Sak pase monche? Everything cool for de Yule? Let’s hope so, although this Jewish Creole is harbouring a few reservations about the celebrations this time.

Over the past five years I’ve spent most Christmases devoutly wishing to be here in Trinidad and Tobago, rather than the Big Fug. The entire Levi tribe made it down here arriving as dusk hit Store Bay on Christmas Day 2004.

Now I’ve returned solo to take my place in the Creole Confederation, the prospect of spending the holidays without the Big Fug Mini-Levite crew, who can’t make it as airfares are prohibitive and papa is broken to tief, is less than alluring.

Of course there’s my big daughter, the Hindu Princess in Caroni, but I think she’s going to find this year as strange as me, as she is accustomed to flying in to London to join her younger and older siblings for scrapping, serious shopping forays that entail emptying the family vaults and the wild Old Year’s (in Big Fug parlance New Year’s) jam session instigated by myself.

So it’s beginning to look like Christmas in San Souci, along with the Jumbie Killer and Sir Denis the cat.

I was tempted by an offer from a partner who is a true parendero, to join him on a lurch from San Rafael all the way to Mundo Nuevo, but the shac shacs I put a deposit on back in June have long since disappeared in a St Joseph rumshop and the soundtrack I’m listening to now, has been a long time coming and requires much attention.

My last few days in St Lucia were spent in Luther Francois’ rehearsal studio on the outskirts of Vigie.

Luther, for those of you who don’t yet know him (is this possible?), is one of the region’s principal jazzmen, a composer and multi-instrumentalist who could have gone north and more than held his own with Sonny Rollins; or alternatively coasted on the European jazz circuit, specially in Paris or Copenhagen, where Antillean jazz has been welcomed since the 1920s.

But this son of a former Lucian Education Minister, is a committed Criolista and largely self-taught musician, with a wide knowledge of Creole music, spanning the entire region. He was here in the 1970s as a young man, jamming at Scofield Pilgrim’s QRC calypso jazz workshops; returning to St Lucia he promoted jazz concerts to earn the money necessary to bring virtuoso trombonist Melba Liston down from the US to run workshops.

In the 1980s, he caught the attention of the Berlin Jazz festival and with the sponsorship of the CMAC in Martinique (the island’s Paris subsidized cultural organisation) put together the pan-Caribbean West Indies Jazz Band, which Anise Hadeed used to play with before heading off to London.

Like most true artists Luther has not fared well with those who feel they control the region’s culture; regional jazz festivals, with the exception of those in Havana, Martinique, Curacao and Puerto Rico, tend to support played-out Americans, has-been celebrities of TV sitcoms, funk, R&B even hip hop and rap at the expense of Creole jazz and roots music.

The colonial mentality shows no signs of diminishing. Consequently there are few performance opportunities for regional jazz musicians and neophytes must travel to Havana, Berklee or Juillard for their education.

Luther is working on a project that will hopefully return some sovereignty to mizik a nou—Our Music: a company that addresses the composition, arrangement and playing skills necessary for music students; an archival library of folk forms and experiments; a booking performing and management agency along with publishing arm.

Some of this will be online; but there are also workshops, master classes and pan-Caribbean exchanges planned as part of this Creole Confederation of music.

If all this sounds like an impossible dream, then I present my evidence: Luther’s Mona project, currently playing while I write. A series of compositions based on the voice and experience of Eugene Mona, a legendary Martiniquan bele singer.

It’s a staggering mélange of powerful poetic vocals and layered improvised accompaniment and an excellent advertisement for Luther’s project.

Last Wednesday night I sat with closed eyes in Mojito’s Restaurant in Gros Islet, St Lucia. Luther was there with his band, there were maybe 30 diners, who really didn’t take on the band.

The set I listened to blind was superb and although I’ve heard some of the greats at the Village Vanguard in New York or Ronnie Scott’s in London, I’d be hard pressed to better this particular performance. I cussed myself for not bringing along the camcorder, but have wrung a promise out of my friend Miss Snuffy, a Trini now resident in St Lucia to return and shoot the next gig. This will be my gift to T&T for the new year, watch out for it on the box and meantime hit the garlic pork while I get down to the business of composing the San Souci Suite, in three parts: Sea, Forest and Rain.