The 100 Best Bob Marley Songs

Released almost two years after Marley’s death at 36 on May 11, 1981, this song is about seeking truth (“take that veil from off of your eyes/look into the future of realize”) and giving thanks and praises to the Most-High, Jah, Rastafari (“He will not deceive us…He will only lead us again”). The Wailers’ eloquent and somewhat subdued instrumental flow overlaid with the I-Three’s angelic harmonies are the ideal balance to Marley’s reverential yet haunting tenor, as if he’s sending words of comfort from a transcendent realm.

The 1966 original ska version recorded by the Wailers at Studio One, is, on its surface,  a cautionary tale about the unfaithfulness of a lover and the karmic repercussions she will face. Marley re-recorded the song for Rastaman Vibration, giving it a decidedly soulful flavor, with a swinging reggae tempo that’s coated with churning synths and the I-Threes’ opalescent tones.  However, Bob’s melancholy rebuke has social and political overtones that resonate beyond simply decrying a failing romantic relationship.

Marley scats a few syllables on the song’s intro then segues into a commentary on the hatred and disillusionment caused by loved ones’ disappointing actions. He alludes to “a place in the sun where there’s love for everyone” (perhaps a reference to Stevie Wonder’s 1966 hit); the suggested utopia could be Ethiopia, Rastafari’s ancestral homeland or perhaps it’s not a physical destination. On this Lee “Scratch” Perry production the hypnotic backbeat is again dominated by Family Man’s mighty, unrelenting bass.

In 1986 Bunny Wailer remade a vintage Wailers song “Music Gonna Teach” (first recorded in 1969), renaming it “Music Lesson,” a statement on music’s importance in asserting a proud African identity and teaching Jamaica’s children about their authentic identity. “Music Lesson” utilizes Marley’s original, somewhat tenuous vocals, recorded 17 years earlier, now surrounded by a vigorous reggae groove. Bunny displays a stronger tone on his (newly recorded) limited lead on the second verse. At 6:32, “Music Lesson” includes an exquisite trumpet solo by Johnny “Dizzy” Moore followed by a three-minute subtle dub excursion underpinned by Family Man’s fearlessly scorching bassline.

Initially recorded at the same time as Rastaman Vibration (1975-1976), “I Know” was one of Marley’s earliest disco influenced efforts but was never issued because he was unhappy with the mix. While receiving treatment for cancer in Germany in late 1980, he asked bassist Family Man to remix the song. Released as a 12” dance single in 1981, with swirling keyboards and the I-Three’s cascading voices embellish Bob’s pensive, it’s a heartrending reminder that irrespective of the circumstances, “I know Jah will be waiting there.”

A devout song of praise and a sincere expression of gratitude “for every little thing/thank you, Lord, for you made me sing.” Marley’s lyrics reflect hardships he’s endured; likewise Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer’s inspirational harmonies are borne of their collective suffering, yet, their resilient spirit is conveyed through the song’s rapturous spirit. As with the Wailers’ other releases on their Wail ‘N Soul ‘M imprint, the enchanting rocksteady beat was created by Jamaica’s finest session musicians of the era and crowned with a fluttering, jazzy trumpet solo by Johnny “Dizzy” Moore, a founding member of the Skatalites.

Co-written by Marley, Family Man, and Carly Barrett, “Want More” details an ongoing stream of backbiters, their betrayal and greed: “You think it’s the end, but it’s just the beginning,” Marley intones. The song entwines elements of rock, funk and R&B; Family Man played some keyboards and rhythm guitar in addition to laying down a sinewy, thumping bass that braces an extended dub groove with Carly’s drum, further polished by Earl “Chinna” Smith’s scratchy wah wah riddim guitar and the soulful phrasings of the I-Threes.

The stunning harmonies of American R&B trio the Impressions had a tremendous influence on Jamaican music in the 1960s. The Wailers’ “Keep On Moving” is their bass-heavy reggae rendition of the Impressions’ 1963 hit of the same name; it’s the story of a man on the run, accused of a crime he didn’t commit, the strength of God enabling him to move forward. Marley’s sinuous vocals take the lead but it’s Tosh and Bunny Wailers’s glorious harmonies and Bunny’s stunning falsetto in a brief solo turn that are remarkably heartrending.

