 Various:
Trojan 35th Anniversary Box Set, Trojan/Sanctuary, 2003
www.trojanrecords.com
Rating: A
I confess a weakness for these
“Limited Edition” Trojan box sets with “50 tracks on 3 CDs”, but hey,
that’s got nothing to do with the topic at hand. The topic is how gutsy
the folks at this label can be. They have attached the “35th Anniversary”
title to what is NOT a ho-hum repackaging of their biggest sellers (the
sort of release that maximizes profits while turning off the faithful
fanatic). Nor is it your second guess, a conglomeration of one or two
tunes from each year of the label’s existence, as I recall Motown doing.
That would be impossible for Trojan anyway, given its extended dry periods.
So no, these are not the hits.
This is more special than that. These are the misses, the unheard marvels,
the inevitable casualties of a cruel UK marketplace upon which too many
releases were enthusiastically but hastily unloaded. These are 50 low-flying
reggae objects that to this point escaped the radar’s notice, and now
suddenly the spotlight is beaming on them. They’re looking good.
Not that every track is great,
but a huge bunch are, and a healthy proportion are bloody marvellous.
They’re either short and sweet or short and punchy, ranging from ‘60s
rocksteady to ‘80s dancehall. The album plunks covers of pop songs next
to roots originals beside rollicking instrumentals right next to harmony
trios alongside early toasters. Big-name performers (Linval Thompson and
Johnny Clarke, among others) share the stage with the obscure (Brother
Dan's All Stars, for one). The skimpy liner notes credit a whole raft
of well-known producers, including Scratch, Bunny Lee, Joe Gibbs, Derrick
Harriott—you name them and they’re there.
The first two disks present, in
chronological order, songs originally on such Trojan subsidiary labels
as Duke, High Note, Blue Cat, Jackpot and Smash; the third begins the
chronology anew with items released under the Trojan label itself. Consider
tracks 5, 6 and 7 on Disk 1. First, Bim & Bam engage in an extended,
fast talking argument over funky horns and piano, echoing Louis Jordan’s
R&B from years earlier; then The Mad Lads harmonize on the pretty
“Mother Nature”, catching my ear every time; and finally Slim Smith emotes
in his soulful way, supported by not much more than bass and a bit of
percussion. Disk 2 starts with an unusual (for reggae) vocal approach
and song structure, immediately followed by a beautiful tenor sax piece
by Roland Alphonso, followed by a Charlie Ace toast over the tune of Good
King Wenceslas. As a sample trio from Disk 3, let’s choose the anguished
vocal by Carl Dawkins that precedes the Pioneers doing a hurtin’ song
on top of a bubbly rhythm, which precedes Danny Ray’s solo ballad with
strings.
Astonishing variety, astonishing
quality. Notable pairs and trios and quadruples abound. If you like early
to mid-era reggae (how could you not?), then you have to buy the Trojan
35 th Anniversary Box Set . You just have to, that’s all. And soon.
 Dub
Syndicate: No Bed Of Roses, Lion & Roots, 2004
Rating: A
What weird and wonderful artwork
for a reggae album. On the front and inside, glossy hot pinks and partial
images of roses clash with stark and apparently unconnected b&w photos,
presenting a potent, provocative, unsettling beauty. The music itself
is just as potent, almost as provocative, not as unsettling, even more
beautiful. It may take many listenings for me to detect all the links
between image and sound, but that’s fine, because the listenings will
be pure pleasure.
Expert falsettoist Cedric Myton
(The Congos) gets the album started with the title song. As Justin Hinds
did many years earlier, Myton quotes the Jamaican proverb, “The higher
the monkey climbs, (the more) he exposes”, which I consider the world’s
wittiest maxim. Then comes a contemplative horn-driven instrumental. I
can’t tell from the liner notes who plays the sax here, but given its
lovely melody line and appealing tone—fragile yet almost rough—I figure
someone has been listening to Paul Desmond of the old Dave Brubeck Quartet.
Yasus Afari next; his rhythmic “dub poetry” vocal establishes a conversational,
good-natured, even humorous mood that forces us to pay attention to the
words: out of many we are one.
