The Boot Box

Various: Putumayo Presents World Reggae

[Putumayo World Music, 2004]

www.putumayo.com

Rating: A+

Pushing past “Putumayo Presents,” ponder the part that says “World Reggae." Notice that “world” comes before “reggae.” That’s the key to this adventurous, beautiful album. As contrast, consider the same label’s 1998 compilation Reggae Around the World (notice “reggae” in the priority position), which was essentially a collection of reggae acts from various countries. The difference is subtle but significant. If you are lucky enough to have heard the Twinkle Brothers albums from a decade ago that featured a family of musicians in Poland, you know how perfectly and naturally those Polish folk songs were wedded to reggae rhythms. That’s what this album does, except the scope is far wider. As for the results—artistically successful, hugely enjoyable.

One of the more familiar names here is Apache Indian, and his track is an early highlight. It starts as a slow, prayerful chant that leads to a deep bass and drums foundation for the vocalist as he explores his identity in a “sing-jay” style. East Indian flute in background, East Indian melody line; ululating tones—it’s all very intense and exciting. Another standout track comes to us from Cape Verde, with acoustic guitar, organic percussion, and melancholic vocal by Maria de Barros, whose friendly and pleasant-with-an-edge voice will remind you of Cesaria Evora. Skip to north-eastern Brazil for “Maguinha do Sá Viana,” a relaxed handling of a traditional melody, with understated wahwah guitar intro, base-heavy reggae heartbeat and solidly forró vocal.

Not that everything is slow. You want upbeat? Try the quick, attractive arrangements and intriguing group harmony vocals of “Rawagu” from the South Pacific island of New Caledonia. Tune into “Agua” and its strong echoes of Manu Chao’s accessible, multi-influenced sound; listen to the lively fiddle sawing away in the background; be charmed by fiddle/acoustic guitar duet interlude. You want changes? The spare North African instrumentation and sound that starts “Ya Laymi” is supplanted by an upbeat reggae riddim and male voice singing in Arabic; it moves into a fuller sound, becomes spare again, gets into some vocal arabesques, speeds up briefly and finally concludes: a complex production.

There is so much more. Memorable riffs, tuneful melodies, assured vocals, incredible musicianship, intensity here, serenity there, beauty everywhere. A few of the artists you’ll recognize, many others you won’t, but all are wonderful at making music. In a word, Putumayo Presents World Reggae is superb. Go get it.

Everton Blender: King Man

[Heartbeat, 2003]

www.rounder.com

Rating: A-

King Man is very strong, appealing album, and I hope for your sake that you buy it. But there’s something you should know: it includes “Little Green Apples.” Yep, I’m afraid so. Over the course of many hearings I’ve gone through a bizarre grieving process about that one song. From my original disbelief, shock and dismay, I moved on to regret, then to despair, then briefly to reluctant acceptance, with a slight side emotion of sympathy for the state of mind Blender must have been in when he decided to include it. I never quite fell into outrage, but I was close. Now when the song comes on I’m back to disbelief, illogical though that be. My remote never leaves my side now. It’s an over-reaction, I know.

With that single exception, the music on the 17-track King Man is superb. There’s lots of variety, creativity galore, yet it never strays from its bona fide, rootsy reggae rhythms and themes. It has energy, it has beauty, it has credibility, it has coherence, it has staying power. Convincing vocals over dynamic arrangements deliver memorable song after memorable song.

First it’s Sermon on the Mount time, with Blender reciting a few of The Beatitudes to a lilting tune, quick tempo and great horn riff. We move into a socio-personal theme about the singer’s relationship with a praise-worthy woman. The aforementioned unmentionable comes third, complete with Dr. Seuss and Indianapolis in the summertime, and I do admit it’s preferable to the original hit—just as catchy (unfortunately) and less bathetic. “Tabernacle Tree” quickly rescues the album with more horns, a tune you can hum, and encouraging lyrics. It’s followed by “Is It Because I’m Black”, an insistent powerhouse of a song. Track six asks Babylon to lay down its arms, and in the next, the title tune, Blender the Dread tries to win approval from his girlfriend’s father. A vigorous, cooking groove gives shape and power to “False Tongue” despite a relatively weaker tune. And we’re still not quite halfway to the end.

