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30 May 2012

The Infamous Al Anderson Interview

A veteran of the reggae music scene for over 35 years, Al Anderson of the Original Wailers was a bluesy rock session guitarist in Chris Blackwell’s Island Records stable when he was invited to join a young singer/songwriter named Bob Marley and his band of Rastafarians from Jamaica- the Wailers. This began a relationship that saw Anderson in the middle of a musical, social, and political movement whose international implications provided experiences satisfying, frustrating, and even life-threatening. Now, going head-to-head against former bandmates and their Marley spin-off, Anderson, with fellow Wailers alum Junior Marvin, lead a new group set on rekindling the ‘70s reggae fire. We spoke with Anderson a few hours before the Original Wailers headlining set at the sold-out Newport Waterfront Reggae Festival.

A little more than 35 years ago, you were called in to work as a session guitarist on Bob Marley and the Wailers Natty Dread album. Is it true that you were hired to Americanize the sound for a wider audience?

“They wanted blues, and some other international influence other than the Caribbean sound. Bob had a guy named Wayne Perkins, a Nashville cat, session guy who was known for working with guys like Bobby Womack. So, he (Perkins) set the pace with ‘Concrete Jungle’, which has an amazing guitar solo for its time in reggae music. Nobody had done that. I didn’t want to go there with what I was asked to work with. Bob had most of the Natty Dread tracks finished. He needed guitar, some background vocals, and some horns, acoustic guitar, harmonica; these small things to complete the album. So Bob asked me, “What did I hear?””

Was that the only direction you had from Bob?

“He was very clear that he had to be pleased. I did a lot of tracks. I played a little bit harder rock/blues guitar and he didn’t like it, and I did. I kept playing it over and over and Bob and Chris (Blackwell, producer) didn’t want it. Then, I said, I know what they want. They want that sweet blues thing. So, they got that for ‘No Woman, No Cry.’ ‘Rebel Music’ was a little more aggressive. ‘So Jah Seh’ was more majestic. I geared on what I heard and how he worded the song, where the emotion of the song was. It was a real tough session for me. One of the hardest sessions ever because it was about pleasing the CEO and the artist.”

Did you find that pleasing the CEO and the artist was independent of serving the song; what you heard as best for the material?

“I didn’t know Bob. I knew who Chris was because I had been in the studio with him before, doing funky stuff that he didn’t like. He would say, don’t play that, and I would say, that’s what people are playing now in America. It was like, 100% for the track, 50% for them, and 50% for me. That’s 200% involvement, so you can’t go wrong with that. (laughs)”

Well, that record and subsequent ones really opened up Marley’s audience.

“It helped. Even more with the Live! album. The studio album was mellow, and well-preserved. The Live! album was raw and just bigger, more ambient, and really what he sounded like with the live format.”

Was that Natty Dread tour the turning point for you going from session player to band member?

“The issue with me was I left England, my home, for three years. I didn’t go back to see my parents, nor did I have any family contact. I learned patois. I learned how to eat their food. People thought I was coming into a wealthy situation, and it was- Chris Blackwell’s a wealthy guy. But, I slept on the floor for a year before they distributed the album. I lived like Trenchtown people did. I slept outside the first night. Bob picked me up at the airport, and took me to a bunch of hotels, but I literally think he couldn’t afford it. He didn’t have the money. It was tough times for him. He put everything into his record, and had three children at the time, just born. Stephen, Ziggy, and Cedella were like, two, three-years-old.”

And you slept outside rather than at a hotel?

“Yes, in Bull Bay, where Bob had his house with Rita. I was mosquito-ridden. It was unreal. I had my suitcase by me as my pillow. ‘Rock, stone was his pillow.’ I know what it was like. Bob had a real tough time, and he wanted me to have a real tough time, too. He wanted me to feel and learn exactly how he grew up. In the end, I really appreciated it.”

How were you received by the rest of the Wailers?

“I didn’t know Carly (drummer Carlton Barrett) or Family Man (bassist and brother Aston Barrett). I got to know them really well. Carly was the jewel of the band. He was funny, a great cook, a clean person. He was a wonderful person to be around. The I-Threes, too. They fed me. Rita (Marley) used to bring me porridge, and steam fish on Sundays. This is when I was living in the basement of the studio on a carpet. That was the upgrade.”

Did you feel like this was the test to see if you were one of them?

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Peter (Tosh) and Bunny (Wailer) didn’t like me at all. I was the guy Chris Blackwell brought in to break up the band. Then me and Peter became very, very close friends. I got to see his strength in music and eventually envied him, and wanted to work with him more so than the situation I had with Bob because of really bad management.”

Can you explain what you mean by ‘bad management?’

“The way Bob and his manager ran the band, for me, wasn’t what I was used to. I was used to solid contracts, royalties, participation gratuities- things being taken care of, like going to the airport. I was all on my own, until I discovered how to work with Bob.”

Peter had a better situation?

“To me, it was more professional. My first week of negotiations with him, he gave me $10,000. He said, get a car, get an apartment, get a new guitar and get ready to work. And, he was a great cook. He made great juices, fried fish really good, and his rice and peas were outstanding. For a man to cook like Grandma was unreal.”

