Reggae music has gone a lot of places since Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff gave it to the world—from sub-culture dub, to culture warring dancehall, and any number of slicked-up re-packagings of the skanking rebel sound. Through it all, Winston Rodney (a.k.a. Burning Spear) has remained a reassuring figure, a rasta grandfather whose loyalty to the music’s roots sound has not wavered since he started out with encouragement from Marley himself, in 1969. That stylistic fidelity shines through in these 14 tracks—brisk, tuneful, engaged, and delivered with taut, spare grooves, and super sweet brass section breaks and backing chorus passages. Spear has arrived at a lush sound, where a well placed brass refrain, a few guitar notes, or a choral response can make magic, keeping his old school reggae remarkably fresh.
Like both Marley and the iconic Black nationalist Marcus Garvey, Spear was born in Saint Ann, Jamaica. Since reverence to roots is more or less the theme of this album, it’s no surprise to find references to Garvey and a citation of the early Spear hit “Slavery Days” in the song “Grandfather,” which warns about the dangers of “modern slavery days.” The darkly buoyant “700 Strong” conjures a spontaneous celebration on Garvey’s front lawn. “Step it” kicks out a strong R&B tinged groove (with assistance from funk heroes Bootsy Collins on bass and Bernie Worrel on keyboards) and offers a triumphant account of Spear’s world travels, including Senegal, Nigeria, South Africa and Kenya. Also on the African tip, “One Africa” urges Africans to move beyond tragedies and errors of the past and look forward so as to “gain more than what you lost.” The song includes a dash of African guitar and rich choral backing. Many songs boost the singer’s steadfast resistance to changes in the music. These include “Grassroot,” “Stick to the Plan,” the pumped-up “No Compromise,” and “Wickedness” (again with Collins and Worrel), which puts a moral taint on those who would distort or cheapen reggae’s core aesthetics and mission. “Run For Your Life” deals with the perils of celebrity, and contains advice that could as well apply to politicians: “You never can tell what might kill your image.”
Burning Spear’s image and chops are demonstrably in tact here. His full voice has a silky edge, mellowed and burnished by the years, arguably better than ever. His gift for a vocal hook is an important part of the appeal here. When you make your refusal to tamper with a 39-year-old pop formula a point of pride, you had better be able to conjure a catchy hook, whether the punchy “jamming, jamming, jamming, jamming” refrain on “The Cruise” or the mournfully righteous repetitions of accusation on “You Were Wrong.” Reggae’s grand old man is so supremely comfortable with himself that he can buck the political mood—rejecting change, and boosting more-of-the-same—and still come out seeming hip.
Reggae music has gone a lot of places since Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff gave it to the world—from sub-culture dub, to culture warring dancehall, and any number of slicked-up re-packagings of the skanking rebel sound. Through it all, Winston Rodney (a.k.a. Burning Spear) has remained a reassuring figure, a rasta grandfather whose loyalty to the music’s roots sound has not wavered since he started out with encouragement from Marley himself, in 1969. That stylistic fidelity shines through in these 14 tracks—brisk, tuneful, engaged, and delivered with taut, spare grooves, and super sweet brass section breaks and backing chorus passages. Spear has arrived at a lush sound, where a well placed brass refrain, a few guitar notes, or a choral response can make magic, keeping his old school reggae remarkably fresh. 