Track 4: dub effects come on strong
here, with Lloyd Forrest’s vocal limited to the occasional “Fire burning”
interjection and some distant shouts of “red hot”; by the end the track
is total dub. Then Yasus Afari again, with a quiet, engaging, toe-tapping
song. You want a sing-along chorus? This is a talk-along one. Track 6
is an understated vocal by Uplifter, with lyrics about righteousness,
keeping precepts, setting captives free. Cornell Campbell, a true vocal
acrobat, gives his high-wire act over a safety net of powerful bass; his
message is clichéd but true for most of us: “life is not a bed of roses…nothing
comes easy”. “Adam & Eve” borrows liberally from Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry’s
medicine cabinet of remedies: the sampling, the lyrics about world leaders
eager for “super powers”, the dub effects, the sturdy rhythm and especially
the disembodied voices chanting “we are controlling transmission”. In
his pleading yet proud style and his you-can’t-ignore-me tone, our next
guest vocalist, Gregory Isaacs, calmly narrates one of his socially conscious
tales about violence “down here in the ghetto”. That one is followed a
couple of dubs, then by a further abstraction of “Adam & Eve”. This
gives out at the four minute mark, but returns at 5:24 as an additional
unlisted song, “Nuttin Nah Gwaan”, sung by Ca$h U. It’s every bit as worthy
as the preceding songs, and comes as an unexpected, delightful bonus.
In fact, the whole disk comes as
a delightful bonus to the massive world of recorded music: polished, inventive,
melodic, meaningful, surprisingly coherent despite the variety of vocalists,
and utterly captivating. This album is certainly No Bed of Roses ,
and it sure does make life easier to bear.
 Irving
Burgie: The Father of Modern Calypso, Valley Entertainment, 2003
www.valley-entertainment.com
Rating: B+
I did my best to listen to this
album with fresh ears—not easy considering the ears have been around since
Harry Belafonte made huge hits of most of these songs. But I did listen,
and what I heard was wondrous. I heard appealingly old-fashioned, straightforward
Caribbean music that brought a wag to my head and a smile to my mug. Of
course the gorgeous melodies were intact—what kind of hard-heartedness
would it take to truly listen and not be entranced by them? What I didn’t
expect—and perhaps I should have—was the directness of delivery that comes
of having a confident songwriter deliver his own material. It’s a refreshing
approach, to trust the song so implicitly.
Yet what struck me most powerfully
were the concrete words.
Well, duh. Yes, I know the words
were there before, in Belafonte’s versions, so I’m not sure what accounts
for my delight. Perhaps, as a writer now, I’m more aware of how challenging
it is to keep things simple and graceful and meaningful all at the same
time. Consider this utterly direct, unpretentious ending to a stanza:
“and the rum is fine any time of year”. Hear the little internal rhyme?
Catch the wit, the casual humanity, the effortless summary of what the
stanza and the song are about? “I see woman on bended knee, cutting cane
for her family/I see man at the waterside, casting nets at the surging
tide”: simple, rhythmic, evocative phrases that express subtle and complex
thoughts about memories, love and longing. Powerful, beautiful words.
That’s what I barely noticed before, and what I appreciate infinitely
more now.
I would love to quote more,
but you’ll just have to get this album and listen anew yourself. Not that
I’m suggesting the words are the most important or dominant element of
the album—the listener’s sense of delight will easily extend to the tunes,
the musicianship and the gentle delivery. Nor am I preaching that you
must listen to the lyrics in a self-conscious way—in fact the beauty of
perfect lyrics is that you get to enjoy the sound and sense of the song
without ever stopping to ponder how it all works so well. (Besides, if
you did start analysing, you might begin with the lyrics of “Nassau Crystal
Waters”, and justifiably tell me that “Nassau crystal waters washing silver
sand/Graceful palms a-swaying as to some mystical band” is far too pretentious,
to which I’d have to reply that that song is an exception, and try to
steer you to the delights of “River Come Down”.)