Somewhat belies the image of Peter Tosh, the revolutionary.

“Bob was more the spiritual figure. Peter was more the Che Guevara, Zapata-type. Spoke for the people and meant what he said. Very forceful against government foes- CIA, FBI. He spoke the truth. Bob did, too. There’s no comparison. They’re giants. These are the men who showed me reggae music. Once I got to Jamaica, I got all their earlier records, and really sank into what these cats wanted. They didn’t want a lot of rock guitar playing. Eventually, by Babylon by Bus, they accepted it. Funny thing is, they got the worst performance for Babylon by Bus. It was a Friday/Saturday recording and Friday was spotless, but I think Chris is saving that. It was complicated.”

What about it was complicated?

“We didn’t get royalties for anything we did. Then, Bob cut us in on the royalties, but it was like, you couldn’t see statements. It was a very complicated situation for a guitarist looking at his future. I was looking to play with everybody, and I did. I got to play with Jimmy Cliff, got to watch Chinna (Smith) work on Blackheart Man. It was unreal.”

On a session, particularly with Bob Marley, how much input did you have on the arrangement? Was Bob leading the session as far as what he wanted to hear from each instrument?

“Bob had an idea, and then he had Carly, Family Man, Tyrone (Downie, keyboards) Junior (Marvin, guitar) and me to produce his idea. ‘Wya’ (Lindo, keyboards) was a big piece of the earlier production. Burnin’ – you could say that’s ‘Wya’ Lindo, without a doubt. Earl ‘Wya’ Lindo wrote ‘Redemption Song’. It was the Wailers band that really put the atomic, nuclear thing that made Bob’s ideas explode. Bob’s stuff was rough, his acoustic stuff. It was fantastic, but no man is an island. We added a lot to his sound, but we never got credit for it. They didn’t want the band to get too big. It was all about Bob. I was totally satisfied with Bob and how the band ran in the early days. Then, Don Taylor came along. Bad management, thief, charlatan, and a military strategist who could literally wipe you out if you didn’t obey the plan.”

What was the plan?

“The plan was to make a lot of money, keep the band in a cage, and feed us whatever it took. It was the worst thing a group of musicians could go through. We are all poor now. We all have to work. There is a group of people that have a lot of money. I don’t know whether they know what we went through so that they could prosper. There is a lot of respect for them at the same time because my name isn’t Marley, it’s Anderson. I was so happy to be a part of working with him that I forgot about the other bullshit. Natty Dread made me known to do certain things. Guys were calling me to do certain things that they had heard.”

Is that when you left Marley for Peter Tosh?

“I got an opportunity to sit down with Peter, and he said I want you to play in my band with Rob (Shakespeare) and Sly (Dunbar, legendary bass/drums duo). I was like, wow! At the first rehearsal, I was asked, are you going to leave Bob to work with Peter? Yeah. I knew Ronnie Wood when he was living in Miami, and I asked him about leaving Rod (Stewart) to work with Mick (Jagger and the Rolling Stones). He said you have to keep evolving. You stay in one bag, you get a lot of money, and you get tired and fat. So, I listened to him. And I got to meet Mick and Keith (Richards). When they went looking for artists, I suggested Peter, and got him signed to Rolling Stones Records after he wanted to leave CBS. It was like an evolution for me, things were getting better. At the same time, Exodus came along and wiped everyone out.”

So, you’d left Bob before the Exodus sessions?

“I left right after Rastaman Vibration because of managerial problems. Bob was a great, fantastic leader. A guy you would go into battle with and you knew he had a strategy. As soon as management came along, the guy (Don Taylor) took the crumbs out of our mouth, the tears off your eyes. He had no heart. Cold-blooded. I couldn’t take it anymore. We were struggling, hurting for money. Peter showed me a better situation and I went with that. He did it all for me as an artist and as a friend.”

Did you have a sense, a long vision at the time, that you were leaving one of the giants of music?

“For me it was all about the music, until the politics came. Bob could’ve easily been a prime minister. He was very wise. The people who couldn’t read- he let them know in all areas what was happening. He was an immense antenna who sent messages to millions of people. Peter had a range, but Bob was infinite. He was offering more information politically to the people than the politicians. They could trust and believe in him. He had the strength to lead a nation of people.”

Was it hard not to get swept up in all of that?

“It wasn’t as great psychologically as it was metaphysically for us as musicians. The physical part of going on stage with artists like Bob Marley, Peter, and Bunny was like, oh, my God, everybody wanted to do it. I was so happy to be involved in that. What I didn’t like was, once the music was over, wow, there was a whole other world. Bob was a leader. He was leading a party, a group of people. George Bush didn’t like Bob Marley. Bob Marley was close with Michael Manley and Castro. That communism thing in the Western hemisphere wasn’t working. When he started to politicize Michael Manley over Eddie Seaga, I had federal agents literally come and tell me they were going to assassinate every band member. I said, ‘Why would you bring it to me?’ They said because you are American and George Bush is American.”

It was a warning?

