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 Hugh
Mundell: Mundell, Greensleeves, 2004
www.greensleeves.net
Rating: B
All right, gals’n’guys, what
do we look for in a re-release? We look for improvements over the original,
right? That means added tracks, better sound, possibly a perceptive essay
offering historical context that wasn’t possible first time around, and
fewer fingerprints and coffee stains.
Now, what do we look for in
a review of a re-release? Well, some indication that those improvements
are present. So here you go, in order: a) yes, four new tracks; b) probably,
considering it’s “digitally remastered”; c) no, nothing in the skimpy
liner notes indicate how the world has changed, not even the fact that
Mundell died the year after the original album was released; and d) that
depends: personally, I never had the album before, but I notice that the
packaging for this one is already starting to collect fingertip smudges.
Dating back to 1982, Mundell
is one of the follow-up albums to Hugh Mundell’s big initial splash, Africa
Must Be Free By 1983. That was a hard act to follow, given its status
as a true reggae classic, but thanks largely to the vigorous, sparkling
musicianship of The Roots Radics, this one was a valiant, more dancehall-oriented
effort. As for Mundell himself, you either do know, or should know, that
his singing exhibited certain affectations. Aside from the fact that his
voice was somewhat pinched, he liked to pronounce final vowel sou-ounds
twi-ice. Most singers do that when the lyric line demands it, but for
Mundell it was the norm. These habits may be endearing or annoying, depending
on your preferences, and oh yes, his song writing yielded tunes that served
him well but can be, ummm, restrained in their humability.
The album starts strongly with
a song of confidence and determination, “Rasta Have The Handle”, featuring
a gorgeous, airy tenor sax solo with sweetly plaintive tone. The sparse
instrumentation and subtle tune of “Going Places” help make it one of
the album’s most memorable tracks. Another highlight is the first of the
two newly added dubs: it’s an unusual, powerful, spirited thing with lots
of weird wobbles and crazy spaciness. I also like the sinuous guitar figures
of “Walk With Jah” (another new addition) and the enthusiastic bashing
sound effects as it turns into a dub. Quite a few of the 12 tracks turn
into dubs, as a matter of desirable fact, and the album lasts for almost
53 minutes as a result.
Overall, Mundell is not
something you need as much as something you’d appreciate if you had it;
and it’s not something you’d buy for the melodies, but for the performances
of the musicians—and for the obvious conviction, if not the mannerisms,
of the singer.
 Izaline
Calister: Krioyo, Network, 2004
www.networkmedien.de
Rating: A
After listening a number of times
to Krioyo, I carefully determined what I would enthuse about in
my review. Then I read the liner notes and discovered that hey, it’s all
in there, already well described—I needn’t have listened to the album
at all.
Ha, that’s a laugh. I could not
have gone without this sparkling, buoyant, danceable, deeply satisfying
gem for very long. There’s power here, and there’s beauty, warmth, tradition,
sexiness, funkiness, humanity, a touch of the glitzy, and so much music
I hardly know where to start.
The singer originates from the
tiny Caribbean island of Curaçao, in the Dutch Antilles, but the music
has its origins in a thousand places: Cuba, Brazil, New Orleans, the Netherlands,
West Africa, and other points hither and yon. We also hear a fascinating
mix of familiar and unfamiliar instruments, almost as many as there are
musical influences: marimbula, double bass, congas, wiri, shekere, triangle,
campana, grand piano, clave, djembe, guitar, and on and on. Not to forget
the string quartet on almost half the tracks, which provides not a mere
sweetening, but an emphatic intensifying of the soul of the music (think
Kronos Quartet’s Pieces of Africa, not John Holt’s Time is the
Master).
Back to the singer. Despite the
virtuosity of the instrumentalists, she’s the star of this show, after
all. Her seemingly effortless vocals can be unassuming and sensitive,
or hot and exciting, or powerful and brash, or cool and sophisticated,
or they can be all of these. Whatever mood the song calls for, Calister
is definitely present and involved, and her voice responds. It’s called
art.