In the lyrical vein of “Natural Mystic” Marley grapples with life’s mysteries and its variations: “Misty morning, don’t see no sun,” with golden rays of sunlight used as a representation of contentment. “The power of philosophy floats through my head, light like a feather, heavy as lead,” chants Marley, offering a poetic contrast between joyfulness and inevitable sadness. Carlton Barrett’s brawny snare locks in a languorous rhythmic pattern that’s gorgeously intertwined with Family Man’s effervescing bass and decorated with synchronized horns that surge forward then recede into the mix.

Marley takes defiant aim at the vampire system that’s “sucking the blood of the sufferers,” and the religious and educational institutions that “graduate thieves and murderers.” The steadily throbbing hand-drumming, rooted in Jamaica’s Afro folk traditions, that forms the song’s rhythmic backbone is intricately embroidered with shimmering guitars, a propulsive bass and the I-Three’s majestic voices, all reinforcing Bob’s messages and, as the song winds down, his repeated, emotive appeal to “tell the children the truth.”

Marley’s lyrical genius in simply expressing complex ideas, his captivating melodies and resounding choruses, coupled with the Barrett Brothers’ consistently remarkable rhythmic odysseys that undergird the Wailers’ overall tightly meshed grooves are key to the global embrace of his music. Set to a complexly layered arrangement of undeniable instrumental chemistry, “Work” is succinct in its summoning to unify and get things done: “We Jah people can make it work, come together and make it work.”  

Marley was steadfast in using his music to resist oppression in Jamaica (and elsewhere) including those who disparaged his Rastafari way of life. Throughout “Ride Natty Ride” Marley beautifully interlaces various Biblical passages into a forewarning: Rastafari has raised people’s consciousness and their progress now cannot be thwarted. The Wailers’ weave an impeccable aural tapestry commencing with Carlton Barrett’s crackling drum snaps, followed by Family Man’s soul shaking bass and Lee Jaffe’s bluesy harmonica riffs, all “riding through the storm, riding through the calm.”

This song was first recorded as “Man to Man” by the Wailers backed by the Upsetters for Lee “Scratch” Perry in 1970. Marley reworked the song five years later for the Rastaman Vibration album with additional lyrics (contributed by the Barrett brothers) based around the Jamaican proverb, “mi throw mi corn, neva call nuh fowl,” meaning, don’t take personally what is spoken generally. Over a multi-layered roots rhythm anchored in the Barrett brothers’ rock-solid drum and bass interplay, and the soaring harmonies of the I-Three’s, Marley ponders hypocrites, parasites, frenemies and gossip mongers.

Contrasting the sentiment of the Wailers’ earlier ska hit “Simmer Down,” for producer Coxsone Dodd, which urged the knife-wielding, sometimes gun-toting and overall menacing rude boys to stop their criminal activities, “Jailhouse,” also recorded for Dodd, supports rude boy culture. “can’t fight against the youth now ’cause he is strong,” croons Marley, then joined by Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh, their guileless voices declaring, “we’re gonna rule this land.” Perhaps the Wailers were merely riding a trend in Jamaican music that celebrated rude boys, or maybe, coming from Trench Town, a tough ghetto community where all young men were viewed as rude boys, they appreciated their challenge of authority, which of course, would be a central theme in The Wailers’ later work, collectively, and individually.

A straightforward call to unity that’s also an indictment of corrupt leaders’ divisive tactics. Lyrics like “they don’t want to see us unite, all they want us to do is keep on fussing and fighting,” resonates just as strongly today as they did when the song was released. The majestic horns heard by Jamaica’s Ras Brass (Junior “Chico” Chin, trumpet; Dean Fraser, saxophone and Ronald “Nambo” Robinson, trombone) and throughout Survival were inspired by Marley’s visit to Africa and the influence of Nigerian artist Fela Kuti’s horn drenched Afrobeat sound.