“It was a warning. I told Bob, and he offered the side of his face. He said, tell them to come and take this. And they did, they attempted. That’s when I left. I said I’ve had enough of Don Taylor. I’ve had enough of the politics. I love this guy as a singer/songwriter, as a brother. But, I’m not going to risk my life to be in a band. They weren’t liking the fact that guns, marijuana, and revolution is coming into America. Africa unite? Cuba, Jamaica unite? You don’t say shit like that.”

America, in post-Watergate at that time, is a bit shaky…

“Big Brother’s eyes and ears were all on who is against America in our closest hemisphere. People were looking and saying this guy (Marley) has the possibility of uniting the whole world. He had that Martin Luther King thing. Look what they did to King and Kennedy when they decided to bring black and white people together. Bob had the magical elements, like Obama, that people didn’t like (at first) but ended up loving. Peter, Bob, and Bunny- they spoke the truth.”

Peter, Bunny, and Bob are considered the original Wailers, of which only Bunny is still alive, and not a member of your current band- the Original Wailers. Can you talk about the Original Wailers of 2010, and the Wailers led by Family Man?

“I had an opportunity to work with him (Family Man) for around 12, 15 years off and on (in the post-Marley Wailers). Family Man is not a leader. He is a retard. He is so poorly educated and has no feelings towards anybody but himself. He is one of the most selfish individuals I have ever met. I don’t think Bob liked Family Man too much because he didn’t leave anything to him. He never bothered to come to Bob’s aid while he was making his journey. It was all about the money first. No heart. He met a groupie and decided to have a whole bunch of kids. Now, she is counting my T-shirt money, counting on the name that Bob gave us, and managing and controlling everything. It was like working for Dracula.”

So, the word ‘original’ in Original Wailers refers to the original intent, the original vision of Bob’s band and music. It’s not to suggest the band is comprised of original members.

“Absolutely. I saw the level they have; the songwriting level, the production level, the people level. We eat, work and live together, and have been for two years and it’s working. People are trying to low-ball us because there are two bands out there. I want to peacefully co-exist with those other people who call themselves the Wailers. My plan is to continue with the Original Wailers until it reaches its rightful audience and people respect what we do. Then, take the ‘Wailers’ off of it, and you’ll get Bob Marley’s music with Al Anderson and Junior Marvin.”

Let’s talk about the new album you recorded.

“I had a little money and I borrowed a little money, and said, let’s go do a record. I have a friend in Rhinebeck, New York- Paul Antonell- who has a beautiful place called the Clubhouse. The B-52s, George Clinton, Peter Gabriel all record there. It’s a really nice Neve board in a great barn. A big room, wood floors, great ambience, super drum room, and a great vocal room. The people are really nice. We sat down on the last day of our Australian tour with 50 songs that the band members had written, and cut it down to the best 14. I said, instead of going home, let’s go straight into Rhinebeck and record on an analog board, live drums, like we used to. We got Karl Pitterson, Chris Blackwell’s right hand man, producing. He’s done everything in Jamaica. He’s my favorite cat. Without him my guitar sound would be as thin as a pretzel. It just worked. It was magic. It was like the old days again. I can’t believe how it came out.”

And the line-up?

“We have Junior Marvin on vocals, guitar, keyboards and songwriting. Erica Newell on vocals. Desmond ‘Desi’ Hyson on keyboards, songwriting, and vocals. Stephen Samuels on bass. Christian Cowlin on writing and organ. Francis ‘Paapa’ Nyarkoh on drums. And me, on guitar and production.”

Who’s releasing it?

“We’ve got a label, Edel, in Germany looking at wrapping it up in December and having it out for Bob’s birthday (in February) with an Original Wailers T-shirt and CD. We hope that we can reach the fans that are familiar with our names. I’m so happy with the guys I’m working with. We are all taking all that we have and putting it into the band. It was the magic of the moment.”

Interview conducted by Larson Sutton and published at www.jambands.com.

28 May 2012

CLASSIC TRACKS: Bob Marley & The Wailers: Burnin’

By Richard Buskin

Bob Marley and the Wailers were the first Jamaican musicians to achieve world stardom. Tracked in Kingston and finished in London by Island engineers Phill Brown and Tony Platt, their breakthrough album was a truly international recording.

Starting as a tape-op at Olympic Studios, London, in November 1967, Phill Brown was initially trained by such industry notables as Keith Grant, Glyn Johns and Eddie Kramer while working with artists like the Rolling Stones, the Small Faces, Traffic and Jimi Hendrix. Not a bad start. In 1970, after having built Toronto Sound, Canada’s first 16-track studio, with his brother Terry, Brown then became a house engineer at the newly opened Island Records facility on Basing Street in Central London, where he initially worked with outside clients and stayed until going freelance in 1976. By then his credits included Harry Nilsson, Jeff Beck, Led Zeppelin, Robert Palmer and one Robert Nesta Marley, who as a member of the Wailers had first worked alongside Brown on the band’s second Island release, the 1973 album Burnin’.

Please click on the link to continue reading on Issuu.

