Azie Lawrence
Pempelem

For me, Azie Lawrence is a complete stranger. All I know about him is that he recorded a few 45s for Blue Beat in the early '60s. That's the only reason I know him and the only reason I've written this review. His most famous track is a ska single: “Pempelem,” which is perhaps the name of the young lady mentioned in the lyrics (pure speculation). A young lady who works as a fruit seller but is ready to give you her “west Indian fruit,” provided you have some “loot” to give her in return. In short, she's one of those who doesn't give it away for free.

And these rare copies of this single aren't free either. Speaking with experts in the field, I've learned that this piece (the first pressing from '64) can generally be found for around 700 euros. For this exact reason, I've only managed to hear it “play” twice from a record player owned by a well-known and passionate DJ. (Having made the existence of this piece known, through some details, to those who weren't aware of it, I'm already satisfied. If that's enough for you too, stop here. But if you want to bore yourself, you can continue below). And I must say, it did make a certain impression on me. The first time I heard it was at one of those all-nights that are well known to anyone who frequents the national mod scene. It starts a bit late (sometimes not even that much), and then the records spin all night until morning if people are there. You dance nonstop from ska to northern soul, passing through R'n'B, rocksteady, and early reggae. It's often the case that you even throw in a few moves to some '79 power pop revival track (usually at closing). Evaluating it on its own, aside from the excellent groove and the fast yet impactful sax solo, it didn't seem that original or astonishing to me. Even the lyrics, although quite amusing with its double meanings, aren't exactly something unparalleled. To be clear: Blue Beat (like many other labels of the genre) has probably produced much better and more historically significant singles. So now you might think it's something fleeting and that those who appreciate it are perhaps just pretentious jerks who want to show off a greater musical knowledge compared to someone who only knows Prince Buster. I don't see it that way at all.

At this point, it's legitimate to wonder what has so forcefully gripped me, beyond the awareness of being in front of a sound of such costly rarity. The answer lies in the fact that Pempelem manages to strike a chord with a certain atmosphere, with a given story, and with a specific feeling in an almost unique way. It is, I know, something purely subjective, but that combination of voice, piano, rhythm, and horns is the only one that can even flood my eyes. The music transforms into a family film. Most of you, like me, still have some under the form of a cassette where you were recorded at two years old while soiling your diaper and/or trying in vain to stand on two legs. In the same way, I relive in a single blow those evenings I was talking about: extremely elegant individuals flailing as if they were in the middle of an industrial Aboriginal ritual. No more feathers, paint, tattoos, or who knows what artisan jewelry, but clothes, shirts, ties, and parkas. For the women, short hair, ballet flats, and tight dresses. These are the requirements of the dance for modernist sexual selection. A dance between metropolitan alienates sent among hunter-gatherer tribes by just one (yes, the one I previously described simply as “incisive”) more effective than certain endless blares of Jon Hassell.

Yes, subjectivity seems capable of changing every note, everything. But faced with all my and others' passions and all these beautiful idiot fantasies of mine, what remains concrete?! A subculture? A handful of jerks nationwide who will sooner or later disappear? I don't think so. So...the music! But isn't it perhaps among the most impalpable pleasures that exist? I was therefore about to answer: “a reminder, a mental association”...and who will ever see it? Maybe some neurologist from the year 5000 AD will be able to do it for me, or this very virtual page is evidence of it. However, le Temps mange la vie: this site is on borrowed time. “Debaser is dying,” everyone knows it, and everyone says it. In the end, it's clear that I'm only talking about the stale and childish vanities of overgrown kids. But they're living vanities! And this, last fact, is what matters most of all.