The songs she sings are equally
impressive, in quality and variety. She had a hand (music or lyrics or
both) in each one, so it’s no surprise that they serve as ideal vehicles
for her talents. Rich, heartfelt ballads sit next to festive, celebratory
blasts next to infectious, multi-rhythmic, percussive workouts. The tunes
are melodic, gorgeous, jazzy, complex, accessible.
I’m using far too many commas
in my attempts to describe Krioyo. Too many lists of words. Sorry,
can’t help it; a profusion of accolades seems to be the only way to respond
to the wonders of this music. Just go and buy it, for a friend or for
yourself. Someone in your life needs it.
 Slim
Smith: Keep That Lovelight Shining, 2 CDs, Trojan/Sanctuary, 2004
Rating: A
This album is subtitled “A 30
th Anniversary Tribute to Jamaica ’s Greatest Singer”. I wouldn’t argue
about the greatest singer part, but someone’s math sure isn’t great, given
that Slim Smith died in 1972. His was an unfulfilled career (he was only
25), so perhaps we should be thankful that he left behind as many recordings
as he did: about 150, either as a solo singer or as a member of The Techniques
and The Uniques. We have a third of those songs accounted for on this
two-disc compilation; fortunately, it’s a fairly representative selection,
ranging from a couple of ska tunes through the rocksteady and reggae years,
culminating at the end of this collection in his very last recording.
There are many highlights among
all these marvellous choices, but you simply can’t ignore the western
gallop (“Git along git along git along”) of the introductory ska tune
“Little Did You Know”. And make sure you give a careful listen to the
stunning, gospel-influenced version of Jimmy Cliff’s “Keep Walking”. And
to the perfect balance between Smith’s sweetness and Roy Shirley’s rough
howl on “Facts of Life”. And even to the covers of hit songs, for example
the typically soulful, sincere vocal in “You’ve Got What It Takes” (although
I question the wisdom of exuding such a degree of honesty when you’re
crooning to your woman such lines as “…you don’t dress in the best of
taste/And nature didn’t give you such a beautiful face…”). But sincerity
is part of the Smith approach to a song; there are no throwaway lines
on this collection—he seems to mean every word of every lyric.
Smith’s high, supple tenor has not
only thrilled many listeners over the years, but it has influenced many
of the wonderful vocalists who have emerged from Jamaica since his time.
If you love reggae, your collection must include Slim Smith.
You can take that “must” to mean “surely it does already”, but you can
also take it as “this is an absolute necessity!” And if for some weird
reason you don’t already have a substantial dosage of Smith, believe me,
this album would be a terrific place to start. The songs are of high quality,
the arrangements, production, and instrumental performances are just fine,
and the singer is Slim Smith.
 The
Heptones: Deep In The Roots, Heartbeat, 2004
Rating: A-
Sturdy reggae rhythm. Soft male
voice, beseeching, melodious: “What kind of child am I?” The answer comes
sweetly, insistently: “I’m an African child, that’s what I am.” More voices
in close, delicious harmony, and ahh, those horns. This is the first track
from Deep in the Roots by The Heptones, and those of us who need
our roots reggae know our needs are about to be fulfilled.
Third track; the groove is relaxed
but propulsive, the melody subtle and lovely; when the vocals abruptly
end, the music carries on smoothly into a lengthy and enjoyable dub. Then
it’s “Crystal Blue Persuasion”. Yes, that’s the one, but hey, the pretensions
of the title are no reason to deny the appeal of the tune, and this is
a Jim-dandy version—after all, The Heptones were one of the very top harmony
groups of the rocksteady and early reggae eras, and just because Leroy
Sibbles was no longer lead singer by the time this was recorded, the group
was not about to suddenly lose all their magic. Their skill and taste
remained intact.
“Jah Bless the Children” is cleverly
constructed with an emotional lead vocal contrasting to the cool harmonies
of the chorus. “ Land of Love ” has an effervescent beat, appealing tune,
yearning vocals. In “Move On”, the urgency of the vocal, the insistent
and repeated phrase “you got to move on”, and the quick-stepping rhythm
all give a sense of heightened drama, although the theme doesn’t quite
justify it (a guy is attracted to a gal by the way she dances). A wonderful
groove and impassioned vocals enhance the simple, repetitive tune of “Everyday
Life”. Like many of the tunes here, the bittersweet “Oh Jah” is followed
by its dub, and although this one gets a bit precious with its emphasis
on the chiming, bubbly, swirling instrumentation of the source, the bass
and drum foundation remains solid, so all is forgiven.
