Bob Marley & The Wailers

Fate runs along a trail of fire that fuels a commando ready to burst into 56 Hope Road, Kingston. It's December 3rd, 1976. A pack of would-be Ali Ağcas hammer in vain at the door of the Jamaican pope. Moments later, the demon of chaos erupts. Miraculously, the bullets turn out to be duds for Bob Marley, his wife Rita, Don Taylor and Louis Griffiths. The god of reggae is safe. He bares his wounds and takes the stage at the Smile Jamaica concert just two days after staring death in the face. Because true deities don't deal in absence. Then, though, he disappears. Rightly so, any sane person would say. Destination: Island Studios, London.

1976 is a watershed year. It's the year exodus turns into necessity, salvation, wellspring. For Marley, it's time to soar elsewhere. To yearn for judgment day. And to invoke a new Moses. "The people who are trying to make this world worse don't take a day off. How can I?" - his words, fit to be carved in stone.

The definitive testament takes shape in a heart that has just dodged a bullet. "Exodus" is Time Magazine's choice for greatest album of the 20th century. An exaggeration, perhaps. Certainly nothing close to heresy, though, given that its ten songs amplify the reggae movement from every angle and light up its gardens thanks to a Bob Marley never heard before - driven, as never previously, by the pull of a rage to be tamed and turned, once and for all, into joy, hope, courage, embrace, life. A life, alas, cut short five years later by a melanoma diagnosed in July 1977, just eight weeks after the release of the album that would enshrine Bob, the Wailers and the I Threes in immortality.

There’s a natural mystic blowing through the air

If you listen carefully now you will hear

This could be the first trumpet, might as well be the last

Many more will have to suffer

Many more will have to die

Don’t ask me why

Things are not the way they used to be

I won’t tell no lie

Never again a lie. The die is cast. And the Rubicon crossed, scratching away at the Les Paul Special like a wounded angel, while Carlton Barrett's timing and Aston Barrett's pace cradle the song, like a stoned Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin. During the "Exodus" sessions, Marley reunites with his old friend and producer Lee "Scratch" Perry, and opts for Junior Marvin on lead guitar. "Natural Mystic" introduces the troubled moods chasing a revenge to be met with open arms. "So Much Things To Say", by contrast, is preaching and joy.

"I and I no come to fight flesh and blood, but spiritual wickedness." "Guiltiness", meanwhile, opens up to the social politics of the visionary Bob. The flow orchestrated by his fellow musicians stages an epic, memorable sway. Horns, harmonies, skins and strings numb every ailment. It's the prelude to the second mystical wave. To the pagan psychedelia of "Heathen". The hypnosis emerges unexpectedly. As does the escape, for that matter: Jah is finally among us and invites us once again to the exodus. The Rastafarian hopes of "Exodus" look towards the promised land. It's the track that in some ways anticipates the Talking Heads in Paris-Dakar mode on "Crosseyed And Painless". The safari staged by Marley is, needless to say, biblical, and moves like a procession.

What makes "Exodus" "unreachable", or at least set apart from the Marley records that preceded it, is its well-placed anger mixed with an enlightened yearning. It's as if in London the musician and singer had found a peace he savoured but never fully tasted. Otherwise there'd be no explaining the classic of classics. The poster hung on the walls of countless generations. "Jamming" is universal love (and music). The living sacrifice, to use Bob's own words, that must not be wasted. That everyone should play and sing holding hands. With no more fences. Marching like apostles towards Mount Zion.

We were talking about epic and religion. But "Exodus" also exposes the more "human" side of Bob Marley. His least "spiritualized" nemesis appears in "Waiting In Vain". Bob is surprisingly cocky, hesitant, a womanizer. He pants and praises unreservedly Cindy Breakspeare, Miss World 1976 and mother of Damian Marley. His heart beats in a ballad that's part reggae lament, part lust cast to the four winds, through a sweet solo tinged with blues just a shade off the groove.

Now imagine reunifying all the world's religions and condensing them into a single message. Well, what would we sing in chorus? "Three Little Birds". That is, the three little pigs (dis)guised as birds, pecking away happily and never fearful again at the gates of an earthly paradise with Kingston as its capital. No amount of paranoia can withstand it: "'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright!". It's yet another instant classic on an album that presents a tighter version of Bob Marley and his crew, even on a purely production level. The sound is full-bodied and everything vibrates with the interrupted soul of the Jamaican songwriter on a forced trip to London, who towards the end wisely decides to dust off "One Love", released in 1965 by the Wailers on their debut album, "The Wailing Wailers", and containing a few lines from "People Get Ready", released the same year by Curtis Mayfield's Impressions. This time the I Threes are daughters of Mary in the Caribbean. And they sing a little chorus that has lit up an almost uncountable number of bonfires everywhere.

One Love! One Heart!

Let’s get together and feel alright

Hear the children crying (One Love!)

Hear the children crying (One Heart!)

Saying: give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel alright

"Exodus" would prove to be a remarkable commercial success, reaching number 8 on the British chart (where it stayed in the top 40 for 42 weeks) and number 20 on the Billboard chart in the United States. Island would then make the most of the album's global appeal, releasing as many as seven singles from it. "Exodus" would be followed by the thoroughly honest "Kaya", recorded almost simultaneously, which would deliver a few more unforgettable hits like "Is This Love?". And above all two other small great gems, not just of reggae but of music as a whole, namely "Survival" and especially "Uprising". Both would expand on the ten parables of "Exodus", giving rise to a kind of double gospel of the messiah Bob, who, despite his relentless illness, would keep giving lifeblood to the entire world, as well as taking to heart, in his unmistakable way, the untold suffering of countries like the forgotten Zimbabwe and, of course, his own Jamaica, rediscovered a few months after the exodus. There would even be an "Africa Unite", whose lyrics still tell us more or less everything, even today.

In short, to embrace one last time, and beyond the obvious differences: Bob Marley is to popular music what Thomas Sankara is to politics. And "Exodus" will remain, until the end of time, his most vivid proclamation. The all-encompassing statement of a singular style.

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05/05/2024