Reggae has maintained an influential, if sometimes spotty, presence in American music since its initial arrival in the 1960s. Pop-oriented acts like Shaggy, Sean Paul and Wayne Wonder are currently enjoying a high profile, but they’re only the most recent crossover artists to emerge from a musical culture that remains as fertile as ever. A handful of new and archival discs from Buju Banton, Culture, Lee “Scratch” Perry and Bob Marley offer an indication of reggae’s breadth and depth, putting the latest crop of pop-reggae hits in perspective, while an engrossing new book by author David Katz delves deeply—even exhaustively—into the music’s history.
An international star for over a decade, Banton ignited a firestorm with his anti-gay tirade “Boom Boom Bye Bye” in 1992. Since then, Banton has rejected hate-filled diatribes, choosing to issue songs decrying gun use and urging sexual restraint. On his new Friends for Life (VP/Atlantic), Banton even makes peace with longtime rival Bounty Killer on their duet “Teaser” while elsewhere he collaborates with crooner Beres Hammond, rapper Fat Joe and sensual vocalist Nadine Sutherland. He provides a bridge between vintage refrains and present-day dancehall modes, alternating the disc’s sound between jutting, horn-dominated arrangements and sparse, electronic textures.
Culture’s World Peace (Heartbeat), by contrast, reaffirms the classic reggae tradition. Lead singer Joseph Hill’s triumphant vocals have been featured on 29 previous Culture albums, and he remains an emphatic, robust singer, even if his voice sometimes gets strained navigating particularly high passages or fast tempos. With the Firehouse Crew, especially amazing saxophonist Dean Fraser and vital guitarist Dwight Pinckney, blazing away in the background, Hill and company offer stirring treatments of powerful songs like “No Segregation,” “Gun Put Down” and “Sweet Freedom.” Conceptually, World Peace doesn’t differ much from past Culture releases, even if it’s nowhere near as explosive as the group’s now classic debut, Two Sevens Clash. But Hill’s ferocity remains undimmed, even as his voice has become more weathered, and he continues to sing credibly about economic disparity and social injustice without sounding dated or hopelessly naive.
Lee “Scratch” Perry’s Cutting Razor: Rare Cuts From the Black Ark (Heartbeat) and Bob Marley & The Wailers’ Greatest Hits From Studio 1 (Heartbeat) offer vintage material that’s been either overlooked or underappreciated. Throughout a spectacular career that’s seen him alternately dominant and virtually exiled, the mercurial Perry has been involved in every phase of reggae’s development, from ska to rock steady to more modern sounds. What’s more, he’s filled every role in the recording studio at some point, whether producing, arranging, engineering or performing. The 17-track Cutting Razor contains several magnificent recordings Perry produced on various artists at his Black Ark studio during the mid-’70s, some of them unreleased. The gems include The Heptones’ majestic “Sufferer’s Time,” falsetto singer Junior Murvin’s “Mister Craven,” Max Romeo’s relentless “One Step Forward” and Perry’s own “What a Sin.” Also here are examples of the curious missteps inevitable with a producer as prolific as Perry, notably the woeful cover of the Morris Albert hit “Feelings” by Sharon Isaacs, which wastes a beautiful voice on a hopelessly abysmal song.
Cut in the mid-’60s, the tracks on the Wailers’ Greatest Hits From Studio 1 include early versions of anthems like “One Love,” “Who Feels It Knows It” and “Sinner Man” that later became signature tunes for Marley and the group. Studio 1’s ace producer Coxsone Dodd put Jamaica’s finest musicians behind singers Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer (who then went by the name Neville Livingston). Marley wasn’t yet the polished, charismatic singer he’d become, but the anguished, hypnotic tone he strikes on “Simmer Down,” “Cry to Me” and “Love and Affection” is a harbinger of his impending greatness. Tosh’s voice cuts to the core on “Treat Me Good,” simultaneously urging and demanding justice, while Wailer’s searing vocals on “Dreamland” and “Let Him Go” are masterful. Many of these tracks have been reissued before in some form, but for anyone familiar only with Marley’s best-known work, this collection offers essential insight into his musical roots.
David Katz’s previous book, People Funny Boy: The Genius of Lee “Scratch” Perry, finally gave the iconoclastic, erratic and undeniably gifted Perry his due. (He also wrote the liner notes for Cutting Razor.) Katz’s newest volume, Solid Foundation: An Oral History of Reggae (Bloomsbury), covers the whole of Jamaican music from what he terms “boogie rock” in the ’50s up through high-tech dancehall productions.
The author interviewed virtually every major industry figure for the project, getting lengthy comments from Coxsone Dodd, Prince Buster, Derrick Morgan and others seldom quoted even in British publications, let alone American ones. On a number of occasions, he corrects myths like the long-held assertion that Dodd was the first black man to own a record label in Jamaica—it was actually Linden Pottinger—or the notion that Toots Hibbert’s “54-46” referred to the number Hibbert had in jail. (The singer made the title up.) At the same time, Katz’s desire to talk with everyone often results in differing accounts of the same incident. But this only enriches the book, as when Dodd, Duke Reid and Prince Buster dispute each other over who produced the first rock-steady and reggae records, or whose practices were the most unethical.
Nashville’s typically forgotten impact on Jamaican music and reggae is also noted. Dodd, Reid and many others monitored the R&B broadcasts on WLAC-1510 AM, and one of the island’s primary recording studios was named Randy’s, after Randy’s Record Shop in Gallatin (which sponsored a late-night broadcast on WLAC). Katz also traces the influence that New Orleans R&B, Chicago and Memphis soul, and Cuban son had on various Jamaican styles, as well the impact of African religions and philosophies. Instead of rehashing material previously published elsewhere, Katz’s book adds depth and dimension to the well-documented history of reggae music.