Over a militant beat the religious/mystical
“Through the Fire I Come” offers a mixed message: “Here I come with brimstone/Here
I come with peace and love”. A piano supplies the instrumental texture,
with some dramatic, deep chords. Another pop song and another potential
credibility problem: “Suspicious Minds”; but it’s more down-to-earth and
realistic than Elvis’ version—no bombast nor melodrama. The penultimate
track on the disk is a remake of The Heptones’ classic “Book of Rules”,
an updated rhythm providing a new background for this impassioned plea
to make better use of our talents.
These 15 tracks of Niney the
Observer productions, taken mainly from the earlier albums King of
My Town and Better Days, are just the sort of thing that drew
many of us to reggae. Sure, the cover art is kinda dumb, and the liner
notes are skimpy, but the music will last forever.
 Luciano:
Live In San Francisco, 2b1 Multimedia Inc., 2004
Rating: B+
I don’t have the DVD portion of
this 2 disk set, so I can’t say what the concert looked like; but I do
have the CD, so I can tell you what it sounded like. Or better yet, you
can simulate it for yourself.
First, find two CD players. Now
get your copy of Luciano’s 1995 classic studio album Where There Is
Life (if you don’t have one, you should.) Next, find your copy of
The Great 1955 Shrine Concert (yep, a different genre and earlier
era, but if you don’t have it too, you should.) Okay, put the albums on
and crank them up—simultaneously, yes. For the moment, skip the slower
parts on the gospel album and find the joyful, celebratory, crowded, livelier
stuff; it’s almost rambunctious, right? And it’s about life, survival,
faith; that’s perfect. Now concentrate on the Luciano album. Hear those
wonderful tunes and supple delivery? If you can, goose up the speed a
bit without distorting the sound—tricky, I know. Oh, one more thing. Dig
out a few old Beatles/McCartney tunes: you’ll need “Sgt. Pepper”, “Norwegian
Wood”, “Let It Be” and “Let ‘Em In”—not the whole songs, just an instrumental
riff here and a vocal phrase there, for accent.
Okay, if you do a good job of combining
all these, you’ll get something approximating Live In San Francisco.
The atmosphere, spirituality and sonic accoutrements of an old-time gospel
sing-along, the power and heartbeat of reggae, all in ideal balance.
But you won’t be satisfied for
long with the approximation. When you get the real thing you will discover
additional and untold pleasures. The first track’s nyahbinghi hymn, for
one example. For another, all the tasty solos from Dean Fraser and The
Firehouse Crew. Absolutely incredible percussion. An adventurous, spacey
medley that includes “Who Could It Be”, “Messenger” and “Final Call”.
Klezmer-like horns madly quoting from the Broadway tune “Fiddler On The
Roof” on the minor key “He is my Friend”. And in the final piece, the
soulful backing singers each brought to the foreground during Luciano’s
concert goodbyes. You’ll also discover a version of Tosh’s Legalize
It, and that although only five songs are from Where There Is Life,
the others are just as good.
In other words, Live In San Francisco
highlights well-loved songs from Luciano’s oeuvre, but believe me,
this performance provides unique delights. You should add it to your collection,
because then you can dismantle your simulation.
Ras Kente: Lion Sound presents
Sons of Fetari, Aziza Records, 2003/4
Rating: B+
Is Ras Kente’s guitar unnecessary
as long as his idol, Ernest Ranglin, is still making music? No. Does Ras
Kente’s output remain inconsequential until the day he truly finds his
own guitar voice? Again, no. Ras Kente already offers something substantial,
and although it may sound as though he’s searching around and still experimenting,
that may just be his eclectic nature. In any case, it surely is pleasant
to hear him do it.
