The Roots Land Podcast Stories that are music to your ears.

Story Take this veil from off my.

Yes, here we are lifting the veil.

Greetings everyone.

I'm Henry K.

Host of Jamaica's number one music history podcast, Roots Land, welcoming you to our new show Kingston to Cali, where we explore reggae's journey out west.

And after three decades of living and producing music in Kingston, Jamaica, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that sometimes the story is the best song.

And this chapter begins in 1973, the breakout year for roots reggae music, with the US release of the movie The Harder They Come, Jimmy Cliff's cult classic about a struggling young Jamaican singer turned gangster, Ivan Ho Martin, trying to navigate his way through Jamaica's corrupt and volatile music industry.

The film's iconic soundtrack contains a who's who of early reggae royalty.

Alongside Cliff are the Melodeans, Desmond Decker, Toots and the Maitels.

Songs like the Harder They Come, Pressure Drop and Many Rivers to Cross help shine a light on the island's violence, corruption and poverty.

That very same year, the original Wailers, Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer released their first two albums on the Island Records label, the critically acclaimed Catch a Fire and its follow up LP Burning featuring I Shot the Sheriff, which would quickly be covered by rock superstar Eric Clapton, who would score his very first number one Billboard hit with the Marley penned track.

Reggae Music, with its bass, heavy, hypnotic one drop rhythm and socially conscious lyrics depicting life in Kingston's ghetto, was unleashed and would have an immediate global impact.

In one part of the world it felt more like an earthquake.

California, the Golden State, you know, Eureka.

There's gold up in those hills.

And those aren't the only valuable nuggets found in the fertile Cali soil.

Which actually may be why it's cultivated such a vibrant, thriving reggae scene over the years.

Meanwhile, as reggae was starting to gain popularity in the States in the early 70s, there was a growing sense of disillusionment within the hippie and counterculture movements with the commercialization and corporatization of their beloved rock music.

What had been an important vehicle for anti establishment ideals and a symbol for rebellion against the screwed up system had been co opted by the entertainment companies and record labels all looking to cash in on the revolution.

Capitalize on a music that was anti capitalist wasn't a great look to many fans and rock loyalists, the music sold out.

They're rock heroes living lives of excess and overindulgence, which seemed to contradict the humble and communal spirit of the hippie movement.

A generation like the great music historian and author Roger Steffens was now looking for something to fill the void, a sound that could capture the mood and the spirit of a not so distant past.

When, as Bob Dylan said, there was music in the cafes at night and revolution in the air.

Here's what Roger Steffens told me.

I grew up in the 50s on doo wop and harmony groups, and that introduced me to some of the most ethereally beautiful music I've heard to this day.

The 60s began with the folk movement and led to Dylan almost immediately, and consciousness entered the music.

And by the end of the 60s, those little tiny labels that created this thrilling movement and music were all bought up by the majors and they deracinated the music.

And by the early 70s, you know, disco and that other, you know, just took all the meaning out of music.

And by 1973, people like me were looking for something that would mix the great harmonies of the 50s with the consciousness, the political awareness, the call to rebellion of the 60s music.

And you listen to Bob's album, Catch a Fire, right from Concrete Jungle on what an effect that had.

Won't come out to play Won't come out to play I said darkness, darkness has stopped in my light and has changed and has changed my day to night where is the love to be found?

Or someone tell me?

Cause lies we have to be to be found.

By the year 1973, most of the great rock groups from the psychedelic era had either disbanded or signed deals with record labels and became part of a corporate system that they rallied so hard against the Jefferson Airplane, who would later drop the Airplane to become a starship.

Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, who would later drop the Young and then bring him back.

The Allman Brothers, Sly and the Family Stone, Santana were all signed to labels, have Billboard charting albums and hit songs, appear on talk shows and award ceremonies, eventually master the art of a 3 minute and 30 second song that could fit into a standard radio format.

However, there was one group that stayed true to their 1960s counterculture roots.

They resisted the commercialization of the music.

In fact, they even started their own record label, the band the Grateful Dead.

Anchored by the spiritually infused musicianship of their charismatic leader, Jerry Garcia.

Jerry couldn't even tune his guitar in 3 minutes and 30 seconds, much less worry about writing a song that fit into a neat little box or top 40 radio format.

The Grateful Dead were masters of improvisation.

Their extended jams had a transcendent, mystical quality.