Incorporating lyrical passages from the Wailers 1966 single “He Who Feels It Knows It,” the blues tinged “Running Away” mingles personal responsibility (“you can’t run away from yourself”) with allusions to the haunting admonishments Marley faced when he fled to London following the attempt on his life at his Kingston home in 1976. “You must have done something wrong,” he sings in the voice of an accuser; as the song fades, his defense is delivered in a hazy extended monologue: “I’m not running away, I’ve got to protect my life and I don’t want to live with no strife…so I made my decision and I left ya.” The Wailers’ once again lay down a rhythm that is so impeccably nuanced it requires repeated listening to fully savor each musician’s outstanding contribution.

Recorded at the same sessions that yielded the Wailers’ international breakthrough Catch A Fire, “High Tide or Low Tide” wasn’t included on the album, likely because its balladry didn’t align with the trio’s rebellious image. (It appears as a bonus track on the deluxe version.) While the introductory lines could be interpreted as an enduring pledge of romantic love, the first verse reveals the song is a plea for divine strength. Marley’s vulnerable lead is complemented by Bunny Wailer’s exquisite high-pitched tone and Peter Tosh’s commanding low register, which create a wonderfully soulful blend reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions who were a significant influence on the trio.

Marley and the Wailers weren’t shy about showing their affection for American soul and rock & roll. But they were also fans of other strains of global music. That’s evident on this 1971 single, produced by the group with an engineering assist by Perry — there are hints of calypso and other kinds of Afro-Caribbean pop all over it. The lyric is too overtly sexual to even pretend to be a double-entendre, but the Wailers (and a group of backup singers including Rita) dive into it with relish.

A melodic gem recorded with producer Leslie Kong, a simply phrased song about impending freedom for the browbeaten that’s elevated by Marley’s exuberant lead vocals, an emphasis on Bunny Wailer and Tosh’s sublime, gospel-inflected harmonies, and the trio’s joyous repetition of “tra la la la la soul captives are free.” As with other Kong productions, the musicianship is top notch, an unrelenting R&B/reggae synthesis, featuring the extraordinary, latticed guitar lead by Hux Brown.

Opening with a majestic horn arrangement that ornaments the Wailers’ tightly meshed rhythm, the forewarning declaration “guiltiness rest on their conscience” can be heard as a general censure of wrongdoers, oppressors and other tyrants. Released just six months after the 1976 attempt on Marley’s life, this song is often heead as a prophetic warning to the gunmen and those that ordered the hit. Marley turns to the Book of Psalms for reinforcement, cautioning, “woah to the downpressors, they’ll eat the bread of sorrows,” meaning that justice, karmic or otherwise, will be served.

In Jamaican patois, a screw face is a person with a scowling expression or an intimidating manner. On The Wailers’ single “Screw Face,” issued via their Tuff Gong label, their lyrics seamlessly flow between Jamaican proverbs and Biblical verse, serving notice that they are unfazed by screw faces’ threatening tactics. Marley’s raw yet beguiling lead supported by Bunny and Tosh’s at times jagged harmonies are delivered over a slowly chugging, bass heavy reggae soundscape.

Credited to Bob Marley and the Wailing Wailers and released on their Wail ‘N Soul ‘M imprint, the song is said to be the Wailers’ condemnation of their financially unrewarding relationship with Studio One producer Coxsone Dodd (“pyaka” is slang for greedy or dishonest). As they chant “bredda pyaka, chant down pyaka-ism,” the Wailers’ acerbic lyrics contrast with stunning, multi-layered harmonies that are intricately woven in and out of a jovially skanking rhythm played by ace musicians of the era including bassist Jackie Jackson, guitarists Ranny Williams and Lyn Taitt, and pianist Winston Wright.