Blender’s treatment of universal love is confusing: “Love is inside you and it’s nowhere else.” But I like the way he handles jealousy and conflict in “Who Cares”, presenting a far more respectful and mature attitude than Ken Boothe displayed years ago with the despicable “Second Chance”. You see? Reggae does progress. Then comes another social theme (“cost of living gets so high”) with a strong melody line. Fast nyahbinghi drumming anchors the furious rhythm of “Do Good”, while horns are again prominent in the catchy “Backra”, one of the album’s highlights. The tune, engaging chorus and quick tempo of “The System” makes it another standout. Finally, an “extended mix” (including some toasting and dub effects) and a couple of “binghi mixes” bring the album to a highly satisfactory close.

There you have it. If King Man isn’t a terrific disk, then all I’ve got to say is Jah didn’t make little green apples.

Bill Laswell: ROIR Dub Sessions

[ROIR, 2003]

www.roir-usa.com

Rating: B+

I’m not great at keeping up with musical classification systems. As you can see, the built-in moniker for this music is “dub”, but you’ll never mistake it for Scientist or King Tubby’s dub. Never, never. No doubt somewhere there’s a categorical label for this music that has several hyphens and eight or nine syllables, one of which is the quasi-word “techno”, which I figure applies equally well to the wax cylinder technology of recording antiquity. But in the absence of a better term right now, let’s accept the album title’s claim and call this “dub”.

This dub disk has four long pieces, each taken from one of the four Laswell albums on ROIR. The album titles are so pretentious they’re scary, but the music as sampled here is just fine. The first piece starts slowly with electronic chords, interrupted eventually by reverberating bangs. Then a throbbing bass joins in. Lots more tones and indescribable sounds slowly ease into, around and out of the mix, as little by little we realize that a rhythmic pulse has been gathering momentum. As in a classical work, the musical theme comes and goes, is explored and altered. Higher, softer and friendlier effects are introduced, then a few electronic sweeps. We’re not really going anywhere, but who cares? We simply accept that the point is the quiet and contemplative journey, not the non-existent destination.

“Thunupa” immediately launches into vibrant East Indian percussion and various electronic sounds. Then an abrupt change as a cornet starts playing something that resembles a melody and the beat takes on a reggae feel. The well-spaced horn phrases sound like Miles Davis, while in the background is a long, subtle, deep rolling, as if the whole construct is some sort of living, breathing entity.

Indian percussion begins anew and takes us close to the end, which comes 13½ minutes after the piece began. Track three: after various whirrs and wahwahs and fades, “Cybotron” settles into a strong rhythm and an interesting electronic figure that just plays with us awhile before it allows other swoops and echoes and a deep bass to overtake it. A pure, deep, subdued reggae rhythm arises, only to disintegrate as yet other sounds take over, and gradually everything slips into the void. As for the final track, the first part has a heartbeat throb—quiet, contemplative, all the time in the world for “GiGi” Shibabaw’s precise, melodic and soulful singing. Then we move into an electronic, bass-laden reggae as great rolling, whizzing and whirring sounds compete for airtime; there are echoes of Augustus Pablo, Lee Perry, King Tubby and a train coming through.

Like many classical compositions, this is complex, abstract music, with a single track having several distinct movements that may or may not reveal a close link. ROIR Dub Sessions may be less immediately accessible than you are used to, but like its distant cousins of the good old Jamaican variety, this “dub” sure has its pleasures. Don’t try to make sense of it; just let the sounds flow, and enjoy.

Triston Palma: Two Roads

[Easy Star, 2000]

www.easystar.com

Rating: B+

Apparently way back at the turn of the century, I was skimming along too quickly with too narrow a focus to notice Two Roads lying slightly off the particular highway system I was on. But now I have not only noticed, but taken a very nice spin along that route, and the scenery is great. I heartily recommend that you get off your beaten path at some intersection ahead and try Two Roads as well.

This metaphor I’m travelling on could soon get rather slippery, so I’ll abandon it before I slide ungracefully onto the shoulder. Okay, done. What we have here is an extremely likable reggae album. It has a modern sound (lots of digital programming and studio trickery) that nonetheless appeals greatly to the roots fan in me. All the songs were written by Palma and Steven Ibanez in cahoots with one of five other individuals—it’s teamwork that actually worked, somehow generating solid and compelling tunes. The dynamics, the rhythms, the tempos all offer sufficient variety to keep things interesting and fun throughout. And the musicians do their jobs with professionalism and spirit.

One of the elements of Two Roads I like best is what the lyrics say about family. Not the universal family of mankind, but the small family unit. Remember when Burning Spear had titles like “Children” and “Mother” and chanted about his sister washing the dishes and his smaller brother picking up firewood? That’s what I mean. On this album’s first track Palma sings, “From the day I was born I see my parents struggling.” In the next song it’s “From the day I know myself, my mom she’s always there.” Later, “These were the words that have been taught to me by my own grannie.” That kind of individual reminiscence becomes profound observation, and such personal, human touches make this album stand out.