Sound On Sound Magazine, March 2006

Posted in 1973, 1974, Bob Marley, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Bunny Wailer, Carlton Barrett, Peter Tosh, Press Archives, Reggae Releases, Roots and Culture, The Wailers and tagged Bob Marley, Bob Marley & The Wailers, Burnin', Chris Blackwell, Glyn Johns, Harry Nilsson, I Shot The Sheriff, Island, London, Olympic Studios, Tony Platt, Wailer | Leave a Comment

02 May 2012

Who Feels It, Slays It: Bob Marley and the Wailers Live at the Lyceum 1975 (PART II)

This is Part II of a 2 part post about Bob Marley and the Wailers‘ performance at the Lyceum Ballroom on July 17th and 18th 1975.

In this post I am sharing press clippings and additional media related to Bob Marley and the Wailers’ performances in London during the summer of 1975.

Jamaica Gleaner May 4, 1975

CLICK TO READ ON ISSUU

Jamaica Gleaner August 28, 1980

The following is an excerpt from Chris Salewicz’s History of Rock:

The next LP, Natty Dread, came out in early 1975. Tosh and Bunny Livingston had been at many of the sessions, but as observers rather than as participants. The new album was credited to ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’, while the I-Threes, the female trio of Rita Marley, Marcia Griffiths and Judy Mowatt, had been recruited as backing vocalists. A stunning set of songs, the record spanned a wide variety of subjects —from everyday oppression in Jamaica to sweet love songs like ‘No Woman No Cry’.

It was another version of that beautiful song that was finally to break Marley in the UK charts.

On two successive July nights, the group played London’s Lyceum. The ecstatic response of the audience at the first show prompted Chris Blackwell to record the group’s second performance. Bob Marley And The Wailers Live (1975) was rush-released and hailed by critics as one of the few live recordings to truly capture an artist’s essence. It was from that record that the single ‘No Woman No Cry’ was taken, and the song quickly entered the charts to peak at Number 22.

The way was paved for Bob’s biggest success: Rastaman Vibration, released in May 1976. The album’s outstanding track was ‘War’, which set to music the words of a speech by Haile Salassie. (The previous August Selassie had died in Addis Ababa: Marley, working with Lee Perry, had rushed out a tribute single that was released only in Jamaica, entitled ‘Jah Live’) Thought not his own lyrics, the power of the words served to underpin the moral authority of Marley’s music. Rastaman Vibration was Marley’s first US Top Ten album.

In fact, it was to remain his biggest US hit.

The following review by Charles Shaar Murray was published in NME on July 26, 1975.

“HEY, MON… WHAT are all these whites doin’ here? They not here last time the Wailers play…”

What this whitey is doing is dancing. It ain’t something I do particularly often or particularly well, but if you’re listening to the Wailers standing up, you really don’t have much choice. There’s some fine dancing going on, which is just about inevitable when good dancers get together with great dance music in the world’s most resistably rococo sauna bath.

Scenario: Friday night at London’s Lyceum. Ray McVay has been given the night off and a prime clutch of Her Majesty’s Finest are hovering uneasily around the entrance waiting, just waiting, for one of these uppitty niggers in the wool hats and bebop pegged pants to start something.

Inside, a 50-50 blend of white hippies and street bruthas’n'sistas are scouting each other out and grooving on a band called Third World who are (a) a New Band (b) from King-ston Jamai-ca and (c) very good indeed.

They play alternating layers of reggae and Kooled-out U.S. funk, and got the first rise of the night out of the small but exuberant Rasta delegation in the audience with the musical question; “Do you remember the days of slavery?”

I noted with some concern that Mr. Philip Norman, reviewing the previous night’s concert in Saturday’s edition of The Times, noticed (and I paraphrase) that small groups of people were seated cross-legged on the floor having what looked like a card game while the “foetid air” was sweetened by “an odour resembling that of freshly-pressed shirts”.

Though a taste for impromptu hands of poker and laundry-ironing sessions at rock or soul concerts is still an essentially minority pursuit, it is not inconceivable that Mr. Norman had seen exactly what he described. However, on the Friday night what the seated groups of people were doing was smoking prodigious quantities of what made Kingston famous. Not a laundry press in sight.

Despite the 50-50 black/white ratio, the blacks definitely had the edge. Even though there probably hadn’t been a show since Sly that’d made them want to go to the Lyceum, and even though the white kids probably went there pretty regularly, it was still black turf, a fact which showed in everyone of those little who-shot-John confrontations about who steps back for whom.

Don’t get me wrong; it definitely wasn’t a case of anybody getting uptight. It was just that the roles were more or less implicit from the moment you got in.

“Ras…”

Nearly every one of the records played during the intermission included a variant on the phrase “Natty Dread” in the lyrics.

“…ta…”

The compere reminds everyone to watch their handbags as there was a bit of trouble last night.

“…far…”

Down front it’s real stand-on-Zanzibar shoulder-to-shoulder stuff. By some strange natural law, all the tallest people in the building seem to have made their way directly to the front, right up against the barriers. The compere asks everyone to move back a little because “some little kids are getting crushed at the front”. There is no perceptible reaction. He doesn’t repeat the message.

“…iiiiii!”

Even though they filtered onto the stage fairly slowly, it seems more and more as if the Wailers just exploded out from nowhere with their opening salvo, the sublime ‘Trenchtown Rock’ (an old song, I’m told, from their pre-Island days which is due to be triumphantly resurrected on their next album).

