guitarist...`Blackie' has led a life of note By Tim Lee ERROR RG P4 5.5.1999 The Royal Gazette would like to apologise to the family of Ross "Blackie'' Talbot for an article by freelance writer Tim Lee on page 21 of Monday's issue.

The story incorrectly stated that Mr. Talbot was the only surviving member of The Talbot Brothers, but his brother Roy, who played "doghouse'' bass with the group, is also alive and well.

Ross "Blackie'' Talbot was speaking with his hands. He almost seemed to paint the air with his fingers, rendering here a living room, there a kitchen, while delicately coaxing the finer details to appear.

Words flowed languidly off his tongue as he portrayed the house where he and the rest of the Talbot Brothers played one night in the late '40s. Those big hands had affectionately held a guitar for decades, and those dexterous chocolate fingers had once plucked and strummed notes in the soundtrack to Bermuda.

Blackie asked me to meet him for the interview at the parking lot in Flatts, across from the Aquarium. We perched on the grass bank at the water's edge, and he leaned casually against the skinny trunk of a palmetto tree that towered over him.

He spoke with a gentle bass rumble, and he often gazed at the sunshine dancing on the water. This was one of his favourite haunts. He often came here to dangle a fishing line in the glassy shallows.

Born on the 5th April, 1918, this placid man with a thin triangle of white hair nestled above his upper lip had seen Bermuda through most of this century.

He spent his earliest years in Tucker's Town when it consisted of a quiet hamlet of black families living sans electricity in small houses surrounded by cedar trees. There was a little school and one grocery store that served the entire community.

His father Osmond Charles Talbot lived off the land and the shores of Castle Harbour: fishing and farming celery, potatoes, onions and other crops suitable for Bermuda's climate. Blackie was one of 11 children mothered by Osmond's wife Mamie. She had four girls and seven boys, though two of the males died young. Life was hard, but they endured.

Blackie does not remember his time there vividly, because, when he was three or four years old, the small rural community was displaced by Furness Withy, an English steamship company that garnered the endorsement of the government to develop the area into a picturesque retreat for the American elite.

The wealth of these white foreigners would fuel the Bermudian tourism machine.

The lines for the blueprint of Tucker's Town today were drawn.

The Talbots were relocated with a cash bonus to a larger home at Harris Bay in Smith's Parish. The aggrieved Osmond was understandably disgruntled by the displacement, but the Talbots adapted as well as they could to the change.

Faith continued to play a dominant role in the life of the family after the move as it had before. In Tucker's Town, every Sunday had been spent at the Wesleyan Methodist Church. The new Marsden Methodist Church, built by the relocated community at Harris Bay, continued the tradition of the music-infused services where the Talbot boys began honing their vocal chords.

"There was nothing else to do,'' says Blackie about singing.

The boys were schooled in harmony by their mother, who would play the piano in the parlour of their house and doggedly monitor their tone and pitch. Soon Blackie's older brothers swiftly gained reputations in the area not only for their vocal skills but for their instrumental prowess as well. It was only a matter of time before their appeal would, ironically, prove infectious among the new Tucker's Towners.

The oldest brother, Austin, used to chauffeur wealthy foreigners around the Island in his horse-drawn carriage, serenading them with his harmonica and guitar as they travelled. He developed quite a reputation as this cheerful minstrel.

One day, Mr. Ford Johnson, who Austin always drove back and forth between the 20-room house where the American lived and the Mid Ocean Club, took him aside in the dining room of the club.

"Why don't you bring your brother down here sometime?'' he asked. "Can he sing?'' He was referring to young Ross Talbot, a 12-year-old caddy at the club who, like Austin, was nicknamed "Blackie.'' So Austin brought his little brother along to one of the one o'clock luncheons that Mr. Johnson always attended. The boy was promptly placed on the table, surrounded by a room of eager white faces.

Accompanied by a ukulele, he bravely belted out "Bermuda Buggy Ride'' and "Bermuda, Bermuda.'' Young Blackie won them over and sealed his fate.

The initial Talbot Brother line-up was Austin and Archie, the second oldest, on guitars, their cousin Ernest on banjo, and younger brother Roy played the Talbot creation known as the "doghouse'' bass (otherwise known as the "Bermudavarius''). This unique instrument consisted of a meat packing case with a neck attached to it and fishing line strung across it.

`Blackie' still sees paradise With their straw boaters and colourful shirts, the Talbot Brothers became a sensation amongst locals and tourists alike. In the 1930s, they were in high demand amongst the private party circuit at Tucker's Town, enchanting foreign debutantes, dames, dandies, and dignitaries with their life-of-the-party musical antics and their charismatic cool.

Ernest was eventually replaced by Blackie on guitar, Dick on the tipple (a steel-stringed ukulele) and Oliver Cromwell Cradock Tendrills ("Mandy'') Manders who played the accordion, bringing considerable musical talent to the group as well as a considerable name. The band, now six-strong, continued to enchant their upper crust audiences with their unique sunny songs. They would often improvise their lyrics, flattering their patrons by mentioning names and never failing to praise the natural beauty of Bermuda and its people.

Soon they were invited to play at private homes and country clubs on the East Coast of the US, and their burgeoning fame brought Bermuda a lot of attention.

They toured America for three months annually for 25 years. Whether tantalising American college students with wink-inflected sexual puns and an infamous song about a freckled butt or covering Sinatra or Sammi Davis for the elegant elite, the Talbot Brothers knew how to work their audience and have a good time while doing it.

The last surviving member of the Talbot Brothers still remains obstinately optimistic as Bermuda moves toward the Millenium.

He has seen many, but one significant change he will never forget was the invasion of automobiles in the late '40s.

Right before their introduction, pessimism reigned. Disheartened by grim predictions for the Island's future from locals and visitors, Blackie went home and reflected on this impending predicament. Drinking in the beautiful night, he couldn't believe that Bermuda was going to lose its charm. So he immediately wrote a song entitled "For Bermuda's Still Paradise.'' "The words just came right to me,'' he says, raising his voice over the noise of traffic behind us.

The song went on to become a hit for the Talbot Brothers. It stayed true to their signature sound: romantic (and sometimes subtly naughty or subversively sociopolitical) lyrics with a harmonious blend of the relaxed tempo of swaying palms, the raw West Indian frenzy of Calypso, and Latin-flavoured percussion.

Blackie knows the old Bermuda is gone forever, but he has little patience for the crime that has infested his homeland and the attitude of many of his fellow Bermudians.

"You go to a restaurant -- it's like they're doing you a favour,'' he says.

But he has faith in the new Government and he hopes that with the recent overhauling of tourism that there will be a revival of quality local musical entertainment. The octogenarian looks forward to the Ross Blackie Talbot Charity Golf Tournament every April, which is organised by his son Clem. The philanthropic sports event is seen by the man it honours as a step in the right direction -- people united, regardless of race and creed, by good intent.

At the end of the interview, Blackie Talbot peers out at the sun through his translucent sunglasses. Below it, I imagine he still sees Paradise.

Still the optimist: Ross "Blackie'' Talbot, hopeful of a turnaround in the fortunes of local entertainers