Another early star for Studio One, Delroy Wilson got his start as a 15-year-old weapon for Dodd’s soundsystem, recording “specials” to ridicule opponents. That youth may explain why his soulful turns often sound less self-conscious than those of his predecessors or his contemporaries. His take on the Temptations’ “Get Ready” (from Heartbeat’s The Best of . . . Original Eighteen) shows at once how original Jamaican versions of American pop songs can be. John Holt has a haunting voice that’s appropriate for the sort of over-possessive love songs that were once all the vogue (and now are mercifully rare, if not quite quaint). He gives shape to worlds of possibility amid bleak social and political landscapes, and embitterment and disappoint exist alongside celebration and faith. Supported by the Paragons on the cautionary “Change Your Style” (from his Studio One collection I Can’t Get You Off My Mind), the singer addresses Kingston’s infamous, rebellious youths. “Hooligan business cold,” Holt harmonizes, “let only love fill your soul.” He throws in a cover of George Harrison’s famous R&B ripoff (“My Sweet Lord”) for good, mirror-mirror measure.
Although these seminal rocksteady and early reggae recordings attest to Studio One’s legacy, Heartbeat has released some of the imprint’s heavy, ’70s-era roots reggae as well. Featuring another Studio One child prodigy, Freddy McGregor’s Bobby Babylon was recorded in the late ’70s and released at the dawn of the dancehall era. At times it sounds almost sentimental in its pop-song structures and prevailing plaintiveness, but such militant numbers as “Take Over Now,” “I Am a Revolutionist,” and the title track leave little doubt that McGregor was engaged with historical and social themes and that ska represented “independence” for the people of Jamaica. Among the reissue’s bonus tracks is an extended mix of McGregor’s “When I’m Ready” featuring the talented talkover of Lone Ranger, both riding the riddim underlying John Holt’s 1970 smash “A Love I Can Feel.”
Collecting 18 bass-heavy, slow-as-syrup cuts — all B-sides, or “versions,” of Studio One offerings from 1966-’82 — Version Dread may be the gem of the bunch, especially for the “meditative” listener. Selected from Wilson’s own prized collection of 45s, the disc presents Studio One’s restrained approach to the arts of “versioning” and “dubbing” (i.e., manipulating previous recordings with studio technology to create new forms). Less showy than the work of Lee “Scratch” Perry, as he became known, or King Tubby, the dubs on Version Dread are distinctive and deep all the same.
Of course, Studio One possessed an unrivaled catalogue from which to version, and here one hears some of reggae’s biggest songs and riddims tweaked and remixed in reverent, subtle fashion. Between Dodd’s expert ears and the sonic magic worked by his indispensable engineer, Sylvan Morris, there’s plenty of play at hand: sounds tumble across time and space, pinging around the stereofield and spinning off in polyrhythm against beats that seem concrete till they melt in mid air; snatches of singers and DJs ghost over hard drums and big bass while echoes of horns and guitars, filtered down to shadows of themselves, lurk beneath the texture and occasionally erupt into focus. If this is the sound of a legacy, it is one that is rock-solid but infinitely malleable, classic but forever modern.
