​As I headed to Port of Spain in the afternoon sun, more than the usual Sunday traffic jam surrounded my vehicle. The rain which began as we left Trincity disappeared on entering the Beetham giving way to a brilliant late afternoon sun.
It was as if the elements were clearing the way for the event we were about to participate in.
I had read the articles in the newspapers heralding Blow ’Way: The Legacy of Lancelot Layne as a celebration of Lance’s life and work as a ‘part’ of this year’s Emancipation celebrations.
The irony I have felt at the disassociation of Lance’s name from the Emancipation Day celebrations over the years threatened to once again cloud my emotions. For years, except for Brother Resistance’s insistence on invoking in his own performances, the name of this man who almost singlehandedly waged the sacrificial struggle for the recognition of Emancipation Day in the 1980’s Lance’s name had been obliterated.
Emancipation Day is a major element of the legacy of Lancelot Layne.
I had to be there. I had to pay tribute to the man with whom I had walked the streets of Port of Spain and Tunapuna and with flambeau aloft stood in vigil on the ancestral slave lands at Lopinot in those years before the proclamation of Emancipation Day as a national holiday in 1985.
I had to be there to once again pay tribute to Lancelot Layne Kebu as I have on Emancipation Day carrying his image to the morning procession as a trade union president and every year since by playing Kamboulay, Celebration and Dance Jambalassie Dance among so many of his relevant musical contributions at home and in my car.
I had to be there because on Saturday afternoon, hearing good afternoon at my gate, I looked out to see Anuska, Niasha and Janice Layne who had taken the trouble to deliver an invitation personally to the celebration. I could not but accept such invitation from Lance’s wife and daughters.
As I parked at Adam Smith square and walked up to the Black Box venue, I didn’t know exactly what to expect.
On entering, the Orisha welcoming ceremony was proceeding and there were Anuska and Niasha with aunty Ella (Andall) participating. Janice, not loving the spotlight was sitting with the children of the family. This was followed by dedicated poetry by sister Eintou Springer. 
The session, that I title Reminiscences, was an emotional recall of Lance’s life, work and adventures narrated by his daughters, Aunty Ella, Christopher Laird, Resistance, Wendell Manwarren and Merten Kaatz (the producer of the Blow Way double CD launched as part of the event) followed.

The Reminiscences Session
I sat anxiously hoping there would be an ‘open mic’ session so I could add my two cents about my encounters with Lance from the 70’s and 80’s with my dear brother Brian Honore’, the flambeau processions, the days of anti-Apartheid protest outside the Oval, meeting his 3 ladies (Janice and the twins) when I took up managing Voices steelband in Maracas-St. Joseph, assisting in the girls’ weddings and attending an Emancipation celebration in La Brea at which a dance troupe of children danced and sang snippets of Lance’s songs and taking a CD of Kamboulay and Celebration for their choreographer at Coffee Village some weeks later.
Then came the award-winning Banyan Documentary Crossing Over in which the last scene was of Lance and Koo Nimo liming with the Voices pan players after our practice session that night.
To this point, there was so much to recall about Lance - the man and Lance - the cultural pioneer and in the best connotations of these words – father, family man, patriot, warrior, Caribbean man, proud African, true Trinbagonian, defender of the culture of the people, the initiator of Emancipation Day and creator of Rapso.
I have long held that Lancelot Layne, Andre Tanker, Ella Andall, Sundar Popo and Mungal Patesar headed a powerful cast of musical ground breakers leading the renaissance of the Trinbagonian music in 1970 and the years that followed.
Lance, Andre and Ella worked directly together.
There were others who contributed in various ways, Valentino, Stalin and a host of calypsonians, Clive Zanda, Ja Ja Onilu, Len Boogsie Sharpe, the Mau Mau and Mansa Musa Drummers with whom Lance collaborated on many of his recordings.
Lance did not care if he offended. He offended those he intended to. So, the banning of Get Off The Radio by what has become known as the cultural mafia was no skin off his back.
After all his hard work and effort to rally this nation around the Strike Squad only to be blamed for the disaster of the last game against the USA on the Road to Italy would have phased a weaker man.
But Lance was the quintessential Afrodadian who detested the pretenders who engage in Bringing Off because he Doh Dig No Blues as he soldiered on in the cause of the Celebration of Emancipation and the true significance of the Kamboulay.
I came to know his love song dedicated to his wife through my association with the family. I put it on the playlist for a radio programme I did and while If I Were King was playing the operator asked “Who is that?”. When I told him, he replied - he is not the man who does do them Rapso ting. Well, a prophet is not exalted in his own land, I suppose.
Fittingly, the evening closed with a most dynamic exposition of real Trini instrumental jazz and we ting music by Clive Zanda and his band. When Clive performed a piece in which he recalled was at Lance’s insistence that he venture into the realm of his vocal exploits it was fitting tribute to what Lance did for others in the world of our culture.