I’m standing in Brixton Market, bopping my head. Luckily, I’m not alone. A trail of people funnels towards the record store in front of me, where music blasts out through its yellow entrance. Someone taps me on the shoulder to find out why I’m standing out here like a lemon. I tell them they’re playing records in there — it’s an open deck night. They smile and walk on, back to the wine bar next door. Shame, because they’d get a better taste of Brixton if they stayed here.

It’s Selector Thursdays at Lionvibes and I look forward to it every month. The reason I’m standing in this sort of no-man’s land is because I’ve arrived late and it’s the busiest I’ve ever seen it. It’s OK though. Selectors regular and shop assistant Scott Prophet is doing the rounds, chatting to guests and encouraging them inside. Before long I’ll be sandwiched between a crate of records and a fellow reggae enthusiast. Or maybe they’re not an enthusiast. It’s all the same. There are no tickets, no dress codes and no guest lists here. Just a setlist of names scribbled onto a sheet of paper. Hugo (aka Crucial Juice) is up next. “This one’s for Lewis,” he calls out, the wax crackling through the speakers.

“It’s somewhere between being in a record shop and being at a night out,” says Ben Bell, the shop manager, “It’s a nice place for people to start who’ve never selected or DJ’d before. You’ve only got fifteen minutes and one deck. Anyone can sign up and everyone’s really encouraging.” Bell runs the shop alongside its owner Matt Downs who started Lionvibes back in 1997, selling the latest records from Jamaica opposite Brixton Station. When vinyl sales started to dip during the rise of CDs and mp3s, Downs left his place by the station and focused on growing the shop online. Come 2015, as vinyl was enjoying a resurgence, Downs was on the lookout for a physical shop again which was when he met Bell and together they moved into the spot where they are now in Brixton Market — a strip formerly known as Granville Arcade. Walk into Lionvibes and behind the counter you’ll see a wall adorned with records. These are the latest batch and they’re split into two factions: on one side are the vintage represses and on the other are the new releases. Between them sits Bob Marley, looking out from the CD cover of his album “Legend”, keeping the peace.

“My first question will always be, old school or new school” says Bell, explaining his tried-and-tested method to help customers find the right record. “I feel someone out and just take it from there.” Reggae has a rich history that starts all the way back in the 40s and 50s with North American rhythm and blues and has since permeated nearly every strand of popular music. Genres like grime, hip-hop and jungle all owe their bass-led sounds to reggae. It was one of the original sounds of resistance, predating and briefly aligning with the British punk movement of the 70s and 80s. But navigating your way through reggae music can be daunting. Despite Lionvibes doing their best to sort their stock into digestible crates, if you’ve never read up about reggae or grown up with it, the records stare back at you like names on a timeline to a history lesson you were never taught. 

“There was a guy who lived locally who had been living in the area for fifteen years but who had never come in because he said he felt intimidated,” says Lionvibes shop assistant and DJ, Pearl Boatswain (aka Dubplate Pearl). Growing up, Pearl also felt shut out from the world of reggae. “I’ve been going to record shops since the 70s and there was one shop in particular that I liked that sold lots of soul and jazz. But one Saturday, I walked in and I didn’t get served,” she tells me. “Going into a record shop on a Saturday as a woman back then just wasn’t accepted.” It didn’t deter Pearl though. She returned the next week with a list of what she wanted and they had no choice but to oblige. 

Although she has been amassing a collection since the 70s, because of the prejudice against female selectors in reggae, Pearl only began playing out her bag of dub and rocksteady ten years ago, where she had the opportunity to appear at Jah Observer’s retirement. It was meant to be a short set — six minutes, two tunes — but Pearl’s selection threw it wide open. “I played Twinkle Brothers’ “Never Get Burned” and from the moment it started, the crowd went crazy,” she remembers. Rewind after rewind soon turned six minutes into thirty. Now Pearl hosts a regular show on Peckham’s Balamii Radio with her partner Mr Swing Easy, under the name Camberwell Connection, and the two of them have had gigs throughout the UK, playing both individually and together.

There are still too few women involved in reggae, however, so Pearl is making arrangements to run workshops and talks to share her experience of being a black, female DJ in order to inspire others to get involved. Bell would also like to see more of an equal split of men and women down at Lionvibes, but he isn’t one to force it. So far, social media videos of the likes of Dubplate Pearl, Lady Issachar, Mightea Stepper, Khatima, Tara Mallen and Kaya all playing at Selector Thursdays has helped the event to reach a wider audience.

And the crowd is one of the best things about a Selectors night. “There is a little community that’s blossomed from it,” smiles Bell. “At every Selectors, you’ve got old, young, white, black, and it’s been really nice seeing that.” Music seems to be becoming less and less of a place where people from different backgrounds can mingle and meet each other, or even just dance side by side. Too often things like ticket prices, bar prices and a lack of diversity on setlists (musically and ethnically) mean that parties and festivals only appeal to a majority of white middle class people in their 20s and 30s.  “Music has no colour,” concludes Pearl. “As long as you’re supportive, that’s all that’s important to me.” With Selectors, Lionvibes becomes more than a record store; it becomes an open and mixed community.

