King of Scratch

It all went south from the chicken wings. Our planned evening soaking in Crucian culture skidded from cold wings to medical emergency in less than an hour. But I’m jumping the gun and neglecting the fine art of foreshadowing. Ahem. . . south from the chicken wings.

Picture it: sundown on the western Caribbean Sea at historic Fort Fredrick on picturesque St. Croix. An evening of film, food and music awaits a cultural arts extravaganza event planned in honor of Jamesie Brewster front man of Jamesie and the All Stars. Brewster, 70, is the subject of a new documentary entitled: “Jamesie, King of Scratch”.

In 2004 the territory legislature declared Scratch the official music of the Virgin Islands. Scratch features musical instruments that are hand made and historically similar to West African instruments. Scratch music is an amalgam of historical musical styles influenced by the various peoples and cultures that make up the history of the Virgin Islands.

Background provided; I resume with the evening’s event. Due to a work-related delay (yes, people work here) we arrived during intermission between the two showings of the film. We paid our $5 cover deciding to enjoy the food and music portions of the evening and catch the documentary late show.

Since the band had yet to set up in the fantastic courtyard space of Fort Frederik, we headed to the buffet only to learn that the early show crowd consumed nearly everything. We were offered a plate of four chicken wings and two mini rolls. No beverages—they were out. Our charitable donation made, we stepped up to the aged battlements to sample the meager fare.

Cold sweet marinated chicken wings are not the most unpalatable snack on the planet, but leave much, much to be desired. I need not elaborate on the elasticity of cold, honey-coated chicken skins? No, I thought not. The mini roll washed down my one and only quivering bit, thank goodness.

Disappointing chicken could not, at least, spoil the view. The crowds continued to grow as we waited for Jamesie and the All Stars to strut their stuff. We moved from the gunnery to the back corner of the fort that provided a view of the expanse of the courtyard so that we could see band and dancers in the crowd.

Eventually, the band struck up a tune. Upbeat and infectiously melodious, patrons began to dance. Gorgeous sunset, documentary-worthy music, Caribbean Sea—euphoria is easy. Unfortunately, so is dehydration. Second song into the set, a tourist in the back of the courtyard, directly under our seats began to stand and then collapsed into the person seated next to him. His wife and surrounding patrons rushed to his aid. The rest of the crowd (other than those in our vantage point) danced on, oblivious, that is until one of the impromptu emergency attendees rushed the stage and called for “a doctor in the house” several times. No doctor emerged, but one lady did announce that 911 had been phoned.

A heavy couple of minutes passed with Jamesie looking toward the crowd and the entrance. When the EMTs did not emerge, Jamesie and the All Stars launched into a surprising Scratch version of “The Tennessee Waltz.” Couples swayed in ¾ time while a nurse took charge of the resuscitation efforts demanding water for the collapsed man and dousing him with ice and bottled water.

Maybe it was the growing dark or our empty stomachs or the dread-filled fifteen minutes that passed and still no emergency responders merely concert goers with water bottles trying to comfort a listless man lying on the concrete, but we decided not to wait for the documentary. Sometimes the signs point quite clearly to turning in early and getting your butt back home before one crosses the path of something even worse. Tonight was one of those nights. The stars, for us at least, aligned against Jamesie and the All Stars.

Read more about him in the security of your living room at http://www.jamesieproject.com.