Relaxed and taking it slow, “Easy Skanking,” the opening track on Kaya, is undoubtedly the most carefree song in Marley’s extensive oeuvre, devoid of any political or social commentary or even romantic intention. “Excuse me while I light my spliff/good God I’ve got to take a lift/From reality I just can’t drift, that’s why I’m starting with this riff,” Marley blissfully chants. It was recorded during his 14 month exile period in London, at the same sessions that yielded Exodus; the Wailers’ gently swaying, unrushed tempo and the I-Threes’ heavenly harmonies create an aural tranquility that may not be the lift Marley alludes to, but nonetheless achieve a similar result.

In the tradition of Jamaican freedom fighter Marcus Garvey whose philosophies urged displaced Africans to return to the motherland, Marley crafted a commanding tune with an anthemic chorus that clearly states its momentous objective: “Africa unite because we’re moving right out of Babylon and we’re going to our Father’s land.” Against an equally powerful, exquisitely crafted soundscape, Marley’s voice resounds like a prescient leader persuasively expressing an essential goal within Rastafari, especially in Marley’s era: exiting from Babylon and repatriating to Africa.

Like many of the tracks on the posthumously released Confrontation, “Jump Nyabinghi,” a joyous salutation to Rastafari (with specific mention of its Nyabinghi order) set to a sprightly, danceable pulse, was recorded during the 1979-1980 sessions that generated Uprising. The I-Threes’ soaring harmonies and gospel-inflected shouts of “Hallelu-Jah” that envelop Bob’s emotive notes weren’t part of the song initially released as a dubplate, exclusively for sound system play, in 1979. Ever mindful of the persecution Rastas faced in Jamaica, Marley’s encouraging words also incorporated a biblical reference: “It remind I of the days in Jericho when we trodden down Jericho walls/these are the days when we trod through Babylon, got to trod until Babylon falls.”

The deliciously fluttering beat laid down by producer Leslie Kong’s ace studio band the Beverley’s All Stars, featuring Winston Wright’s bubbling organ funk, underpins the Wailers’ saucy yet charmingly innocent plea for another romantic romp, as Marley serenades: “baby you’re so nice, I’d like to do it twice.” Marley cut his earliest singles with Kong but was poorly compensated. As the 1960s progressed, Kong became a significant hitmaker and Bob, Bunny and Peter cut several rocksteady tracks for him. In 1971, Kong released his Wailers’ productions as the Best of the Wailers compilation. Allegedly, Bunny aggressively warned Kong he would regret using that title because the Wailers’ best was yet to come. The Best of the Wailers became a bestseller; Kong, 38, suffered a fatal heart attack less than a year after the album’s release.

“Check out the real situation, nation war against nation, where did it all begin? Where will it end?’ asks Marley in an apocalyptic tone that grows even darker as he wearily surmises, “it seems like total destruction is the only solution.” “Real Situation” is emblematic of Marley’s ability to artfully craft songs with serious messages that the listener can easily sing along to, powered here by an upbeat keyboard and guitar driven groove.

Written in 1979 on the European leg of the Survival tour and recorded during the 1979/1980 sessions for Uprising, “Chant Down Babylon” agitates for the destruction of the corrupt Babylon system through consciousness raising reggae music: “Music you’re the key/talk to who? Please talk to me, bring the voice of the Rastaman, communicating to everyone/that’s how I know, a reggae music, mek we chant down Babylon.” Surrounding Marley’s dissenting stance are the I-Three’s incantatory harmonies, and another flawlessly executed Wailers’ rhythm with shimmering keys, punching bass and slinky guitar riffs.

In the mid-1970s, a time of escalating political violence in Jamaica, the CIA viewed the incumbent, socialist leaning People’s National Party (PNP) as a prospective risk to American business interests. Through the (opposition) Jamaica Labor Party (JLP), the CIA saturated the island with drugs and high-powered weaponry. Both parties (unsuccessfully) sought Marley’s public endorsement. On “Rat Race,” Marley forthrightly demands, “don’t involve Rasta in your say-say; Rasta don’t work for no CIA”. Rastaman Vibration was released on April 30, 1976; the assassination attempt on Marley’s life occurred seven months later.

