‘Inna de Yard’ delves into the ‘Soul’ of Jamaica
Caribbean Life, J BQ une 28–July 4, 2019 47
By A. D. McKenzie
KINGSTON/PARIS, June 24, 2019
(IPS) — Dogs barking in the distance.
Birds chirping nearby. A man walking
through the mist, surrounded by lush
vegetation. A distinctive vibrato singing
“Speak Softly, Love” over it all.
So begins Inna de Yard, a documentary
that can safely be called a love poem to
reggae music, or the “soul of Jamaica,”
as the film is sub-titled with an obvious
play on words.
Directed by Peter Webber (whose
first feature was the acclaimed Girl
with a Pearl Earring), the documentary
comes at a timely moment: reggae was
inscribed last November on United
Nations Educational, Scientific and
Cultural Organization’s (UNESCO)
Intangible Cultural Heritage List.
Before opening across Germany on
June 20, the film was screened in Paris
at the U.N. agency’s headquarters to
a full house of spectators, many of
whom seemed to know the artists and
the songs. Several stood up to dance
when the musicians performed after
the projection.
Inna de Yard takes us into the lives
of pioneer reggae musicians who have
come together to record music in a
hilltop studio. This is a weathered, old
house that offers breath-taking views
of the capital Kingston. It is filled with
stacks of vinyl records spilling out of
their decaying jackets, while an ancient
piano sits on the porch.
The man walking through the mist
at the beginning is a piano tuner, who
tells viewers that the instrument is
sometimes infested with insects, but he
needs to get it ready for the musicians.
We watch as he takes bits of wire and
other objects to do just that.
Then the music begins in earnest.
We are introduced to the artists — Ken
Boothe, Kiddus I, Winston McAnuff,
Cedric Myton, The Viceroys and
Judy Mowatt — as Boothe’s vibrato
accompanies spectacular aerial shots of
the landscape.
Kiddus — who appeared in the 1978
cult film “Rockers”— explains in his
deep, pleasant voice that the project
is “an amalgamation of elders playing
acoustic music,” and McAnuff adds that
the aim is to capture the music “in its
virgin state.”
Mowatt, looking like an urban
goddess in her patterned robe, says
that the house up in the hills “felt like
heaven” when she first visited.
In a previous era, Mowatt performed
with the I-Threes, the trio of backing
vocalists for Bob Marley and the
Wailers. But beyond her presence, the
extended Marley clan is not in focus
here. This documentary is about the
other trailblazers and the source of the
music.
“Some countries have diamonds.
Some countries have pearls. Some
countries have oil. We have reggae
music,” says bass player Worm in the
film.
With footage from the 1960s and
1970s, the documentary takes us to
the beginning of ska and rocksteady,
showing how the music developed,
influenced by American rhythm and
blues.
“We paid attention to what was
happening outside our shores and
we amalgamated that with what was
happening here,” Mowatt tells viewers.
“The 1960s was the romantic era, but
the 1970s was the conscious era.”
She says that reggae “talked about the
realities of life” and that “all of Jamaica
was living the songs that were being
sung”— songs about political violence,
hardships, and police repression of
Rastafarians, for instance. It was the
“golden age” of the music.
The documentary gives each of the
artists space to reminisce even as it
describes their lives now. “We miss
everything about those days,” says
Cedric Myton, a playful, lively spirit in
the film who said he’s “going up the
ladder” at 70 plus years old.
During one of the film’s most
memorable scenes, we see him heading
out in a boat and joking around with
fishermen as he sings “Row, Fisherman,
Row,” in his iconic falsetto. The film
cuts from the sea to the studio in the
hills, to Myton enlightening viewers on
the origins of the lyrics.
Like many of the others, Myton
started out in the music business
with what seemed a bright future,
but troubles in the United States —
related to “herb charges”— meant he
couldn’t perform there. In addition,
all the musicians have had experience
with unscrupulous record producers,
or “thieves” as Myton calls them.
“We’re not giving up because we
know there are better days ahead,”
Myton says. “But financially it’s been
a struggle.”
Some of his peers have had more
personal struggles. McAnuff lost his
son Matthew, also a singer, in 2012, and
his description of the “senseless” death
is among the most moving sections
of the film. So is the story of younger
musician Derajah, who lost his sister
to gun violence. We see them working
through their grief via the music.
“It’s a message for healing,” Kiddus
says.
The Inna de Yard project puts the
pioneers in contact with younger
musicians who perform with them in
the studio and on tour, and the film
profiles these artists as well. “We learn
from the younger guys and they learn a
lot from us,” Kiddus comments.
Mowatt also records with two younger
singers, the fiery Jah 9 and her colleague
Rovleta. Speaking passionately, Jah 9
gives an introduction to the history of
the island and the role that the Maroons
and their legendary leader Nanny played
in fighting against slavery. Then she
joins Mowatt and Rovleta in the studio
to sing Mowatt’s “first solo anthem”—
an intense track called “Black Woman.”
“It’s a love splash,” Mowatt
characterises the session, describing
the affection and solidarity between
the three.
Accompanying individual musicians,
the film also takes us through unspoilt
areas of Jamaica — waterfalls, natural
diving pools, forested Maroon country
— but it doesn’t shy away from showing
poor sections of the capital Kingston
where the music was born, or the
environmental degradation of some
beaches. We also get a glimpse into
eroticised dancehall culture, during a
segment in a bar.
Film director Webber was, however,
not interested in showing scenes “that
would cause eyes to pop in the West,”
as he said in an interview following
the screening in Paris. Webber added
that the restraint in filming certain
aspects of the culture was “deliberate”
as he didn’t “feel the need to labour the
point.”
Because of this approach, viewers get
a sense of the love of and respect for
the music, unlike some sensationalist
portrayals of Jamaican arts.
Webber said he was first introduced
to the island’s music as a teenager in
London and became “a huge fan of
reggae.” Years later, he was working
with French producer Gaël Nouaille on
a Netflix project when Nouaille told him
about the Inna de Yard musicians and
recordings.
“I had never been to Jamaica before,
partly because I had a Jamaica in my
head, and I knew that if I got on a plane,
I would have a touristic experience and
it wouldn’t live up to what I imagined,”
he said. “I didn’t want to spend two
weeks on a beach in Negril. But this was
a different way to go.”
When he got to the island and met
the musicians, he initially wasn’t sure
there was a feature film to be made,
and he questioned whether he could
produce a documentary that would
“appeal to a more general audience”
than traditional fans of reggae or dub.
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“Inna de Yard,” a documentary
about reggae music, opened across
Germany on June 20. Inna de Yard
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