I had the privilege of playing with Raf Robertson in the early ‘90s in New York.  He exposed me to calypso jazz and introduced me to countless musicians.  Raf threw me into the deep end of improvisation and small ensemble performance.  Learning a song took on a new meaning.  I no longer had the cover of a Steelband and two months to practice a piece.  Playing with Raf was always an adventure. Raf was a master of composing and arranging on the bandstand. His music charts, if he had any, were rough sketches.  “Yuh have to be ready for any ting; jus listen.” would be his warning.  And inevitably, the music ended up in strange, beautiful places.  How did we get here? How do we get home?  None of this mattered much to Raf. “Mistakes is when de magic does happen” was his refrain. Regardless of our final destination, the music was always organic and honest.   Music for Raf was about sharing culture, allowing the audience to feel and hear and see the real you, unfiltered, unvarnished.

Although Raf was one on the most outspoken critics of Trinidad’s culture, he was amongst its fiercest defenders.  His candid commentary came from a place of love. He experienced the highs and observed the lows of his native art forms.  He knew we could and should do better. When he was recording his classic album “Branches”, a tribute to Kitchener, he insisted that it must have live Pan.  We drove over 12 hours in thick fog to Toronto to insure he documented the instrument he valued dearly.  When we arrived, I was a bit apprehensive about laying down my tracks. In true Raf style he said “Hear wat, Garvin, we almost geh kill coming tuh Canada, yuh have to play. If we did dead, yuh had ah excuse,  but look, we alive.”  Raf would do anything, including risking his life and spending his last cent, to preserve and elevate his culture.

When I last spoke to Raf earlier this year, he was trying to get legal clearance for some songs for his upcoming project.  This was an ambitious undertaking that included a full Steelband, strings and horns, playing music by Sparrow, Ellington, Jobim, to name a few.  Raf sounded full of promise.  He had secured some funding, but more was needed, and Frankie McIntosh was prepared to write the string and horn arrangements.  I, too, shared in his excitement. I was planning to attend the rehearsals and hangout in the studio. Unfortunately, that was to not to be.

The Caribbean songbook now has a blank page.  An Unfinished Symphony, with notes that linger on.

Garvin Blake