As for musical highlights, the title tune is one: a hit single thanks to its jaunty dancehall beat, supple and melodic vocal, tinkling electronic figure and inventive percussion. “The Struggle” was also a hit, due in part to the fast toast by Norris Man. “Hatred in the Youths” has an urgent message, delivered tunefully. The chorus structure in “Get Up” effectively hooks us in and keeps us involved, while prominent horns and Mary Ochoa’s spirited guest vocal make “Ragga Salsa” exactly what it says. “When I Call on Jah” is another favorite because of its gospel call and response style.

The album is not perfect. Some of the big production numbers are simply over-arranged; some of the lyrics tend toward the sappy. A couple of the tunes are forgettable. But all in all, Two Roads is well worth paying the toll to ride on, because you’ll quickly find yourself enjoying the trip.

Natural Dominion: More Time

[ComeUnity Recordings, 2003]

Rating: C

It’s an interesting voice that emanates from Philip Hendricks, Natural Dominion’s lead singer (and guitarist and percussionist and song writer). It has an unusual character—not a pretty voice, but certainly an arresting one. Perhaps it was never meant to be a singing voice, given its lack of range: rough on the high notes, straining for the low ones. But considering Hendricks’ courageous, creative delivery, I wouldn’t give up on him. He’s ripe for vocal training, that’s all, and once his rawness gets refined he’ll be a powerhouse singer. In the meantime, be thankful for the female background vocals, ubiquitous and highly supportive, but never overpowering (even if at times you wish they were).

The songs on More Time are interesting too. Familiar themes, but lyrics slightly off-kilter; consider this, for example: “I use to feel like a moat,/As wide as the ocean,/Lay between me and my castle./Until I saw the light/Of your shining face./It made me search within./Oh Lord, I had to find my place./And so I said my prayers,/And I jumped right into the race./And then the spirits whispered,/Don’t let the off key notes,/Don’t let them interrupt,/Interrupt your love song, no.” From wide moat to non-interrupted love song in 12 uneasy steps—no coherent vision, no thinking it through, just one wild leap after another. Is that lazy or pretentious or what? Listen here, Mr. Hendricks, if you want to make a positive impression, you should be willing to work at deserving it.

Next item of interest: the inspired arrangements and strong musicianship on the instruments. From the very start of the first track—emphatic drums and chords with voice-over asking for Jah’s guidance—the music is powerful reggae. Urgently serene one-drop rhythms; frequently tuneful melodies. Enough hooks to keep you coming back. “Crabs Inna Bucket” has dub effects; “Revolutionary Spirit” has gentle guitar strumming and a reflective vocal; “WAR” has brief toasts and a forceful ending. In fact, each of the nine tracks has something unique and worthwhile going on.

Yes, More Time has lots to like for roots reggae fans, but not everything. Got one of those shops where you can listen first? Perfect. Try it out before you buy. No rush. Take More Time if you want it.

Ossie Dellimore: Freedom’s Journal

[Skank Records, 2004]

www.skankproductions.com

Rating: A

The music on this disk isn’t old, but Freedom’s Journal is a reissue anyway, slightly tweaked with added dubs and a single. The reasoning was that it didn’t get the proper attention first time around, just a couple of years ago. That logic seems entirely rational: this album is a powerful musical force that many of us didn’t latch onto at the time. But then, to get the exposure it really deserves, it would probably have to be featured on the front page of the New York Times. That’s not a likely event, given that this is hard-core roots reggae. Not a likely event, given that it’s music. Not likely, given that it’s not war, not economics, not politics and not scandal.

But back to the album. The track listing may make you think these are cover songs or close copies thereof: “The System”, “Fire Man”, “Rocker Reggae”, “Got to be Free”, “Downpressor Man”, for example. But these songs, and the rest, are neither covers nor imitations; they are original lyrical explorations of admittedly familiar themes using original and memorable melodies (and yes, they reflect a familiarity with what has gone before, but that’s hardly a weakness). These songs are delivered with the same unyielding commitment and vibrant musicality that transform a select few reggae albums into classics of the genre. That’s the level we’re dealing with here.