Sons of Fetari is a mostly
instrumental reggae marvel. On the lead track, Kente shows mighty technique
with The Mighty Diamonds’ classic “I Need a Roof”, where a Duane Eddy
twangy guitar first does a straight run-through of the melody, then takes
jazz-like liberties with it. Next is “Tribute to Fela”, and the arrangement
is suddenly Afrobeat, funky and full, with sizzling saxophone solo. The
guitar gets all wahwah and bluesy on track three, with piano chords vamping,
rhythm section cooking, and everyone going a little crazy by the end.
YVAD then sings an intimate double tracked duet with himself; he also
did the drums, bass, keyboard, and percussion, so you might well ask what’s
left for Kente to do. Answer: a lot, as his lead guitar explores the whole
territory, up, down, all around. The song fades to nothing half-way along,
coming back strong as a dub that accentuates that lyrical guitar; it all
finally ends at the 12:30 mark.
It’s blues/rock guitar for the
next two tracks; I almost hear Hendrix and Roy Buchanan in there. Then
a dub without much point is followed by a second vocal without much guitar.
“Tempo” makes up for that, as guest Ernest Ranglin himself delivers a
generous dose of tasty picking up front while Kente fills in behind; this
is followed by “Tempo African Mix,” a percussive delight. “Fulani Woman”
sounds like the old Cuban folk song “Guantanamera,” appropriately relaxed
and gently swinging, with sparkling, bubbling sounds that go on and on,
all very beautiful in an involved, complex way. Unfortunately, the album
wimps out at the end under a simpering wash of strings, but up to that
point, wow.
So let me highly recommend Ras
Kente and his marvellous, albeit scattered, approach to music making.
He has undeniable talent, but I am also taken with his apparent modesty;
on several tracks he remains in the background while others shine. The
album that results is a varied, strong, vigorous and often beautiful reggae
delight. Ras Kente is both necessary and consequential.
 Various:
RAS Reggae Box Set, 3 CDs, Trojan/Sanctuary, 2003
Rating: B
How do you decide whether to buy
this particular Trojan Box Set? Simple. You sharpen your pencil and work
out the algebra.
First, look at the song listing
and identify the tracks you don’t already have in your collection. Now
assign a value to each of these, based on how desirable they are to you.
A score of 3 means you need it; 2 means you want it; 1 means “it’s reggae,
so what the heck.” Count the number of each and assign a dollar value
for each category. Are you with me? Now look at the bottom figure in your
bankbook and jot it down. Good. The equation so far is (3a)x+(2b)(x-y)+(1c)(x-z)=$.
Yes, I know; you’re telling
me it’s not quite that easy. You’re right. For certain tracks, you need
to decide whether to get the original album instead of merely this compilation
(Mutabaruka’s “Check It” and Culture’s “One Stone”, for example). You
should also grant additional points for exceptional performances: Bayanga’s
“Rumbaskankin’” deserves a few extra for being fun, funky and adventurous;
as does Israel Vibration’s “Cool and Calm” for being cool and calm; and
of course “King’s Highway” because the whole community seems to have shown
up to chant to The Rastafari Elders’ nyahbinghi drums—that has to be worth
something extra. Okay, our formula is a bit more complex now, but it remains
mathematically logical.
Oh, oh. Other complicating factors.
The liner notes are woefully inadequate. The sequencing is just plain
odd, particularly the placement of the two dubs and one instrumental.
But look at all those undisputed reggae classics plunked here and there:
The Itals doing “In A Dis Ya Time”, Tenor Saw’s “Ring the Alarm” or Jacob
Miller’s “Tenement Yard” are welcome anytime, anywhere. More weighting
required. Our equation now reads: [(3a)x+(2b)(x-y)+(1c)(x-z)]+(~5m+3r)±(2ab-⅝bc)
= $ΩCDs.
There you go. I know buying decisions
can be tricky, so I’m glad to be able to help. And don’t forget, with
a few modifications you can use the same approach for just about every
other reggae compilation. You’re welcome.
 Improvisators
Dub: Super Vocal & Dub Session, Vicious Circle, 2002
www.viciouscircle.fr
Rating: B
The Internet tells me that these
folks are pioneers—the godfathers even—of the dub scene in France. On
the basis of Super Vocal & Dub Session, I think I believe this
particular strand of the Web. The album certainly proves that they know
exactly what they are doing, and that they can do it with great style—or
should I say “avec élan”? The website also claims that their recording
career dates back a few years, beginning with a Junior Delgado production
in 1997.
