Caribbean Sunshine
A psychedelic adventure in the Caribbean waters
by Carli Muñoz
One of the most memorable and transcendental music experiences I had was on a tiny island located just north of St. Thomas, Jost Van Dyke. This happened during the mid-'60s when our rock group, The Living End, created havoc during summer in St. Thomas. Towards the end of our sojourn in St. Thomas, some local friends invited the group to go to Jost Van Dyke, which we had never heard of, as a personal invitation from its "governor," Foxy. Of course, without hesitation and animated with such an adventurous spirit, we accepted. Soon enough, an old fisherman with his small outboard fishing boat boarded us and took us on the roughly 20 kilometers stretch from St. Thomas's north end to Jost Van Dyke. The vessel didn't make it to shore due to motor failure just short of about 300 meters from the bay. I had a lady friend and a matchbox with 4 tabs of Owsley Orange Sunshine in my pocket. Being true to the adventurous spirit, I didn't want to wait for another fishing boat to come and tow us, So, I took two tabs, gave my friend the other two, and off-we-went into pristine emerald blue waters of the Caribbean Sea.
Needless to say, by the time we swam to shore, the perception of being there defies any common sense or normality. The island was then inhabited by 40 natives of African descend subjects of the British Crown, fishermen, for the most part. In addition to the fishermen, there was a tax collector and the "governor," whose name was Foxy. As far as dwellings, the only concrete structures were the remains of a small one-room jail and the façade of an equally small chapel in ruins. The other structure consisted of Foxy's house, a dearly cozy wooden shack where Foxy kindly lodged my friend and me during an unexpected storm that evening. There were some other sparse small shacks made out of wood and palm inhabited by the other natives. As it turned out, my friend and I were the only ones who took the dive. A couple of hours after our wet arrival, the others arrived at shore towed by other fishermen. That means that some of the other Sunshine tabs had also arrived on land dry and safe. It was beyond intense observing how an ordinary day in the life of the Van Dykians would turn into the most dynamic, passionate, extremely colorful, and aggressively prosaic, but cleverly poetic form of RAW calypso extravaganza––the kind of calypso I never knew existed! It all started with our humble visitor's offering of the only treasure that we possessed (besides our green adolescence) to share; Orange Sunshine and a little weed for a chaser.
The prelude to the music was a game of dominoes between Foxy and his closest competitors on a makeshift wood and driftwood table under some dry palm leaf, which served as a catapult to the Sunshine effects experience. While the Sunshine was covertly performing its breach on the lock of the ultra senses, the game took on an energy level of its own. It became strangely aggressive with overtones of a struggle for life and death. Amidst the heavy sweat pouring out of the charcoal black skin, the Sunshine evoked such adrenaline levels and tension that the half-naked gladiators proceeded to take arms. Fortunately, the choice of weapons was musical instruments - most of them homemade. The only classic musical instrument was a guitar with a few strings missing that Foxy played. Other musical instruments were a broomstick on a washtub with an old rope and a homespun tambourine and some other improvised percussion.
The aggressiveness that had started during the domino game morphed into their form of calypso. As they picked up their instruments with a vengeance, they started playing what seemed to be an 8 and possibly 9 bar cadence reminiscent more of jíbaro mountain music from Puerto Rico, rather than calypso. The intensity, though, was in the textual improvisation that each combatant engaged on. One would utter verses to the other about "how good I fucked your mamma," or how "your wife moaned louder with me," etc. How I wish I had a Sony Walkman Recorder then, although it was the intensity of the moment and the raw expressions that added to that singular and priceless event! What troubled me most is not remembering the structure of the music. I remember being highly impressed by it––it wasn't like any calypso I've ever heard. Unfortunately, Jost Van Dyke is not the same as it was then the ‘60s, but Foxy is still there, playing and singing his music, not quite as prosaic as before, but nevertheless profound––I can take you there... come rain or come shine.
