on British reggae for fRoots* magazine – fRoots focused on covering folk/roots musics from across the globe and, while reggae mightn’t have been foremost amongst its readers interests, the magazine’s editor, Ian Anderson, understood the importance of Jamaican music. Thus I interviewed Misty In Roots – the Hounslow-based dreads who then had a new album out on Real World Records – Linton Kwesi Johnson, the dub poetry pioneer whose trilogy of late-1970s albums marked him as the most articulate angry voice in Britain, Steve Barrow, a white guy whose Simply Red-funded label Blood & Fire was reissuing lots of 1970s era reggae/dub, and Benjamin Zephaniah.
Here’s one of Ben’s best, Rong Radio Station, where he takes down the toxic media Rupert Murdoch and Lord Rothermere find so profitable.
At the time I likely considered Benjamin the slightest of the four: where Misty and LKJ had won spurs as militant voices, while Blood & Fire were rereleasing often very rare albums, Zephaniah was a media friendly performer who wrote children’s and young adult books, regularly released albums of dub poetry (none matching the heavy manners displayed on LKJ-Dennis Bovell efforts) and regularly lent his voice to a good cause or a guest spot that wanted a bit of conscious poetry. A nice guy, no doubt, but a bit of a lightweight, ay?
Today, reflecting back, I can see I had things the wrong way round: Misty never really developed beyond their late-1970s dread sound, ditto LKJ (who peaked with 1980’s Bass Culture) and appears to have written himself out (rarely offering a new verse or music in the past 40 years), even if he is now lauded as an anti-racist poet. While Blood & Fire soon ran out of strong re-releases and, having splashed cash crazily, had its funding pulled (there’s only so many dub albums even Mick Hucknall needs).
In contrast, Benjamin Zephaniah kept on writing and rhyming and performing and educating and doing all kinds of things – I once turned on the telly and was surprised to see him cast on Peaky Blinders! Unlike his contemporaries, he loved people and audiences and engaging and sharing – he inspired many (and entertained many more) and, in his gentleness and good humour, his desire to communicate with many and generosity of spirit, made himself into something of a national treasure. LKJ may be more feted by the literary and reggae establishments but, as I found out when interviewing him, he’s a reserved, rather sour man, one who could never engage with children/the general public in the way Zephaniah did.
The afternoon I spent with Zephaniah was at his home in East Ham. He lived in a small bungalow that was, memory suggests, sparsely furnished and decorated – photos of Ben with famous men were on the wall but not a great deal else. He didn’t have much of a music collection and appeared to live largely possession free. His hobby, he told me, was building cars and into his garage we went where a chassis was surrounded by parts. My disinterest in motor vehicles means I can’t tell you what kind of car he was building – nothing flash, not a Rolls or a Ferrari, is all I recall.
Zephaniah was friendly and straightforward, intelligent and eloquent. We spoke about his young adult books that were, at the time, doing well and his love of going into schools and engaging with children. He spoke passionately about his vegan beliefs – this at a time when it was rare to encounter anyone who had such – and how, after a hardscrabble childhood, he had come to London to escape Birmingham’s mean streets and, by sheer force of will, made a name for himself on the post-punk spoken word scene.
Good if brief BBC overview of Ben’s life here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-67655014
It’s followed by Ben paying tribute to Muhammed Ali on his passing in 2016 – Ali was a hero to me as a child so I can only imagine what he must have appeared like to a poor black child in Birmingham in the 1960s/70s. Like Ali, Zephaniah challenged people to think for themselves and not accept the status quo.
The only odd thing he said – “odd” to me, that is – was his declared love for China, where he mentioned spending up to three months a year. As China is not a nation noted for its animal welfare or free speech concerns, I wondered what the appeal was. We didn’t pursue this discussion, so perhaps someone close to him will shed more light on such. Anyway, below is the exert from the fRoots reggae feature – I’ve added links to clips of Ben’s music and as they will provide a fuller picture of Zephaniah than my piece does.
Since his dreadlocked head first popped up in 1979, Benjamin Zephaniah has produced a remarkable body of work. Foremost known as a dub poet, he’s the promotional face of Radio 3’s first World Music Awards, a highlight of Charlie Gillet’s World 2001 compilation (with Nu Suede Shoes), writes poems and novels for children, visits dozens of schools across the UK, is an active activist and manages to circle the globe both for The British Council and under his own steam. Zephaniah bristles with creativity and is something of a UK national treasure. Not bad for someone who describes his younger self as “an illiterate hustler”. Born in 1958 to Jamaican and Barbadian immigrant parents in Birmingham, his father’s frustration and violence feeds his new play Listen To Your Parents (which toured schools across the autumn). As ever, keen intelligence, wit and compassion are evident in this work. And all of these were on display when I met him in his East London abode. “I grew up listening to reggae, though I don’t listen to it much these days. I listen to rap, so it’s not the computer generated stuff that puts me off, I just don’t find they say anything much now. I like more things like the Gorillaz – derivatives of reggae. Growing up as I did I was surrounded by all kinds of sounds. I mean, when I was a kid, I thought Jim Reeves was Jamaican – his records were always being played.”