“It's like a family the way everyone shows love,” says Charlie Crittenden, who owes it to Lionvibes and Selectors that he was able to start his own music collective. Crittenden got into reggae after his grandfather passed. He inherited his vast CD collection, which spanned everything from calypso to ska to lovers rock, and felt inspired to honour this passion.  For years he would travel up to London every week from his home in Ramsgate and come digging for records, but he was always alone. One Thursday, he stumbled into Lionvibes and began talking to two others — Dylan and Sugar.  Sugar, who works in the shop, also had similar aspirations to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and start his own group; it was a perfect match. The three exchanged numbers and after hours of excited telephone calls, they decided to return to Selectors the following month and play back to back as Youth Downbeat. 

Power to the young, respect to the old reads Youth Downbeat’s motto on their Instagram page. And it’s that first part that captures the group’s intent. Although it was their grandparents that inspired them, Crittenden believes the older generation are also the ones making it difficult for youngsters to come through and be heard. “I see reggae like a mountain and these paths to the top are blocked off by sound systems which are run by older people, and they’re not letting any youngsters come through,” he explains. “So what we’ve done is create our own path. We’ve built our own sound system so now we don’t need to rely on other people. We can just do our own thing. That’s what Youth Downbeat is all about. It’s about helping youngsters for years to come.” With slots on local radio stations like Margate Radio and a recent show on Balamii Radio, they are getting their name out there. And Crittenden believes that next summer they can focus on touring their newly-built sound system.

But venues aren’t so easy to come by, especially those that host regular reggae events. “There are very few venues now that will let you bring your own sound system in,” sighs Bell, “and reggae revolves around sound systems. It needs them.” The term sound system refers to a few things. It can be another way of talking about a group of musicians who travel around sharing their blend of reggae or it can be the umbrella term for any music that is worthy of being played through a wall of speakers. And simply put, that’s what sound systems are: giant, homemade rigs that cater to all depths of frequencies from the lowest of low to the highest of the high. Historically, if you had one you could play whatever you want anywhere, any time. But because of things like noise complaints, this culture has died out and instead they must be crammed through the front door of any willing venue. Lionvibes is now one of the only places in Brixton where you can hear reggae loud enough to rattle your bones during the day — which is extraordinary considering that since the late 1940s areas like Brixton have thrived thanks to the culture of their West Indian communities. “You can’t start coming to Brixton and telling people how to run things when it's been going like this for years,” argues Pearl who, even though she is not a Brixton local, grew up in Shepherd’s Bush where similar things have happened. “And all the investment that they’ve put into these areas hasn’t really benefitted the hardcore community. It’s the same with Peckham and Shepherd's bush. You know, I used to rave in areas like Stoke Newington, Tottenham and Finsbury Park but they’re dead now; they've got no atmosphere.” 

As I’m talking to Pearl, it’s always “there was a place called…” Nearly all the reggae venues where she used to sneak off to with her friends have shut down. You can now practically count them on one hand: Hootenanny’s up the road in Brixton, Fox & Firkin in Lewisham, the Flower of Kent in New Cross and the recently opened Trades Hall in Walthamstow and the Trades Hall in Walthamstow are just some of the bastions left. Bell believes Selector Thursdays is no answer to these larger events where they get professional DJs playing for hours and digging deep into their selections. At Lionvibes there are people of all different abilities and they only have fifteen minutes. “Selectors on its own would be shit,” he says, “You need it as part of the tapestry but I don't consider it the same as a venue night. Selectors would die if there was nothing else going on.” But for me it is exactly the amateur and free flowing feel of Selector Thursdays that makes it so good. And sometimes amateurs are just as good as the pros at getting the crowd moving anyway. “I've seen renowned selectors turn their backs on the audience,” says Pearl. “They’re so busy flicking through their records that they can’t see that the people are standing there with their arms folded.”

So when youngsters like Crittenden say that Lionvibes unites people better than any dub gig, I’d have to agree. Its intimacy, open and relaxed atmosphere is the perfect place to not only learn more about sound system culture but a rare opportunity to dance and sing alongside a wide mix of people, who are simply there to support the stranger spinning the tunes. “It’s the best thing that’s been created on this planet,” declares Crittenden. “Lionvibes do more for the young than the bloody government. Without them, Youth Downbeat wouldn’t be a thing; I’d still be in Ramsgate by myself, without anyone.” As store manager, Bell is more cautious to romanticise Lionvibes’ and Selector Thursdays’ place in the wider context of Brixton’s community, but that’s not to say he doesn’t cherish it. “What I love is that we’re just a vessel: we open the shop, let people in, organise the setlist — the rest is down to everyone else.”