By Ashley Zimmerman
By Dana Krangel
By John Hood
By Ashley Zimmerman
By David Von Bader
By Sayre Berman
By Steve Brennan
By Ashley Zimmerman
Fortunately this is South Florida (how often can you say that?), and scattered throughout the area, tucked away in anonymous strip malls and lost in corners of flea markets, are record stores run by, and mostly for, this region's Jamaican diaspora. Of course most anything can be found in the exhaustive and well-organized selection at Blue Note Records in North Miami Beach. But where's the fun in that? A tour of the local reggae map, more journey than destination, is a better chance to hobnob with the actual producer of some of those prized 45s scattered about the store and take a peek through the keyhole of the Jamaican music business.
The first step in any successful tour of this sort is to hitch your wagon to a connoisseur, someone like Andrew Sloan, former road manager for Israel Vibration and more recently the U.S. point man for fabled Jamaican producer Joe Gibbs. A long-time South Florida resident, Sloan has scoured the landscape for vinyl shops and attributes his success to patience and perseverance. "Some of these guys are sitting on gold, but for whatever reason, it's hard to get at the good stuff," he says. "It helps to know what you're looking for."
A few miles past Blue Note, in a tiny strip mall on the south side of NE 167th Street in Miami-Dade, one of the better-known Jamaican shops, Rankin Records, has been going strong for more than ten years. (A second store is located at 4459 N. State Rd. 7 in Lauderdale Lakes.) It's obvious from the stacks of LPs and 7- and 12-inch singles -- calypso, soca, gospel, R&B, African, and zouk -- that Rankin serves all West Indian tastes. Don Drummond's Greatest Hits, The Best of Alton Ellis, Third World's Journey to Addis, John Holt, Jackie Mittoo, the Maytals -- they're all here, mostly recent Studio One pressings. Rankin even carries that Heptones LP you wanted, not to mention a 45 from singing pugilist Oscar de la Hoya.
From there it's a loop on the Golden Glades Interchange, south on U.S. Highway 441, and a stop in at the closet-size International Records, now part 99-cent store packed with Big Youth, the Paragons, and gold tinsel for the tree. Forget it.
A few blocks south on the right, in another lonely strip mall with a sign that simply reads "Records," lies a hidden treasure chest of vintage vinyl crammed into JaPee Records. The space resembles a storage locker more than a retail shop, and time and patience are required to comb through thousands of disorganized LPs and 45s thrown into bins with little regard for genre or the alphabet. Prince Buster and Rolando Alphonso hide behind multiple copies of Lionel Richie (in all his mauve-sweater glory) and Led Zeppelin. "It takes a few hours, but you can cherry-pick some great stuff here," says Sloan.
Behind the counter is the man himself: Norbert "JaPee" Pinto, former producer and associate of Joe Gibbs before Gibbs' sudden exit from the music business in the mid-'80s (precipitated by the question of unpaid royalties on a cover -- and surprise hit -- of a Charley Pride song). JaPee acquired the vinyl from Gibbs' warehouse in Opa-locka, and many of these classics still litter his shelves.
"You know Freddie McGregor? I gave him his first break," JaPee boasts, and then points to a snapshot of himself with Freddie in headier days. "I used to fly to New York and Miami every other weekend. I drove a Mercedes-Benz. And the girls... mmm." He laughs, "Now I'm poor."
Like many Jamaicans who left the island during the turbulence of the late '70s, JaPee has lived in Miami for more than 20 years and has been in business for 17. His once mighty empire of five record stores and a warehouse has dwindled to this store on NW Seventh Avenue. Although he may be down, he's certainly not out. As the collectibility of vinyl increases, urban hipsters keep stumbling into his shop. "A Japanese came in here one time and picked out 8000 12-inches and LPs," recounts JaPee of one of his better days. "I said, "Give me $30,000.' He says, "How about $12,000?'
""No, give me $25,000,' and that was it. I was kicking myself. I could've gotten $27,000 or $28,000 from him. As soon as he left, I closed my shop and flew to Jamaica for two weeks. If the Japanese economy was still strong," he adds, "I'd be in business."