Words and Photos by Ola Mazzuca
The sun is setting on a Monday night in Scarborough, Ontario, and all of the parking lots on Midwest Road in the east end Toronto neighborhood—an area abundant with industrial complexes and commercial bakeries—are empty, except for one. Pulsing beats are audible behind Unit 228, home of the Louis Saldenah Mas-K Club. The revered mas camp is home to 15 different Carnival tribes currently working towards the creation of a rainbow of colorful feathers, jewels and headpieces. As the hours pass, people come and go endlessly, bringing supplies, hot glue guns, takeout containers from nearby Drupati’s restaurant, and sixers of Carib. The first day of the week may have just ended, but the night has just begun for a dedicated group of designers and tailors. The impetus for all of the work going on is Scotiabank Caribbean Carnival in Toronto, better known as Caribana. Just as with the carnivals that happen across the Caribbean, Canada’s largest outdoor festival demands commitment to craft and culture.
If there is one member of the mas camp that flies his flag 24/7, it’s DJ and promoter Dr. Jay De Soca Prince. “The party now start” is an understatement for Dr. Jay, for it started a long time ago. He has just parked his car after a busy day promoting Re-Jouvert-Nate, a massive Jouvert event happening July 31 at the massive (and soon-to-be-closed) Toronto venue Kool Haus. Boxes of promo cards die-cut into supersoakers are stacked high in the trunk of his car. Jay’s weekend was packed with events like Army Fete, where mutiple soca DJs from the city drew in crowds donning camo wear, an illegal print in soca-celebrating countries like Trinidad and Barbados.
As a youth raised in a musical family of mixed Trinidadian and Guyanese heritage, surrounded by stacks of imported vinyl, Jay began spinning various styles of music at family functions and school parties. Back then he wasn’t much interested chipping behind a truck on Lakeshore Avenue, but bacchanal eventually called. Today, his name is synonymous with prime selection of soca. “Even aunts and uncles tell me, ‘I can’t believe you’s the same fella’ but it takes time to feel that passion on your own rather than it being force-fed into you,” he says. Sans schooling, yet full of experience, Jay had a stint at radio station Flow 93.5, delivering a weekly dose of what he calls “musical medicine” with his show, Soca Therapy. Today, he’s a proud father of two, traveling the world and prescribing the cultural export to a global following. “I really wear it on my sleeve and I am proud to represent Soca,” he says. “I push it with all my heart.”
During our recent lime with Dr. Jay, we discussed his involvement with Toronto’s big Carnival, and why soca has a vibe unlike any other.
Click here to read the interview.
Dr. Jay De Soca Prince inside the Louis Saldenah Mas-K Club.
LargeUp: There’s a persona to your work, especially with your name and podcast, De Prescription. There’s a medical, health, therapy theme to what you do. Is that your way of saying soca is a drug or cure?
Dr. Jay De Soca Prince: It’s definitely a cure. I find soca music has always made me feel happy. I was first called the Soca Prince growing up because a friend and I were young guys that liked playing the music. I was 15 or 16 and eventually our friendship dissolved so I was looking for a DJ name. A family friend suggested that, because I could play all kinds of music, I shouldn’t just be known as Soca Prince. My name is Jason, and he suggested “Dr. J.” I thought, well, there’s the basketball player [Dr. J, Julius Erving], and said, “No, you can spell it J A Y.” We used Soca Prince just so people knew it was the same guy.
When I got a job at Flow 93.5 about 15 years ago, we were looking for a show name. It was Farley Flex and I. We had to pitch something to an American program director that wasn’t too familiar with the culture. We wanted to play off the whole doctor theme, like soca therapy as “musical medicine.” Soca Therapy sounded good. When we pitched it to her, she said, “I love it. It reminds me of aromatherapy.” It stuck. I started to do more things to play off of that theme because people told me that every Sunday, they would tune in to the show to feel better. The vibe is contagious. I really thought I was a real doctor. People are having a bad week, they’re under the weather, and whatever stress is going on in their life, they forget about it for those few hours on a Sunday.
LU: How many new listeners, or those foreign to the genre have you garnered through De Prescription?
DJDS: I am surprised at how far reaching it is. I just went to Berlin for their Carnival [in May] and this lady came up to me. She was a regular European woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She said, “Dr. Jay, how come I don’t see your regular podcast mixes?” It’s things like that that make me realize how many people discover it. With the iTunes one in particular, I don’t see who is downloading it and from where. I don’t know if they’re Caribbean people. When I do go out there and I experience those types of conversations or see a crowd, it’s eye opening.
Vibes outside the Louis Saldenah Mas-K Club in Scarborough, Ontario.
LU: When did you develop an interest in music?
DJDS: My dad’s a musician, he used to play drums and sing. It’s one of those things since I was three or four years old. My parents would show me record players and how to use them. I have been told that when family and friends would come over, I would just get up, pull out records and play music. People would be like “Who’s playing di music?” and my parents would say, “Oh that Jahhsoon.” They have pictures of me as a kid doing that. I remember in high school, I was more into hip-hop and house.
