Eek-A-Mouse’s Mammoth Task: How The Artist Originated The Singjay Style 

Kingston’s gritty Trenchtown ghetto honed a vast number of Jamaica’s musical greats, from the roaring King of Reggae, Bob Marley to the scatting singjay originator, Eek-A-Mouse.

Eek-A-Mouse (born Ripton Joseph Hylton in 1957), started singing as early as primary school, released his debut songs in his teens, and was already a superstar in his 20’s during the advent of dancehall. He would come of age in 1979 as both reggae crooning and deejay toasting intermingled on the airwaves. As a result, the youngster tapped a unique merger of the two – a ‘singjay’ style which he helped advance on the scene well into the 1980s.

His bizarre personality, strange costumes and general penchant for risk-taking gave Eek-A-Mouse an edge, adding a special touch to his tenure.

Like many icons seasoned by the sordid inner-city – Bunny Wailer, Peter Tosh, Dean Fraser – Eek-a-Mouse was incredibly talented and saw music as a ticket out of the slums. “I was singing when I was a child, yeah,” Eek-a-Mouse has said about his humble beginnings. “I would sing with my mama. I was singing all the while.”

He continued, “Then the kids got interested, and sometimes I would sing them songs. Sometimes there would be little concerts going on in school and I would participate in singing, you know? But I knew I was gonna be a singer soon.”

Emerging as a roots singer in the 1970s while still in college, Eek-A-Mouse’s early output was released under his real name and included My Father’s Land, Creation and Wicked Shall Not Reign. Seeking a stage name for his increasing sound system forays, he adopted the alias his friends called him, after a racehorse he faithfully bet on, to no avail. It’s alleged that the only time Hylton bet on a different horse, Eek-A-Mouse actually won.

The rebranding move paid off and with expert timing; teaming up with producer and Volcano sound system owner Henry “Junjo” Lawes, Eek-A-Mouse found major success with the hits Once A Virgin, Modelling Queen and Virgin Girl. By 1981 he would achieve international stardom with the controversial, much-sampled Wa Do Dem on the Greensleeves imprint. Eek-A-Mouse’s quirky, uncanny style was the talk of the town, equal parts irritating and entrancing, and far removed from any emcee prior to or since.

As the Washington Post accurately expressed, “A sound poet who uses his voice as an instrument, Eek-A-Mouse’s vocals are hard to explain… “unlike most reggae artists, it’s not what he says … with a voice that often seems to have a life of its own, he squeaks, squawks, bing-bing-bings, and dem-da-dems ad infinitum.”

Eek-A-Mouse’s contribution to the reggae/ dancehall genre was a percussive, nasally vocal style, and mesmerizing delivery. Taking cues from the most unlikely elements – from America’s swing music era to sound system culture – Eek-a-Mouse’s remarkably varied invention was as methodical as it was musical.

Local foundation musicians like Pablo Moses and Big Youth were notable influences on Eek-a-Mouse. His implausible fusion, however, descended from many accomplished singers, toasters, and jazz cool cats. Nat King Cole, The Beatles, Marty Robbins, Sam Cooke, Patsy Cline and Cab Calloway (vocalist/ bandleader/ Harlem Renaissance performer), were all cited as faves and influences by the man The Boston Globe called the ‘Al Jarreau of reggae’.

Known as the ‘Acrobat of Scat’, Jarreau found fame in the early 70’s as Eek-a-Mouse was crafting his inventive brand. Like Jarreau, Eek-a-Mouse’s vocals would playfully evoke instrumentation plus other elements and effects, similar to U-Roy’s interpretation of American jive-talkers Louis Jordan, Louis Prima and Fats Domino.

By 1982, young Eek-A-Mouse was in the big leagues, riding a wave that would take him through to the mid-’90s. His humor and lyrical prowess pleased patrons who were still looking to the sounds of Jamaica following Bob Marley’s death, but weren’t quite ready for or taken with Dancehall’s digital droning.

His debut album Bubble Up Yuh Hip helped him land an American record deal with Shanachie (former U.S. liaison for UK-based reggae label, Greensleeves Records), and was quickly followed by the suites Wa Do Dem and Skidip. Also of note was his hyped-up appearance at Reggae Sunsplash 1981, a successful spectacle that earned him a two night encore at the following year’s show.

Eek-A-Mouse’s rejection of traditional composition was nothing short of an adventure and delight to fans, whether it was the twangy pistol impression on Gun Shot a Cry, (Bye pie die pi die pie/ The sounds of a gunshot it a cry) or his aural account of a collision on Peenie Wallie (When the bike really hit me/ Beddameng! Pain all over me/ Me tink me get shocked by electricity/ Beddameng!)

But the 6-foot-6-inch trailblazer was not above the tumultuous times in his homeland either. Much of Eek-A-Mouse’s material reflected the undertones and overload of life in the 80’s with his trademark twisted funk.

These ranged from biting crime commentary on Assassinator (Early one morning/ News flash wake me out of me sleep/ Seh three man and a ‘oman, also a pickney/ Dem lay dung dead ina de street), to the cheeky tones on Glamity (The girls them half inna the middle like a sandwich/ Each girl speak inna different kind of language), to the comical exploits on Ganja Smugglin (Put it on a plane, the weed gone a Spain/ Money jus’ a pour like rain/ Me jus’ a mogel up the lane in a rope-gold chain/ Me an me girl name Jane).

Ironically, however, Eek-A-Mouse claims he never cared for the title “originator of sing-jaying.” It’s clear that from his miscellaneous pursuits — an acting stint in the 1991 gangster movie New Jack City, a successful foray into rock music including an Addams Family theme song remake and even his infamous ‘Black Cowboy’ phase — that such a savvy and unusual persona as Eek-A-Mouse might take umbrage to being pigeonholed.

The man who outright rejected song structure and syntax in the name of glorious improvisation grapples with the larger-than-life label, especially since, as he puts it, his versatile stylings were only second nature.

“I don’t know why they call me that,” he told Reggaeville. “Maybe … it’s a good vibe. Maybe a good vibe is what they feel, you know? Using my voice as an instrument … it’s just what I do, you know?  “Sometimes, if I’m freestyling lyrics … I’m thinking about the sound. I say, ‘bam-ding-ding’ and stuff like that to get the lyrics together. That just came natural. It’s like stress release.”