The humility and sartorial elegance of Sly Dunbar

My tribute to the simple Slyman would be remiss without noting his respectful character and sartorial elegance. Sly Dunbar approached life and music with an open mind. His respect and concern for humanity were instilled by parents who fostered humility and the importance of generosity, which shaped his personality throughout his life. Sly’s creative influences were drawn from ethnic idioms of world cultures to modern western commercial expressions. He understood that art was both self-expression and a business.

Never conceited, judgemental, or insecure, he respected everyone and shared his ideas generously. Sly was sincere. He gave recognition and praise to whomever it was due, and communicated it thoughtfully, with admiring respect. Acknowledging the influence of other drummers and highlighting their contributions, especially those who are overlooked, came naturally to him.

Sly was not just an innovator. Like that other relentless 20th-century musical improviser, Miles Davis – himself a connoisseur of contemporary Japanese designers and a modern technology enthusiast – he was a Dapper Dan. Sly was a profound fashion icon whose wardrobe reflected his musical philosophy: ever-evolving, it shifted like the beats of his drumming, always ahead of the curve and epitomising coolness. His style was a blend of sharp, tailored sophistication and quiet, rebellious experimentation, earning him recognition among his peers as the best-dressed man in reggae.

Sly’s couture defined his self-expression as that of a Dandy, a fashionista; he was a snappy dresser whose image, like the fusion of conventional and avant-garde percussive concepts he pioneered, reflected his open-mindedness toward diverse sources, often blending historical or traditional elements with modern, avant-garde sensibilities. Sly favoured clothes that draped with a rhythmic fluidity,apparel that could breathe in the Kingston heat but hold its fluid curves on a cosmopolitan stage, favouring apparel by Japanese avant-garde designers Issey Miyake or Yohji Yamamoto. Such was the fashionable image that characterised Sly.

The porkpie hats that alternated with soft leather brimless caps, wire-rimmed professorial spectacles, natty Chinese silk caftans or floating scarves, loosely draped linen Italian jackets over raw silk t-shirts, or collarless tops, casual jeans that alternated with full-formed Afro bohemian trousers that hung over t-strapped sandals, and leather knitted footwear that drew attention to his eclectic sartorial taste. Following a back injury, he added a stylish black cane for walking.

In his later years, the cane became an extension of his rhythmic body. It was never a sign of frailty, but rather a “conducting baton” for his daily life – a polished, decorative tool that added a final touch of Victorian-meets-Afro diasporic elegance. Sly’s embrace of a wide range of stylish attire was not dissimilar to his attraction to the diverse sound images that invaded and churned in his mind. Sly was a gentle man who exemplified a gentlemanly demeanour in dress and manner, a drummer who evolved from tin cans to ingeniously caress the traditional percussion trap set applying a touch that was delicate yet pronounced as a thunderous roll; he was a forward thinker whose introduction of the octagonal Simmons pad announced the direction into the digital age, and the percussive genius of the hi-tech drum machine that defined it.