Review: Vivien Goldman, Sounds, May 1977
FROM A PURELY marketing point of view, this is the one. With Rastaman Vibration’s appearance, there weren’t many music fans on the planet unaware of Bob Marley’s existence in his capacity as reggae’s only international superstar and Rasta representative.
A heavy platform, and depressing when taken in conjunction with sales figures. The prognosis appeared to be that with all the talent, money, promotion in the world, reggae wasn’t ever gonna SELL the way that rock sells.
If any album manages to break that barrier, Exodus should be it. Karl Pitterson’s usual crisp, clean sound is calculated to be springy enough for rock fans while staying punchy enough to keep the roots fans ‘just about’ satisfied. It’s a dangerous tightrope, and Marley’s treading the same one.
One of the most obvious things about the album is the way it breaks down into a “hard” side (one) and a “soft” (two). The real heavyweights start at track three, side one — ‘Guiltiness’. The album’s finest hour, stately impassioned vocals (“these are the big fish that eat up the small fish, they would do anything to materialize their every wish…”) while the track plus the I Three sound heart-rending, so poignantly severe singing about the fate of the downpressor that I’m reduced to jelly.
Then there’s ‘Heathen’, which steps so swinging, Bob’s voice beseeching, thrillingly low on the irresistible rhythms of the chorus… Carly’s drums tinkle the sound onward and upward, Family’s bass unyielding as it dances between the notes. With a rhythm section solid as that, the Wailers have to remain superb. Then on through the sombre pared-down percussion of the title track, unswerving as it beckons Jah people to Africa. Marley’s imperious as he whiplashes out the command to move… you’d have to be deaf to resist. So purposeful; it’s all delivered with an authority that convinces. Majestic.
Side two is full of surprises. Superficially, it’s a bunch of love songs, lines like “I don’t want to wait in vain for your love” complete with crooning “ooh ooh girls”. I pictured riots in Brixton when that came out. But as Marley explained to me, the message of Rasta is there for all those with ears to receive it. When you think he’s talking about a girl playing hard to get, he’s talking just as much about unheeding audiences of Babylon as he sings oh sooooo romantically, “it’s your love that I’m waiting on, it’s me love that you’re running from…” See it deh?
Equally, the chirpy “simplicity” of the world contained in ‘Three Little Birds’, a sweetly sprightly melody in which tame birds hop on Marley’s windowsill to inform him, “don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cos every little thing’s gonna be alright”, could be construed as a manic attempt to reduce his revolutionary image to nil in three little words. Not (necessarily) so, Rasta! Checking it fully, the message is about positive rastaman vibrations again, perfectly in keeping with the savage, somber exhortations of ‘Exodus.’
Yet it’s still true that side two, functioning on two levels as it does, is the least threatening side Marley’s ever cut to white western rock ears. Marley’s answer to that was: (a) Why should he stay in the same place? Why sing ‘Burning and Looting’ rehashes just to satisfy people’s expectations? (b) It’s only a return to Wailer’s roots (remember, the original Wailers cut a single of ‘What’s New Pussycat’, released on Island over here many moons ago), and© The advantage of being more accessible is that more people get to hear the message by buying the album, and there’s no harm in that…
As far as I’m concerned, it’s restricting and regressive to judge any album purely in terms of how closely it matches traditional “requirements” of its genre. If the emphasis has shifted from soul rebel street fighting man to natural mystic (the title of the mellow opening track, Marley’s voice more silken and haunting than ever before) it’s dumb to automatically register it as a Bad Thing.
Uncharitable people have been quick to view the new silver-voiced Marley as a cop-out, a hero in retreat, backpedaling furiously after the recent gunmen’s attempt on his life. That’s dumb too. Objectively, Marley’s music has shifted into new gear, moved into a new space. OK, he sings with a new suppleness that you can describe as ‘soft’, the way the lilting ‘So Much Things To Say’ merges into the ‘Natty Dread’ style Biblical blend of sorrow, tragedy and solemn pride on ‘Guiltiness’ encapsulates the point — Marley’s exhibiting a new degree of vocal control, capable of shifting emotions subtly but unmistakably as he sings one word.