So let’s not worry about a few
details—one other being the intended humor but unsettling ego-trip of
the fluffy first track, another being the dated choral arrangement in
“Wish You Were Here”—but rather simply accept that this album is, on the
whole, a welcome delight, one that extends the life of a generous batch
of songs that will likely never die anyway.
 Lee
“Scratch” Perry: Cutting Razor: Rare Cuts from The Black Ark, Heartbeat,
2003
Rating: A-
Q: How do you tell the difference
between a Lee “Scratch” Perry regular album and a Lee “Scratch” Perry-produced
various artists compilation?
A: A Perry-produced various artists
compilation has actual songs.
Q: Then how can it be marketed
as a Lee “Scratch” Perry album, with his name on the cover and spine?
A. Not sure. Has to do with marketing.
Q: Does this matter?
A. Not really. It’s just we never
know how to file this kind of Perry release—with the individual artists
or with the compilations.
Q: Where are we going with this
Q and A thing?
A: Not sure. Maybe Perry inspired
it.
Q: Meaning that his unique creativity
tends to inspire a letting-go of expectations and a taking-over of instinct,
all of which creates an attitude of controlled anarchy?
A: Huh? Whatever. Ask us about
the album.
Q: Do we like the tunes?
A: All except the appalling excuse
for a song called “Feelings”, weakly droned by Sharon Isaacs with the
same kind of schmaltz that we first encountered in reggae back in 1971
with two similar tracks on Desmond Dekker’s otherwise sparkling UNI album
Israelites . By now we should have reconciled ourselves to coming
across such gunk on occasion, but we just can’t, because its only possible
value is to remind us of how horrible North American pop music was prior
to the influence of R&B back in the 1950s.
Q: Are we through venting?
A: Sure. Everything else is great.
Max Romeo’s powerful “One Step Forward” shows up, which disappoints us
only because we’re so familiar with the recording and already have it
several times over. But the liner notes claim that half the tracks have
never been released before, so we can’t complain about that ratio.
Q: Highlights for us?
A: “What A Sin”, a seven-minute
excursion into Perry’s vocal and sonic idiosyncrasies that is as brilliant
and appealing, if not as extreme, as the 12-minute-plus “Free Up The Prisoners”
on a previous Heartbeat album. The Heptones’ harmonies on “Sufferer’s
Time”. “One Step Forward”, which we’ll never tire of. The contrast of
U Roy’s toasting with children’s chanting on the catchy “Yama Khy”. “Walk
the Streets”, such a pretty tune. “4 and 20 Dreadlocks” with its extended
hookiness and heartfelt vocal by Evon Jones. And of course, Scratch’s
production genius throughout.
Q: Do we recommend the album?
A: Yes, yes. Unreservedly. Indubitably.
To heck with the album’s “Feelings”; just go for it.
 Mikey
Dread: Best Sellers, Dread at the Controls, 2003
www.mikeydread.com
Rating: A-
Without knowing what this album
sells for in your town, I’m proclaiming it a bargain. Here’s why: for
starters, you get over 78 minutes of distinctive roots reggae. You get
the productive output of the extraordinary Mikey Dread as a) toaster,
b) songwriter, c) lyricist, d) singer, e) Jamaican radio personality,
f) producer, g) innovator, h) dubster, i) album compiler and j) engineer.
You get selected highlights from eight albums, one TV series, and a concert
or two.
There’s more. You get an assortment
of your favorite session musicians: Jackie and Gladstone on keyboards,
Horsemouth and Style on drums, Harry T and Skully on percussion, Rico
and Vin on trombone; Flabba and Robbie and Lloyd on bass, Dwight and Chinna
on lead guitar, Bingy on rhythm guitar, Deadley on sax, and on and on.
You get printed lyrics, love songs, dubs, instrumentals, a “special request”,
weird sound effects, Mikey’s unique vocal twang, chugging rhythms, stomping
rhythms, corny lyrics, empathetic lyrics, varying tempos, spoken interjections,
and one of the gloomiest, most dejected voices you’ve ever heard encouraging
you to “enjoy yourself” and to visit the gym.
