Jack Riley
Tobago, W.I. - We are at Scott’s Holiday Apartments, in Mt. Pleasant, Tobago [for Pazzaz, the Pan Jazz show held earlier this year on April 29 in Tobago]: panist Jason “Peanuts” Isaac, Fitzroy “Poporoy” Henry, Riley and myself, Keith Anderson. Riley is a man on the move. He announces he will have his morning coffee. Foolish me, thinking it’s Nescafe, is taken aback when Riley opens the Hennessy brandy and in one gulp it is destroyed.
He is not warm towards me, so I sit quietly. I was told: Don’t call him “Cobo Jack.” There is a level of anticipation as if a story is coming. Riley has the most amount of pan sticks I have ever seen; each carefully wrapped. He breaks into storytelling. It is about a pan tuning job in Tobago, and how he ‘skulled’ the 54 dollars and disappeared, sending his bags ahead of him. The money was spent on rum. The victim was his pal George “Yo Yo” Kallicharan. “That was not nice,” Riley muses. There is a smirk on his face; there is no remorse. Jack is a mischievous man.
I was anxious to have the great man talk, or possibly correct a bit of history, wrongly spread by historian Kim Johnson. I said: “Mr. Cobo Jack (he stares at me) - is it true you were accorded special privileges during the steelband riot days, because of your pan-playing skills and popularity?”
“I don’t know about that,” he says matter-of factly. “I had to run like everybody else, but it sounds nice.” We burst out laughing, Riley smiles. He has this way of turning serious things into a joke. He likes to laugh a lot, displaying lily-white ivories contrasting against a dark face, his eyes twinkle mischievously.
The master storyteller continues about his early years in Woodbrook. He was a member of every band in the area, and participated in ping pong competitions. Riley remembers being soundly thrashed by Ormond “Patsy” Haynes. There is no chocolate in the narrative. He is brutally frank.
Riley tells about a love for breaking the law, and run-ins with a policeman named Salandy.
“He used to put us on the run, but it was a lot of fun,” Riley admits. As a boy I have heard about “Cobo Jack” and to be in his presence is amazing. I am thrilled, and the icing on the cake will come when I hear him play.
It is over four decades since he played in Trinidad and Tobago. Pretty soon we will be off to rehearsals with Elan Parle’s Ming Low Chew Tung. Riley has his trademark pan stick in his back pocket. He is restless. We arrive at the rehearsal venue under Fitzroy “Poporoy” Henry’s safe hands.
Jason is up first. He runs through his session like a dose of Epsom salts. He plays beautifully: Sparrow’s No Money; No Love is dispatched with ease. His signature song Pan Redemption is devoured like a man eating a bread and shark.
It is Riley’s turn. He breezes through Frank
Sinatra’s My Way. Merchant’s Pan in Danger gets a rich
make-over. Chords sweeter than Caroni brown sugar. Riley is a
master. He plays with such ease. I got what I waited for 30 years.
As a boy I always heard about “Cobo Jack,” the master of
improvisation. He is truly a classy player.
We sit on the step and wait for some food. Riley regales us with
more stories. They are so much; it is difficult to retain them. They
come fast and furious. The big night has arrived at Pigeon Point in
Tobago. Riley is dressed like James Bond in national colours. He
greets an old Invaders buddy Errol Zephrine, another panman of note.
Zephrine promises to return to the Pan...as a player. Pan lovers are
rushing to shake the hand of the iconic “Cobo Jack.” He is gracious.
He also poses for pictures. No one is turned away. The show for me
is an anti-climax. I heard both men at rehearsals. I can see the
excitement in Riley’s eyes. It is his fist concert in 40 years.
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