Scotland’s very own bass-driven sound system is well known on the live circuit, whether from their residency in Glasgow’s Sauchiehall Street or from forays further south and beyond. It’s a full-on dub sound-system-sound with a dancehall feel, bass turned to 11 and a digital no-escape blast of pure volume. Following previous releases on their own Scotch Bonnet Records imprint, this new album presents a selection of fifteen tracks, sequenced as they would appear in a live sound system show. Starting off with Sugar Minott’s ‘Scrubadub Style’, this provides a deceptively sparse introduction over a Mungo riddim before the bass kicks in and sets out the agenda for what is about to follow, beginning with Pacey’s take on ‘Everyman Different’ (familiar maybe from Errol Dunkley’s version). The bass gets serious with ‘Computer Age’ from Mr Williamz in a rub-a-dub style, the lyrics managing to include Mungo’s web address and possibly reggae’s first mention of a modem.

Pupa Jim’s ‘Boat People’ provides thoughtful consciousness lyrics to counteract the expectations of some that a potent mix of sound must rule out meaningful words. Omar Perry’s ‘Dem No Like It’ sits atop a deep and slow riddim, while the excellent ‘Bad Bad Boy’ from Soom T contrasts markedly, with a riddim that almost hints at rocksteady. Soom T also contributes the very different ‘Soundboy Police’. Ranking Levy’s ‘New York Boogie’ draws from earlier reggae riddims in its style, as does the loping sound of Zeb and Scotty’s ‘Warm Up’ which is almost reminiscent of the 80s style of, say, Clint Eastwood and General Saint. The well-regarded Gentleman’s Dub Club add the slightly strange but intriguing closing sound of ‘High Grade’. More »

This original and in some ways surprising album from Oxford’s very own is a curious collection. With a live sound throughout, particularly in the mix of the bass and drums, there is a pervasive mood of urgency – put simply, being slightly frantic – as though time was running out fast and all these styles, songs and genres had to be squeezed into one (albeit very long) album before time ran out altogether.

The opening track – ‘Prophecy’ – is roots reggae in the old style to begin, before speeding-up and throwing in some guitar twiddlings that provide a direct bridge to the rock tradition from which the album also draws its numerous inspirations. ‘Ride Your Life Like a Bicycle’ (the initial single release) starts with some classic reggae chords, then proceeds toward some quirky Englishness, as though Syd Barrett had met the Specials one enchanted evening, fading out with a down-your-way harmony section, with its talk-over reminiscent of the light programme from the golden age of steam radio; what was it anyway with bicycles in the late 60s, the Prisoner and My White Bicycle aside? More »

Another entry in the seemingly inexhaustible catalogue of Trojan re-releases offers, by definition, nothing new, but it does on this occasion offer something that might be interesting. In these double-CD releases, there is an attention to detail together with a distinct impression that they have been compiled by someone with a love for the music rather than a manager in the marketing department. Current releases are themed along various lines including Mento/R&B, Ska, Rock Steady, Original Reggae, Roots, Dub, DJ, Dancehall, Lovers’ Rock, Ragga and Classic Reggae.

Some of these sets, it has to be said, are more necessary than others. The ‘classic reggae’ collection, for instance, does include some indispensible tracks – notably Marley’s ‘Trench Town Rock’ – but elsewhere, as in Bruce Ruffin’s ‘Rain’ or Greyhound’s ‘Black and White’, there resides a slightly depressing reminder of how reggae was pasteurised to offer up largely British hits in the late 60s and early 70s, just as we were about to embark upon a grim decade of social disruption, economic crisis and political paralysis. Nothing like today of course. The commodified version of Bob Andy and Marcia Griffith’s ‘Young Gifted and Black’, with its orchestra and strings for a Top of the Pops era, is a reminder of how the music was sometimes diluted in comparison to the original unadorned treatment (available for instance on an earlier Trojan compilation, TJPCD 001) of a song that reflects the power of Nina Simone’s proud, brave, composition. More »