When Bob Marley died last year, one consoling ray of hope illuminated reggae's future: the release of Black Uhuru's Red. The driving rhythms and pointed politics of this unlikely combo – two Jamaican men and a South Carolina woman with a master's degree in social work from Columbia University – seemed to pick up where Marley left off. The exuberance of their Rastafarian faith was uplifting; their songs evoked not only Kingston but the equally mean streets of Brooklyn and Brixton; their firm stand against sexism was refreshing; and, to top it off, their partners were reggae's most creative producers, Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare. The pride with which the group sang, "I and I Black Uhuru/Stand fine burn" was utterly justified.

But Chill Out puts a damper on Black Uhuru's flame. Working with performers as disparate and alien as Grace Jones and Joe Cocker seems to have uprooted Dunbar and Shakespeare. For all of its delight in echo and reverb, reggae at its best is an organic music. Chill Out is overdubbed and doctored to death with synthesized whooshes and whistles and Vocoderized vocals. The trickery tends to trivialize the music, and the beat loses its spontaneous spring. More distressing, the album showcases Michael Rose's declamatory lead vocals instead of the improvisatory interplay of three singers, which is what made Red so inspiring. There are flashes of fire (the vehemence of the title track) and fun (the engaging groove of "Right Stuff"), but as a whole, Chill Out is cold comfort. (RS 378)

KEN EMERSON