It opened the set with an incandescent burst of pure energy, at once quintessentially laid-back and vibrating with intensity, a rhythm that holds you tight while still allowing room to move. White rock lays its beat on you; the Wailers music allows you to find your own rhythm within it.

Bob Marley is small and agile, bobbing and weaving. He seems to be both abstracted and possessed, which is a logical way to be if you’ve been stoned solidly for the last 15 or 20 years.

He’s continually scratching out that loping ka-cha-ka rhythm out of his Les Paul, and the whole thing pivots around that and Aston ‘Family Man’ Barrett’s bass. ‘Family Man’ is the one who keeps the wheels turning, applying Fender bass grease to all the cogs and fly-wheels, movin’ it on and rolling.

The band are solid and unified, gliding more than steamrollering, and they keep coming; never more so than on ‘Lively Up Yourself’, which was so powerful that it made the recorded version seem positively Mickey Mouse by comparison.

At the back of the hall people danced and waited for their own particular favourite Wailers song to come up. All around me, people were singing along to the beatific ‘Kinky Reggae’, and outbursts of Rasta cheers greeted the line “Burnin’ and lootin’ tonight.”

Predictably, ‘Natty Dread’ itself was the hit of the night, and whenever Marley shook his hair he got a round of applause. It’s been a very long time since anyone’s seen an audience applaud an artist’s hair, but then it’s been a very long time since hair has represented anything specific to any part of the subculture.

Nowadays any bozo can have his hair long and it doesn’t mean a damn thing, but dreadlocks are a whole different ball game. Significantly, hardly anybody in the audience had them, but there were a few who’d have locks to rival Marley’s if they worked at ‘em for a couple of years.

From the opening ‘Trenchtown Rock’ through to the finale of ‘I Shot The Sheriff’, the quality of the show was nothing less than overwhelming. Music of this intensity comes along but rarely, since there s very little music being produced in the rock field that relates to any specific living culture.

The Wailers’ music is simultaneously a genuine folk music, and as technically and lyrically sophisticated, despite its superficial simplicity, as most of the produce of their contemporaries, which qualities combine to give it both its intoxicating spirituality and its riveting funk.

It done bin said before but perhaps it needs to be said again: the Wailers are not simply the most outstanding band in reggae; but one of the premier bands of the moment. Full Stop.

And I left feeling so good that I didn’t even care when some dude tried to pick my pocket on the way out.

© Charles Shaar Murray, 1975

Posted in 1975, Album Reviews, Bob Marley, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Concert Reviews, I-Three, Live Performance, Reggae Releases, Roots and Culture, The Wailers and tagged 1975, Bob Marley, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Chris Blackwell, Concert, I-Threes, Island, Live, London, Lyceum, No Woman, Performance | Leave a Comment

02 May 2012

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Who Feels It, Slays It: Bob Marley and the Wailers Live at the Lyceum, London, 1975 (PART I)

This is Part I of a 2-part post about Bob Marley and the Wailers’ performances in London during the summer of 1975. Part II will include press clippings and additional archival information and media.

I consider these 2 posts to comprise the most detailed and comprehensive profile of the Lyceum shows on the web.

Bob Marley is on the verge of becoming a superstar in England when he plays 2 shows at the Lyceum Ballroom in the summer of 1975. Marley and his Wailers band deliver a “groove-driven, seven-song set which includes many of his best loved classics.” The performance on July 18, 1975 is recorded by Blackwell, along with Island recording engineer Dave Harper from the Rolling Stones‘ mobile recording van. The recording is released at the end of 1975 as the legendary Live! album and is broadcast on the King Biscuit Flower Hour in 1976.

From the Wolfgang’s Vault review:

After a particularly up-tempo version of “Burnin’ and Lootin’” they segue into a spirited take of “No Woman, No Cry,” which has the entire audience singing along. The show takes an upward thrust when they kick out “Kinky Reggae,” which Marley uses as an introduction jam to present members of The Wailers to the audience.

Marley was incredibly animated during this show, which is somewhat odd since by this point in his career, he had gotten more introspective onstage, concentrating mainly on the political message he was preaching. This show, however, is an exception, with Marley getting the audience deeply involved in the spirit of the show. “Lively Up Yourself” is a perfect example of where the rhythm of the band meshes perfectly with the rhythm of the audience. “Stir It Up,” is another rhythmic gem, with Marley doing a joyous interplay between his vocals and those of his back up singers, The I-Three, which featured his wife, Rita. The electric piano solo played through a wah-wah pedal by Tyrone Downie takes the track to a whole new dimension.

Other highlights include the always infectious “I Shot The Sheriff,” which had already become a massive hit internationally thanks to a near-perfect cover by Eric Clapton; and the Marley standard “Get Up Stand Up.” It is hard to realize just how much of an impact Marley has had on today’s popular music, especially hip-hop, until you bear witness to a great live show like this one. This concert is a wonderful testament to the genius of Bob Marley and his ability to entertain any audience he was placed in front of.

