Clear the Way for Caresser’s J’ouvert
Posted by Michael Eldridge on March 2, 2014
Lord Caresser isn’t known for his carnival tunes. Sure, there’s “Carnival Is We Bacchanal” and “Clear the Way When the Bamboo Play,” and maybe even “Hold Your Hand, Madame Khan”—fine tunes, all of them, though as road marches go, they don’t have the legs of a “Matilda” or a “Mary Ann” or a “Don’t Stop the Carnival.” And that’s okay: Caresser’s strong suit, after all, is the playboy boast. (Besides, anybody who pens a classic like “Edward the VIII” has a secure spot in the kaiso pantheon.) But when you’re looking for a leggo, you go to King Radio, not the King of Hearts.
Still, there’s one other carnival calypso buried in the trove of Caresser typescripts at Library and Archives Canada that’s worth a listen. (Well, a look, technically; there’s no lead sheet, so we have to imagine the melody.) And as it’s Carnival Weekend—even now, I’m struggling to watch Panorama finals in 15-second bursts over CarnivalTV.net’s hammered servers—I thought I’d share it.
It exists in two versions, with two different choruses and two different titles—”Carnival at Maraval” and “Jour Ouvert Morning”—and there are no clues as to its date of composition, although an apparent allusion to pan implies postwar. (Unlike many others in the collection, which came from George Robertson, Caresser’s producer at the CBC in the late 1940s, it’s not a topical number on a Canadian subject, so it doesn’t necessarily derive from Caresser’s time in Montreal. It may not even be his own work, for all I know, and I’d be glad for anyone who can set me straight on that point.) As the first title would suggest, the tune is about the singer’s visit to Maraval for carnival—Christmas Day or Boxing Day, respectively, not Shrovetide—where it turns out those creole bumpkins really know how to play mas! The city-slicker’s enthusiastic impressions fall back on a number of hackneyed tropes: music that drives you mad, old ladies who exclaim in patois, colorful locals with eccentric names. But they also include some genuinely striking evocations of the procession’s rustic charms:
The drums and the tin-pan
Beat back any modern string band
The greeter [sic] and the dust-bin
Ten times sweeter than a violin
The pieces of iron nearly made me groan
Making more notes than a saxaphone
Even the chauvinistic wink that rounds off the lyric (those Maraval girls…am I right?) is built around an original juxtaposition of refined and rude: “The City girls they are full of bliss/But the Country girls got the stupidness.”
Anyway, as visions of bacchanalian oblivion go, this one is almost pastoral. Makes me want to join that fête.
Revelers: on J’ouvert morning, I’m sure you won’t need Caresser’s “Martiniquan woman” from Maraval to remind you that “wee, ebien wee, jourdwee say fete.” But maybe you can find a melody for his chorus:
If you hear me die, don’t cry
Don’t cry, but let the anthem swing
Clear the way on Jour Ouvert Morning