Black Uhuru: “Liberation: The Island Anthology” (Island)

Although Punk, in general, and The Clash, in particular, are largely credited with the popularisation of reggae in the colonial ‘mainlands’ of our little globe, it would be difficult to find a music more representative of the kind of attitude required to resist the bleak oppression of the merciless Thatcherite era than the British-Caribbean “rub-a-dub-dub-style” which emanated from the ‘immigrant’ cells of the U.K. in the late ‘Seventies and early ‘Eighties. As a consequence, Liberation: The Island Anthology is an almost consummate social document of the disenfranchised and marginalised of its time.

All the more appropriate it is then that ‘World is Africa’ with its brazen and probably quite accurate declaration that the earth is really just Africa divided into continents should be included here, as it exemplifies the pride of a people whose space has been constricted, permanently contaminated and violated by the great White Way. However, like the vibrant, agenda-setting opener ‘What is Life’, and unlike some American rappers, Black Uhuru never slip into a pointless inverted racism. Maybe it’s the religious foundations of Rastafarianism which enables them to transcend that kind of self-defeating tit-for-tat attitude – though, thankfully, there is precious little obsequious nodding to Jah in Black Uhuru’s repertoire.

Nor, for that matter, will you find much mention of the distasteful sexism which Heile Selassie’s cult too often shares with its Yankee Muslim brothers. ‘Puff She Puff’ is the most overt eulogy here to the fairer sex and, as well as being a real pelvis pusher, it is a downright politically correct appreciation of a female cool enough to make you want her to be your partner.

The endless echo-chambers and salaciously heavy dub routines are in abundance, especially on a toasted version of ‘Youth of Eglington’, ‘Ion Storm’ and the optimistic ‘Try It’. Also present are such classically hip and hop, skip and jump numbers as the sublime ‘Right Stuff’ and the groovily confrontational and, as it turned out, prophetic ‘Bull In The Pen’ which – just to spoil us – is directly followed by none other than ‘Sinsemilia’.

Something about the ‘fast-food’ format of anthologies generally makes them, on the whole, an unsatisfactory product. The choice of tracks is never exactly what you want. For example, the closing piece ‘Party in Session’ tends to sprawl and spiral and generally go nowhere in particular to such an extent that its exclusion would have done the other thirteen tunes no harm at all. But, in the light of the quality of those other melodies, such a quibble seems rather petty.

One thing’s for certain: you will have to go a long way to hear reggae that is more authentic and vital than Black Uhuru’s. That this gathering manages to capture that feeling speaks volumes for its worthiness. Educate yo’selves now!

• Patrick Brennan