Every Christmas morning, the sound would drift through Barbadian villages – the sharp, sweet cry of the penny whistle dancing above the thunderous pulse of kettle and bass drums.
For a young Karl Smith, those moments were magic. He didn’t just want to hear the Tuk band; he wanted to be a part of it; to master that very whistle that seemed to carry the island’s soul in every note.
Today, he’s known as “Froggy” – a nickname earned from a forgotten incident involving a frog at Harrison College that stuck so firmly even his French teacher called him “Le Crapaud.” But more importantly, Karl “Froggy” Smith has become one of Barbados’ most recognisable Tuk band flautists, carrying forward a musical tradition born from resistance and resilience.
Bajan folk culture
His path to preserving Bajan folk culture began unexpectedly.
At Harrison College, he immersed himself in classical music, playing the recorder with skill and passion.
After leaving school, he considered taking up the saxophone, but the pull of indigenous music proved stronger. “I was always interested in the Tuk band and in our indigenous music,” he recalled.
In the 1980s, armed with childhood memories and determination, he bought a flute from a store in town.
Teaching himself seemed straightforward – after all, he’d mastered the recorder. But the flute presented a challenge: no back hole like the recorder and completely different fingering techniques. Frustrated but undeterred, he eventually attended a Tuk band workshop, initially learning drums.
Try the flute
Two weeks in, the coordinator of the workshop, the legendary tuk band icon Wayne “Poonka” Willock asked if anyone wanted to try the flute. Karl seized the opportunity. “I brought my flute and he [Wayne] showed me one or two techniques. Just a little 15-minute session,” he said. “From there I was doing it on my own because I realised how simple it was. Quick so I caught on. It wasn’t no big rocket science.”
Hotel circuit gigs soon followed, each performance building his confidence. “Quick so I realised people were liking it and I got the confidence to continue playing and the rest is history.”
Decades later, Froggy’s greatest joy comes from watching audiences connect with the music. But there’s a painful irony in those moments. “In many cases I find that the pleasure comes from outsiders,” he noted. “Sometimes the reception seems better than from our local people. Sometimes it comes across as though they [locals] don’t appreciate what we do.”
That lack of local appreciation cuts deep, especially given what the Tuk band represents. “This is one of the only things that we in Barbados really created.
Spouge and Tuk band belong to we,” he stated.
“But we don’t like we own at all. We prefer other people things.”
He points to a particularly galling example: arriving at the Grantley Adams International Airport, where tourists’ first musical impression is often steel pan – Trinidad and Tobago’s art form, not Barbados’.
“I love the steel pan bad, but we gotta stop selling other people’s art forms over our own.”
The dismissal stings even more when Froggy considers the Tuk band’s extraordinary history. During slavery, plantation owners banned enslaved Africans from playing their drums, fearing the instruments could enable communication between villages and spark rebellion. The British introduced their marching band drums as cultural indoctrination, attempting to replace African rhythms with European military precision.
But the enslaved found a way. “They tried to make them feel that they were playing their music like ‘God Save our Gracious Queen,’” he explained, “but they didn’t know we were actually playing our own thing and developing our own rhythm. That’s how Tuk band came about. It has a powerful story and it is ours.”
The tradition also battles modern stigma.
For years, Tuk band was dismissed as a “drunk man thing to do.” Froggy and his fellow musicians work deliberately to change that perception. “We’re trying to clean it up to show that it can be good without fellas coming intoxicated.”
Through it all, Froggy remains devoted to his mission – spreading Tuk band culture, whether it be at weddings, even funerals or Crop Over events. For him, every performance is an act of cultural preservation, every note from his penny whistle a reminder of creativity forged in oppression.
“Tuk band is sweet music,” he said. And as long as Froggy has breath in his lungs and a flute in his hands, he’ll make sure Barbados – and the world – never forgets where it came from. (DDS)
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