What’s so great about Freedom’s Journal, you ask? Many things. Fifty-five minutes worth of things. First, the songs; fully realized, tuneful gems. Next, the instrumentalists: skilled performers who are aggressive and gutsy when appropriate, sensitive and subtle also when appropriate, and none of them synthesizing anything. Third, the frequent and extended interplay between Dellimore’s very masculine, edgy lead and the smoother, beautifully contrasting, highly responsive backing voices of Starlett Kirby, “Rahsheba” Lewis and Adama Kefentse. It’s normal to arrange tunes with that kind of vocal interplay, but seldom have I heard the device used as effectively. Fourth, the creative, bold musical arrangements, including a subdued organ solo used as a bridge, nicely-varied tempos, bright horn charts, a Junior Demus toast (in a U-Roy mode) on “Sharp as a Razor”, and most daringly, the occasional naked voice of Dellimore , stark and urgent. Fifth, the clever, thoughtful and occasionally playful lyrics, in which sound is as important as sense, each lyric perfectly aligned with its tune. Sixth, the two dubs and one extended mix: opportunities for fuller appreciation.

This album may have a couple of minor downsides for some people. Some may not like Dellimore’s vocal mannerisms, including his penchant for turning up instead of down at the end of a musical phrase. For me that merely sustains emphasis where it would normally be lost. The timbre of his voice may not appeal to some, but in fact it’s highly expressive. Aside from those points (and even those are stretching it) I can’t think of anything that one could justifiably criticize in Freedom’s Journal . It is an inspired work of art.

Cosmo: Get Up and Jump

[Ginger Girl Records, 2003]

www.cosmomusic.com

Rating: C+

The liner notes for Get Up and Jump reveal Cosmo as “Dr. Cosmo” Fraser. The title is real—a true oddity amidst such honorary reggae titles as “Prince”, “Jah” and “Ras”. Cosmo is a practicing physician with the desire and money, and somehow the time, to get this album out. Music is not his day job, so it would be easy enough to label Get Up and Jump as self-indulgent. Which it is, but so is most of what people do, such as my reviews. Self-indulgence is fun.

But is it art? Well, I’m not sure. Cosmo’s singing voice is not beautiful or supple or commanding, but he seems to accept its limitations, content to come across as gentle and sincere instead of dramatic and audacious. And refreshingly, his vocal style doesn’t copy that of other reggae artists; he is every bit as influenced by vocalists in other genres. His songwriting tends toward the simplistic: pleasant, basic, lightweight tunes that are highly reminiscent of something you’ve heard before, making the two and a half cover versions the album highlights. The musicianship, however, is top notch. That’s why you can’t dismiss this disk with a flippant shrug.

A word about that musicianship: Cosmo has obviously recruited a pretty talented band anyway, but when he added such legendary folks for this outing as “Horsemouth” Wallace on drums, “Fully” Fullwood on bass and piano, and guitarists Tony Chin and Hux Brown, well, he was working with some of the best. Part of the self-indulgence, I suppose, but why not?

In contrast to the cover art, which shows a plodding Cosmo casting a long, ominous shadow, the sprightly title song sets an appropriate mood for what follows: he wakes up in the morning, hears himself on the radio, and wants to get up and jump. Thus the bounciness of the second and various other tracks. Several tunes have a welcome country & western feel; I figure Cosmo is the only person in the world who still keeps his Kenny Rogers records near his turntable. But I’m sad to report that the nyahbingi track is a failure, its lyrics being ridiculously repetitive. About the two and a half covers: Jimmy Cliff’s beautiful “Sitting in Limbo” is one; the Gladiators’ “Hello Carol”, with the added touch of a female vocal, is the second, and “Heard You Watching Me” is the half (hint: “Every move you make/Every breath you take/Every smile you break, girl/Heard you watching me”).

I’m not going to make any cracks about Dr. Cosmo not quitting his day job. It’s likely a stressful one, and who among us wouldn’t like to be a reggae professional if we had the talent? It’s just that he hasn’t quite come into his own yet, either as a tunesmith, lyricist, or vocalist. He’s come close with this enjoyable album, but any real power it has is in the production, arrangements and instrumental proficiency. Reggae with only partial power you can do without.

Tappa Zukie: Dub Em Zukie: Rare Dubs 1976-1979 [Jamaican Recordings, 2003]

www.jamaicanrecordings.com

Rating: B-

This may be brief. Not because this disk doesn’t deserve a detailed description plus intensive investigation plus sympathetic synopsis. No, only because it’s darned difficult to describe dub, despite my duty, desire and determination to do so.