Today I share reviews of the infamous 2 shows that Bob Marley and the Wailers played at the Lyceum in London July 17th and 18th, 1975. These shows have gone down in history as magical events that one had to witness to believe. This being said, it is only proper to share the words of those that attended the shows, and not try to assert my own opinions and observations based on the 30+ years of folklore told by authors, journalists, and music critics, many of whom weren’t even there. This is a living post, meaning that whenever I come across a quote from someone who was actually there, it will be added to the post. It is my hope to preserve an accurate portrayal of these shows, which were forever memorialized on the Island Records Bob Marley and the Wailers Live ’75 album.

The first is an account by noted journalist Karl Dallas, written just hours after the show, and published in Melody Maker on July 26, 1975 in the article “Bob Marley: Wailin’.”

You wouldn’t think he had just played a tough, almost continuous one hour set to a packed Lyceum, London, with no proper encore because it looked as if the crowd was about to pull him off stage in its blind enthusiasm, or that he was to meet the press at noon for a conference encompassing subjects like revolution, what he does with his money, how he felt when two members quit his band after their last British bummer of a tour, and what is his favourite piece of reggae music.

He parries them all, answers most of them with a mild urbanity which belies his reputation of being occasionally difficult, and confirms his own report that the vibration on this tour is decidedly different from the last.

If superstardom consists of being elusive, evasive, incoherent, unpunctual, enigmatic, all-round difficult, then Marley is no superstar. But if it has anything to do with that over-worked word, charisma, with knowing what you are doing and not being diverted from the main object in view, with a burning conviction and a dazzling talent united to communicate, then Marley is possibly the greatest superstar to visit these shores since the days when Dylan conquered the concert halls of Britain, never looking back.

At that Lyceum concert I found myself thinking of Dylan several times, first when he stabbed a pointing finger at the audience during ‘No Woman No Cry’, remembering Dylan’s reported dislike of “finger-pointing” songs, and I wished he could be here crammed into this neck of humanity to feel how effective they can be in the right hands.

And then, as the mass of Afro-topped black heads swept up over the ineffective crash barriers and became a snake-pit of reaching arms, grabbing at his ankles, his wrists, the belt round his pants, I thought of Phil Ochs’ comment that if Dylan ever walked through his audience they would kill him, literally tear him to pieces out of sheer love and adoration, and I understood straight away why there was no encore, a feeling which was confirmed, not dispelled, by the howl of booing when they put the house lights up to show the crowd that the show was indeed over.

The next day, after the press conference, I asked him if he had been scared by the crowd at the Lyceum. “No,” he said, “it no worry me so much. The only thing, I didn’t want them pull me off the stage or hurt me. Them guy held me too hard. Them too strong, real big guys.”

The excitement had started building long before 9.32pm, when he came on to the cries of Radio London DJ Steve Barnard: “Are you ready? Are you ready?” It had built through Third World’s excellent opening set, through the interlude of black music Barnard played to keep them happy as they waited. The crowd milled about, drank from beer cans and bottles, jigged a bit to the music. But as the music continued, as disc followed disc, the cries began to rise out of the crowd like startled birds. “Bob Marley,” called a voice. “Bob Marley,” repeated another.

The house lights go out, and though roadies are still prowling about the stage, all eyes are riveted on it. At one side, a large backdrop with Marcus Garvey, the father of the back-to-Africa movement, in ceremonial and civilian clothes, both European. On the back wall, a fairly small picture, ringed with the red, yellow and green colours of the Ethiopian flag: Halle Selassie, embattled Emperor of Ethiopia, Lion of Judah, considered by the Rastafarians to be the godhead, “Almighty God is a living man” as the song says.

The Wailers’ road manager, Tony Garrett, comes out to invite the sell-out crowd to participate in “a Trench-town Experience ” and the place goes wild as the opening words of ‘Trenchtown Rock’, “hit me with music,” literally hit everyone in the polar plexus. Aston “Family Man” Barrett on bass wears a bowler hat; his brother, Carlton on drums is in faded denim. Two of the old Soul-ettes, Rita Marley and Marcia Griffiths, working as I Three (three because every rasta includes Selassie with himself), are resplendent in long, poppy-emblazoned gowns. They move a little awkwardly, as if they are making up their stepping routines as they go along, as well they might, but their movements coincide perfectly, a blend of professional precision and spontaneous fun.

From where I stand, we can see neither Guitarist Al Anderson nor keyboard player Touter, but we can hear the first’s buoyant melody lines soaring gently up above the tune, the latter’s organ growling along a funky bass.

Marley, he is everywhere, never still, bending his knees sharply on the third beat of every bar. Turning his back on the audience and retreating to stage rear to signify the end a song.

The band goes straight into ‘Burnin” and thence into ‘Rebel Music’ and Marley clearly feels confident enough in his control to relax a bit. He breaks his guitar rhythm to sip from a paper cup. The music is tighter than it used to be, though still fairly loose. So far there have been no solos, until the band swings into ‘Stir It Up’, first of Marley’s songs to become a world-wide hit (for Johnny Nash) and Touter takes a brief keyboard excursion.

“What we need is some positive vibration,” Marley cries at the end of the song, although he’s had little reason to complain at the response so far.

He is working with the crowd, keeping his introductions brief, his movements economical, but all the time he is driving along not only the band, but also the crowd.

