Bob Bell Pays Tribute to Reggae Legend Hux Brown

Hux Brown. An extraordinary musician who defined Reggae.

Photos of Hux Brown by Britt Hallquist

Sometimes you hear a sound that changes things for you forever. You had no idea it was coming, and when you heard it, you had no idea that it would reverberate for a lifetime. I guess it is one of the glories of life, this unending cascade of cause and effect, creation and destruction, life and death, the seemingly random and eternal shuffling and dealing of the deck. Who knows just what the future holds? 

I heard such a sound in Neasden, a gritty corner of north-west London, in 1968, and it marked a new direction in my life.

I imagine most people of a certain age have heard ‘Mother and Child Reunion’ by Paul Simon, or ‘Israelites’ by Desmond Dekker. Or maybe ’54-46 That’s My Number’ or ‘Pressure Drop’ by Toots and The Maytals, or “Wonderful World, Beautiful People’  and ‘The Harder They Come’ by Jimmy Cliff.

Classic reggae songs from what is known today as the Golden Age of Reggae; that time, from 1968 through to the early 1970s, when Jamaican music swept the charts, first in the UK and then in Europe, and then around the world. 

I was working at Trojan Records during that time, then the world’s largest reggae label. We put out literally dozens of 45’s every month, the vast majority recorded in Jamaica. Reggae had, by the summer of 1968, evolved from the slower Rock Steady style which had followed the rambunctious ska sounds, and in its earliest incarnations, featured a pulsing rhythm - or riddim as the patois would have it - that was an undeniable invocation to dance and groove. It was soulful, insistent and for most who heard it, totally irresistible. The lead guitar on so many of the recordings was played in a style best described as bubbling, the notes effervescing forth in an urgent percolating manner, not wild nor over the top, neither frenzied nor distorted. Just madly rhythmic, playing to the tune, accentuating the feel while pulling one in to listen and figure out just what was going on, as if it was pushing the beat around the beat. It made the entire thing so danceable, so listenable and so much fun. It was entrancing. 

This a long way of saying I had no idea who Hux Brown was until years later. I did know that I loved dancing to the records that had that incredible guitar. At Music House, Trojan's Neasden HQ in northwest London, we’d sometimes have a little party, after hours, in the warehouse at the back of the building, playing the latest cuts, dancing to tunes like ‘Freedom Street’ by Ken Boothe, or ‘Rivers of Babylon’ by the Melodians. They all had that intriguing trance-inducing guitar.

Years later, after working in the USA in the blues field and then moving to Oakland, California to start a new life with my soul mate Britt, I renewed a friendship I had made on the road with musician Rusty Zinn. Californian native Rusty had developed a love for classic Jamaican music, and so it was inevitable that we started spending a lot of time together. He is not just a musician, but is a musicologist - a walking encyclopaedia of musical lore and history - and not long after we had renewed our friendship, he casually mentioned that Hux Brown lived in town.

By that time I certainly knew who Hux was, but in all honesty had no idea just how prodigious his recording career had been. It seemed like he was on almost every session that took place in Jamaica during that classic period, and later. Of course, he wasn’t on every one, but he was on enough of them to make one wonder just how he managed to fit all them in. 

The other thing Rusty mentioned that day was that Hux lived just around the corner from me and Britt. He was a neighbour. By then Hux was playing regularly in Rusty’s band, and so we got to know each other. It was all madly surreal. Him from Jamaica, me from southern England, and hearing him on record in London in the 1960s, and now, 5,000 miles and 50 years later, we were practically living next door to one another.

Some years ago we had a party at our place, celebrating Britt’s daughter's graduation from university, and asked Rusty and the band to play on the patio in our back garden. Hux walked up the street, clutching a six-pack of Red Stripe, and sat in for most of the night. It was one of those nights that are forever imprinted in our memory … Rusty singing tunes that Hux had originally recorded decades earlier, and Hux playing rhythm or pick, a big smile on his face.

He and I would see each other every now and then. I’d often pass his house on my way home from an errand, hoping to catch him. Sometimes I did, more often not I didn't. When we did meet up, we’d shoot the breeze catching up on the latest news, the possibility of his going back to Jamaica for a special session or show, or to talk about the fact that Toots and The Maytals were coming to town. Hux had led Toot’s band for many years, and they always stayed in touch. 

We always planned to spend some special time together, call Rusty and convene a record spinning afternoon at my place, but something always came up, and it hardly ever happened. The years rolled by, and our get-togethers were forever postponed. Either he was going away, or I was.

On Friday, June 19th, Rusty called to tell me that Hux had passed away the previous day, from a suspected heart attack. He was 75. 

The reshuffling of the deck on Thursday, June 18th emphasised just how random and capricious our thin and fragile lives are. We think we are running the show, but it ain’t necessarily so.

When I pass his house now, I'll know for definite I won’t be seeing him, and each time will be a sad reminder that we must all grab the opportunity to show love, and extend the arm of friendship while we can before it’s too late, the wearing of masks notwithstanding.

 Hux, I’ll miss your warm smile, your contagious chuckle, your unending store of tales about the reggae scene. And I’ll never again have the great great pleasure of hearing you play with Rusty. And I am truly sorry we never spent more time together.

A part of you will stay with us, however, because you have left us that sound. You left us that. Thanks Hux. You made a difference. You changed the world.