The Jamaican-born artist wasn’t shy about it, either.
“Tony was always smiling and laughing when he spoke with you. He got such joy from meeting people,” Brunelle says. “He didn't give a fuck who you were — big or small, black or white, old or young.”
Music brought Culture even greater joy — first as a listener and later, after emigrating to America, as a performer. A prolific vocalist, MC and DJ, he shared reggae, dancehall and other Jamaican-influenced genres with masses throughout his life, both in Arizona and elsewhere.
Culture died at his home in the Valley on Jan. 8 after a battle with pancreatic cancer. He was 66.
A fixture of Arizona’s reggae community for decades, Culture was renowned for his deft vocals, commanding stage presence, meaningful lyrics and considerable music knowledge. From the ‘90s onward, he could be found onstage alongside local acts like Rastafarmers and The Mighty Kindread, or at reggae nights like now-defunct dub and dancehall joint The Ital Plate.
Rastafarmers frontman Ras Patrick says Culture was a cornerstone of Arizona reggae.
“The local reggae scene has gone up and down, but Tony was always around,” Patrick says. “When he got on stage, he was the real deal.”
From dancehall crasher to DJ
Tony Culture, born Edmond Antony Hendricks in 1958 in Jamaica’s Trelawny parish, was raised in Kingston. His formative musical influences were diverse, ranging from homegrown reggae he’d hear over the radio or on a neighbor’s battery-operated turntable to American artists of the ‘60s. “Growing up, you get that kind of music in Jamaica on the radio all the time, especially on Sundays,” Culture told Phoenix New Times in 2011. “In my early youth, I thought it was all from Jamaica — I didn't know any different.”
Culture’s exposure to live reggae as a youth came from sound systems, traveling ensembles of DJs, audio engineers and MCs performing in rural areas of Jamaica. As a teen, he attended dancehall shows, regardless of whether he could afford admission.
“Tony used to tell me while we’d sit in my car smoking about how he’d jump fences to get into dances while growing up in Jamaica,” Brunelle says. “He always had some good stories.”
It wasn’t until Culture came to America that he began performing. Culture told New Times he “just kind of fell” into DJing in the late ‘70s while living in Baltimore, before forming sound systems of his own to perform in East Coast cities. He also found other ways to get his music heard.
“I used to make cassettes and give them out to people to get the music going," Culture told New Times in 2011.
Becoming a fixture of Arizona reggae
Years later, both reggae musicians would see each other again after both moved to Arizona in the early ‘90s. Banks remembers performing with Culture at the now-closed Tempe spot Likle Montego Cafe and Reggae Lounge. "I was with a band called One Blood and he’d sit in with us 'cause we'd be playing old standard reggae rhythms and everybody gets a chance to sing on top of the track,” Banks says. “We’d always try to help each other out in that fashion and he always was for the Arizona community.”
By then, Culture was a regular at legendary downtown Tempe clubs like Edcel’s Attic during the glory days of Mill Avenue’s music scene.
“That was back in the days when Tempe was hot with the Gin Blossoms,” Patrick says. “Shortly after that was when I started to see Tony Culture come around places like Electric Ballroom and then outdoor reggae festivals we played.”
Tempe singer-songwriter Walt Richardson, formerly of Tempe band Morning Star, recalls that reggae was more popular locally in the ’90s, and he and Culture frequently shared bills.
“The Sail Inn or other places would do special nights with all-reggae lineups and he’d be there on the mic,” Richardson says. “He attended a lot of our shows when I had Morning Star or would perform with bands before us. He dug our music so we’d have him come on stage and work the mic with us for a while. It was always something cool.”
Richardson says Culture’s MCing and vocals always had a major effect on crowds and fellow artists alike.
“He had a very unique, powerful voice with these baritone textures to it,” Richardson says. “It was strong and his lyrics and presence onstage were strong, and so he’d always touch people's hearts. People wanted to give him hugs and high-fives.”
Jeri Blackburn, a longtime friend of Culture and former concert promoter, says he had a certain charisma people gravitated towards.
