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 Leroy
Sibbles: Strictly Roots, Eppic Music, 2004
Leroy Sibbles: On Top,
Eppic Music, 2004
Leroy Sibbles: Now, Eppic
Music, 2004
www.leroysibbles.com
Rating: A (all
three)
Would you prefer a reggae singer
who learned his craft during a) the rock steady years or b) the dancehall
era? If you answered b, maybe you didn’t understand the question. I said
“singer”, as in “Ahh, what a voice!” not as in “Yo, that rhymed.” Not
that there’s anything wrong with deejaying, chanting, intoning and vocalizing
in otherwise creative ways, but sometimes what you really need is plain
old sweet, sincere, soulful, melodic crooning. That’s when you turn to
Leroy Sibbles.
Leroy Sibbles. Lead singer of early
reggae’s premier vocal group, The Heptones. Valued songwriter. Highly
influential bassist for Studio One. Jamaican legend. And now, independent
re-releaser of several remarkable solo albums dating from the early 1980s.
On Top offers a dozen tracks,
some of which are reworkings of Heptones material, and any of which could
be a model for beginning songwriters. That’s because the tunes are what’s
on display, not the production or arrangements. Even the singing, gorgeous
though it be, is strictly there to deliver the song. The instrumental
accompaniment from Flabba, Robbie, Sly and the others is excellent but
subtle, intended only to support the vocal and help deliver the tune.
The forthright lyrics range from affairs of the heart to “having a party
tonight” to societal concerns—although the only specific reference to
Rasta (and the only dub) comes with the bonus track for this CD re-release.
With its otherwise short, sweet songs sung in a soothing tenor, On
Top could be accused of being “pop” music, but that’s okay; the melodies
are substantial enough to thrive in any environment.
Leaning more on “sufferer’s music”
and less on rock steady as its starting point, and with every song except
one accompanied by its dub, Strictly Roots has to be considered
more rootsy. Hence the title. The musicians aren’t credited, but it was
recorded at Channel One, so it’s likely Roots Radics who play on this
slightly muddy production. The lyrics remain concrete, but here Sibbles’
songs exert even more power—his protests against injustice are unrelentingly
direct, his delivery heartfelt. The disc’s bonus track is an additional
dub.
As an LP, Now was constantly
on my turntable for months after I bought it back in ‘82. What I notice
this time is the variety and complexity of its arrangements compared to
the other two albums—horns, strings, organ, piano, hand drums, electric
guitar, it’s all there. Sibbles’ vocals are less laid back here, more
involved, even more soulful and passionate. His hummable melodies flow
beautifully, as usual, and the single Motown cover blends in seamlessly.
The bonus in this case is a re-run of “Ain’t No Love” with a brief dub
added.
In their first incarnation, these
three albums didn’t get the attention they deserve. That’s a shame. Not
only are they true showcases of the art of songwriting, but they would
satisfy the occasional craving we surely all have for good old melodic
crooning. Therefore you need at least one of these, but you could certainly
do with all three.
 N’faly
Kouyaté & Dunyakan: Kora Grooves from West Africa, ARC, 2004
www.arcmusic.co.uk
Rating: A
If the artist’s name looks familiar,
perhaps it has to do with Kouyaté’s membership in another band, the eclectic
Afro-Celt Sound System. Given that connection, you might anticipate the
same kind of musical adventurousness appearing on this disc. But then
you notice the bland, generic title, and you begin to wonder: is
this merely a Kouyaté gesture toward his roots? Is the music strictly
traditional and terribly authentic and not too appealing for most western
ears?
Well, relax. This is traditional
in some respects, authentic in every respect, and wonderfully creative
all the way through. It’s ancient and modern and timeless. Consider, for
example, “N’toman.” First a kora zips up and down the scales until it
finds a groove, then dual female vocals start and the tune gets established
over galloping percussion; the lead vocal emerges, but is overtaken by
an exuberant rhythmic workout, then by a lyrical violin: back and forth
it goes, trading the spotlight in small jazz combo manner, surprisingly
coherent and with amazing technique. That track is followed by a semi-Cuban
arrangement of the short, tuneful “Diarabi,” with quick tempo, vibrant
playing, and more great interplay between the background and foreground
singers. There is even a repetitive yet intriguing and very lovely a cappella
piece to end the disk.