I kind of rebelled against soca because I heard that music every day. It was one of those things where you were around your friends and Caribbean culture wasn’t as popular back then as it is now. There was no Nicki Minaj saying that they are proud to be Trinidadian. But I always used to buy the records. My family would come back [from Trinidad] with Byron [Lee], Lord Kitchener and crazy records every year. I got a job at a record store, would get the stuff a little cheaper and bring it home. To make a little extra money, I would play family things and school alumni parties. But I loved hip-hop and house. I wrote for a magazine called Mic Check back in the day, and was more in the urban field. But I still used to play cultural music as a family thing until friends and I were like, “You know what? Let’s do this full time.” Soca became more of my passion and it came full circle.
LU: Your uncle Clive [Rosteing] was in the Tradewinds. What do you remember about that growing up?
DJDS: They’re a very popular band that tours the Caribbean. When I was growing up, I would always see records and think, “Oh, that’s uncle Clive.” But I don’t remember that much. Eventually he moved to the Cayman Islands. I remember my dad’s music more. He used to play pubs and do the Super Dave Osborne Show.
Positive vibes at the Louis Saldenah Mas-K Club.
LU: How do you instill culture in the household today, and are your kids embracing it?
DJDS: I have a 15-year-old and a two-year old. The two-year-old dances and jumps to everything. When I’m in the house, it will be soca, calypso, he jams to it and says, “Hey dad, I like this song.” But I know that when he is with his friends, they’re listening to Yung Lean or whoever is out now. At home, I definitely try to have my iPod on or stream music.
For my podcasts, I try to listen to stations from the Caribbean before their Carnival is coming up so I know what is relevant in those countries. A lot of times, we’re here, and a song may sound good. But are people feeling the song in St. Vincent or Barbados? The Internet bill at home is a little high, but it’s one of those things where I feel it’s a part of the job. You have to do it.
LU: You host parties and events, promote them, produce the podcasts, spin live every week, on the air, at venues, travel, have a family, organize the mas camp. What keeps you going?
DJDS: I really [have] a passion for the music, and want to leave a legacy. I feel that if I don’t do it, somebody else will. So why not be the guy? I don’t want to ever look back and think, “I should of.” I am always looking for different ways to reinvent myself or a particular event.
We have this event called Re-Jouvert-Nate. We created a supersoaker-shaped flyer… I was thinking of different ways to get the vibe out there, to get the crowd excited. I always have people asking, “So you’re a DJ. But what do you do during the day?” Well, this is 24/7. I can’t punch a clock and say that I’m done. At night, I am promoting something and have to put a flyer somewhere or have to be at a nightclub. If I stop and take a night or two weeks off, I might miss opportunities that I have to put into motion now, for events that won’t happen until November or December, but I have to start now. A lot of times, when people are rushing events, you can tell. There’s no real theme, no vibe. It’s not about naming a party after a song. Nah, put more into it. Patrons need something that deserves [their] hard-earned money. I have seen young people come to the door, literally pulling change out of their pocket for [a] 10 or 15-dollar cover charge. And they’re just drinking water. I find that it’s more about no dress code, no pretense, but just about fun. It’s not about going to pop bottles just to say you were there.
A volunteer works on the headpiece for Mythic Warrior, a section led by Curtis Aitchison, who has been involved in mas camps for over 30 years.
LU: It’s more of a cultural export that people are paying for.
DJDS: Yeah, and there’s a whole other dynamic around it. There’s the guy that sells Corn Soup or Bake and Shark outside the venue. This helps him earn a living. Because he knows there will be 100 to 1,000 more people and they want that. When people party downtown, they usually want to go to a Chinese spot or a hot dog stand. For us, a doubles man may be outside. They have a food truck now that comes to the events.
LU: Are you talking about Randy’s Roti?
DJDS: Yeah. We tell him where we’re playing and he asks “Jay, where you at this weekend? I gotta get my spot.” It’s a cultural experience. When I come out of a soca event and I don’t see any vendors, then the party wasn’t good. You need that to end it. I need that Caribbean vibe. Even smelling it when you come outside, like jerk on the grill. To me, that’s part of the whole experience of a soca event.
LU: Soca has evolved tremendously over the years. What makes it such a versatile genre?
DJDS: The music itself, some of the newer stuff, maybe experimenting with some EDM vibes, some people aren’t feeling that, they like it more traditional. Some people who are into Beres Hammond and Tarrus Riley cannot stand the Kartels and Alkalines. But with soca, you find that Machel can appeal to young and old. Bunji Garlin can appeal to young and old. Everybody loves “Differentology.” Everybody loves “Happiest Man Alive.” Or Destra, or Kes. That’s why we have Kes every year at Big People Fete. Even though he’s seen as a sex symbol to young ladies, the older demographic loves him and his performance. It’s something you find that’s much more accepting through all barriers.
Extravagant wings on wheels in the midst of assembly.
LU: With the Saldenah Mas Camp, what’s the greatest reward from preparing for the event?