While Marley’s songwriting abilities remain as powerful as they are (and remember, there’s an album’s worth of fine material left in the can), while he continues to surround himself with musicians as excellent as the Barrett Brothers, Dirty Harry and the rest, Bob Marley will continue to remain King of Reggae in the eyes of the world.
Review: Greil Marcus, Rolling Stone, July 1977
There is a contradiction here between the enormous abilities of the Wailers — particularly the magnificent rhythm section of Aston Barrett, bass, and Carlton Barrett, drums, and the spidery lead guitar of Julian "Junior" Marvin — and the flatness of the material Bob Marley has given them to work with. The more I listen to this album, the more I am seduced by the playing of the band; at the same time, the connection I want to make with the music is subverted by overly familiar lyric themes unredeemed by wit or color, and by the absence of emotion in Marley's voice. There are some well-crafted lines here, but given Marley's singing, they don't come across. The precise intelligence one hears in every note of music cannot make up for its lack of drama, and that lack is Marley's.
This is very odd. From the time the Wailers' first American album, Catch a Fire, was released here, it was drama that carried the Wailers' music across the water and made it matter to people who had never heard of reggae, and who may well have had to look up Jamaica on a map to figure out exactly where it was. "Concrete Jungle" was as dramatic as Muddy Waters' "Rollin' Stone"; "I Shot the Sheriff" was a one-act play that crossed the boards in under five minutes. On the Wailers' disappointing last album, Rastaman Vibration, there was still "War," where Marley summoned up visions of eternal conflict merely by chanting excerpts from a speech by Haile Selassie. For that matter, Bob Marley onstage defines the kind of drama that grows naturally out of the music of a people who refuse to accept their native land as their true home, whose music, again and again, points them toward the temporally impossible but mystically necessary goal of a return to Africa. As with the overwhelming "Jah Guide" on ex-Wailer Peter Tosh's exciting new album, Equal Rights, Marley onstage is ominous, determined, full of barely suppressed violence. At the same time he offers a suggestion of warmth, of unshakable confidence, of an invitation to the audience to follow him on a heroic quest.
Exodus doesn't reach these heights, nor does it seem to aim for them, save on the seven-minute title performance, which sounds like War on a slow day and wears out long before it is half over. If I didn't have more faith in Marley I'd think he was trying to go disco — the tune is that mechanical. The four songs on the first side that lead up to "Exodus" — songs of religious politics — are all well made, but within the most narrow limits; the best of them is "Natural Mystic," Marley's "Blowin' in the Wind" (though where Dylan seemed to say the answers were blowing away, Marley is certain they are blowing straight to anyone whose soul is pure enough to receive them). On the second side the album falls apart; the mix of sex songs (on "Jamming," Marley sometimes sounds like an obsequious nightclub singer) and tunes about keeping faith simply do not sustain one's interest. Marley's performance never reaches out; it seems to collapse inward. There's no sense of the dangerous, secret messages one half heard on earlier albums; on Exodus there are no secrets to tell.
It is very hard to make any sort of more than superficial judgment on a Wailers album until one knows who it is made for — Jamaicans? American whites? Jamaicans in England? whites in England? Africans? — and I don't know. What bothers me is that I have the feeling Marley, likely pressed by his label to continue the search for an American breakthrough without losing his original base in Jamaica and England, does not know either. The complete lack of extremes on Exodus — of deep emotion, intensely drawn situations or memorable arrangements and melodies — does not mean Marley is playing it safe, but it does seem to imply some sort of paralysis that must be broken before he can again strike with real power.
Of course, there may be another reason for that lack of extremes: last year, Marley and his band were attacked by hitmen just before they were to play at an election rally for Michael Manley, Jamaica's prime minister. Marley and his wife Rita — she is one of the I Threes, whose singing on Exodus is first-rate — were both shot. It is a fact that Marley's music and his religion and his politics, which are hardly separable, could cost him his life. If he has pulled back from that event in his music and in his singing, then it is a withdrawal we are bound to respect; but if it lasts, Marley's would-be assassins will have gotten some of what they came for. Jamaica's most distinctive voice will forfeit its strength. I don't expect that to happen on any permanent basis, but it may be what we are now hearing.