Marley barely alters the introductory lyrics of blues legend Howlin’ Wolf’s “Hard Luck” (“rocks is my pillow, cold ground is my bed”) for the opening lines on “Talking Blues”, complemented by guitarist Al Anderson’s slow burning guitar riffs. Expressing frustration with poverty and the struggles of his people, “Talking Blues” features one of Marley’s most incendiary and debated lyrics: “I feel like bombing a church now that I know the preacher is lying.” Bombing is meant figuratively, as in dismantling religious and other institutional doctrines that have oppressed and deceived their followers. Marley, however, was a supporter of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church; on November 4, 1980 he was baptized in the faith and given the name Behane Selassie.

Delightfully scratchy guitars, and a thunderous bass provide the mystical instrumental reinforcement for Bob’s simple yet descriptive lyrics, with rainbow used as a metaphor for a multi-colored, peaceful destination. Produced by Lee “Scratch” Perry, “Rainbow Country” boasts one of the earliest uses of a drum machine in Jamaican music. Marley fans will note the song’s introductory line, “hey Mr. Music, sure sound good to me, I can’t refuse it, what to be, got to be” is also sung on the first verse of “Roots Rock Reggae” and utilizes the same melody.

An early incarnation of Kaya’s “Satisfy My Soul” that’s looser, funkier and rocks a lot harder. Marley, Bunny Wailer, and Tosh first recorded and self-produced an amiable version of “Don’t Rock My Boat” in 1968. They revisited the song in 1971, working with producer Lee “Scratch” Perry and his remarkable house band, the Upsetters, which featured the indestructible rhythm section, Carlton (drums) and Aston “Family Man” Barrett (bass). Perry crafted a sparser, more percussive arrangement of the song with increased assuredness and vitality in Marley’s vocals.  

Another affirmation of Marley’s Rastafari way of life highlighted by his committed, plaintive vocals, the I-Three’s celestial tones and the Wailers’ unrelenting, rugged reggae groove. Marley evokes the African American spiritual tradition by referencing “old man river, don’t cry for me,” and dismisses cynics who condemn his chosen lifestyle, “we won’t shed no tears, we found a way to cast away the fears.” Marley died 11 months after Uprising’s release; in that context “Forever Loving Jah” can be heard as his conveying divine sustenance to his many loved ones and fans.

Closing Burnin’ is an authentic replication of a Rasta Nyabinghi drumming and chanting session, embellished with subtle keyboards. (Nyabinghi is also the oldest order of Rastafari as well as a drumming style rooted in Afro-Jamaican religious ceremonial traditions.) The song’s lyrics shift from the incendiary to the worshipful, from denouncing Babylon to anticipation of the afterlife, “one bright morning when my work is over, I will fly away home.” The flawless meshing of Bunny and Peter’s voices surrounding Bob’s gives “Rastaman Chant” a heightened spiritual resonance.

Scriptural retribution for war mongers juxtaposed with an elusive quest for peace–globally, but specifically in Jamaica–is the essence of “We and Dem.” Family Man and Carly Barrett lay down a strong-as-granite reggae foundation. Marley’s compelling delivery of the lyrics, “in the beginning Jah created everythin’/giving man dominion over all things/but now it’s too late you see, men has lost their faith, hey-ey-hey, eating up all the flesh from off the earth,” reinforced by Junior Marvin and Tyrone Downie’s robust backing vocals, has the sonic impact of a Biblical revelation.

Many Rastafarians dismissed reports of the August 27, 1975 death of Ethiopian Emperor Rastafarian Deity Halie Selassie I as propaganda, an argument that was reinforced by the absence of his corpse (in 1992 the Emperor’s remains were found beneath his palace where he was imprisoned by the military junta that deposed him.) Supported by a slowly pulsing rhythm, akin to a heartbeat, and the I-Threes’ soothing synchronizations, Marley wails, “Fools say in their heart, ‘Rasta yuh God is dead’, but I and I know Jah Jah, dread, it shall be dreader dread,” a contemplative response to naysayers that simultaneously offers encouragement to his Rastafari brethren and sistren in coping with the unsettling news.

