Jit Samaroo - the revolutionary hero

Last Saturday, I was honoured to contribute to a panel discussion on the life and music of the late pan arranger/composer, Jit Samaroo, as part of a three-day festival bearing his name.

                                                        Wesley on Jit (video)

I found that the example set by this musical genius had been instructive in his time and remains important today, especially in the face of the current dark and uncertain period.

I concluded, to the surprise of some, that Jit Samaroo’s contribution to pan and public life had been “revolutionary” and in absolute defiance of the established order of his time.

I found more than vague strands of the same argument when I listened to the contributions of fellow panellists Carlton Maltin, Samaroo’s cousin, and musicologists Dr Jeannine Remy, and Satanand Sharma.

Any attempt to understand the role of Jit Samaroo in the world of steelpan and in society, should consider essential pillars upon which the instrument and its social, cultural, and economic assets rest.

For one, there is the music. Samaroo’s influence includes the insertion of a multiplicity of musical streams peculiar to the Indian music with which he was quite familiar, his experience as a cuatro and guitar playing parrandero, and his intimate understanding of tonal colour and rhythm associated with the African drums he had heard in Lopinot.

Later in life, a piano was added to his living room appurtenances and, through it, a greater appreciation of classical harmonic influences.

Listen to his pan arrangements and it’s there – the interplay between rhythm and harmonics and a fearlessness about the insertion of diverse elements long before current trends. An “egalitarianism” through sectional autonomy – the frontline, mid-range, bass, percussions.

Saturday’s moderator, Jessel Murray, delivered a brief and important lesson on the employment of “polyharmony” in Samaroo’s arrangements. Think primary school delivery of  “Three Blind Mice” and the blending of harmonic streams. This is more than mere “fusion.”

Now, think of Samaroo as a Surrey resident of Indian heritage entering the Renegades panyard, in the heart of Port of Spain for the first time in 1971. Note the year. He was accompanied by the legendary pan tuner, Bertrand "Birch" Kelman.

Samaroo’s future work constituted more than mere mixing of musical elements. Musicologists know the right words. I do not. But there are socio-cultural features of what happened in the Renegades panyard that resonate against the backdrop of some of our chronic challenges in T&T.

Remember, as well, his pioneering of the Renegades Youth Steel Orchestra, his role in the transition from the Samaroo Kids to the Samaroo Jets, the emergence of his son Amrit, and you find lessons in youth development and intergenerational transition.

His name is also there when considering pan as undeniable economic asset. I have written thousands of words on this,  including my concern about untapped intellectual property value.

Jit Samaroo left school at 12 and went on to lead an entrepreneurial music enterprise - the Samaroo Jets. Their gig at the Hilton spanned 35 years and they also toured the world!

Next, pan is a longstanding symbol of resistance and defiance - an instrument of revolution. If you want you can start with colonial attempts to silence the drums, then the tamboo bamboo, then the emergence of early representations of the steelpan. All of this in defiance of actions in the 1880s through something ironically called the Peace Preservation Act.

An entire model of social organisation, cohesion, and mobilisation arose in the panyard as a response to oppression.

Pan emerged as an “eff you” to the notion that one can legislate peace into existence in the face of massive tumult. Think about Jit Samaroo and Renegades 1971.

Note the period. The year 1970 – as an “eff you” to the status quo - was fresh in our collective imaginations. There had been the memorable March to Caroni of March 12, 1970, with banners bearing the admonition that Africans and Indians must Unite.

Then Birch Kellman took this little Indian guy to Renegades in a still-heated Port of Spain. There was a state of emergency that very year that was only lifted  eight months later in 1972.

Yet. No march. No slogans. No banners. No iconic bling to readily identify a leader. Just the sound of a panstick on steel and a call to order. This was revolution in its purest form.

Its chief protagonist did not do anything fancy to declare revolutionary intent. All he took with him to combat was an approach to pan music that would revolutionise important aspects of the instrument; from the music played on it, to the social model to which it contributed, to its role as an instrument of revolution.