Trinidadian Lauderic Caton, who has died aged 88, played a key role in establishing the electric guitar in Britain. For two decades other aspirants beat a path to his door to take lessons. The Nigerian Ambrose Campbell prostrated himself in traditional Yoruba respect for an elder, although the Shadows' Hank Marvin left with little in exchange for his ten bob lesson - wanting to run before he could walk, so his tutor said.
Born in Arima, Caton learnt guitar as a youngster, on an instrument left behind by his sister's boyfriend. His father, whose priorities were reflected in the eulogistic name he gave his son, left him and four sisters to be raised by their mother. Her philosophy coloured his life. Caton excelled at science and Latin; he taught in school while still in his teens; he wrote published poetry, and, progressing to banjo, double-bass and saxophone, played dance-music in local bands and recorded with early calypsonians.
In 1938, he travelled to Martinique at the behest of Guyanese saxophonist Stanley Carter, who had opened a music school. When the enterprise failed, they decided to try their luck in Europe. In Paris, black vernacular authenticity was always in demand and Caton found employment. He socialised with black American artists and played with Argentinian guitarist Oscar Aleman, before following Carter to Belgium.
His technical ability was swiftly recognised. He wrote musical arrangements for Belgian bands, and played with American pianist 'Ram' Ramirez, co-composer of the poignant classic Lover Man. He escaped to England just ahead of the German invasion, arriving in May 1940 and walking straight into a job at the Boogie Woogie, 'the loudest club I've ever played'. The virtuoso Cuban pianist Marino Barreto was one of his teachers, carrying off his new 'find' to play Latin-American music in Mayfair and doubling his salary. In Barreto's band, Caton met his lifelong friend, saxophonist Louis Stephenson.
Jazz lovers first heard him bandleading at Jig's Club in Soho, which catered primarily for Berwick Street Market stallholders who wanted to gamble, and also functioned also as a social centre for the Caribbean and West African contingent. As enthusiasts sought out this 'local Harlem', Caton expanded. When trumpeter Cyril Blake, a fellow Trinidadian, arrived, he assumed the role of leader; in 1941 this band made four historically important, atmospheric recordings.
In the West Indian All-Stars, with Jamaican saxophonist Bertie King, Caton tried to achieve the success that Ken 'Snakehips' Johnson had enjoyed before his death in the London Blitz. Caton worked with trumpeter Johnny Claes and broadcast regularly with clarinettist Harry Parry's band, the first time the public had heard a local electric guitar. But it was with the trio at Soho's Caribbean Club that he made a solid reputation. There, Caribbean and African-American officers rubbed shoulders with Whitehall mandarins and aristocracy as they listened to Caton, pianist Dick Katz and bassist Coleridge Goode; and Soho's raffish element drank alongside Picasso, Michael Redgrave and Lena Horne.
Until the late 1950s, Caton was streets ahead of most local electric guitarists in technique. He credited a knowledge of electronics, and his experience as a saxophonist, with giving him enough to absorb the lessons of Charlie Christian, the instrument's liberator. Electricity enabled a guitarist to phrase like a player of a wind-instrument, and while other musicians felt threatened by the tiny amplifiers of the day, Caton recognised the potential and began building his own.
For the jazz world, which counted then in terms of musical progressiveness, he was a key figure and an inspiration. At the Caribbean, he jammed regularly with Pete Chilver and Dave Goldberg, two British pioneers of the instrument. The great Django Reinhardt visited him for a session, but he reached his widest audience when drummer/vocalist Ray Ellington took over the Caribbean Trio.
Ellington's Quartet recorded and was known nationally. But touring made Caton unwell and he left. There were vocal groups with Louis Stephenson and others, and a spell on Greek cruise ships, but at the end of the 1950s, he laid down his guitar. Always a loner, he began to devote himself increasingly to yoga and ascetic pursuits. He opted for celibacy following the break-up of his marriage, and this, he maintained, was responsible for him losing interest in music: he learned to play surrounded by women and could not continue without a muse.
He was an expert car mechanic and electronics master who built television sets. He worked as a driver, then became a recluse, seldom leaving the Bloomsbury flat where he lived for over 50 years. He wrote three novels; they were philosophical and mildly erotic, but proved too obscure to interest publishers. Modest Premium Bond winnings enabled him to purchase state-of-the-art audio- visual equipment and a computer. He taught its techniques to Louis Stephenson, then in his eighties. Stephenson introduced us, and for over 10 years we and his nephew were his only visitors. After Stephenson's death, I sprang Caton occasionally from his 'eyrie' to visit veteran acquaintances. He enjoyed himself and, diplomatically, abandoned teetotalism and his vegetarian creed.
Surrounded by a complex system of timers and alarms allowing him to watch and record favourite programmes, he listened to Django Reinhardt on CD and held forth with recall and clarity. A convinced atheist who regarded life's journey as pointless, he achieved the ultimate by being completely at peace with himself.