The posthumously released Legend compilation was intended to soften Marley’s image, comprised of songs that are devoid of his activism. 1979’s Survival is Legend’s antithesis, as Marley’s most socially and politically charged work. Addressing the historical atrocities endured by Black people, the album was initially titled Black Survival to underscore its sentiments of African unity. The title track is a clarion call to Africans throughout the Diaspora: “in this age of technological inhumanity, scientific atrocity, atomic mis-philosophy, nuclear mis-energy, it’s a world that forces lifelong insecurity, we’re the survivors, the Black survivors!” Unsurprisingly Survival was the least promoted of Bob’s Island Records’ releases.

Here Marley’s lyrical palette, which is rooted in Biblical passages (“Not one of my seeds shall sit in the sidewalk and beg bread”), Jamaican folk wisdom, (“Puss and dog they get together, what’s wrong with loving one another?”) and Rastafari vernacular (“I an’ I a hang on in there, I an’ I, I naw leggo”), creates an engaging unity plea, a reminder that Jah will provide for His people. “So Jah Seh” is credited to Willy Francisco, a pseudonym for Wailers’ percussionist Alvin “Seeco” Patterson, also a mentor and father figure to Marley. The late rapper Xxxtentacion (b. Jahseh Dwayne Ricardo Onfroy) was named after this song.

“Coming In From The Cold” and “Redemption Song” were the last songs Marley wrote for Uprising, the final album released in his lifetime. Marley’s words of encouragement to the marginalized in resisting Babylon’s corruption are answered in a spirited call and response with backing vocals by keyboardist Tyrone Downie and guitarist Junior Marvin: “Would you let the system make you kill your brotherman?” asks Marley, “no, dread, no,” they resoundingly answer. The Wailers’ impeccably crafted reggae rhythm, moored by Family Man’s potent bass, renders the song a timeless testimony to their immeasurable significance in enriching Marley’s messages.

Less “grooving” than “Trench Town Rock”, the 1980 song “Trench Town” is a somber denouncement of leaders whose neglect (except for arming unemployed youth with illegal guns) has led to the area’s impoverished conditions, rampant violence and the youths’ imprisonment. “They say we’re the underprivileged people, so they keep us in chains,” wails Marley, reflecting the authorities’ assessment of residents within the community where The Wailers embarked on their mission, “but we free the people with music.”

A classic from the Wailers’ early label Wail ‘N Soul ‘M (the name of which references the Wailers and Rita Marley’s group the Soulettes) the sweetly seductive “Mellow Mood” has Marley promising “I’ll play your favorite song, darling, we can rock it all night long, darling,” as Tosh and Wailer supportively coo the background. The scuttling rhythm features Winston Wright’s rollicking piano riffs, Jackie Jackson’s thumping bass and chiming guitars by Lynn Taitt and Ranford Williams, among the greatest musicians of the rock steady era.

Marley’s raspy vocals enhance his powerful depictions of life’s inequalities from three perspectives: practical (“they say the sun shines for all/but in some people world, it never shine at all”), poetic (“they want to be the leader in the house of the rising sun”) and spiritual (“no matter what the crisis is, give Jah all the thanks and praises.”) The Wailers’ weave a spellbinding groove, with Carly Barret’s taut drumming, Tyrone Downie’s decorative organ fills, and especially Family Man’s plump bass lines, which aurally impact the song’s narrative with the dynamism of a second lead vocal.

In 1971 Marley spent time in Sweden working on the soundtrack to Vill Så Gärna Tro (Want So Much to Believe) a film about an interracial relationship between a Swedish woman and her African American teacher (played by reggae singer Johnny Nash, who also contributed to the soundtrack.) In the 12:10 clip, first released on the 1992 Songs of Freedom box set, Marley, solely accompanied by an acoustic guitar, performs riveting, unvarnished renditions of seven songs ranging from bawdy (“Guava Jelly,” “Stir It Up”) to traditional gospel (“This Train”), romantic pleas (“Comma Comma,” “Dewdrops,” “I’m Hurting Inside”) and the autobiographical “Corner Stone.” In 1973 “Stir It Up” became a US top 20 hit for Nash.