Born into one of the top griot
families of West Africa, Kouyaté has musical skills infused into his very
genes—which is why he manages to excel at everything he does here. Besides
the singing and kora playing, that includes writing and arranging most
of the tracks. His kora technique is often arabesque, with rippling arpeggios
and oh, such a light touch. It’s perhaps flamboyant at times, but never
gratingly so; he’s just so confident and perfectly attuned to the instrument
that beauty erupts as though spontaneously.
As I have implied, the contributions
of the half-dozen people in his group, Dunyakan, are almost as impressive,
from the sparkling multi-rhythms of various African percussion instruments
to the more western double bass, violin and flute. And one cannot possibly
ignore the passionate female background vocals that so often and so beautifully
complement Kouyaté’s lead. It’s a rich, engaging mixture from start to
finish.
 Lee
Scratch Perry and The Whitebelly Rats: Panic in Babylon, Moll-Selekta/Damp
Music Records; 2004
Rating: A
I ask you, is it coincidence that
“genius” starts with “gee” (a cry of bewilderment), or that the “i” comes
before the “us”? Obviously that’s why a genius artist like Perry is incomprehensible,
self-absorbed and disdainful of his audience: it’s pre-ordained by the
very word.
Yeah, you’re right; that’s all
nonsense. But what the genius tag does mean in this case is that although
Panic In Babylon is typical Perry, it’s far from typical reggae,
or from typical music of any persuasion. In other words, nobody will be
doing a cover version of anything from this album anytime soon. That’s
only partly because of the deep roots, strong dub element and the fact
that the “songs” deviate from any normal structure. It’s also because
his lyrics are mostly brief phrases and apparently spontaneous utterances,
often about himself; he rants as he chants and stings when he sings, proclaiming
the rightness of his viewpoint and stridently expressing his displeasure
with whatever offence or offender is on his mind at the moment. It makes
for quirky but fascinating music.
As always, identity is a preoccupation
for Perry. So who is he this time? There are many answers:
• “I am the witch master…the
money master…the LSD master…the IMF”
• “I am the firmament”
• “I’m a psychiatrist
in the rain…I heal the brain”
• “I am the king of
Africa”
• He’s also Inspector
Gadget again and that old standby, “the Upsetter”
• And oh yes, you can
“go to the supermarket and order a Perry salad.”
The subjects of his voodoo this
time around? Just for starters: Bunny Wailer, Rita Marley, unrighteous
spirits, the Council of Churches, Crime Ministers and the Bank of Montreal.
He doesn’t say why they and the others are on his naughty list, but many
have been there before.
The standout track for me is “Fight
to the finish.” Over a drone comes an ominous spoken statement of purpose:
“Lee Scratch Perry present death in the arena/Good over evil.” As the
music builds dubbishly, he starts to chant down evil spirits and the like,
now and then breaking into full-throated singing. Those vocals keep the
song somewhat coherent despite all that is happening: “Boo boo boo, ungodly
spirits, Rastifari lives,” he sings, competing against an incredibly full
mix, including powerful horns, screaming electric guitar, echoes, explosions
and other dub effects. Focused complexity, that’s what it is.
Panic In Babylon is by
no means a Perry solo album; he didn’t produce, and The White Belly Rats
are not just the supporting combo but get some composing credits too.
Although what I listened to is the CD, the album is being promoted primarily
as a double LP with two extra live tracks. As I said, it’s typical Perry.
That means equal measures of the predictable and unpredictable, bewilderingly
enjoyable throughout.
