Clad in rusted steel pans crafted from oil drums and worn around their necks, Sterling Betancourt and his ten fellow musicians confronted a dubious audience outside the newly inaugurated Royal Festival Hall in London in 1951. The crowd was initially dismissive, with comments about “black magic” being thrown around. However, as they began to play their pans with mallets, the onlookers were captivated by the enchanting melodies that filled the air.
The Trinidadian ensemble was part of the Festival of Britain, a government-sponsored celebration aimed at showcasing cultural achievements from Britain and the Commonwealth as the nation sought to move beyond the scars of war. On that day, they introduced a melodious genre of music to the UK, one that has been cherished and passed down through generations. Sterling Betancourt passed away on June 3 at the age of 96, with little public recognition of his contributions. Although he never achieved mainstream fame through hit records or headline performances, Betancourt, a humble and warm individual who was awarded an MBE, remained one of the last representatives of the Windrush-era musicians who significantly influenced British music. This month, his legacy will be celebrated at the Royal Festival Hall during Steel Scenes, a festival commemorating the 75th anniversary of the Trinidad All-Steel Percussion Orchestra (Taspo), the group he performed with in 1951.
Following their impressive debut at the Festival of Britain, Taspo embarked on a comprehensive tour across the UK, appeared on BBC television, and established a residency in Paris where they produced Europe’s first commercially released recordings featuring a steelpan band. While the other members of Taspo returned to Trinidad later that year, Betancourt chose to stay in London, where he began crafting his own instruments from discarded oil drums found in the city’s refuse sites.
Initially, Betancourt faced challenges in garnering interest in the steelpan. “He was quite despondent,” recalls his wife, Beatrice, explaining that he had to learn jazz drumming to make ends meet. However, his resilient spirit prevailed—“Sterling was never one to procrastinate or dwell on negativity”—and he gradually integrated the instrument into the Soho jazz scene, eventually spreading its popularity across Britain and later throughout Europe and Asia from the 1970s onward.
“He was a remarkable teacher,” Beatrice notes. “His patience was admirable. I often watched him instructing a student with little talent and would ask him why he even bothered. He always said, ‘They will get there.’”
Born in 1930 in Port of Spain, Trinidad, Betancourt began his musical journey as a child, creating rhythms on empty tins. “I was about four years old,” he recounted in a recorded interview that Beatrice shared with me, though she could not recall the specific date. “Instead of going to school, I was experimenting with pots and milk cans, creating my rhythms and singing.”
World War II brought the US Navy to Trinidad, leading to the repurposing of empty oil drums into musical instruments. Betancourt became adept at making these instruments as a teenager and enjoyed playing them on the streets. This initially concerned his parents, as panmen were often associated with gang activity—steelpan bands were seen as representatives of impoverished neighborhoods, and competitions could spark violence. However, the establishment of the Steelbands Association of Trinidad and Tobago in 1949 professionalized the movement and mitigated band rivalries. Funds were raised to send a steelpan band to the Festival of Britain, resulting in the selection of the top eleven pan musicians to form Taspo.
“We traveled over on a banana boat,” Betancourt recalled. “We made a stop in Martinique, where we played for many students on board every day, making the journey quite enjoyable.” Upon arriving in London, however, the members of Taspo were taken aback by the city’s bleak, war-torn state, which was a stark contrast to the idealized version they had envisioned. “He remembered seeing signs that read ‘No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs’ and the teddy boys attacking Black individuals,” Beatrice shared. “Despite this, he held no bitterness, and as a musician, he garnered significant goodwill.”
Initially residing with the Trinidadian community in Bayswater, the vibrant, rhythmic sound of Taspo quickly won over audiences, motivating Betancourt to remain in the UK. Teaming up with Russell Henderson, an accomplished Trinidadian jazz pianist and pan player, they performed at Claudia Jones’s Caribbean carnival in 1959 and later led a steelpan procession through Notting Hill in 1966. These events laid the groundwork for what would evolve into the Notting Hill Carnival, which is set to celebrate its 60th anniversary this August.
“Sterling was amazed at how the carnival flourished here,” Beatrice recounted. “When he and Russell led the first walkabout with children, they had no idea it would grow into such a large-scale event.”
In addition to his involvement in the carnival, Betancourt engaged in numerous recording sessions across various genres, including jazz, pop, reggae, and soca, all while continuing to create his own instruments. “In the 1970s, he would scavenge for oil drums in the industrial wasteland behind King’s Cross station, crafting them into drums,” Beatrice explained. “He would cut them with a saw, heat them, and skillfully hammer them to produce different notes—his strength and craftsmanship were remarkable. Sterling had perfect pitch and could take up to three days to create a single pan.”
Throughout the rest of the 1970s, he dedicated himself to popularizing the steelpan globally. “The Swiss were particularly fascinated by steelpan,” Beatrice noted. “He spent several weeks in Switzerland, and eventually, many members of his Nostalgia Steelband were from Switzerland and Germany. He also performed in various countries, including Singapore, Dubai, Oman, Abu Dhabi, Spain, France, Germany, and the Netherlands, and I remember him playing on barges along the river.”
In 2018, Sterling continued his creative journey by recording “Brexit Bacchanal Story,” a calypso-inspired commentary on the UK’s decision to leave the EU. “Sterling was appalled by Brexit,” Beatrice shared. “He cherished playing pan across Europe and believed in unity rather than division.”
The upcoming Steel Scenes festival at the Southbank Centre will trace the global influence of steelpan music back to its West African origins and Trinidadian roots, highlighting its enduring legacy and cultural significance.