He begins ‘No Woman No Cry’ with his arm over his face, forsaking his lilting offbeat guitar to give his hands the opportunity for full expression. He makes the lyrics live, and, incidentally, acquits the rasta of all charges of male chauvinism in this sensitive paean to black womanhood. And when he gets to the words “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright” his finger splits the air like a searchlight.

And so it goes, building and building. They open up the roof. Back in the balcony a hundred 20p programmes are waving back and forth in a vain effort to cool the temperature, but what is causing the sweat here is something more than physical heat.

At the end of the song, Marley cries “Jah – Rasta far-I,” the only time we hear the old rasta slogan in the whole evening. ‘Natty Dread’ brings out all the street urchin cheek of its argot, mockery turned back upon the mockers, with love instead of hate. This ought to be the single, not its B- side.

A new intro foxes the crowd for a while until he sings out the words of ‘I Shot The Sheriff’ and if you thought the crowd was wild already, the roar of response at the opening words shows that we haven’t reached the high point.

Looking down at the crowd, I notice a strange thing. Earlier, it had been a fairly even mix of black and white, but now all the heads I can see at the front are Afro-topped (virtually no dreadlocks, by the way). And I see that they have invaded the barely protected photographers’ area and they are bidding fair to invade the stage itself.

There have, of course, been a crowd of anonymous black faces round the sides of the stage all the way through, and at the end of the song Marley and the band disappear into them. It is 10.21 and the band has played for less than an hour.

Clearly this is a rehearsed encore, as the band comes out again and strikes up ‘Get Up, Stand Up’. I Three are punching the sky with power fists and the kids in front are grabbing at Marley. One guy pulls off his jacket and throws it on the stage, it is not clear why.

It is almost as if we have been invaded by a Bay City Rollers crowd, though there is no screaming.

Marley is repeating the words “Don’t give up the fight” so that it becomes a hypnotic litany: “Don’t give up the fight…don’t give up the fight…don’t give up the fight…” He does it ten times, then the guitar takes up the five-note phrase and turns it into a riff, in which it is joined by the organ.

Each time a fist grabs at Marley he smiles slightly, as if to himself, and tries to shake himself free. He never actually looks at any of the guys (they are all males), who do it. By now roadies, DJs, anyone, has been pressed into service as a steward, arguing with the one or two kids who actually make it on to the stage, persuading them to get back down.

The song ends and Marley leaves the stage. There is no way he can come back for more. He has played for almost exactly an hour. The crowd stays for almost half that time again, clapping and stamping in unison, shouting more, but in vain.

No one could have followed that, not even the man who did it.

Marley’s close friend and biographer Vivien Goldman wrote a review of the Live album which was published in Sounds on November 29, 1975.

IN THESE troubled times of ours there’s very few things you can be sure of.

One thing I’d have been prepared to stake my autographed copy of Burnin’ on is that the Wailers’ live album, probably the most eagerly-awaited album of the year, would be a truly wonderful and genuinely five-star experience with bells on. Well, it doesn’t take a clairvoyant to tell you that I was 100 per cent accurate in my estimation.

Live At The Lyceum swells the ranks of my favourite live albums to three (others: Beach Boys Live and Live At Max’s by the Velvets) as in general live albums tend to be flaccid compared to studio takes. For any Wailers fan, the mere fact of reliving the gigs with better sound than you got there is enough to induce paroxysms of bliss. As a bonus, Steve Smith and Chris (God) Blackwell have done an amazingly good job with the sound quality, enabling Bob’s wailing of ‘How Many Rivers…’ on ‘Burnin’ And Lootin” to hit you right in the solar plexus.

The I Three (Judy Mowatt and Rita Marley, the back-up singers) suddenly gain a stature of their own, their incantatory voices winding round and about in glorious texture contrast to Bob’s soulful notes. The Barrett Brothers are a joy throughout; in fact that’s exactly what this album is, a joy throughout.

If I sound uncriticial that’s because there are few enough albums that have Live At The Lyceum’s freshness, authority and out and out MUSIC. It would be wise of you to grab hold of it at once, and listen long and hard. Hit me with music!

© Vivien Goldman, 1975

Music journalist Philip Norman published a review of the shows in The Times on July 18, 1975.

BOB MARLEY and the Wailers reached the Lyceum two nights ago, in some style. By early evening, long before they were due to appear, the foyer was impassable and a queue stretched from under the portico into Covent Garden’s hinterland.

Across the road stood a double row of police vans with many constables, shirtsleeved and sceptical. Clearly, the gravest fears were entertained for this home of the quickstep and foxtrot at the hands of the kings of Reggae.

It is unnecessary, I hope, to repeat that the Wailers are adherents to the Rastafarian faith, worshipping Jah in the person of Haile Selassie (‘recently deposed’, as their press handout candidly admits) and believing in their spiritual repatriation, some day, to Ethiopia. For the present, they remain in Jamaica where – aside from periodic jail sentences – they have existed for 12 years, idolised, plagiarised, yet dreamily resisting the demands of world fame. Their last concert tour of Britain was curtailed because it began to snow.