 Papa
Latty: Afro-Reggae II (H.G.V.), Jah Love Records
www.papalatty.com
Rating: B+
The package may be modest, but
the music inside is audacious. In fact, this spirited Nigerian outfit
is a real joy with its Fela-style, horn-heavy Afrobeat set to roots reggae
rhythms. Expect tuneful songs, quick tempos, strong jazz influences, vibrant
performances, fair instrumental prowess, expressive vocals, and propulsive
multi-textured percussion.
There are only six songs, but each
one stretches out comfortably to well over seven minutes. The title tune,
“HGV,” has lots of sax and a textured lead vocal that contrasts with the
silky female background singing; it includes a socio-political spoken
bit (in English) about some peculiar financial dealings, and some scatting
vocals at the end. The rollicking reggae beat gets even faster in “American
Blackman,” with the horns seizing the melody early on, then yielding to
a gruff vocal that almost, but not quite, loses control before being rescued
by the returning horns. It includes a catchy wordless chorus (“Wooy-yiiy-yoy”)
and a great piano riff, along with a plea to “never forget Africa”. The
groove is smooth, effortless, sinuous.
“You must be funny” has a semi-ska,
semi-Afrobeat rhythm, with a strong reggae element from the vamping piano.
After the initial vocal part, the horns take over in jazz combo style:
first a trumpet solo, then a sax solo, then the vocals re-enter, then
an extended sax solo—the rhythm section cooking throughout. Appropriately
enough, it all ends with laughter. The highly engaging “Under Age” is
a percussion and horn workout over yet another quick, head-nodding reggae
rhythm, its tune enhanced by electric guitar and a tinkling piano that
performs some jazzy explorations. The few vocals in “Party Rock” are only
minor ornamentation; it’s primarily an instrumental exercise atop a steady
reggae groove, with bass, drums, rhythm guitar, horns, keyboards all coming
in for their turn. “Happy DJ” is the final track; it starts as a drum
tapping out a beat, to which an electric guitar responds, elegantly pulling
us into soukous territory.
Papa Latty’s music may be African
jazz for reggae lovers, or jazzy reggae for Afrobeat lovers, or possibly
reggaefied Afrobeat for jazz lovers. On the other hand, perhaps it is
all those things, and at its essence is simply musical music for music
lovers. Yes, that sounds about right.
Under Våren: Good Old Reggae
Music, BIEM, 2004
Rating: B
Several surprises awaited me when
I dug into this album. Not the fact that it’s Swedish reggae; the universality
of the reggae muse is becoming old hat. But the quality of the English
lyrics were a surprise, and the fact they are “conscious” without being
explicitly Rasta was another. Then there was the Linton Kwesi Johnson
cover that even emulates his careful enunciation. Most of all, the general
tunefulness surprised me—which has nothing to do with low expectations,
but merely because all catchy choruses and pleasant new tunes surprise
me; I never know where they can possibly continue to come from.
As the promo material says: “This
showcase reflects the band’s work during 1981-1992 when Under Våren was
one of the most active reggae bands in Skärblacka.” (A town apparently
known as the ‘Kingston of Sweden.’) So this CD is a “best-of” that includes
singles, previously unreleased material, some new recordings and a live
medley.
The album starts with a spoken
poem: “This could be a new beginning/Or just an outcry from the past…”,
which literally sets out the theme for the first twenty-odd minutes—just
check the titles: “Good Old Reggae Music,” with its one-drop skanking
rhythm; “Reggae Revival,” with a bouncy rub-a-dub beat; “Memory Lane”
and “Memory Dub.” A gentle piano is our introduction to the surprisingly
mellow delivery and pretty tune of “Wake Up Warrior,” a plea for us all
to continue the struggle for human rights. A horn-driven ska piece comes
as a welcome change of pace, followed by a song that makes us an offer
we can’t refuse (“Come into my hut and I’ll show you what I’ve been a-cooking
for you/It’s a hot pot of reggae and a whole lot of love”), accompanied,
sure enough, by piano, horns and a whole stew pot of good music. Military
rat-a-tat-tat drumming, Farfisa organ and surf guitar make for interesting
accompaniment to “Fighters,” a counting song that turns into a statement
of political and social activism.
