San Francisco Bay Guardian

Wailin'

DURING SO MUCH rain, one – or, in this case, two – bright spots really stand out. Ever since the birth of Napster and the gloomy end of days for the music business, the reissue industry has been going full tilt. It makes sense on both sides of the commercial exchange. For the labels, there's very little overhead and practically no guesswork; deliver Al Green with a couple of mysterious "alternative takes," perhaps a previously unreleased cut, and remixing or remastering – another mystery. In any case, listeners are generally familiar with the original, making the $15-plus for Brother Al a better bet than the new, um, Celine Dion, for example. Is the bar set pretty low in both arenas? You're damn right it is, which is why the prospect of a reissued Ducks Deluxe LP or a Kenny G compilation can make a person consider getting HDTV.

Then, when all seemed lost, Island released reissued versions of two of the '70s most important albums: first, in 2002, Bob Marley and the Wailers' 1973 Catch a Fire and, last week, the same band's 1973 Burnin' as a deluxe edition. Although the former is a couple years old, it provides context that's crucial to understanding the commercial and personal pressures faced by the band's three-person leadership – Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer – as well as the evolution of what during those years was arguably the most important pop music in the Western hemisphere and Europe (and a force in Africa as well). These albums not only introduced the musician who would be the decade's biggest star to American audiences, but also – because Island's paternalistic (and talented) owner Chris Blackwell hijacked the masters of Catch a Fire, remixed the album, adding a lead guitar in the process, and had a hit with it – the sound of reggae was forever altered. Six months later, when the electrifying Burnin' was released, the band was already on its way to stardom, although the three principles decided to find it individually rather than together.

Both recordings that come with Catch a Fire are great, but it's easy to hear what Blackwell was after – an upbeat, more dramatic sound, with Al Anderson playing lead guitar, unknown to the band, in a studio across an ocean from Jamaica. He might have been lonely, but his playing was tasteful and spectacular, no small thing in those overdone days; his solo on "Concrete Jungle" ranks as one of pop music's finest moments.

The reissued Burnin' fails to expose studio thievery or a little-known band but rather unveils a recording by seasoned musicians – the band was 10 years old when it broke up, and it's easy to guess that at least some of them were headed for big things (Eric Clapton's limp 1974 cover of "I Shot the Sheriff" can't hold a candle to the original, found here). What's remarkable this time around is that the update allows listeners to realize how much sound was lost on the album's initial release – the problem was particularly acute in the evocative, simple three-part harmonies. Listen to "Rasta Man Chant," for example, and at the end of the first stanza, as if from nowhere, you hear a once-hidden, solemn call and response, "great God," then "home, home."

The irresistible razor-sharp arrangements are highlighted on the first disc; the second features a November 1973 live recording in Leeds showing an airtight band from which Wailer had already departed and from which Tosh, though still onboard, would soon leave. This might explain why "Reincarnated Souls," a solid bonus cut by Tosh that was originally slated to be the album's title cut, was dropped from the release entirely. It's a glimpse of what might have been, had the pressures the Wailers encountered when the band left the islands not split it apart. In my mind, Tosh was as essential to the band's uccess as Marley, which might explain why neither man's music was as powerful as on these two albums. (J.H. Tompkins)

Wailin' DURING SO MUCH rain, one – or, in this case, two – bright spots really stand out. Ever since the birth of Napster and the gloomy end of days for the music business, the reissue industry has been going full tilt. It makes sense on both sides of the commercial exchange. For the labels, there's very little overhead and practically no guesswork; deliver Al Green with a couple of mysterious "alternative takes," perhaps a previously unreleased cut, and remixing or remastering – another mystery. In any case, listeners are generally familiar with the original, making the $15-plus for Brother Al a better bet than the new, um, Celine Dion, for example. Is the bar set pretty low in both arenas? You're damn right it is, which is why the prospect of a reissued Ducks Deluxe LP or a Kenny G compilation can make a person consider getting HDTV. Then, when all seemed lost, Island released reissued versions of two of the '70s most important albums: first, in 2002, Bob Marley and the Wailers' 1973 Catch a Fire and, last week, the same band's 1973 Burnin' as a deluxe edition. Although the former is a couple years old, it provides context that's crucial to understanding the commercial and personal pressures faced by the band's three-person leadership – Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer – as well as the evolution of what during those years was arguably the most important pop music in the Western hemisphere and Europe (and a force in Africa as well). These albums not only introduced the musician who would be the decade's biggest star to American audiences, but also – because Island's paternalistic (and talented) owner Chris Blackwell hijacked the masters of Catch a Fire, remixed the album, adding a lead guitar in the process, and had a hit with it – the sound of reggae was forever altered. Six months later, when the electrifying Burnin' was released, the band was already on its way to stardom, although the three principles decided to find it individually rather than together. Both recordings that come with Catch a Fire are great, but it's easy to hear what Blackwell was after – an upbeat, more dramatic sound, with Al Anderson playing lead guitar, unknown to the band, in a studio across an ocean from Jamaica. He might have been lonely, but his playing was tasteful and spectacular, no small thing in those overdone days; his solo on "Concrete Jungle" ranks as one of pop music's finest moments. The reissued Burnin' fails to expose studio thievery or a little-known band but rather unveils a recording by seasoned musicians – the band was 10 years old when it broke up, and it's easy to guess that at least some of them were headed for big things (Eric Clapton's limp 1974 cover of "I Shot the Sheriff" can't hold a candle to the original, found here). What's remarkable this time around is that the update allows listeners to realize how much sound was lost on the album's initial release – the problem was particularly acute in the evocative, simple three-part harmonies. Listen to "Rasta Man Chant," for example, and at the end of the first stanza, as if from nowhere, you hear a once-hidden, solemn call and response, "great God," then "home, home." The irresistible razor-sharp arrangements are highlighted on the first disc; the second features a November 1973 live recording in Leeds showing an airtight band from which Wailer had already departed and from which Tosh, though still onboard, would soon leave. This might explain why "Reincarnated Souls," a solid bonus cut by Tosh that was originally slated to be the album's title cut, was dropped from the release entirely. It's a glimpse of what might have been, had the pressures the Wailers encountered when the band left the islands not split it apart. In my mind, Tosh was as essential to the band's uccess as Marley, which might explain why neither man's music was as powerful as on these two albums. (J.H. Tompkins)