FROM A PURELY marketing point of view, this is the one. With Rastaman Vibration’s appearance, there weren’t many music fans on the planet unaware of Bob Marley’s existence in his capacity as reggae’s only international superstar and Rasta representative.
A heavy platform, and depressing when taken in conjunction with sales figures. The prognosis appeared to be that with all the talent, money, promotion in the world, reggae wasn’t ever gonna SELL the way that rock sells.
If any album manages to break that barrier, Exodus should be it. Karl Pitterson’s usual crisp, clean sound is calculated to be springy enough for rock fans while staying punchy enough to keep the roots fans ‘just about’ satisfied. It’s a dangerous tightrope, and Marley’s treading the same one.
One of the most obvious things about the album is the way it breaks down into a “hard” side (one) and a “soft” (two). The real heavyweights start at track three, side one — ‘Guiltiness’. The album’s finest hour, stately impassioned vocals (“these are the big fish that eat up the small fish, they would do anything to materialize their every wish…”) while the track plus the I Three sound heart-rending, so poignantly severe singing about the fate of the downpressor that I’m reduced to jelly.
Then there’s ‘Heathen’, which steps so swinging, Bob’s voice beseeching, thrillingly low on the irresistible rhythms of the chorus… Carly’s drums tinkle the sound onward and upward, Family’s bass unyielding as it dances between the notes. With a rhythm section solid as that, the Wailers have to remain superb. Then on through the sombre pared-down percussion of the title track, unswerving as it beckons Jah people to Africa. Marley’s imperious as he whiplashes out the command to move… you’d have to be deaf to resist. So purposeful; it’s all delivered with an authority that convinces. Majestic.
Side two is full of surprises. Superficially, it’s a bunch of love songs, lines like “I don’t want to wait in vain for your love” complete with crooning “ooh ooh girls”. I pictured riots in Brixton when that came out. But as Marley explained to me, the message of Rasta is there for all those with ears to receive it. When you think he’s talking about a girl playing hard to get, he’s talking just as much about unheeding audiences of Babylon as he sings oh sooooo romantically, “it’s your love that I’m waiting on, it’s me love that you’re running from…” See it deh?
Equally, the chirpy “simplicity” of the world contained in ‘Three Little Birds’, a sweetly sprightly melody in which tame birds hop on Marley’s windowsill to inform him, “don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cos every little thing’s gonna be alright”, could be construed as a manic attempt to reduce his revolutionary image to nil in three little words. Not (necessarily) so, Rasta! Checking it fully, the message is about positive rastaman vibrations again, perfectly in keeping with the savage, somber exhortations of ‘Exodus.’
Yet it’s still true that side two, functioning on two levels as it does, is the least threatening side Marley’s ever cut to white western rock ears. Marley’s answer to that was: (a) Why should he stay in the same place? Why sing ‘Burning and Looting’ rehashes just to satisfy people’s expectations? (b) It’s only a return to Wailer’s roots (remember, the original Wailers cut a single of ‘What’s New Pussycat’, released on Island over here many moons ago), and© The advantage of being more accessible is that more people get to hear the message by buying the album, and there’s no harm in that…
As far as I’m concerned, it’s restricting and regressive to judge any album purely in terms of how closely it matches traditional “requirements” of its genre. If the emphasis has shifted from soul rebel street fighting man to natural mystic (the title of the mellow opening track, Marley’s voice more silken and haunting than ever before) it’s dumb to automatically register it as a Bad Thing.
Uncharitable people have been quick to view the new silver-voiced Marley as a cop-out, a hero in retreat, backpedaling furiously after the recent gunmen’s attempt on his life. That’s dumb too. Objectively, Marley’s music has shifted into new gear, moved into a new space. OK, he sings with a new suppleness that you can describe as ‘soft’, the way the lilting ‘So Much Things To Say’ merges into the ‘Natty Dread’ style Biblical blend of sorrow, tragedy and solemn pride on ‘Guiltiness’ encapsulates the point — Marley’s exhibiting a new degree of vocal control, capable of shifting emotions subtly but unmistakably as he sings one word.