Not everything is equally successful.
I find “Mysteries” too heavy-handed both lyrically and in its ponderous
beat, and the last few tracks are less rootsy, less personal, more like
stadium rock to a reggae rhythm. The concluding medley is awkwardly pieced
together, although it is nicely varied, including a version of Marley’s
“Nice Time” as well as the LKJ cover.
All in all, Good Old Reggae
Music delivers what the title promises (although to me it’s also
new reggae music), with excellent vocals and musicianship, and
surprisingly acute songwriting. Under no circumstances should you underestimate
Under Våren.
 Various:
Roots Music: Reggae Hits From Hawaii And The World, Quiet Storm
Records, 2004
www.quietstorm.com
Rating: B
This is an odd collection. The
sub-title is true, sort of: some of the biggest hits in all of reggaedom
are here, along with localized Hawaiian hits and some tracks that originated
elsewhere (particularly the USA) but were particularly popular in Hawaii.
The concept is intriguing from
a marketing perspective. Let’s say you belong to a struggling reggae band.
Do you really want your song placed next to Third World’s sophisticated
and masterly “96 Degrees in the Shade” or Musical Youth’s ultra-catchy
“Pass the Dutchie” or the deep roots of The Naturalites’ “Picture on the
Wall”? It’s flattering to be in such company, sure, but will your song,
even your very best one, survive the comparison? Are you playing in the
same musical league? Hmmm…
There’s no sense talking about
the big international hits, therefore, concentrating on the Hawaiian stuff,
here’s what emerges from the compare-and-contrast exercise.
• The Heartical Crew
has a light touch on vocals for the pleasant, singsong melody of “Strive.”
• A strong one-drop
groove and soulful horns define Dread Ashanti’s vibrant “Mok’s Song,”
although the lead guitar would be more at home in a rock song.
• Humble Soul’s “Unity”
features a declamatory vocal that isn’t pretty but sure commands attention;
this is a warm tune, a rootsy and highly original track, and a real highlight.
• The ten-piece group
Backyahd produces a very full sound in “Stay Irie,” which also has a slow,
sticky rhythm, memorable melody and sparkling instrumental interplay going
for it.
• “Good’s Gonna Happen”
is a pleasant tune by Sahra Indio, sung in her usual attractive, laid
back, jazz-inflected style.
• One Foundation’s story
about a Rastaman named Freddy is a bit of icky sweetness with bubbly tune,
sing-along chorus and bright horn section, and it wears thin quickly.
• Singer Butch Helemano
brings along a deejay to help delivers the catchy “Stand By Me” over a
steady dancehall rhythm.
• You might mistake
Marty Dread for UB40 on “Not Good Enough,” in both its amiable vocals
and appealing tune.
• Ooklah the Moc brings
up the rear with the theme song for this collection, a highly competent
but rather generic ode to reggae.
When you combine all the above
with the songs I haven’t mentioned yet (by Shinehead, Apache Indian and
others), you get a highly varied 17 tracks. Whether this is really the
best showcase for the local folks from Hawaii, well, who’s to say? But
their music holds up remarkably well, and altogether the album is interesting,
worthwhile listening.
 Zion
Judah: Divine Creation, Mt. Zion Music, 2004
www.zionjudahmusic.com
Rating: B-
Never judge an album by what’s
behind its cover. If you were to read the liner notes, you might wonder
about Zion Judah’s pomposity: “I have been blessed with the awareness
of the energy housed in the invocation of the word and the power of sound.”
(Ordinary mortals have gotten away with saying, “word sound ’ave power”.)
He goes on: “I thank thee for aligning I&I’s sensibilities with the
positive vibrations of the Universal Omnisphere.” At least it’s not “I
humbly thank thee…”
But relax, the actual song lyrics
are more grounded, the ordinary sort of expressions of Rasta appropriate
for dancehall reggae. You know, the “why can’t they show a little more
understanding”, “Many are called, few are chosen” and “free from mental
slavery” type. Naturally, it’s not the clichés themselves, but what Zion
Judah does with them, that makes the album worthwhile.
