The 500 - #181 - Natty Dread - Bob Marley and The Wailers

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #181
Album Title: Natty Dread
Artist: Bob Marley and The Wailers

Genre: Reggae, Reggae Rock

Recorded: Harry J. Studios (Kingston, Jamaica)

Released: October, 1974
My age at release: 9
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs

Is it on the 2020 list? No
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Lively Up Yourself

In the winter of 2007, my wife and I made our first trip to Jamaica, accompanied by our friend and tour guide, Bill Gudgeon. Bill had been to the Caribbean island nation more than a dozen times, so we put our trust in him to help us navigate our first visit. Neither my wife, nor I are big fans of "all-inclusive resorts". We currently prefer to live among the locals and learn about the history, culture and cuisine from them. Despite its convenience and promise of security, all-inclusives feel a bit too culturally sanitized for our liking -- but, we can understand why people enjoy them, and our opinions are open to change.

An example of accommodations at a Jamaican resort.

The trip was fraught with obstacles from the start with a delay at the border overcome only by our prompt 3 a.m. departure time from London. Our plane needed to be de-iced before leaving Detroit, so we were hours late departing there. This led to us missing a connecting flight in Philadelphia and we had to spend our first vacation night in hotel rooms in Springfield, a small community about an hour outside the City of Brotherly Love. I did get a chance to order a Philly Cheesesteak sandwich and a Yuengling beer over lunch. I would later learn that the sandwich I got was a terrible knock-off. I still hope to get to Philly one day for an authentic cheesesteak from Jim's South Street ..."wit whiz!"

The next morning, we caught a 5 o'clock flight to Washington's Dulles Airport before spending several hours yawning and waiting for a connecting flight to Jamaica. We arrived in Montego Bay that afternoon -- our luggage, however, had other plans. Was it in Philadelphia? Was it in Washington? Was it hiding here?

My wife, Angela. with our carry-on, waiting for  word on our missing luggage.

No one seemed to know. Reluctantly we shared our cell phone numbers with the airport staff and climbed into our rental car for a trip across the Nassau Mountains toward Treasure Beach in Saint Elizabeth Parish on the south side of the island. Just as we cleared Montego Bay’s busy traffic my cell rang. It was the airport, informing us our luggage had "arrived" or "been discovered". It didn't matter which. Bill happily turned the car around and we travelled back to retrieve the errant items. We set off again, well behind schedule.

Our route from Montego Bay to Treasure Beach, across the
Blue Mountains of Jamaica.

The rural roads across Jamaica are treacherous even for seasoned drivers. Poor Bill was fighting the dwindling light as he drove on the left side of the road with an unaccustomed stick-shift and a right-sided steering wheel. The switchback roads twisted and turned sharply as they climbed 1,000 metres over a hard, black surface of sedimentary rock called marl, which shatters easily and makes the edges jagged. Shredded tires are a distinct possibility for the unsuspecting driver.

Narrow, marl covered, winding Jamaican mountain roads.

At about 11 p.m., after 38 hours of exhausting travel, we arrived at our destination -- a short-term rental house overlooking the town of Treasure Beach. Billy assured me the view was spectacular; but I'd have to wait until morning to see it. Besides, it was time for a cold Red Stripe and a good night's sleep.

Bill and me on the outdoor balcony deck of our Treasure Beach abode.

The frustration and tension of those first couple days melted away quickly as we ate, drank, suntanned, swam and snorkeled beneath a healing Caribbean sun. A particularly good day found us floating in Frenchman's Bay on a pontoon boat chartered from Bill's longtime friend and Treasure Beach resident, Captain Dennis. We sampled  local agricultural products (wink), washed down with plenty of rum. And we leisurely bobbed on small flotation devices harnessed to the boat anchored in the calm waters of the Caribbean Sea. Reggae piped through the boat speakers supplied a healthy dose of Bob Marley’s greatest hits as well as a few deeper cuts.

Bob Marley performing in the 1970s.

I recognized songs from Natty Dread, the seventh album he made with his band The Wailers. It opens with the bluesy, up-tempo and celebratory Lively Up Yourself, followed by the well-known No Woman, No Cry, a nostalgic reflection on the reggae legend’s childhood in the impoverished Trenchtown ghettos of Kingston. The rest of the record contains a number of songs with political messages of rebellion – Marley’s way of seeking social justice and change for his fellow Jamaicans. Them Belly Full (But We Hungry) served as a lyrical warning to those in power: "A hungry mob is an angry mob." The closing track, Revolution, is a powerful lyrical argument about the need for radical change when people are being suppressed and controlled. That's the thing about Marley's music -- it can be up-tempo, reflective or politically charged and socially impactful. He knew how to connect with people in so many ways before his untimely death in 1981, at 36, of cancer.

Album cover for single release of  Them Belly Full (But We Hungry).

I've always been a fan of reggae and tend to throw on a Marley record when relaxing at home, or marking some papers for school. His sound is a panacea for my racing mind, calming me instantly. Now, when I hear his voice and easy-going tempo, it isn't hard to think back to that beautiful, peaceful day -- bobbing on gentle waves, sipping rum cocktails and soaking up the Caribbean sun. The travails of our journey a few days earlier – the delays and perilous mountain drive – washed away.

A view of Frenchman's Bay from the popular local bar, Jakes.