I do not think that they could complain of the temperature this time. I have been in hot places before, but seldom in a place as hot as the Lyceum ballroom, just before the Wailers appeared. It was like breathing through a sodden blanket. Presently, it became like wearing one. The dance floor was a human swamp; the red lamps, on the balcony above, burned with the unearthly brilliance of equatorial flowers.

In such circumstances, the performance itself had something of the quality of hallucination. It seemed that two stout figures in robes and turbans, for all the world like the favourite wives of some ancient chief, swayed and side-stepped and played pat-a-cake together. On one side of them, Marley himself, with hair standing up in the waxy plaits called ‘dreadlocks’, threw his arms wide from an untouched guitar; on the other side, a little kneeling group seemed to be enjoying a quiet game of cards. This, at least, was what I saw through a press of bodies, radiant with heat. There was a curious odour in the foetid air which I could not identify. It reminded me somewhat of newly-pressed shirts.

In these frightful days of Barry White, I love Bob Marley and the Wailers. It is not merely that theirs are the first and the best versions of ‘Stir it Up’, ‘I Shot the Sheriff’, ‘Guava Jelly’. The slow bass, the slow drum, the unrepentant idleness, the matronly figures stepping and gliding – all are visitations from a world which whites in the audience, bobbing ardently but fitfully, cannot hope to comprehend. Through them black music is, once more, triumphantly private.

© Philip Norman, 1975

For listening and evaluation for the purpose of commenting, I have included a vinyl rip of the Bob Marley and the Wailers Live ’75 album from the 1982 German Limited Edition Box Set. This is the best audio source available. I own this show in vinyl, CD, FLAC, and cassette, and this one is a step above all of them.

This is the officially released recording, therefore I cannot share for the purpose of downloading. All downloads have been disabled. If you like what you hear, and you undoubtedly will, please go out and purchase the album.

TURN IT UP LOUD!!!

Bob Marley and the Wailers, Live ’75
Island Records, ILPS 9376

Bob Marley – vocals, rhythm guitar
Aston Barrett – bass
Carlton Barrett – drums
Al Anderson – lead guitar
Tyrone Downie – keyboards
Alvin Patterson – percussion
Rita Marley – backing vocals
Judy Mowatt – backing vocals

1. “Trenchtown Rock” – 4:23
2. “Burnin’ And Lootin’” – 5:11
3. “Them Belly Full (But We Hungry)” (Lecon Cogill/Carlton Barrett) – 4:36
4. “Lively Up Yourself” (Bob Marley)- 4:33
5. “No Woman, No Cry” (Vincent Ford) – 7:07
6. “I Shot The Sheriff” – 5:18
7. “Get Up, Stand Up” (Bob Marley/Peter Tosh) – 6:32

“Kinky Reggae” is included as a bonus track on the 2001 remastered edition, however, I thought it more important to include the best audio source.

A Deluxe Edition featuring two CDs and both shows in their entirety was initially set to be released by Universal Music on 14 February 2006, then subsequently postponed to 23 May, 30 September and 30 December, then delayed again. As of today, the Deluxe Edition still remains unreleased.

Included here is the entire performance featuring many tracks which were excluded from the album, including a more extended version of “Get Up, Stand Up.” Big up Dubwise Garage for sharing this audio!

Visit his site to download the audio files.

1. Burnin’ And Lootin’
2. No Woman, No Cry
3. Kinky Reggae
4. Stir It Up
5. Lively Up Yourself
6. I Shot The Sheriff
7. Get Up, Stand Up

“Trenchtown Rock” was included in the performance, however, it is missing from this recording.

Wolfgang’s Vault also has a streaming audio file of this show on their website. There are also several reviews of the recording on the website.

Here is a review of the album and show by music journalist Rovi Lindsay Planer of All Music Guide:

As the title implies, this is indeed Bob Marley & the Wailers captured in performance at the Lyceum Ballroom in London during the final U.K. leg of the Natty Dread tour. Passionate and symbiotic energies constantly cycle between the band and audience, the net result of which is one of the most memorable concert recordings of the pop music era. With the addition of lead guitarist Al Anderson during the recording sessions for their previous long-player, Natty Dread, the Wailers took increasing strides toward a seamless transition into the consciousness of the rock music audience. Anderson’s bluesy guitar runs liberate “Burnin’ and Lootin’” as well as “Trench Town Rock,” the only new composition on Live! Anderson bobs and weaves his supple-toned fretwork among the somewhat staid rhythms common to reggae. The mutual affinity that binds Marley with his audience is evident in the roars of approval that greet the opening notes of “Them Belly Full (But We Hungry),” “I Shot the Sheriff,” and “Kinky Reggae.” Likewise, “No Woman, No Cry” elicits a group singalong as the sheer volume of the audience challenges that of the amplified musicians. With this evidence, there is no denying that Bob Marley & the Wailers were becoming the unlikeliest of pop music icons. Additionally, Live! underscores the underrated talents of the Wailers as musicians. Older works such as “Burnin’ and Lootin’” and “I Shot the Sheriff” benefit greatly from Tyrone Downie’s keyboard punctuation and the soulful backing vocals of the I-Threes. ~ Lindsay Planer, Rovi

I have included photos from the shows. Most were taken by photographer Kate Simon (www.katesimonphotography.com).

© Kate Simon