And yet more. You get “Warrior
Stylee”, inventive and complex, with a wildly effective interplay of singing,
deejaying, sound effects, music, and lyrics. You get an early occurrence—the
total in reggae now numbers several thousand—of the line “repatriation
is a must”. You get some off-the-wall lyrics such as the one equating
a girl’s rejection of Mikey to a rejection of Jah, apparently not a good
idea because the second coming of Jah will be with nuclear fire; and his
story about seeing a dread in a barber saloon getting his locks cut off,
causing Mikey to call upon Jah to strike the guy dead. In summary, you
get a re-release of what was already an entertaining and full 1991 compilation,
now supplemented by two “bonus” tracks, 18 songs in all. (Which reminds
me; you also get out-of-date liner notes: previously unreleased songs
on the 1991 edition can no longer claim to be previously unreleased. Duh.)
If your only exposure to Mikey
Dread has been his invigorating reinvention of himself on the 2002 album
Rasta In Control , then you may not be prepared for his former
vocal style as represented on this album. Yes, Best Sellers is
a different kind of treat altogether, and a true bargain to boot. It deserves
to be a best seller.
 Nasio:
Living in the Positive, Higher Love Music, 2003
www.nasioreggae.com
Rating: B
A trumpet fanfare kicks off Living
in the Positive, as if announcing someone important. An anointed one,
perhaps. Nasio. He used to be Nasio Fontaine, and if you’re a true reggae
lover, you’ve undoubtedly heard of him. If you’re not a fan, you likely
haven’t, and on the evidence of this album, you never will.
Some expect Nasio to be the next
huge thing: the phenomenon that takes roots reggae to a much wider and
highly appreciative audience. But I don’t think so. Just listen. Sure,
we can all hear the appealing voice that manages to exude strength and
emotional fragility at the same time. Sure, anyone can hum the melodies
and respond to those insistent one-drop rhythms. But that’s as far as
the non-oppressed and the unconverted will go in their appreciation, slightly
shy of the adoration stage. They will hear trite, abstract lyrical content,
with a delivery and arrangements they consider typically reggae. Nothing
too tempting.
Listen now with those unconverted
ears. First is the title track: it’s the Jah-is-on-my-side song, assuring
us that "Good will conquer evil” and announcing that the singer is
a totally positive kind of guy. It’s a robust intro. Then comes the I’m-proud-of-my-African-roots
track. The I-love-ganja song and the I-love-my-woman song are combined
as number three, followed by the everyone-is-against-us song as Nasio
sings, “don’t trust no enemy/Can’t trust no friend” (his positive outlook
is pretty subtle here). Track five is the I’m-okay-but-you’re-not song
(“Racism and your hate still remains the same/Hatred never left you”),
which makes me wonder which listener will be more dismissive of that generalized
accusation: the racist or the non-racist? Nasio is better at condemning
than he is at targeting.
Track six, the life-is-rough song,
is encouragingly entitled “New Song” and raises such startling new concepts
as “Road is Steep…no rest for weary feet…Tougher the Fight/Sweeter the
Victory.” Next, the repatriate-to-Africa song, again expressing Nasio’s
positive view of life: “There is no justice…there is no peace.” Of course
we can’t do without the they’re-a-bunch-of-hypocrites song, expressing
yet more optimism: “…the sufferers/Are left to die”. Unfortunately, the
non-reggae fan won’t have lasted long enough to enjoy the sparkling electric
guitar solo in track nine, which is another I’m-proud-of-my-roots song—biblical
roots this time. The album is winding down now, with a second life-is-rough
song, although Nasio never actually tells us what his “tribulation” was.
Finally, the we-gotta-free-ourselves song, a big production number to
close things off.
I’m not saying that this album,
and the immense talent it reveals, don’t deserve your attention. Nasio’s
music is highly enjoyable for those of us who are comfortable with reggae’s
clichés, and more importantly, may very well speak powerfully to those
in the ghetto. What I’m saying is that this album will never reach out
to the world beyond, so don’t get your hopes up. Here Nasio is more a
spokesperson to the oppressed than a spokesperson for
the oppressed.
