By Todd Lavoie
Book alert: Horace Panter, bassist for the much-beloved ska institution the Specials, has just released his memoir, and it looks quite tasty.
Entitled Ska'd for Life: A Personal Journey with the Specials (published in Britain by Sidgwick & Jackson, but distributed in America by International Publishers Group), it promises to give plenty of fresh insight into the motivations behind some of the most memorable songs of the Thatcher era, along with some intriguing observations about why the band unfortunately couldn't make it past three albums. Haven't read it yet, but I've pawed it over a few times, and it looks quite well-written. Dare I say, it may be as authoritative as some of those wicked basslines Panter unleashed as part of the Specials' mighty rhythm section! March on over to your favorite independent bookstore and take a look for yourself.
Ah, the Specials - they were great unifiers. Back in college, I once had a clenched-fisted straight-edge roommate who lived and breathed the hardcore lifestyle 24/7. What a mope. Swear to god, the only way to crack a smile off that guy would be to throw on some Judge or Youth of Today, which he did, relentlessly. Nothing against either band, of course, or the genre, even, but this kid was just so rigid about it! For him, nothing else existed besides two-minute anthems about the evils of drugs and alcohol, both of whom I seemed to be getting on with quite well, thank you very much.
Me, my tastes were all over the map, just as they still are - rigidity never suited me, y'know. Didn't like the commitments, I suppose. Anyhow: when we were first battling it out for stereo time, I took it as a challenge to find something of mine which might actually leave the Old Grumpus grinning, rather than snorting away some snide comment under his breath, skulking back and forth in that shrinking little room till it was his turn again to play DJ.
It took a while, but eventually I found our winner when I slipped on the Specials' The Singles Collection. Suddenly, the clouds lifted, birds began singing, and did I even see a foot tapping, a glimmer of a smile over in yonder corner? Victory was mine, and it arrived in the form of a skittering ska number called "Gangsters," that landmark debut single that announced the birth of 2Tone Records and its signature punk/ska/reggae gumbo sound.
Not to go all melodramatic on you, but every song was like a mini-breakthrough - "Nite Club," "Rude Boys Outta Jail," even "Free Nelson Mandela," the bubbling Afro-pop-inflected rouser from their late-period Special AKA incarnation. I did it! Or, rather, these trombone-loving revolutionaries from Coventry did it. Who knew? And so the Specials became an unofficial soundtrack of sorts for those few months, before Kid XXX went AWOL and I had the place to myself. But until then, we'd found our common ground.
But that's what the Specials were all about: unity, commonality, working together. Between 1979 and 1984, the racially integrated (hence, 2Tone) band made some of the finest social commentary of the punk/post-punk era while still keeping kids on the dancefloor. Inspiring stuff, especially when you consider the less-than-impressive socioeconomic conditions of that era.
Unemployment was running high, with little indication of the situation improving anytime soon. There was plenty of reason for British youth to be angry, and the Specials arrived just in time to tell kids to channel their frustration appropriately. Violence wasn't the answer, and you'd be hard pressed to find more damning statements about its pointlessness than "Concrete Jungle" or "Ghost Town." The latter is probably their finest hour: that ominous rocksteady rumble, those unsettling creep-out vocals. "Bands won't play no more / too much fighting on the dancefloor," they lament. Reminisce away:
Few bands attacked racism as effectively as the Specials. "Doesn't Make It Alright" remains one of their most thoughtful arguments on record, while "Racist Friend" minces no words in getting their point across: "If you have a racist friend / now is the time now is the time for your friendship to end." Can't dispute that.
I searched high and low for a clip of the band performing "Racist Friend" - an absolute stunner, thanks in part to a gorgeous horn bit that never ceases to flutter about in my brain for a long while after I hear it. But to no avail. I thought you could find anything on YouTube! Instead, I'll leave you a-bobbing with the video for "A Message to You Rudy" - fancy footwork from Horace and the lads! Check out those suspenders!
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