Here’s Dis Policeman (Is Kicking Me To Death) the tune that first won Benjamin wide attention as a fresh, militant voice:
I like how droll he is here about police brutality. Not a great sound – he would do far stronger dub poetry – but as an introduction to a new voice it really makes its mark.
Raised amongst a Rastafarian community, Rasta patois permeates Zephaniah’s poetry, while a portrait of the late Ethiopian emperor, Haile Selassie, hangs in his living room (there’s also framed photos of him with Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Yasser Arafat). Yet he keeps a distance from strict Rasta lore and emphasises his attachment is more one of community than religion. “Rasta helped confirm a view I already had, that you can be political and spiritual. Hippies like to say ‘we don’t deal with politics,’ well mate, politics deals with you. And totally political animals who have no spiritual side, no time to meditate, I also find lacking. Rasta combines the two. Rastafarianism allows you to read anything – the Koran, the Vedas. I don’t preach Rasta – I see it as a movement with a religious section.”
Zephaniah emphasises how Rasta militancy combined with punk’s radicalism produced the last great outpouring of British music rooted in social activism. “In the late 1970s, you had British reggae bands like Aswad and Misty In Roots making really potent roots reggae, and a lot of street activism going on. It was the right time. Look what was happening – Thatcher was cracking down on all kinds of people, the NF were rising up, there was a demo every week. So I’d go on stage at demos and do a few numbers. Rock Against Racism found punk and reggae bands on the same bill and we’d come from the same council estates so were saying the same things. Our attitude was the same, ‘pick up your guitar and do it’. I talk to kids these days and they don’t believe me. I wrote To Do Wid Me after a student said ’I’d vote for Hitler if he left me alone,’ a response to the apathy I often encounter today.”
Zephaniah was aware of the power of words from an early age. “It’s really strange, but deep down I just felt I wanted to write poetry all the time. I remember telling my mother I wanted to be a poet and she couldn’t believe it. She asked me ‘how many white poets do you know?’ And then added: ‘Look at how they treat us coloured people and get yourself together and get an apprenticeship’. I could barely read and write but I knew I had to do it. “The love of words came first – the way you can put words in a particular order and have an impact on people. I started chatting on the sound systems and in the 1970s there were these massive power cuts. One night in particular we had these cuts and there was a blues (Jamaican dance night), and I had a stake in the drinks money. I didn’t want everyone leaving, seeing there were suddenly no sounds, so I started chatting about Angela Davis – she was a folk hero at the time – impersonations. That made people say ‘you’ve got to take it somewhere else’. I came to London leading up to the 1979 election. I remember seeing LKJ on TV and thinking ‘wow, he’s like me!’”
No Blue Suede Shoes is possibly my favourite Zephaniah tune – this is because Ben worked with the band Back To Base who created an imaginative, subtle percussive electro backing for his rhymes on the album Heading For The Door.
LKJ and Zephaniah are very different individuals yet both cite Shelley as an inspiration. Zephaniah’s most recent poetry collection, Too Black, Too Strong (Blood- axe), opens with an introductory essay, What Am I Going On About? In it Zephaniah declares: “Britain is a wonderful place. It is a nation of shopkeepers, aristocrats, farmers and animal lovers, all at the same time.” He goes on to write incisively of contemporary Britain, both praising and criticising. Of himself he states: “Here is a poet who won’t stay silent. I live in two places, Britain and the world, and it is my duty to question and explore the state of justice in both of them.”
The poems in Too Black, Too Strong touch on many subjects – eulogies for Ricky Reel and Stephen Lawrence, anger at social injustice, celebrations of carnival, naked human bodies, London, and a hymn to the Windrush generation: The Men From Jamaica Are Settling Down. I would never call Zephaniah a ‘great’ poet; instead, he’s a passion poet, a morality player, one who insists simple stanzas can engage readers with the world. “I expect governments to be racist, tribalist, whatever, but I expect the people to have a conscience. Y’ know, I believe in the old Bob Marley line: ‘Never let a politician do you a favour’. I think politicians should be stripped of all their privileges. They should go to work on buses if they’ve got to fix the buses.”