Let’s get started. Tappa Zukie’s approach on the late ’70s dubs presented here is much the same as it was for his first dub album, Tapper Zukie In Dub (no surprise, given that one’s 1976 release date). He likes to introduce the subject matter for each dub very early by presenting—relatively unscathed—a bar or two of the original song, including vocal. Or if not the actual original, at least his own or someone else’s cover version of it. In any case, a smidgeon of voice and melody often surfaces near the beginning. After that teaser, though, the vocal is usually subsumed entirely as the Zukie creativity rapidly takes over and he starts playing around with the mix, the texture, any element of the sound available to him in the studio—over an intact, solid rhythm, of course.

I like the Tappa touch, although as always in dub, the enjoyment is partly due to the original songs and the strength of their rhythms (as well as partly dependent on turning up the volume). Delroy Wilson’s “Never Will Conquer Me” comes up first for the treatment, followed by Johnny Clarke’s cover of “Ballistic Affair”. Larry Marshall’s “Throw Me Corn” is here too, in altered state. Sometimes the genesis of the track becomes tricky to explain, witness what the liner notes say about “Give Me Dub”: “Johnny Clarke’s version to Slim Smith’s ‘Give me a Love’ supplied the musical bones to make Tappa’s ‘Chalice to Chalice’ cut, of which this is a lost dub to.” Twisted syntax aside, it’s still a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma, a condition that in dub is usually reserved for the music itself.

Two of Zukie’s treatments here don’t work well. “Conversation Dub” is one; the rhythmic base is so simplistic that once every other element is subdued, the track quickly becomes boring and doesn’t communicate a thing, despite its title. Similarly, in “Rock You Rock Dub” a repeated short phrase plods along endlessly without sufficient interesting context to support it. Nevertheless, most other tracks do what they are expected to do, and some work beautifully. I like the build-up of tension in “Dub Next Door”, where the dub effects enrich the tune to an even greater degree than usual. And thanks to Burning Spear’s composing genius, “Bagga Wire Dub” is another highlight.

I’ve gone on longer than I expected, but it’s time to end. Dub Em Zukie is mostly very enjoyable. At low volume, good to read by. Otherwise, good to dance or cook or exercise to. And at high volume, for the majority of the album, good for nothing less than total immersion.

Barry Brown: Rich Man Poor Man 1978-1980

[Moll-Selekta, 2003]

www.moll-selekta.com

Rating: B-

Nineteen years ago in a small shop in small town Canada, I came across an album that was obviously reggae (red, green and gold border), by someone named Barry Brown. I had never heard of the guy. The LP was entitled “Superstar”, but there was no such song on the album. Apparently the title referred to Brown himself. Not “Singer”, not “Star”, not “Hotshot Flavour of the Month in the Jamaican Dancehall”, but “Superstar”. So I was flummoxed. A superstar I’d never heard of. It happens all the time in pop culture and sports, and I just yawn. But in reggae? What gives? The price was right, so I handed over my money. Turned out to be competent, generic roots reggae that mostly stayed on my shelf.

In the two decades since, I’ve come across Barry Brown’s music occasionally on “various artist” compilations, and it was okay. Really, it was fine. Some of the songs were big hits, apparently. I just never bought another Barry Brown album. And now this collection issues forth. The artist “at the peak of his powers”, with “some of his best songs”, according to the liner notes. That puts us into matter-of-opinion territory, and I think those claims are wrong.

What we have here is competent, generic roots reggae from early in Brown’s career, prior to his notable duets with some of reggae’s better dancehall DJs. There’s not a lot of variation in his solo vocal approach—easily identifiable for his rather pinched delivery and refusal to enunciate final consonants. Nor is there much distinctiveness in his songwriting here. The usual excellent studio musicians of the time, including Roots Radics, The Revolutionaries and The Aggrovators, provide sturdy backing, and at times those fellows really cook—the further you get into the second track, for example, the less attention you give to Brown and the more you give to the accompaniment. Track three turns out to be the Studio One “Love Me Forever” riddim, over which Brown asks Jah for guidance and protection. His social-critique side (someone once compared him to Bob Dylan) comes out in track five, and you can understand why he didn’t incite many revolutions: “if you don’t have money in your pocket you feel down and out….I don’t feel right when I don’t got money in my pocket.” His slow, deliberate cover of the Livingston/Tosh tune “Burial” is a dubbish highlight; another is the title track, which is more dynamic—and therefore memorable—than most of its neighbors. A dub of that tune closes the album.

That’s about it. Some love lyrics, some dread lyrics. Solid, unexciting roots reggae. If you don’t have Barry Brown already, or have only his later stuff, this album will nicely fill the gap. But it wasn’t a very big gap.

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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.