Louis [Saldenah] is the head. There are 15 to 16 sections and each section leader has to adhere to his vision. It’s his theme, but we each have a color theme. My section is orange, Amazonia — the theme of strong women. Once we go on the road, he has the vibe of how everything will work, starting from which colors will have the most impact in sequence. We’re probably going to be the biggest band in the history of Toronto carnival. It’s looking like we’re going to reach 4,000 masqueraders.
I just get hyped watching each section rush on the stage and dance. You see each vision and how impactful it was from the band launch and all the little tweaks made to the costumes. You take it back to the drawing board and it’s good to go. You’re hearing a lot more outrage of people storming the band as they’re going down. People spend months in advance preparing and lots of hard earned money. Now, everybody feels they have a right to jump up beside the truck. I feel like in other countries, they’ll dance, but they’ll chip along the sidewalk. There’s a lot more respect for bands in other countries and I’m hoping we get to that here. Because when you see it all coming together, you’re like yes, this is so beautiful. You want everyone to see it as you’re coming down the road.
A lot of people tell me that if I wasn’t born in Toronto, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing today. In Trinidad, they don’t push soca like that. During Carnival, yes, but throughout the year, it’s [more] dancehall. It’s very rare you will hear soca sets out of them. Because we’re away, we love it so much more.
LU: And the scene is growing quite well.
DJDS: Me being around as long as I have, I know there are cycles. The age demographic goes in cycles. Once you can ride it out, the music and the scene is amazing. In Toronto, we have it good. Every week, there’s multiple events. There’s not just one that does well. You just have to find your niche and you’re good to go.
A mannequin dons a mas outfit from Beyond Illusions, the eleventh section of the Louis Saldenah Mas-K Club.
LU: What was it like to experience soca in Europe at Berlin Carnival?
DJDS: It kind of makes my pores raise. Kes [the Band] told me about it last year and he was like, “Jay, you have to experience it.” Until you actually go, you don’t realize how big and crazy it is. Some people aren’t fluent and talk broken English, but they’re singing the songs word for word. There’s no arguments or stush vibes and it doesn’t matter where you’re from. I did this one party called Soca on the Beach. It was like a water park with a pool and lake. Just seeing all of the different cultures jamming to soca, singing word for word…I stood back, just looking around, saying “Wow. I can’t believe I’m playing Soca in Germany.” It’s amazing how far the music has come. There was another one on the weekend of July 18 in Rotterdam. Machel [Montano] was there for that, too. Big things.
LU: You’ve been called one of the best soca DJs in the world. How do you feel about that?
DJDS: Wow. It feels good. I don’t think that I am. There’s other people I look up to. I know I’ve been doing this a long time and I love it. I’ve been told that you could have somebody play almost the exact same set before or after me, but it will just sound different. People say, “I can tell. That’s Jay.” When you love something so much, it comes across in how you do it. I never thought I’d still be doing it at this age. I never thought I would be able to stay relevant and current. Even though I grew up listening to the classics like “Lotala” by Sonny Mann, Lord Kitchener’s “Sugar Bum Bum,” it’s not all that I can play. Even though some people don’t like the EDM vibes too much, I think there is a home for it. You can’t be dated. I am glad people around the world have been able to connect to my vision.
One of the many intricate accessories on wheels designed for Frontline costumes.
LU: Were you studying anything before becoming a DJ full time?
DJDS: I wanted to be a social worker because I wanted to make a difference. Because I was doing well with my DJing, someone else encouraged me to try radio and broadcasting courses. It’s funny: I was declined from three post-secondary programs. Years later, Flow 93.5 came around. Flex knew I was a soca DJ and asked me to come in and read a couple of scripts. He threw me on and I learned as I went. I won an award for being an on-air personality. If I allowed the rejections to crush my dreams at the time, I would have turned Flow down. I had enough people that believed in me, which made me say, “why not me?”
LU: In a way, you are pursuing social work by bringing positive vibes through music. You’re still doing what you originally wanted to do. Now, if soca were a classic West Indian dish made by your mom or grandmother, which one would it be?
DJDS: Callaloo. It’s mixed with all kinds of different ingredients. On it’s own, with spinach, okra, pigtail and salt meat, people don’t really want that. But when you blend it all together, it tastes so good. I find soca is like that. I don’t care who it is or where you’re from. There’s just something about the music that you love. Even if there’s a certain style of soca that’s not for you, there are different things. I know people who just can’t stand “Palance.” When I travel and see how other people react to the music and see how other people play a song, it’s eye opening.
I love callaloo. It’s one of my favourite foods. When you mix it up, it turns out the same way. It’s something that will appeal to everybody. Just like soca; a native music from the Caribbean and people don’t know if they’ll like it. Taste it. You’ll like it. It’s an acquired taste, but you’ll like it. It makes everybody happy. That’s why I love it so much.
Listen to Dr. Jay on Soundcloud or visit iTunes to download the De Prescription podcast
Follow Jay on Twitter
Learn more about Jay’s events by following him on Facebook
Listen to Soca Therapy LIVE on CHRY 105.5FM , Sundays from 7 pm to 9 pm EST.
For more info on Scotiabank Caribbean Carnival in Toronto, visit www.torontocaribbeancarnival.com and the Louis Saldenah Mas Band
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