Long Night into Jazz (Saint Lucia)

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A few of us have been going down to the Jazz Festival for years. This is my husband, Travis. Travis, say hello! What’s your name again? Are you a musician?

“We’ve been doing Saint Lucia Jazz Festival every year for ten years. We just love our jazz, don’t we, Trav? There’s fourteen of us on this flight from England. We call ourselves The Black Pack. We’ve been coming here every year for years.

Where are you staying again? Are you a musician? Oh, my God, you’re not! Travis, you’re never gonna believe it. He’s that editor of that magazine. Why don’t you shake his hand? I actually found a copy of your magazine once on the train. Some idiot must have left it behind. I thought - I’m having that! I couldn’t believe it, there it was. This is such a coincidence. Are you here covering the jazz? That must be so glamorous!”

I stifled a yawn and turned towards the window. It might have been a glamorous trip, had I not just slept the worst night’s sleep in recent memory. Through the mist outside I could see the many hills and valleys that would give this tropical island its special character. But was that smoke billowing from the top of one of those two mountains below?

We had stopped off briefly in Barbados just twenty-minutes earlier where my “new best friends” had boarded the flight. In that country the landscape had been flat and much drier. So why was there some type of bush fire raging in the centre of the crater below? No, no, no; a lack of sleep, I must be seeing things.

“So, who you most looking forward to seeing then? Fantasia (above), ennit? That’s my girl. You know my girl can sing, ennit? I nearly voted for her, as well. Didn’t I babes, on that American Idol programme? It’s just cos we live in England I couldn’t get through. I hear they got UB40 on the bill - huh - might be all right for the Saint Lucians!”

That’s when I must have closed my eyes again and drifted off. The plane made a sudden dip and swerved into a thick cloud of smoke. My stomach went woozy and I remember wondering if there might be something wrong with one of the engines. Then, the dream came to me, slowly.

An interview had been booked, the press pass obtained; I arrive at the Gaiety, Rodney Bay, on time. With a photographer in tow and armed with a dozen questions, I take a seat on the balcony, overlooking the stage and prepare to meet The Main Man¹

Lights, cameras, sound, action; and in sloped super-sized Kevin Mahogany (left) with the rest of his quintet who proceeded to charm with their unique style of easy-listening jazz, down home blues, and a back catalogue of all familiar timeless songs. From Nature Boy to Happy Home, oh, how the audience clapped and stomped and clicked their fingers. And this was only the “warm-up” act!

Two encores and a twenty-minute break later; our star attraction took to the stage: “Ladies and gentlemen, will you put your hands together for one of the greats of jazz Mister…Pharoah…Saunders (right).

I felt a sharp prodding in my side: “Seatbelt, seatbelt! Fasten your seatbelt, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride,” the talkative woman beside me laughed. I lifted an eyelid and attempted a smile.

“Did I tell you,” she said, “me and my husband got married here ten years ago today? It’s our tenth anniversary honeymoon thingy; I had to tell someone.”

“Congratulations,” I mumbled and forced another tired fake smile as the plane began its noisy descent.

“You’re really tired, aren’t you? You would have thought they’d have put you up in Business Class since they can afford the Rex Resort Hotel. Hope they’re not expecting you to be bright and perky any time soon.

Did you see that? Did you just see that down there? It’s The Pitons and Soufriere Beach; we got married down there on top of one of those two live volcanoes. Ooooh, this is where I get all excited. Babes, we’re there. We’re there!” She prodded her husband.

“This one can sleep just about anywhere! What’s your name again?”

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1. In reality, Pharoah Saunders (right) didn’t even deserved a mention here. After sitting through his rather patchy performance and personally arranging an interview with him afterwards, he sent me off on a wild goose chase to meet him at his hotel, and didn’t even bother to show up while I waited around for over two hours. And to think, I only took the job because I was excited at the prospect of meeting him. It marred my view of the whole week’s event. [↩]

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