“Success has no taste, or smell, and when you get used to it, it’s as if it didn’t exist” says Huma Rojo in Almodóvar’s Todo Sobre Mi Madre. Tragically insatiable as human beings may / may not be, Norman Jay MBE seems momentarily appeased: “The Queen could have given me a chocolate biscuit, I’d still be happy”, he says, departing for once from his slick media-type tones into a 1970s Nottin’ ‘ill bubble.

Norman Jay, veteran DJ of house with a black flavour, is also co-founder of Kiss FM, the only black DJ to be awarded an MBE, and has run everything from the wharehouse to the rare groove [he coined the genre], owning arguably the biggest sound system at the Notting Hill Carnival, Good Times and leading Phonogram imprint Talkin’ Loud with Gilles Peterson. Today he gets over his toothache ["'orrible abcess"] to give us the d-lo.

Going back a few decades – how experienced where you when you played at that block party in Brooklyn in ’79 – were you nervous?

No – it was a family thing – it was my uncle’s sound system. I was young and naive and fearless in those days – I wasn’t a proper DJ – I was a record collector. It was the summer of ’79. For these kinds of block parties the streets would be shut off, the residents would put up tables, prepare food. My uncle has a massive sound system and he would put it next to the house, and he and my cousin used to DJ. It was a fantastic feeling – the sun was beating down, we had the system set up on the pavement, my aunt had all the food ready on the stoop, and we rocked the afternoon away with a mixture of funk, soul and calypso. His system was called Dr Wax. In those days he had the largest Carribbean system in Brooklyn. He was very famous for it – my parents are from Grenada.

Please describe your passion for ‘The Sound of Philadelphia’ to the uninitiated

It was a sound that took over the mantle from Motown. Motown was essentially the sound of the sixties, and in the seventies with new artists coming through the Sound of Philadelphia came in. It was the one accepted black mainstream sound that you could hear in the UK in those days. Of course, you had The Three Degrees with When Will I See You Again, Harrold Melvin and the Blue Notes, the O’Jays – I loved all of that stuff.
It’s very different from the Motown sound, because with Motown you had a simple house band, with tambourines, drums and bass guitar and singers, while the Philadelphia expanded on that because it added strings – violas, violins – it was lush. Production techniques had improved considerably, so it was a very full, big orchestral sound.

Who would criticize you when you wanted to play ‘the wrong sort of music’ on your sound system at the Notting Hill Carnival?

Ha. It was the rival sound systems that would criticize me. We were very young back then, and a lot of the other sounds had been around a long time, a big rasta man would come up and try and intimidate you. This was a serious rivalry because I played music that was really against the grain, with them it was all reggae, lover’s rock and calypso and I’d come in playing gay New York disco and raunchy James Brown.
When you play to a black crowd it really is a baptism of fire. It’s alright for your bedroom DJs today, but in those days you cut your teeth playing in front of a pretty hostile crowd. It was your job to win them over. The new generation of DJs have it far too easy. Back then it was about who could woo the ladies, because once you’ve got girls around your system then boys would follow.

Where was your first pirate transmission of Kiss FM from in ’85?

It was from the third floor in a block of flats in Charlton south east London, on a Tuesday night between 7.30 and 8.30 – we had an hour. I was really nervous. It was my first ever show, first broadcast. I didn’t speak a lot. I still remember the tunes I played on that very first show. The guy who played the very next show the following week was Jonathan More from Coldcut. I was never frightened of the police of getting raided back then. Later I was worried of that happening, of losing my records.

Did you ever get arrested by police at the early pre-acid house wharehouse parties you would run?

Nah, never got in trouble with the police. We were always two steps ahead of them, very clever in the way we operated. My partner back then was Judge Jules. I gave him his nickname because he was a law student at the LSE. I said to him – ‘Here I am hanging with someone who in ten years time will be sending my mates to jail for drugs!’

Had ecstasy arrived as the drug of choice back then?

There was no such thing as ecstasy at these warehouse parties. It was Bring Your Own Beer on the flyers, and it was a spliff thing.

What did you think of the acid house wharehouse scene when it came along?

I loved it – I DJed at the very first acid house party. It was a night called Hedonism in an old factory in Alperton in west London. Some of the DJs there went on to be massive in their fields. Paul Oakenfold played at that party, as did Jazzie B, Colin Faver. A lot of big names in the house / Detroit techno scene played at that party.
I preferred the warehouse parties I put on because they were more down tempo. I was playing the earliest Chicago house and Detroit techno records alongside James Brown and Luther Vandross and the Clash – completely mixing up the music. It was the first time rasta men would be dancing next to sloanes.

Would you attribute the arrival of house music to the UK to your efforts? How did you see it happen?

I can’t take credit for that. There were other great people who deserve recognition, people like Jazzie M, Colin Faver, Colin Dale, Steve Jackson and Danny Rampling – these are the people who really championed house in the early days.

As an aside, what influence do you feel Bristol has had on the rare groove scene?

Bristol was always cool, to me. It was always like a second London. They liked the music down tempo, they liked spliff instead of E, and they liked hip hop and reggae. The music would always be on that downbeat creative tip which was fantastic. I loved Bristol. It was one of the first cities I was invited to go and DJ outside London. It was the Wild Bunch that invited me down to come and play. I played at Thekla, then I went to an after hours blues party in Saint Paul’s afterwards. It must’ve been ’85/’86.

With your departure from Talkin’ Loud record label [where he worked with Gilles Peterson] in mind, do you think the record industry is too hands-on with their artists?

I don’t miss the record industry. You need to be hands on with artists to help mould them and sell them. As with quite a lot of the younger generation, they want to do it all themselves. There’s a bigger picture. If you knew how to do that they wouldn’t be going to the record companies, you’d be doing it yourself. Talking Loud in its day was a breath of fresh air. It was just me and Gilles [Peterson] being given money by corporates to give our friends the money to go and make records. That’s why we signed our mates. We operated in a corporate structure as best we could while at the same time trying to keep our friends happy.
It wasn’t acrimonious – I just left because I didn’t want to be head of the company. It was probably the best thing I ever did working with Gilles there. But I’m a DJ first and foremost, not a record exec.

Do you regret leaving the BBC?

No regrets because I will be back. You’re getting an exclusive on that. That’s all I can stay at this stage.

You’ve said previously that you hate poncey New Years parties [citing one with Boy George] Do you have mixed feelings headlining at celeb bashes?

I have to earn my money. Put it that way. There’s a new generation of celebs now so I don’t get asked that often. I wouldn’t say no if Dizzee Rascal and said ‘Norman come and play for me’. It’s a job. It’s what I do – I’m a DJ. I could play any music to anybody. [laughing] I’m just like a wandering minstrel going from castle to castle. I’ll play whatever you want. The only time I really play what I want is at the Notting Hill Carnival, because it’s my own gig.

How do you feel about your MBE?

It was so out of the blue. I’ve got more of a chance of winning the lottery. It’s the fact that I was acknowledged by the highest authority in the land that means everything.

www.stateofthearts.org.uk