And what he does is imbue the words
with music and passion, using his good vocal range and sense of timing
to great effect. The shuffling beats get my legs moving and my head nodding,
the arrangements keep me interested, and at least half the tunes rise
well above the generic. “Don’t Have Fi Go So” is a perfect example of
the good stuff, with its quick tempo, heavy bass, breathless vocal and
hooky chorus, and instead of wimping out at the end, the last minute is
spent on an intense piano-bass-drums-percussion workout. “They Tell Me,”
with guest Khari Obafemi, is atypical but very enjoyable; they get into
some tongue-twister lyrics that are fun. My favorite track is “Positive
Energy,” which plays a piano and organ off each other, an effect echoed
on the choruses when the background vocals rise up and play off the lead
vocal. It’s very tuneful, light in spirit, and grooves along on an easy-rolling
Caribbean rhythm.
So, judge the album not by the
inflated verbiage within its liner notes, but by the mostly engaging music
digitized onto the shiny disc inside. If you like dancehall that’s not
too over the top, this might be just the thing for you. If you don’t like
dancehall, well, this isn’t too over the top, so maybe you could learn
to like it a bit. Who knows, you may even become blessed with the awareness
of the energy housed in Zion Judah’s invocation of the word and the power
of his sound.
 Groundation:
We Free Again, Young Tree Records, 2004
Rating: B-
There really is something powerful
about Groundation’s music. The unique and appealing texture plays a major
role, thanks largely to the excellent production. But it’s more than that,
and more than the undeniable musical skills of the instrumentalists. Groundation
just wouldn’t be Groundation without Harrison Stafford’s peculiar chanting
lead vocals. Despite the somewhat pinched quality and limited range, those
vocals are a triumph of authority and conviction. Add everything together,
and yes, it’s powerful sounding reggae.
We Free Again gets off
to a strong start with “Praising”, a tranquil and understated chant atop
a sticky one-drop rhythm. In the next track, multi-rhythmic percussion
accompanies nyahbinghi drumming with horns for flavoring. Then comes a
quick-stepping rockers rhythm with swooping, swirling organ solo. And
so they flow by, 14 tracks of nicely varied arrangements, all firmly implanted
with the Groundation sound. As I say, powerful SOUNDING reggae.
But arrrgh, the lyrics! There are
lots of them, in fact I count 60 column inches of small font lyrics printed
in the foldout package. Of those, I understand about half an inch. Am
I just feeble-minded? Try out this sample on the rational side of your
brain:
We have come to cry, upon the
hillside and why?
Loaning them hearts to you
and I
robbing against them, oh I
Smile…Yes I, Gather upon the
hillside for I,
Wo-oh-oh Lord
Smile…Yes I, chant upon dem
hillside
Whispering thoughts that rise
against I
Reaping over hills and boundaries
Impose their thought on you
and I
Who’s “loaning” a heart? How do
you do that? Who’s robbing whom of what? We came to cry, so why are we
smiling? How does a thought “rise against I”, and what’s this about “reaping”
over hills? Who is imposing “their thought” on us? How does one do that?
No, that lyric is not out of context,
and sure, ideas can be non-linear at times. But there is in fact precious
little being communicated here. One big part of the problem is that “they”
and its variations are scattered all over every song but we rarely know
who “they” stands for. And it doesn’t help that spelling and punctuation
are treated arbitrarily. So, the question looms large: is this Rasta reasoning,
or is this murky, paranoid nonsense? Perhaps Stafford the lyricist has
a truly grand vision, but if so, he seems incapable of expressing it in
words and with images the rest of us can comprehend. Which is a shame:
in one of the few lines that actually identifies the “they/them”, Stafford
the singer chants: “I just want to reach them all who cannot see”. A nice
thought, but it’s not going to happen. Despite the great sounding reggae.
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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.
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