No Woman No Cry Read Free Page B

themselves the Wailing Wailers. The Wailers had recorded some rock steady singles in a studio in the Trench Town area near where Dream and I lived. Kingston had a number of small recording studios then, some of them just one of several businesses run by one person—Beverley’s Record and Ice Cream Parlor was one (its owner also sold stationery); another was a combination studio and liquor store. Studio One, on Brentford Road, belonged to “Sir Coxsone,” a man named Clement Dodd, who was an early supporter of Jamaican music and very important to its progress.
    When I found out that the Wailing Wailers passed our house every day on their way to Coxsone’s studio, I told Dream and Marlene that we ought to meet them and sing for them. One evening when I looked out they were passing the cemetery, so the three of us ran out to wave. Looking at them—there were three of them, too—I thought, well, they look all right, I could be friends with those guys. Even though Aunty was always saying, “Don’t look out for that boy business, you already have one baby, so just be cool now, you’re either going to work or back to school or I’ll have to send you to your father—you’re not going to stay here and be an inconvenience!”
    Nevertheless, I began to watch for the Wailers and listen to them on the radio, and one day not long afterward they stopped and waved back, and Peter Tosh, the tall one, came across the street while the two others leaned on the cemetery wall, strumming their guitars. Peter introduced himself—his real name was Winston Hubert McIntosh—and asked me how I was, and what was my name, and called me a “nice girl.”
    â€œSo you’re the Wailers,” I said. “And who’s that one?”
    â€œThat’s Bunny,” he said. “And the other is Robbie.”
    â€œHi!” I yelled across the street, all the while trying to think of a way to tell them that we could sing. Later I said to Dream, “Let’s try to practice that song ‘What’s Your Name?’ by Sam and Dave.”
    The next time the Wailers came past and stopped to greet us, I said to Peter, “You know, we can sing a bit.”
    And he said, “Well sing then, man.”
    Aunty had been so strict with me since I’d had Sharon that I hadn’t even been allowed to talk to boys out of our yard. “Don’t make me feel like I’m an old woman just because I have a baby! I’m still young, I still can be happy!” I had yelled at her. But the rule was that I could only socialize over the fence, so when Peter asked, I opened the gate and stood half in and half out. And we sang.
    The next day not just Peter but the one called Robbie came over. This time I was alone. He and I said hello, but he was shy, and I thought, oh, nice boy. Then Peter said, “You look like a decent girl, and it seems as if you can sing, so why don’t you let us take you up to Coxsone’s for an audition one of these days?”
    That was an offer I needed to consider. Would those guys take me away and rape me? After all, Trench Town was full of risky, tough “rude boys,” and most of them could sing.
    By then, though, a few of Papa’s friends were aware of our talent after having heard Dream and me in the yard. Andy Anderson and Denzil Lang were also friends of Coxsone, so one day they decided to pull some strings and take us up to see him.
    All excited but a little nervous, Marlene, Dream, and I went to the studio—and there were the Wailing Wailers, who were surprised now as well as interested. It was great—we did a few songs, and then Coxsone asked Robbie to play the guitar for us while we sang some more.
    I could tell it was important to all three of the Wailers to see that Dream and I were being raised strictly, that we had discipline from our house, that we had been brought to Coxsone by older men who knew music.