But their credibility isn’t really
an issue anyway. From the first track, “Truths and Rights”, the lyrics
and the delivery—and the bass and drums—quickly confirm this album as
a rootsy production. The song also quickly sets the primary vocal approach
here: a deejay and singer combo of the type that takes me back maybe 15
years. Perhaps that makes the whole thing dated, but it’s done well and
sounds great to my ears.
That first song’s versioned counterpart,
“Truths and Dub”, is track #2, and now the whole structure of the album
is also established: song, dub, song, dub, eight times, for a total of
16 tracks. It’s generic reggae at times, but there are definitely moments
that lift this album well above the bland. Track #5, for example, starts
sparely with slow piano chords and vocalizing so passionate that the singer
seems almost overcome: “We need more love in society…much more love.”
Only then do they break into the tune, complete with scratchy guitar over
intricate and vibrant percussion. In its dub the shuffle, scratchiness
and percussion, along with a flute, produce a surprisingly organic, warm
feeling.
Sure enough, a sitar shows up in
“Sitar Man Rock”, subdued at first, as if someone isn’t confident about
using its full capacity; it becomes stronger and more adventurous as the
song goes along—too bad the “unity and love” lyrics don’t share in the
adventure. The sitar becomes almost unrecognizable when phased and echoed
and wankled in the dub, making it a mixed success compared to the undubbed
original. I rather like the drone of the pipes in “Soul Piper”: what kind
of pipes, the liner notes don’t say, but the tune features dynamic percussion
and an unusual reggae rhythm.
Although Improvisators Dub may
be a strange name for a French reggae group, the sounds they produce aren’t
strange, not to reggae fans. The improvisation part of the name is hard
to judge without seeing them live, but they are certainly capable of creating
very worthy reggae tunes upon which they can then perform their dark art
of dub. At least I can vouch for the dub part of their name; it’s well
deserved.
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Although the closest Ted Boothroyd has come to a personal
association with the Caribbean was to have a Trinidadian grandfather, which
Ted
didn't really have a lot to do with, he happily took in Harry Belafonte's
calypso
hits in the '50s and became a huge reggae fan in 1969 when Desmond
Dekker's "Israelites" hit big in Canada. Ted has reviewed books
on Caribbean music for The Beat, writes album reviews for other periodicals,
and co-hosts
a reggae and world music radio show in Fredericton, New Brunswick,
on Canada's east coast.
------------------
Although the closest Ted Boothroyd has come to a personal
association with the Caribbean was to have a Trinidadian grandfather, which
Ted
didn't really have a lot to do with, he happily took in Harry Belafonte's
calypso
hits in the '50s and became a huge reggae fan in 1969 when Desmond
Dekker's "Israelites" hit big in Canada. Ted has reviewed books
on Caribbean music for The Beat, writes album reviews for other periodicals,
and co-hosts
a reggae and world music radio show in Fredericton, New Brunswick,
on Canada's east coast.
------------------
Although the closest Ted Boothroyd has come to a personal
association with the Caribbean was to have a Trinidadian grandfather, which
Ted
didn't really have a lot to do with, he happily took in Harry Belafonte's
calypso
hits in the '50s and became a huge reggae fan in 1969 when Desmond
Dekker's "Israelites" hit big in Canada. Ted has reviewed books
on Caribbean music for The Beat, writes album reviews for other periodicals,
and co-hosts
a reggae and world music radio show in Fredericton, New Brunswick,
on Canada's east coast.
------------------
Although the closest Ted Boothroyd has come to a personal
association with the Caribbean was to have a Trinidadian grandfather, which
Ted
didn't really have a lot to do with, he happily took in Harry Belafonte's
calypso
hits in the '50s and became a huge reggae fan in 1969 when Desmond
Dekker's "Israelites" hit big in Canada. Ted has reviewed books
on Caribbean music for The Beat, writes album reviews for other periodicals,
and co-hosts
a reggae and world music radio show in Fredericton, New Brunswick,
on Canada's east coast.
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