Sonic stories on canvas: Documenting music through art
With each pencil stroke echoing the reverberations of dub music, this painting by Denzil Forrester from The Time is Always Now exhibition unveils the interconnectedness of music, art, and cultural identity
There are no solidified forms, for they have all melted into an amalgamated liquid movement. An invisible layer of smoky haze hovers overhead to aid this illusion. Contorted limbs and shaky basslines swirl together to produce a wave of purple undertones and blue highlights. Her hair is no longer bound by gravity as it floats past another’s shoulder. Or is that their arm? These bouncing shapes cannot be defined by their individuality or ability to pass as body parts. They’re mixing, chopping, but ultimately preserving the memory of a moment in a night that Denzil Forrester once etched into his A1 sketchbook at a dub ‘blue’ (underground party) somewhere in East London.
A setting of this calibre must be religious or spiritual — almost ritualistic. The procession faces ahead to the preaching sound-system, like flowers to a blaring sun. Prayers manifest as dance, allowing the crowd to sweat out any grievances. In its most abstract essence, it is an expression of energy, tantalising the viewer through gestural brushstrokes which frame quite a mystical sight. My eyes continue glancing from point to point, attempting to recount the image in a more tangible sense until I lose myself in the blissful whirlwind, as intended.
Much like dub music’s emergence in London, the painting Itchin and Scratchin (now being displayed at the National Portrait Gallery for The Time is Always Now exhibition) is an evocative ode to the comfort of community. Grenada-born British artist, Forrester, recounts his days as one of the only boys from the West Indies at school. His isolation was gradually stifled by his introduction to the dub reggae clubbing scene of London in the ’80s, a stark contrast to the punk-rock movement popularised within white youth culture at the time. As a student at the Central School of Art and Design in London, Forrester had access to all the major dub nightclubs — Phebes, All Nations and Four Acres. Through quick sketches from his corner on the dance floor, he would encompass the atmosphere of these clubs which mirrored the inner-city life outside the doors of the music hall: noise, strobe lights and an entangled bundle of bodies.
In an interview for Hyperallergic, Forrester names King Tubby as a leading pioneer of dub music, who rose to popularity through performing in Dance halls in Jamaica in the late ’60s. ‘Dub DJs used their mixing desks as an instrument,’ proclaims Forrester. ‘A dub track was originally the B-side of the record. The A-side was the vocal track. The B-side became more experimental using echo, feedback, and repeats.’ Studio producers would remix records by adding sound effects, amping up the bassline and removing the vocals to tracks to create a novel piece of work that could be played directly to the ears of eager rave-goers.
Dub’s odyssey to the English capital was facilitated by the systemic restraints enforced onto Black populations which, in turn, birthed a new Black London culture. Dennis Morris, a photographer who frequented those early sound-system parties, reminisces over the ambience of these social settings. ‘There were very few clubs that we were allowed to go to,’ he explains. ‘You didn’t feel comfortable, so we created our own environment.’
Music and dance have historically acted as cultural reliefs for marginalised people, especially from diasporic backgrounds. Itchin and Scratchin captures the sense of unity and mutual connection that can be felt, even momentarily, through the electric buzz of booming speakers and the swaying motions of hands in the air. Through his portrayal of the oneness of dub clubs, Forrester immortalises the memory of one of the most powerful forms of resistance against institutional intolerance: communal joy.