 Ras
Michael: A Weh Dem A Go Do Wid It, Zion Disc/ROIR, 2003
www.roir-usa.com
Rating: B-
I remember twenty-some years ago
reading the back cover of Ras Michael’s Nyahbinghi album and being
astonished to discover he had written “all titles” on it. Those titles
included “Ja Got the Whole World”, which I had sung (except for the Jah
part) in Sunday School twenty-odd years prior to that. Now I see that
Ras Michael wrote everything on this new album too, including “All Things
Bright and Beautiful” (which an old Protestant hymnal in my possession
has the nerve to attribute to some guy who died in 1895) and “Haile Selassie
is the Chapel” (yep, the same song that the Wailers recorded in ’68 using
the tune and some of the lyric of a C&W song covered by a host of
artists in 1953.)
One might therefore conclude that
either Ras Michael is a very old and truly remarkable gent who really
gets around, or he has an ego problem. Or maybe…but wait, there’s no need
to dwell on such an insignificant and petty ethical issue when this amiable
album of religious precepts and moral instruction is beckoning.
So let’s talk about the engaging
music therein. It’s all thoroughly based on nyahbingi drumming, of course,
so if you’re not yet exposed to the pleasures of that particular reggae
genre, this would be a good album to start with. (Later you can graduate
to Communication Drums by Prince Tebah and the Sons of Thunder,
which is authentic, powerful stuff, but totally uncompromising and therefore
perhaps a bit strong for un-attuned ears.) Anyway, A Weh Dem A Go Do
Wid It starts with a ten-minute medley that has “Rastaman Chant”,
a Ras Michael staple, segueing into “Dry Bone”, a fun, bouncy thing, then
into two gentle pieces before closing—the whole medley featuring the lovely
harmony background vocals of Natalie Azerad. Then come the unhurried,
reverent readings of the Chapel song and the Bright and Beautiful hymn.
Lively horns announce a change
of pace with the three-part “Sweet Jamaica”, one section of which is a
spoken history lesson of the socio-political kind. It’s followed without
a pause by a history lesson of the musical kind, an opportunity for Ras
Michael to list some of his “hardcore reggae” influences and peers. The
rhythm flows steadily, seemingly forever, while off and on the teaching
continues, trance-like. But eventually we get to the title track’s high-stepping,
melodious, very pointed critique of those with riches, and then the album
closes with the pleasant “Cry Moon” and its dub.
That’s about it. The album is just
over an hour’s worth of the highly recognizable music of Ras Michael.
True, it doesn’t show much of his more adventurous side—if you want a
recent example of that, try his dancehall-influenced Merry Peasant
on 2b1 Multimedia. But if you want lots of that good old rootsy,
deliberate, nyahbingi heartbeat anchoring accessible, tuneful songs, get
this one.
 Red
Rose: Good Friends Better Than Pocket Money, 2b1 Multimedia, 2003
www.2b1records.com
Rating: C+
Michigan and Smiley could never
have imagined this all those years ago. What started as a two-man tag-team
match in the world of professional wreggae has become a free-for-all,
with practically everyone in the World Wreggae Federation jumping inside
the dancehall ropes at the same time. So on this album, Anthony Red Rose’s
first outing as a contender (and a full 15-track bout at that), all the
famous friends he made as a successful producer have joined forces. Capleton,
Bounty Killer, Beenie Man, Elephantman, Jack Radics, Terror Fabulous and—hang
onto your seat—14 more singers/deejays all crowd into the ring. And that’s
to say nothing of all the supporting musicians, including Sly, Robbie,
Dean, Sticky and Dwight. Good friends better than pocket money, sure,
and also apparently better than breathing room.
Given the circumstances, the expectations
of the arena fans are going to reach to the rafters. But can that vast
array of voices and instruments and rhythms put on a coherent show? Will
there be disciplined musical shape to the songs? Surprising answer: ummm,
yes. It may always verge on the edge of chaos, but yeah, it generally
works. A voice comes in for a bar or two, then is supplanted or overpowered
by another voice promoting its own, different chanted phrase. That one
soon gives way to another, and the cycle continues. But the rhythms hold
everything together more or less successfully, and despite the odds, a
few winners do emerge.