While Marley’s songwriting abilities remain as powerful as they are (and remember, there’s an album’s worth of fine material left in the can), while he continues to surround himself with musicians as excellent as the Barrett Brothers, Dirty Harry and the rest, Bob Marley will continue to remain King of Reggae in the eyes of the world.
Review: Greil Marcus, Rolling Stone, July 1977
There is a contradiction here between the enormous abilities of the Wailers — particularly the magnificent rhythm section of Aston Barrett, bass, and Carlton Barrett, drums, and the spidery lead guitar of Julian "Junior" Marvin — and the flatness of the material Bob Marley has given them to work with. The more I listen to this album, the more I am seduced by the playing of the band; at the same time, the connection I want to make with the music is subverted by overly familiar lyric themes unredeemed by wit or color, and by the absence of emotion in Marley's voice. There are some well-crafted lines here, but given Marley's singing, they don't come across. The precise intelligence one hears in every note of music cannot make up for its lack of drama, and that lack is Marley's.
This is very odd. From the time the Wailers' first American album, Catch a Fire, was released here, it was drama that carried the Wailers' music across the water and made it matter to people who had never heard of reggae, and who may well have had to look up Jamaica on a map to figure out exactly where it was. "Concrete Jungle" was as dramatic as Muddy Waters' "Rollin' Stone"; "I Shot the Sheriff" was a one-act play that crossed the boards in under five minutes. On the Wailers' disappointing last album, Rastaman Vibration, there was still "War," where Marley summoned up visions of eternal conflict merely by chanting excerpts from a speech by Haile Selassie. For that matter, Bob Marley onstage defines the kind of drama that grows naturally out of the music of a people who refuse to accept their native land as their true home, whose music, again and again, points them toward the temporally impossible but mystically necessary goal of a return to Africa. As with the overwhelming "Jah Guide" on ex-Wailer Peter Tosh's exciting new album, Equal Rights, Marley onstage is ominous, determined, full of barely suppressed violence. At the same time he offers a suggestion of warmth, of unshakable confidence, of an invitation to the audience to follow him on a heroic quest.
Exodus doesn't reach these heights, nor does it seem to aim for them, save on the seven-minute title performance, which sounds like War on a slow day and wears out long before it is half over. If I didn't have more faith in Marley I'd think he was trying to go disco — the tune is that mechanical. The four songs on the first side that lead up to "Exodus" — songs of religious politics — are all well made, but within the most narrow limits; the best of them is "Natural Mystic," Marley's "Blowin' in the Wind" (though where Dylan seemed to say the answers were blowing away, Marley is certain they are blowing straight to anyone whose soul is pure enough to receive them). On the second side the album falls apart; the mix of sex songs (on "Jamming," Marley sometimes sounds like an obsequious nightclub singer) and tunes about keeping faith simply do not sustain one's interest. Marley's performance never reaches out; it seems to collapse inward. There's no sense of the dangerous, secret messages one half heard on earlier albums; on Exodus there are no secrets to tell.
It is very hard to make any sort of more than superficial judgment on a Wailers album until one knows who it is made for — Jamaicans? American whites? Jamaicans in England? whites in England? Africans? — and I don't know. What bothers me is that I have the feeling Marley, likely pressed by his label to continue the search for an American breakthrough without losing his original base in Jamaica and England, does not know either. The complete lack of extremes on Exodus — of deep emotion, intensely drawn situations or memorable arrangements and melodies — does not mean Marley is playing it safe, but it does seem to imply some sort of paralysis that must be broken before he can again strike with real power.
Of course, there may be another reason for that lack of extremes: last year, Marley and his band were attacked by hitmen just before they were to play at an election rally for Michael Manley, Jamaica's prime minister. Marley and his wife Rita — she is one of the I Threes, whose singing on Exodus is first-rate — were both shot. It is a fact that Marley's music and his religion and his politics, which are hardly separable, could cost him his life. If he has pulled back from that event in his music and in his singing, then it is a withdrawal we are bound to respect; but if it lasts, Marley's would-be assassins will have gotten some of what they came for. Jamaica's most distinctive voice will forfeit its strength. I don't expect that to happen on any permanent basis, but it may be what we are now hearing.
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