“He was a big guy, almost like a gentle giant,” Blackburn says. “He'd just get up there and sing and dance, pour his heart out and be this huge presence onstage.”
Patrick agreed.
“Tony's spirit shown out brighter than others. You'd invite him up and the crowd would totally react to him and totally come alive,” Patrick says. “He was a genuine guy. A lot of time in (reggae), people will put on airs or whatever, but he was the real deal. He was a true Rasta.”
Tony Culture, left, with Gabriel Brunelle, center, and DJ Smite during an Ital Plate session in 2012 at Bar Smith.
John Dixon
Serving up reggae with The Ital Plate
Despite interest in local reggae waning in the 2000s, Culture stayed busy. He released multiple albums, including 2003’s “Chant,” described by New Times as “a mix of dancehall bangers with a distinct hip-hop edge” that also showcased his penchant for positive lyrics embodying many Rastafarian tenets like unity and peace. DJ Smite, a longtime friend and former collaborator, says Culture firmly believed in both ideals.
“His music was very unifying. It wasn't something where you had to be a certain type of person, denomination or this ideology to enjoy it,” Smite says. “He practiced it, preached it and lived his life around that philosophy.”
In 2011, Smite launched The Ital Plate, a bi-weekly spinoff of his then-regular dance night The Hot Plate at now-defunct Roosevelt Row bar The Lost Leaf focusing on reggae, rocksteady, dub and dancehall.
Brunelle, who was familiar with Culture, suggested adding him to the mix. He’d heard the MC's freestyle work with Doctor Rock of California-based reggae act Great Stone Sound System and figured he’d gel with the new dance night — and not just because “ital” is the Rastifari slang for "spiritually sustaining food.”
“Tony was doing live dub mixes with them,” Brunelle says, “And it had a really unique organic thing that really brought up Tony's singing style.”
Brunelle says performing alongside Culture was a massively inspiration experience.
“Tony was super versatile. He could do dancehall, rocksteady or specialty dub. If I had stage fright for whatever reason or was just unmotivated, here comes Tony, the 6-foot tall dude on the mic,” Brunelle says. “He’d smile at me and say, ‘Yeah, Gabriel, run it.’ And the second he starts singing, it just brought out that super big inspiration to where I’d go, ‘Fuck it. We're going to bring this to the masses.’”
Andres Yuhnke, who served as Ital Plate’s sound engineer, says Culture occasionally pulled pranks, too.
“He was a bit of a rascal. If he wanted to rewind when the DJs were on deck, he didn't hesitate to reach back and put his hand on the turntable and spin the record back,” Yuhnke says. “It was probably much to the dismay of, Smite and Freckleface, but it was just how he did things.”
The Ital Plate became one of the Valley’s longest-tenured reggae nights, running until 2018, and occasionally took place at other local clubs. (One of their bigger gigs came opening for Phoenix Afrobeat Orchestra’s packed release show for its sophomore album “Laugh To Keep From Crying” at The Van Buren that year.)
By then, Culture had begun devoting more time to his day job as a long-haul truck driver. Smite says it was an understandable choice despite Culture's musical prowess.
“He made a lot of money doing that and not that much with us, even when I gave him a guarantee regardless of our turnout,” Smite says. “It was just for the gesture of it, cause he’d have to take time off work to make it happen and miss out on money.”
Smite and others from The Ital Plate lost touch with Culture after he left Arizona in 2020. Late last year, they learned he had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer and had returned to the state.
Smite, Brunelle and Yuhnke were able to reconnect with Culture at a Phoenix hospice he'd entered into. Each told New Times they were grateful for the chance to see him again. They also attended Culture's wedding to his girlfriend, Marcia Swann, at the hospice.
“We unfortunately didn’t reconnect with him until the very end when he was here in hospice and got to meet his family and attend his wedding ceremony they had at the hospice,” Smite says.
Richardson says Culture left an indelible mark on local reggae.
“The man had a huge heart and so much respect for so many for so many people,” Richardson says. “He’s going to be missed by in the whole reggae culture out here in Arizona.”
