 Various:
Bambú Station presents Talkin’ Roots II, Mt. Nebo Records,
2005
www.mtneborecords.com
Rating: A
Is it tacky to start off a record label compilation with a song blatantly
in praise of that label? I would have thought so before witnessing Talkin’
Roots II, which does exactly that. But given the quality of “Good
Works,” the song in question, I would be dead wrong. In fact, I
have yet to see or hear anything tacky about Virgin Islands-based Mt.
Nebo – or about Bambú Station, which acts as the label’s
house band. Tackiness is a foreign concept to them. Even their artwork
(by Mark “Feijão” Milligan II) is sophisticated and
tasteful.
So if it’s not tacky, what is it? It’s inspirational, that’s
what. The song is an affirmation of purpose, a declaration of independence,
the most enjoyable vision statement I’ve ever come across. Sure,
it brags about their capabilities and advertises their wares, but there’s
so much pride, sincerity and confidence involved that you want to cheer
them on as well as buy their product. The liner notes call it the “Mt.
Nebo anthem,” and it makes a fitting introduction to the album.
Bambú Station contributes the authoritative supporting music throughout,
while various guests (most from the Virgin Islands) supply words and vocals.
The resulting wide range of voices, styles and arrangements means there’s
something new around every corner - always within the dynamic realm of
reggae, of course. With almost uniformly literate lyrics and impeccable
attention to production detail, these songs are winners – from the
breathless dancehall of Ijah Menelik to Danny I’s mysterious, laid-back
vocal quality (yet urgent delivery) to Army’s placid and beautiful
singing to the deep-throated chant of Bashan to the dread world-weariness
of Ibednego to Black Culture’s reverent, almost whispered, hymn
to Rastafari that concludes the album.
And everywhere in between. To quote from that inspirational first track,
“roots reggae is a ting that cannot be diluted, polluted, corrupted…,”
at least not at the hands of the crew at Mt. Nebo. If you aren’t
familiar with that crew, it’s time you were, so go get this album.
If you are familiar with that crew, it’s time to renew your acquaintance,
so go get this album.
 NiyoRah:
A Different Age, I Grade Records, 2005
www.igraderecords.com
Rating: A-
I wonder if NiyoRah has a little too much talent. Or rather, too many
talents. Is that possible? I’m asking because A Different Age is
a highly enjoyable debut solo album encompassing almost 72 minutes of
interesting musical and lyrical ideas. And those ideas are all over the
map, and therein lies my concern.
Let me restate that. This is well over an hour's worth of great reggae
(with a bit of hip-hop and other influences), a virtual showcase of vocal
technique and song writing skill. He attempts much and accomplishes it
all. Yet the feeling I’m left with at the end is more akin to admiration
than satisfaction. I am in awe, but I am not moved. I am entertained,
but I am not inspired. A Different Age has everything except focus.
Alright, it’s true that my expectations are extremely high. But
NiyoRah has no-one to blame but himself, because he is so obviously capable
of making a major artistic statement. He has a way with a melody, he possesses
a luminous but substantial tenor voice, his conversational lyrics are
refreshingly direct, and he has the well-deserved good fortune to be backed
up by the formidable musical talents of “Tippy” Alfred and
his colleagues at I-Grade. So everything is in place. All NiyoRah needs
now is to focus his ambitions.
Until he does make his masterpiece, this one will satisfy in many respects.
The first track’s thundering nyahbinghi drums create a dread backdrop
for a fresh, optimistic chant. In track 2, instead of repeating the clichéd
Rasta threat to burn down Babylon, he refers to natural forces: “No
no no we nah deal with no matches/The heat of the sun and volcanoes will
burn them to ashes.” There’s a great horn chart and supremely
catchy chorus in “Fullest Confidence.” Later he adopts a low-key,
supple vocal for his narrative about a son who “…was good
but him end up in badness” as chirpy background singers repeat “so
sad, so sad.” His buoyant “Sandy Weekend” could be a
promotional ditty for the whole Caribbean area, yet his troubled lyrics
in “Twisted Atmosphere” show the converse side to his personality.