Originally recorded at the same session as “Rastaman Live Up” shortly after Bob’s return to Jamaica in 1978 following his 14-month exile period in England, the upbeat and similarly themed “Blackman Redemption” praises His Imperial Majesty as the “power of authority” while the call and response interplay between Marley and the Meditations on backing vocals issues an appeal to the African Diaspora: “A Black man redemption, can you stop it? (Oh no).” A more polished rendering was included on 1983’s Confrontation, but this 8-minute single has a warmer feel, and includes a blistering dub version.

Just two days after the 1976 attempt on his life, Marley courageously and defiantly headlined the December 1976 Smile Jamaica concert, named after his single, which encouraged unity at a time of violent political fractiousness. Two versions of “Smile Jamaica” were recorded: Part 1, at producer Lee “Scratch” Perry’s Black Ark Studio, is slower paced with tight brass embellishments; Part 2, at Harry J’s, where Marley and the Wailers recorded their first four albums for Island, has a livelier beat, a heavier bass, but is especially notable for Marley’s extended scatted, soulful vocals.

In 1966, tollowing their departure from Studio One, due to scant financial returns, the Wailers and Rita Marley set up their Wail ‘N Soul ‘M imprint and issued several gems within Jamaican music’s rocksteady era. “Hypocrite” is Marley’s often humorous commentary on the pretensions and “gravalicious” (greedy) behavior he’s seen whether it’s a “dry land tourist” (someone who claims they’ve extensively traveled but has never left Jamaica), or “Toppa Norris” (a high-ranking person). With its jaunty, rock steady tempo, “Hypocrite” is enjoyable without understanding the lyrics, however, decoding Marley’s patois phrasing provides greater appreciation of his (then) maturing skills as a writer.

Marley’s many songs written in praise of Jah Rastafari, while not hymns in the traditional Christian sense, are equally devotional. Set to a gently skanking beat with sputtering flute embellishments, the intriguing “Roots,” like a simply phrased Haiku is Marley’s expression of his unwavering commitment to Rasta: “Some are leaves, some are branches, I and I are the root,” he chants, and that root is an essential support in surviving “this man maniac downpression.”

This song is said to be written in Nassau, Bahamas, in late December 1976, where Marley and his entourage had decamped after the assassination attempt (and just before their arrival in London where Marley would spend the next 14 months in self-imposed exile). Marley’s plaintive vocals accompanied by gentle guitar strums and a steadying Nyabinghi drumming pulse, express a poetic warning about Babylon’s deceptive trappings: “time will tell/think you’re in heaven but you’re living in hell.”

The one drop is a distinctive style of reggae drumming that emphasizes the third beat in 4/4 time; Marley describes the drumbeat as “playing a rhythm, resisting against the system.” “One Drop” addresses the challenges that are imposed on people by that system, “hunger and starvation, lamentation,” and the importance of Rastafari as a means of salvation: “Give us the teachings of His Majesty, for we no want no devil philosophy,” Marley sings with deep conviction, over an indestructible Wailers’ rhythm, highlighted by Carlton Barrett’s inimitable, masterful one-drop drumming.

In the 1992 documentary, Time Will Tell, Marley explains, “Rastafari is not religion, this is the life”; “Rastaman Live Up” is another persuasive Rastafari affirmation, a way of life that was much maligned in Jamaica during Marley’s lifetime and for years afterwards. Marley urges his Rastafarian bredren and sistren to stand firm in their culture, despite the obstacles, underscoring his sentiments with the Biblical references “David slew Goliath with a sling and a stone, Samson slew the Philistines with a donkey jawbone.” The exultant harmonies of (vocal trio) The Meditations adorn the Lee “Scratch” Perry produced track, anchored in Family Man’s rock-solid bass line.