So what does this semi-bedlam involve,
you ask? A variety of tempos. Mega doses of “hardcore flex” with rough-voiced
deejays. Subdued horns here and there. Some self-consciously meaningful
lyrics. A goodly portion of bland, generic dancehall clich é s. A sweet
duet with Brown Sudar. Hooks on most of the tracks, usually of medium-strength.
Groaners like, “Girl, shake that money maker/Thatsa what your momma gave
ya.” And smilers like, “No man never dis you up/No man never box you down/No
man never run around and desert you.” That line comes from the melodic
“Never Dis”, one of my two favorite tracks, the other being the very catchy
“Build the Vibe”, wherein a fast talker wants to meet a nice girl. In
these and every other round, Red Rose combines forces with his guest vocalists,
one or two or three, sometimes five others, always with a whole bunch
of musical distractions going on behind and around them.
And that’s why an attentive referee
might have called this bout after maybe round five or six, citing too
many performers in the ring. But I can only assume the referee was wining
too vigorously to do what was sensible. Maybe next time Red Rose will
have the confidence to come with a smaller contingent; if not, well, it
could be another semi-frenzied rumble.
 The
Itals: Mi Livity, Suelion Music, 2003
www.theitals.com
Rating: A
Whether The Itals are actually
back is not the point, because The Itals’ music certainly is. Meaning
that although Mi Livity is really Keith Porter’s vehicle, rather
than that of the much admired harmony trio of old, it is a wonderfully
listenable reggae album, and I love it. According to the liner notes,
it was six years in the making. Well worth the wait, I’d say.
Also according to the spotty liner
notes, this is a mix of old and new—none of it previously released, mind
you—with some of the rhythms salvaged from old original Itals tapes. The
songs are all copyrighted for 2003, however, with newly recorded lead
vocals and new vocal accompaniment by, among others, Keith’s daughter
Kada. His old Itals partners Ronnie Davis and Lloyd Rickets are credited
too, although the where and when of their involvement are unclear. But
none of that slight confusion matters much to the listener—there’s no
disarray in the music, only assured singing, expert musicianship, appealing
arrangements, and great songs.
Out of 16 songs, I count 10 top-notchers,
although even the lesser ones flow along pleasantly enough. But those
top-notchers, wow. “Heathen Rage” has a vaguely menacing sound and lyrics
that expand on the title. “Mi Livity” has growly vocal, strong harmony
work, commanding lead guitar and pointed lyrics (“Life is not like a one-way
street, if you miss a turn you go round and repeat/You pass in this world
but just once in a lifetime…”). In “The Way You Are” (and elsewhere) you’d
swear it was Gregory Isaacs himself delivering Isaacy lyrics within Isaacy
tune, with nice harmonies in the chorus. The vocal of “Omnipotent” becomes
stronger and more confident as the tune progresses, but it’s the horn
charts that really make the song. “Humanity” has a quick, insistent beat
that supports the sense of urgency in the sing-jay vocal and in the familiar
sayings and proverbs that comprise the lyrics.
In its catchy rhythm and childish,
sing-along chorus, “Te Ta Toe” has an appeal that must surely cover all
ages and overcome any level of presumed sophistication. For that matter,
so does the following song, “Sing Song Children”. The vocal on “Battlefield”
is so fast it’s hard to pick up on everything, but the intelligent lyrics
again underline social issues: “Are you gonna tell me ‘United we stand’/When
some people don’t know where their next meal coming from?” “Holy, Holy”
is the highlight for me—a beautiful hymn over nyahbingi drumming, thoughtful
lyrics stinging as gently as its guitar accompaniment. “Live You Live”
brings the album to a strong close with assured lead weaving around tricky
vocal parts, all to a driving beat.
So, how does Mi Livity compare
with the classic Itals albums? It’s still socially conscious music, powerfully
delivered. It still has strong musical values. How does it differ? It
has even more hooks than I remember, and is imaginatively diverse in sound
and approach. Not difficult changes to have to accept. The Itals’ music
lives.
------------------
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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