The perfect match between arrangement and lyrics makes for a powerful
expression of black pride in “Black Smokey Mountains.” Finally,
to close the album with a soft, acoustic tune (with flute accompaniment,
no less) instead of something more bombastic shows confidence and good
taste. Other good examples abound.
Yes, there’s lots of talent on display in A Different Age. And
there’s lots of potential for something more mature; something at
a higher level. I can hardly wait.
 Corey
Harris: Daily Bread, Rounder Records, 2005
www.rounder.com
Rating: B+
The promo material that came with Corey Harris’ Daily Bread CD
talks mostly about the artist’s background performing “the
blues.” But when I listen to it, most of what I hear is more like
“singer-songwriter,” maybe even “folk,” with some
African sounds and a huge, healthy dose of reggae rhythms to sweeten the
deal. Sure, it gets pretty bluesy at times, but primarily stays in an
acoustic mode.
This mix of genres comes across as very natural; it’s attractive
in a flowing, seemingly spontaneous way. That non-artificiality extends
to the lyrics too, with simple, recurring themes expressed in plain language.
The first song, called “Daily Bread,” includes this line:
“Got to be a better way,” and two tracks later a song entitled
“Got to Be a Better Way” contains this: “Still singing
for my daily bread.” That same theme (more or less) is repeated
again with a cover of Sylford Walker’s roots reggae ode to the herb,
“Lamb’s Bread.” Other repetitions: the first four songs
include the word “see,” “water” is a key image
in three songs, and two back-to-back songs contain the exact same line:
“Hoping and praying.”
I like all those obvious recurrences. They make you think the album was
conceived as a whole. More importantly, they make connections, which smacks
of truth – that is the way of the world, after all.
Connections are also inherent in cover songs – they always represent
a link between the performer and a wider world. Harris makes several such
links. His version of the old blues tune, “A Nickel and a Nail,”
is more laid back than you might expect, matter-of-fact rather than pitiful.
That same light touch extends to “I See Your Face,” an early
song by reggae master John Holt (not that the song was ever heavy), whereas
the aforementioned “Lamb’s Bread” gets pretty intense
thanks to an aggressive vocal, a vamping Hammond B-3 organ accompaniment
and a sparkling trumpet solo. (The song returns later in dub mode, tacked
on as a pleasant surprise to the bonus track at album’s end.)
Variations and repetitions, connectivity and originality, intensity and
tranquillity, all side by side. Those are the ingredients that art is
made of, and those are the tasty and wholesome ingredients of Daily Bread.
 Various:
Reggae for Humanity, Volume 1, Manila Jeepney, 2005
www.liveandlovereggae.com
Rating: B+
The concept of “fair share” may not be universal among all
of humanity, but it is the organizing principle for this first volume
of Reggae for Humanity, an intended series of multi-artist CDs. I’m
talking about the almost equal treatment between the two reggae rhythms
comprising the whole of the album: seven tracks for one, nine for the
other. The “Dark Skin Girls Riddim,” marked by a bubbling
bass, is somewhat less emphatic than its twin, the “Guide Us Riddim,”
with is forceful brass. Yet what the artists do with the first is every
bit as interesting as the second.
Peter Hunningale’s nimble tenor and perfect diction lead off the
CD in a song about living with faith in a world of stress and fear. Dona
V applies a very different melody line and neat vocal hook to the same
rhythm, crooning background voices added. Switching rhythms, Tony Roots’
insistent vocal carries an appropriate entreaty: “Guide us and help
us, Father/For we don’t know what’s around that corner.”
JD Smoothe’s prayer is just as passionate but less frantic, the
horns now mixed deeper and replaced in the foreground by some falsetto
soul harmonies. Luciano comes next, still prayerful in words and approach;
then Frankie Paul, also contemplative, with ardent, hoarse vocal and catchy
chorus.
