True to reggae's spiritual roots

Concert tomorrow puts Rastafarianism back at the centre of the music


At age 59, Marcia Griffiths says most people would call her brand of reggae "old school," but she's quick to add that "it's the good school. Bob Marley's work will never go in vain."

Torontonians will be treated to three of the genre's best-loved performers at the inaugural Reggae Giants concert tomorrow at Polson Pier's Sound Academy. Headlining that list is Griffiths, who made her name as a member of the I-Threes, the backing group for Bob Marley and the Wailers.

Joining Griffiths will be fellow Jamaicans John Holt – who's also a Rastafarian – and Ken Boothe. Tomorrow's show joins the Mirvish stage musical The Harder They Come, based on the 1972 film that helped put reggae – and Rastafarianism – on the map, and Rocksteady: The Roots of Reggae, a recent documentary about the genre's origins, as examples of how reggae and Rasta have been inseparable for more than four decades.

Griffiths says reggae artists have a duty to use music to educate, uplift and unite the world, adding that some still don't understand the responsibility they have. "If you are chosen to do this work, then you must contribute in a positive way," she says. "If you're in it for any other reason, then you will fall by the wayside."

Gramps Morgan, 35, agrees. As a member of renowned reggae group Morgan Heritage, he notes that reggae music grew out of the suffering experienced by impoverished Jamaicans during the tumultuous 1970s, when it was the only medium to express their grievances.

"Because of the spiritual consciousness of the Rastaman, he started using reggae as a musical ministry," Morgan says. "That's why reggae became the Rastaman's gospel music."

But as the genre evolved through the late 1990s, it spawned a host of multi-talented singers, songwriters and producers like Sizzla Kalonji and Capleton. They made their names as socially conscious lyricists but also crossed over into the lucrative dance hall scene known for its faster rhythms and lyrics that tend to favour sex and gangsterism over religion.

Renowned Jamaican deejay Buju Banton, 36, says he "came through the doorways of dance hall" in the 1990s. Even though he later turned to reggae, he says he won't turn his back on his roots. "That's why I continue to do both genres of music," he says.

The Star caught up with Buju in New York, where he was touring in support of his latest roots rock/reggae album, Rasta Got Soul, which is a far cry from some of his more controversial work.

"I'm not contradicting anything," Buju says of the change. "I refuse to get stuck on one level. Therefore, I must fluctuate and the music must grow."

That sentiment is not shared by everyone. Jamaican music icon Leroy Sibbles says that kind of inconsistency led him to cut off his dread- locks in the mid-1990s after wearing dreads for religious reasons in the 1970s and '80s while living in Toronto.

"I was one of the original Rastas," he says. "All the time I was living in Canada, I was a Rasta. There are too many false Rastas out there. That's why I cut off my locks."

Some artists were just posing and not showcasing Rastafarian teachings through their music, he says. "There was all kind of mockery. I couldn't be of a thing like that."

Sibbles says some up-and-coming artists are now wearing dreadlocks and Rastafarian garments as a front to garner more attention or the acquire the coveted tag of a socially conscious artist.

"As soon as some youngsters start to do music, they feel like they have to Ras, and they don't know nothing of Rastafari."

Those artists usually become the one-hit wonders because their music is not lyrically fortified to survive, he says. "I've watch all of the fads come and go while the real thing stands up and continue."