Editorial | Sparrow: The King lives

In one of his later interviews, Slinger Francisco, known to the world as the Mighty Sparrow, said of calypsonians: “We are the self-appointed mouthpiece of the under-privileged.”

Sparrow’s voice was louder, more incisive and trenchant, delivering the message with gravitas and wit, infectious melodies, and a clarity that was uniquely Sparrow. He was never off-key or out of tune, literally or otherwise.

But the Mighty Sparrow was no mere messenger. He was equal parts griot, social and political commentator, philosopher, literary master, and raucous and subtle entertainer. For more than seven decades, he kept his finger on the pulse of the Caribbean, interpreting and recording its twists and turns. He helped the region to tell truths to, and about, itself while allowing its people to sing and dance.

The Mighty Sparrow died this week, at the age of 91.

Happily for the Caribbean, it took all of 67 years, since the first rumours of his death and the release of Simpson (The Funeral Agency Man), for that claim to become reality.

“… Not to say ah don’t have a sense of humour/ but ah don’t like the rumour/ people all about say Sparrow kickout,” he sang in 1959.

A decade later, in response to another speculation about his death, Sparrow asked in song: “... who kill the Sparrow/ nobody know.”

Unfortunately, his fans and calypso lovers cannot be privy to what would have been expected to be an impish take on his passing.

However, the death of Sparrow does not equate to silence or the end of his relevance. He has left a catalogue of hundreds of songs — whether on the humour and double entendre of sexual prowess and exploits, biting critiques of aspects of colonial education, prescient observations of the accelerating decline of empire, or frustration with the Caribbean for failing to firmly grasp the call to integration — that remains pertinent to today’s circumstances.

Importantly, it is not only Sparrow’s commentaries that retain their relevance. His sound, with its tinkle-bell clarity, remains fresh.

For the insufficiently informed, Jamaica, with its roots in reggae and lesser tradition of calypso, might seem to have escaped the influence of Sparrow. That is hardly the case, especially when Sparrow is observed in all his dimensions, beginning with his instinctive regionalism.

Slinger Francisco was born in Grenada. As a small child, his family emigrated to Trinidad, where his father found work.

Sparrow’s regionalism was deep and profound. He was an ardent supporter of the West Indies Federation. His anger at its collapse in 1962, and his frustration with Jamaica for starting the process, are captured in the song Federation.

“... I think it’s a big shame/After so much effort and energy/Goodbye everybody/Right now is only a memory/we fail miserably …”

He told Jamaicans that, if they knew “they didn’t want federation and to unite as one”, they should have, from early, told Eric Williams, who famously declared that “one from 10 equals zero”.

“This federation was to me the answer to a lot of problems,” Sparrow said in a 1992 interview. “By now, we definitely would have been a … power to be reckoned with… .”

However, Sparrow’s disappointment with Jamaica did not morph into an eternal grudge. His partnership with Byron Lee produced the music for some of his classic songs. It also produced, with their cover of the soul ballad Only A Fool Breaks His Own Heart, a major European hit that sold more than two million records.

HIS LEGACY

That feat confirmed Sparrow’s versatility as an artiste, though not his genius, which was already evident in 1956 with the song Jean and Dinah, a subversive melding of the likelihood of a more economically available supply of night-time escorts with the closure of American military bases in Trinidad and an assertion of sovereignty and, in a sense, self-reliance.

“... The Yankee gone and Sparrow take over now …”

As the Caribbean continues to grapple with poor education outcomes, Sparrow’s classics, Dan Is the Man in the Van, and the later Education, were early calls to arms to confront the pending crisis.

In Dan, he marvelled at the ability of Captain Cutteridge, the influential colonial education administrator who served in Trinidad in the 1940s, and others of his ilk, to “make a cow jump over the moon”.

Further, with the United Nations having declared the racialised enslavement of Africans “the gravest crime against humanity”, the hauntingly performed The Slave, which Sparrow first sang in 1963, seems an appropriate anthem for the reparations movement that has gained global momentum.

Britain, the old colonial power that is central to the reparations debate, is now a troubled country. It is a middle-level power that has had seven prime ministers since the country’s vote to exit the European Union a decade ago. Its troubles were foretold.

In 1979, Sparrow noted:

“... London Bridge is falling down … the immorality of the young/ the instability of the pound/ the humility of the crown/London Bridge is falling down …”

As the Caribbean remembers Sparrow and reflects on his critiques, there is not only the heavy stuff to ponder. There are also the pleasures and joys of his genius in songs such as Mae Mae, Harry and Elaine, and the remembrance piece Memories.

There was a mutuality of ownership between Sparrow and the Caribbean. His legacy is the indivisibility of that partnership.