The mood lightens with Carleton Livingston’s appealing little tune
about girlfriend problems, but Mykal Rose turns serious again with “Fly
the Banner”, in praise of the red, green and gold. Then Chrisinti
comes along “…to defend Jah’s glory.” Tony Roots
returns, on the alternate rhythm this time, with a long, wistful melody
line. Sylvia Tella’s alluring vocal quality adds to the gospel feel
of “Talking to Jah People” to make it the album’s “Dark
Skin Girls” highlight.
The dancehall would not be complete without a deejay bantering with a
singer. In this case, it’s JD Smoothe and Rusty Mac proclaiming
that “dark skin girls are better” (assume it’s a case
for pride rather than prejudice, and don’t even contemplate a lyric
that says “white skin girls are better.”) Karen Vibes is initially
sultry but becomes fresh and joyful, her lyrics detailing reasons why
“he’s still my man.” Dona V’s second go-round,
“Down Deh,” features contemporary political allusions (“Sadam
and Gomorrah”), vocals that alternate between bemused and urgent,
and a full, attention-grabbing arrangement. For me, this one is the “Guide
Us” highlight.
At the close we have dubs of each of the featured rhythms, the perfect
way to end. Maybe future volumes will follow that model; in fact, I’d
be pleased as Punch if future volumes emulate the creativity of this first
in every respect. Volume 1 is a great start.
 Various:
Sufferation: The Deep Roots Reggae of Niney the Observer, Auralux Recordings,
2005
Rating: B
Reggae seems right at home in compilations. There must be thousands of
them out there: collections and anthologies galore, the best ones organized
by label or theme, and some of the very best by producer. That’s
what we have here.
The producer showcased on Sufferation is Winston Holness, a.k.a. Niney
the Observer, one of the prolific, creative and tasteful old-timers. If
you are a fervent roots reggae fan, you will know that there are already
a number of CDs available that compile Niney’s productions, including
recent output. So, you wonder, does this duplicate too many tracks to
make it worthwhile? Or if it doesn’t duplicate, then is it dredging
up lesser works, either contemporary stuff or from the vaults?
Be reassured. The tracks are from the reggae’s “classic”
period, the late 1970s, and although only a few were familiar to me, all
have their attractions. Indeed, the liner notes claim that “nearly
all” the tracks have never before been available on CD or vinyl
album. The Jewels, for example—now there’s a vocal group you
don’t hear often; their tuneful “Jah I” has strong lead
and perfect high, responsive, doowop harmonies flavored by organ riffs,
with a dub tacked on for good measure. Bet also that you don’t have
the two tracks by the very dread harmony group The Rockstones, complete
with Burning Spear-style “ta-roop-ba-boop” vocalizing.
As for the well-knowns, we’ve got a true delight from Dennis Brown,
“Blessed Are the Men,” which uses the Beatitudes as a point
of departure for “sufferation” lyrics over steady high-hat.
Tyrone Taylor provides tension in the title track as the vocal builds
and becomes urgent, then insistent, then passionate, with lyrics about
the desperation of children living in poverty and lacking education. With
a drum roll, the piece turns into a dub and the mood suddenly shifts from
acute urgency to concerned reflection. It’s about as powerful as
reggae gets. On “Rock On,” Gregory Isaacs does a good job
doing his usual thing, accompanied by a wonderfully fat trombone that
is particularly potent in the dub.
One warning about this album: although Auralux claims the highest quality
sound possible, a number of the tracks are obviously from mono recordings,
and several of those are scratchy. So don’t expect total purity
of sound. But you can expect instead over 72 minutes of strong, honest
roots reggae, expertly compiled for our listening pleasure.
Al G: Signature…, AWG Music, 2005
Rating: B
In the liner notes to Signature…, Al G is referred to as a reggae
“veteran,” and that’s easy to believe. His performing
and song writing skills are those of a journeyman, which is the major
clue, and his portrait photos also suggest that he has been around for
awhile. So the question is why I hadn’t heard of him before now,
especially given that Signature… is referred to as a compilation.
