The reggae groundswell that cups Jamaica's potential as a pop force has been heralded for many moons now, yet despite several breech-opening successes from a variety of quarters (most recently, Paul Simon and Johnny Nash, who disdains the label), the musical bandwagon that should have long ago resulted has been slow in arriving. When reggae is not being misunderstood, or lumped in with the maybe-next-time of most other "ethnic" music, its major problem has been one of communication: conveying its strengths, its irresistible attraction, the idea of what sort of musical scene would grow and come to root around the shambling zinc shacks of West Kingston.

This pitfall wasn't entirely unexpected; after all, it took incense and temple bells and bowdlerized versions of Eastern philosophy to make raga music accessible to the plush velvet crowds of Philharmonic Hall. In this case, the same sort of background flavor might be provided by The Harder They Come, a highly entertaining home-grown Jamaican movie now in release (through Roger Corman, no less) that details a fairly exotic if predictable version of the reliable outlaw-as-hero myth. Perhaps not so coincidentally, the soundtrack from this film provides an introductory overview of the reggae world that is pretty much unequaled to date, at least in America, and thus highly recommended for any who wish to initially plumb the mysteries of this latter-day inheritor of the ska and rock steady tradition.

The Harder They Come soundtrack features real Jamaican music, not some gussied-up cinematic version of same. Headlining six of the island's top reggae artists, it is essentially a greatest hits collection—leaning heavily on the work of the film's star, Jimmy Cliff—and one which appears to have been chosen as much for variety as for scenic relevance. It runs the gamut from the sleek and soul-influenced (most of Cliff's contribution falls in this vein) to voices deep within the reggae peer group (the Slickers' "Johnny Too Bad," Scotty's "Draw Your Brakes"). On first listening much of it will sound strange, if not unapproachable to a familiar ears, but the diversity here implies that if you can't make contact with one cut you will with another; and my own experience is that one is all you need. After that, you're not gonna be able to pry the sound loose, no matter how many New Seekers albums you load on your spindle.

Actually, for all its apparent simplicity, reggae is quite a sophisticated music. The rhythm section is built on a high degree of syncopation, and unlike most American brands of rhythm and blues, there is seldom any one instrument acting as anchor. Led by the bass guitar, each reggae instrument would appear to go its own way, following an individual sensibility of the song's movement. In its more street-oriented form, the result is almost serpentine, a call-response interplay of flow upon flow that somehow hustles you from one seductive verse to another.

This is matched lyrically by images that run the gamut from socio-political encouragements ("You Can Get It If You Really Want"), religion that reminds strongly of saviour-oriented spirituals (the Melodians' incredibly moving "Rivers Of Babylon"), descriptions of ghetto life ("Shanty Town" via Desmond Dekker), as well as a pair by the Maytals that probably suffer outside of a Jamaican context but who listens to words when the Sound System man arrives with his t'ousand watts anyway?

Fittingly, it's Cliff who sets the overtone for The Harder They Come, both in the movie's two themes and a matched set of jewel-like pieces that do much to describe the life-force that reggae attempts to deal with. In his hands, the songs are wailing allegories of triumphal hope, man working in the face of tremendous odds, sung in a voice that harkens back to the best of Percy Sledge: "Many rivers to cross/But I can't seem to find my way over .../Many rivers to cross/And it's only my will that keeps me alive ..."

It's not the whole reggae story (the album contains none of the legendary lay-it-on-the-line blue numbers that are perennial Kingston favorites, for instance), but the chords struck by the depth of the music here never fail to ring true. With Mango a new label that—under the helm of Island's Chris Blackwell and Shelter's Denny Cordell—promises to do for reggae what Alan Freed once fulfilled for race record rhythm and blues, The Harder They Come probably won't be alone in its struggle for long. Hoping not too much will be lost in the eventual translation, one can only look onward and upward from there. (RS 132)

LENNY KAYE