Fletcher: King of the swingers

The son of a preacher, Fletcher was born in Zimbabwe before moving south to Port Elizabeth, where he grew up and attended school. It was after matric that his life got transformed, with noble intentions to study law given the boot after he left for England and landed at the Glastonbury festival. "That changed everything" he declares, his eyes bulging as though he’s just arrived at that realisation. Suddenly, he was around the corner from the then-blossoming wave of trip-hop – Massive Attack, Portishead, Tricky. It was 1994; he had finished school the year before. He lived in Bristol, an area he describes as having a "heavy Jamaican community", while concurrently festival-hopping around England. It was in Bristol’s grungy underbelly that he discovered reggae, dub, dancehall, jungle, and other underground subcultures which were challenging perceptions of what popular music was supposed to sound like.

Fletcher has been doing tangos and usurping bass medleys like a scientist of sound ever since. He bought his first production equipment from a smackhead who “was about to get his knees cut open the next day if he didn't come up with twelve-and-a-half Gs.” It so happened that Fletcher had the cash readily available. “I got the equipment, and that's how I got started. It was a good deal!” he says. Roach, one of his partners in African Dope records, was the one with whom Fletcher would learn production techniques, on a Digital Audio Workstation called Acid.

"Roach and I had been DJing together as Krush'd and Sorted. He had a record shop just off Long Street called Solid Records. And when his record shop went bang, because no one was buying vinyl, we put all that vinyl to use by playing it [at] all the early drum-and-bass parties. That's what we did."

Fletcher speaks definitively of why African Dope was the blueprint for the bulk of talent which was emerging from the Cape Town scene at that time. Names such as Felix Laband, who moved on to the German label Compost records; Sibot, whose now-godly status shone its first rays of light as part of Ninja’s (nee Waddy Jones) Constructus Corporation project – they were all part of the barn. “We did all the groundwork. Now they've got a profile, they've got their first release out. Can African Dope release their second and their third album? Ja, the second we could handle, but once they've grown to a bigger audience, we're actually not the right record label. We're too small, too independent, and we're running on no budget.”

His involvement in the day-to-day running of African Dope is very limited at the moment. Honey B, who used to be the genre-defying Moodphase Five's manager, is still his publisher, and he still maintains good contact with Roach, whose recent interests have included the tri-city gig guide portal called Gigham. Fletcher’s got an arsenal of stories to share from that era, from heads that got swollen, to bands that sued them for incomprehensible sums of money. “Dealing with artists is, um…” he leaves it at that, effectively levelling the playing field for one’s imagination to run amok regarding what occurred.

Fletcher expresses his desire to pursue a model governed by African Dope’s principles of banding together towards a common goal, yet one that is not underpinned by the trappings of money, which he deems as the main reason why good relationships go sour. Web 3.0 technology is the way forward for him: offering free downloads and selling directly to the consumer, effectively eliminating the middle man. “That's the [thing] about running a record label – manufacturing and distribution. It's the same for frying pans as it is for CDs; it's boring work!”

The label was known for innovative packaging, some of which landed them either in debt or on the wrong side of the law. The Cape-based apple company, Unifruco, sued them for using an album sleeve similar to their logo on the Cape Of Good Dope release (2002). Fletcher narrates the story thus: “One of their directors’ daughter was an African Dope fan, and she brought home the Cape of Good Dope CD. They called up their litigation team and they sent them around [to the office].” The Dope crew had already heard rumours through the grapevine, and were prepared for any eventuality.

“We opened the door to the office, we let them in. They said 'this is a flagrant abuse of our client's copyright, and we'd like you to retract it immediately'!” Unbeknown to the litigation team, the first pressing of that album, which had a similar image to the logo in question, had already sold out, and a second batch with a different design had already been printed. “We did push it all the way. It was a CD, with apples which we'd photographed with ‘Dope’ stickers on them, and the CD had hemp seeds in the side [container]. It had real hemp seed that we got from a dodgy connection in the ministry of Agriculture." The litigation walked out of the office happy a short while later, convinced that the product had been pulled off the shelf.

The ripple effects of African Dope records are still being experienced to this day, whether through the multi-talented Mr. Sakitumi's mostly-instrumental outing Secret Asian Man (2011) or the DJ duo (which sometimes morphs into a full-on, seven-piece outfit) Mix-N-Blend's 2009 release Look Ma, No Hands . If in doubt, ask any of the producers on the Cape Town beat scene currently who their points of reference are. While the earlier guys like Sibot and Sakitumi might mention Ninja Tune-affiliated artists such as Mr. Ozio or Blockhead, the current breed will list at least one artist from African Dope as their influence.

Fletcher’s latest outing is a wondrous mind-gurgle for bassheads and production junkies alike, featuring collaborations with the likes of Mr. Sakitumi, Cape Town reggae/dancehall godfather Zoro and global bass selector Mega Bo. He utilised the drum-and-bass staple introduced to mankind by Lee “Scratch” Perry to craft meticulous grooves and harmonies for the nerdy listener, the one that demands attention to detail. As he says, the fundamental of dub is encompassed in the utilisation of space and echo, regardless of whether the music is classified as techno, glitch hop, or drum-n-bass. “For me, the definition of dub is broad. It’s stripped-down music to the drum, the bass, and a hint of the melody” he concludes.

Fletcher’s project Dhamma Baby's Laughing Buddha Bass is available as a free download on his soundcloud page. It comes with a separate audio instruction manual on the ancient meditation technique of Anapana Sati.

Originally published on 7/3/2013 at Mahala.