Touch finds Ben musing with eloquence on intimate relationships – he’s quite the charmer!
Zephaniah’s recent written efforts have been largely directed towards writing for children and teenagers. Most recent, This Is Britain (with photos by Prodeepta Das), is aimed at pre-teens and demonstrates in a playful manner the great variety of races and cultures inhabit- ing these isles. His two novels for teenagers, Face (1999) and Refugee Boy (2001), both focus on teenage trauma, but not of the ‘sex-drugs-garage’ ethos that seems to preoccupy many of his contemporaries. Face focuses on a youth having his face rebuilt, while Refugee Boy is a wry overview of London teenage life and a refugee’s struggle within an often less than helpful system. Zephaniah’s enthusiasm for working with children infuses these novels, they sing of lived experience and empathise with adolescent grievances.
“I try and be un-didactic when I’m writing for kids. Refugee Boy works well because it’s wrapped around this individual and I write it from his point of view. Kids know what it’s like to be in strange situations. I write stuff that I’d like to have read as a child. I know it’s not Harry Potter, but it’s not trying to be escapist. One of my biggest compliments was just down the road, a couple of kids were truant, playing football, and they were taking turns to read my book.”
Ben returned to Birmingham for what is an insightful journey (28 mins - if you have the time, an enjoyable watch). https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m001bmc0/a-picture-of-birmingham-by-benjamin-zephaniah
The five albums he has released since 1983 vary in urgency and quality – his most recent, 2000’s Back To Base, found him chatting over a pulsing electro groove and was a big improvement on 1996’s Belly Of De Beast, which matched tired rhetoric with rather lame dub arrangements. Zephaniah’s presently at work on a new album and a collaboration with Rebel Uprising (an Asian Dub Foundation offshoot). “To be honest, I’m not doing the straight reggae thing. It’s more dancey, groove-powered stuff.” He keeps his back catalogue active, but his preference remains performing in front of a live audience. Reggae authority David Katz believes Zephaniah is at his best on stage. “I remember seeing him perform having come straight from hospital,” says Katz. “He gave a very focused, energetic performance. He had Talvin Singh playing tabla and Benjamin made it so musical. It was a brave thing in so many ways and it worked so well. I think that says a lot about his dedication and who he is.”
Spoken word performances regularly take Zephaniah across the globe. In early 2002 he toured Sri Lanka, Thailand and Libya! “For the last couple of years I’ve been more out of the UK than in – nine months out last year. A lot of it is British Council and I admit I still find it odd that I go forth as a representative of the British Council. The first time I tried out for them I went on stage, said my piece about Thatcher, and thought they’ll never employ me again. I came off stage and two guys in suits came up and said ‘jolly good’ and it’s been sweet ever since.”
The London Breed by Benjamin Zephaniah **
I love dis great polluted place
Where pop stars come to live their dreams
Here ravers come for drum and bass
And politicians plan their schemes,
The music of the world is here
Dis city can play any song
They came to hear from everywhere
Tis they that made dis city strong.
A world of food displayed on streets
Where all the world can come and dine
On meals that end with bitter sweets
And cultures melt and intertwine,
Two hundred languages give voice
To fifteen thousand changing years
And all religions can rejoice
With exiled souls and pioneers.
I love dis overcrowded place
Where old buildings mark men and time
And new buildings all seem to race
Up to a cloudy dank skyline,
Too many cars mean dire air
Too many guns mean danger
Too many drugs means be aware
Of strange gifts from a stranger.
It’s so cool when the heat is on
And when it’s cool it’s so wicked
We just keep melting into one
Just like the tribes before us did,
I love dis concrete jungle still
With all its sirens and its speed
The people here united will
Create a kind of London breed.
Benjamin Zephaniah used his time on earth to entertain, inspire and encourage others. He set an example that all of us can (and should) look to in the way we live our lives.
*From 1979 – 2019 fRoots magazine was the UK – actually, the world’s - foremost monthly publication covering all kinds of vernacular music. The decimation of CD sales for niche artists/labels saw a drop in advertising that fatally wounded the magazine. Founder/editor Ian Anderson maintains a website + a podcast full of fine music: https://frootsmag.com/
** The London Breed celebrates my adopted home better than any other poem I can think of. Hopefully it will one day be celebrated alongside Blake’s far bleaker London.
Hi Garth, I stumbled across this piece and just wanted say how much I enjoyed it. I met Benjamin twice, 14 years apart, and on both occasions he was incredibly gracious and kind. Also, thank you for mentioning the wonderful Picture of Birmingham documentary - great to see Benjamin onstage performing, and interacting with kids.