The answer is likely that I’m not based on the Virgin Islands,
while Al G is, so maybe his extensive involvement in the music scene has
been somewhat confined, geographically speaking. I can only hope that
word will spread and his fame substantially increase. He deserves the
attention.
One reason is his fondness for frank, concrete lyrics to his well-constructed
songs. While not terribly original in idea or mode of expression (in fact
he’s not averse to using clichés), he does have a directness
about him that can be disarming. Whether singing of love (“But baby
the first time I saw you/I felt a change way deep down inside”),
or his roots (“When mi look in de mirror/Mi see one African”),
or social justice (“Grass won’t grow without the rain/We have
to try and make a change/To help our brother and sister/There in Africa”),
or simply the power of music (“Put away your stress/Let de music
soothe you...”), he uses plain one- or two-syllable words that get
the message across.
Speaking of letting the music soothe, that brings up the other reasons
to pay attention to Al G – his way with a melody and his adeptness
in the various methods and modes of reggae. In Signature… he covers
the territory: breathy lover’s rock, propulsive “rockers”
rhythms, preachy Bunny Wailer-style voice-over, harmony backup singing,
contemporary R&B/reggae hybrid, hymn-like balladry, deep roots and
more. Topping everything off are two remixes and finally two dubs, the
first almost an instrumental, the second more adventurous in its studio
manipulation, percolating beat and all.
Al G’s Signature… is no forgery. It may not be the most original
handwriting you’ll ever lay ears on, but it’s definitely personal.
It is also clear and strong and confident. You can trust it.
 Terence
Blanchard: Flow, Blue Note Records, 2005
www.bluenote.com
Rating: B
Terence Blanchard is a trumpeter, and Flow is jazz. Now jazz lovers tend
to think of themselves as both knowledgeable and sophisticated (unlike
roots reggae lovers who think of themselves as morally superior, rap lovers
who strive to be cool and country lovers who just want to change the oil
in their trucks). I enjoy jazz, but I ain’t no expert, so I can’t
pretend to offer a highly urbane critique based on intimate knowledge
of the genre. You may wonder, then, why am I including this album in The
Boot Box?
First, because of the African influences. It’s probably true to
say that a bit of Africa exists in all jazz performances, but that element
is definitely front and centre in the third track, “Wadagbe”
and its preceding “Intro.” It’s as if Blanchard wants
at the outset to pay homage to his primary and deepest roots. Good for
him; it creates an earthy and possibly more accessible grounding for some
of the highly innovative sounds to come later in the album. These are
imaginative, abstracted, synthesized interpretations of African music,
but powerful all the same.
Second, we Boot Box writers tend to like our dub, and there are certainly
dub parallels here: in the heavy, throbbing bass that propels certain
tracks; and in the atmospheric, spacey ambiance of other tracks. Like
some of the best dub, it has stunning dynamics: quiet and reflective at
times and bang-crash-loud-noisy-intense at other times. I’m not
saying this could be considered dub music; just that the parallels are
there, and if you like those elements in one genre, you might appreciate
them in another too.
Third, reggae tunefulness is often based on subtle variations, and only
after several hearings do those subtleties kick in, but when they do,
ohh – niceness. Same here. Fourth, we are used to expert “players
of instruments” in both reggae and African music. In Flow, the various
flow-ers are definitely adroit. Blanchard himself sounds at times very
much like Miles Davis, shimmering, bright, free. Sometimes his trumpet
is as mellow as Chuck Mangione’s pop-oriented flugelhorn from back
in the ‘70s. And sometimes Blanchard becomes a big-band leader,
spurring his musicians along to greater heights.
There. Four reasons why I’m impressed enough to recommend this
album, even though The Boot Box doesn’t usually cover jazz. I just
had to let it flow.
------------------
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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