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September 25, 2020
It was a pleasant and sunny day in April 1979, on the tranquil Caribbean island of Carriacou, when I first encountered Black Stalin. I had heard his song on the radio but paid little attention to the lyrics, but did find the structure of the music exciting and catchy. The tri-island country of Grenada, of which Carriacou is a part, had just, on March 13, 1979, executed a revolutionary change in government. The new Revolutionary Government had brought a few performers, including Valentino and Black Stalin, to perform in concert rallies around the country. The buzz among my peers was that Valentino was a born Grenadian and Black Stalin had Grenadian ancestry.
On that Sunday afternoon of the concert, I was among the many curious teenagers who mulled around the Hillsborough Recreation Ground in Carriacou, observing the stage and sound system being put into place. We all anticipated seeing and hearing the performances of these recording artists even more than hearing what the politicians had to say. When Valentino delivered his song, “Stay Up Zimbabwe,” reworded to say, “Stay Up Grenada,” the crowd joined in with the chorus. Still, there was serious thinking and reflecting when Black Stalin delivered “The Caribbean Man.” The debate and discussion among the youths began before leaving the Recreation Ground. There was a noticeable increase in interest in our history and future.
Lines like, “Mr. West Indian Politician, you went to big institution, how come you can’t unite seven million,” about the failure of the West Indian Federation and the weaknesses of CARIFTA and CARICOM still resonate in my head. Black Stalin delivered his lyrics with truth, deliberation, and conviction. He traversed the stage with ease and connected with the people. With humility, Black Stalin expressed that providing his family with a dignified livelihood should be the ambition of the Caribbean man. In just one afternoon, he gained my respect, and so far has never disappointed me with his lyrical philosophy.
Nearly ten years later, in Brooklyn, this time, one of my friends, who attended the concert with me in 1979, was explaining the lyrics of another Black Stalin calypso to me. “Wait Dorothy Wait,” craftily expressed how the Caribbean man should address the underlying issues negatively affecting the attainment of a dignified livelihood before choosing to be festive.
On September 24th, 2020, Leroy Calliste, aka Black Stalin in the calypso world, turned 79. He has been honored for the great work that he has contributed to the calypso art form. This is my time to thank Black Stalin for arousing my awareness through conscious lyrics and entertaining music.
Stalin, you live your life in song
You dedicated your life to the Caribbean man
You related our history
That they would not teach in our country
And enlightened the minds of young men and women
Though not on the stage these days
Your work continues to amaze
Generation after generation
Oh how much I would like to stand
And have a great shake hand
With the ultimate Caribbean Man.
James ‘Nick’ Cox is a former educator and performing artist who lives with his family in Brooklyn, New York. Originally from Meldrum, Carriacou, Grenada, Mr. Cox is a self-made musician who has composed and performed kaisos since he was a teenager. He is a songwriter, music arranger, and producer of several calypso albums. Cox’s professional skillset ranges from computer software development to nursing, his current occupation. Cox has an enduring passion for social justice and a united Caribbean country.