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This is nearly the perfect album for reggae fans who are also fond of the folk-rock of the 1960s, and I proudly count myself in that number. Friendly feel, chiming guitars, a touch of experimentation in the arrangements, the search for interesting balance between acoustic and electrified sounds, great tunes – all those elements are here, all gracefully succumbing to the power of reggae’s rhythms.
Track one: acoustic guitar opening, transcendental Beatles-era sound to the vocals, combo of two toasters (Cutty Ranks and Dr. Innocent) on a refreshing little tune. Track two: more acoustic strumming, lyrics that aren’t exactly poetry (“When I stepped in the club I saw this nice little chick/She got a cute little body and some cra-a-zy hips”) (people actually still write stuff like that?), and a “lovers rock” vocal by Frankie Paul. Track three: self-promoting intro by Bounty Killer, catchy riff, synthesized vocals; basically a vehicle for more interplay between toasters. Track four: Dave Wakeling and Michael Rose sounding like The English Beat at its best. Track five: gentle intro, disembodied voice, catchy melody, folk-rock vocal by Jeep interspersed with a toast by Danny English. There’s even a cheering section in back.
Track six: Barrington Levy’s woo-ooh (it almost makes you expect him to start proclaiming how broad he is), slow shuffling beat, chiming guitar, Frankie Paul and deejay Brando along for the ride. Track seven: Brando in singjay mode with nyahbinghi drums behind and a definite “progressive folk” sound. Track eight: nice tune with disembodied background voices, Rose again in front. Track nine: minimal melody, a groove rather than a tune, peters out rather than arrrives anywhere. Track ten: a touch of electronica, assertive singing/chanting, rather catchy.
Track eleven: dancehall. Track 12: remix of #3, deep drums. Finally, track thirteen: acoustic version of #6, some awkward declamatory vocals where the syllables don’t quite fit the rhythm, but I like it.
A funny thing happens on the way to the end of the album. That final tune ends, but the disc keeps on spinning in silence. Slowly a whole forest of distant, chirping birds get closer and louder, and only when they eventually, suddenly stop does the album conclude. I figure this bit is a tribute to The Byrds. If not, it should be. Mr. Anonymous owes a lot to those guys. It’s delightful.
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