And whether musically or commercially, as the Band grew.

They remained fiercely independent and kept their anti establishment attitudes, breaking all the rules of the music industry.

Along the way, they created an extended family.

They fostered a community among their fans.

Known as Deadheads.

The band allowed their fans to record shows and trade tapes, sell T shirts and food and other assorted accoutrements, both legal and not.

The Grateful Dead rejected the notion of music as a commodity, but as a universal gift to be shared and enjoyed by all.

At the time, that attitude was considered foolish and reckless.

And yet now has become the model for an entire industry.

In 1973, one of those musical gifts that Jerry Garcia was sharing with his fans while touring with his side project, the Jerry Garcia Band, was a song that perfectly embodied the values of the great hippie movement.

A song whose lyrics speak to the idea of standing up to authority and a corrupt system, no matter how powerful they may seem.

That song was the Harder They Come, the title track from the Jimmy Cliff movie.

And the lyrics defiantly state, the oppressors are trying to keep me down Trying to drive me underground and they think they've got the battle Wonderful.

I say forgive them, Lord, they know not what they've done.

Cause as sure as the sun will shine I'm gonna get my share of what's mine the harder they come the harder they fall One and all.

They tell me of a pie up in the sky Waiting for me when I die from the minute you born to when you die you never seem to be New York and as sure as the sun will shine Gonna get my share what's mine and then the hall they come.

Before the Jimmy Cliff film was even released in America, Jerry was all in on Jimmy and this new reggae sound.

And by adding Harder They Come to his set list, it became an unofficial invitation for his legions of Deadheads, many who were still just becoming familiar with reggae music, to join the battle.

And while the civil rights legislation had passed, the Vietnam War was winding down.

Nixon was disgraced and would soon resign.

But the struggle, the cause, was long from over.

And to Jerry, reggae represented roots and rebellion.

It gave a voice to the marginalized and disenfranchised people.

The Harder They Come's exploration of poverty and injustice and the harsh realities faced by the underclass aligned with the hippie movement and the Deadheads, who had always shown concern for the underprivileged and fought for social and economic equality.

Yet above all, Jerry was a guitar player, a lover of music and musicianship.

And reggae was great friggin music that moved people in an undeniable way, as Jesse Jarno, co host of the good old Grateful Dead cast, recounts in our.

Conversation, by the end of 73, you know, there's an account of him going to see the Whalers on their.

What I'm pretty sure was their first trip through San Francisco.

Then they played the New Matrix, which is a tiny little club.

And then he saw them again a couple Years later in 76, when they played the Bay Area in May of.

I think, May of 76.

And, yeah, reggae just becomes part of his vocabulary, especially in the Dead, the Dead's vocabulary.

And, yeah, I mean, I think it was just such a natural thing for that scene, you know, obviously, the just loving Marley's songwriting at some point.

You know, just recognizing that this guy was a.

You know, that, you know, Jimmy Cliff, that these were powerful songwriters and powerful musicians with.

With their own voices that came out of this place that was aligned with the beliefs of the California musicians without, you know, while being very much its own thing.

I think that was just a, you know, recognizing that this was something, like, real.

Obviously, there's the revolutionary aspect, but there's also the aspect of Marley being the studio rat, like, absorbing all the lessons of songwriting and harmonies and arrangements and just, you know, the history of the Dead's albums through then as they're constantly kind of moving through approaches or styles or, you know, just sort of evolving their sound.

So I think for them, that was kind of where reggae fit in, was kind of.

They were continuing to push the vocabulary of what for them it meant to be a band, which I think was a continual source of excitement.

And so, you know, the Harder They Come, you know, I guess that, you know, the fun fact about that from Dead, you know, Dead Point of Views, that's one of the albums that Garcia covered the most songs from.

You know, I think he covered three to three songs off of that record.

You know, sitting.

Sitting in limbo.

The Harder They Come and then Johnny Too Bad a little bit.

Towards the end.

Towards the end of his career.

Walking down the road with the pistol in your waist Walking down the road with the ratchet in your waist.

While rock bands like the Grateful Dead, Eric Clapton, the Rolling Stones and others incorporated elements of reggae into their sounds throughout the 70s, there were no better ambassadors for the music than the Jamaican artists themselves.

Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Jimmy Cliff, Dennis Brown, Burning Spear, Toots and the Maitels all started fanning out and touring the world, electrifying audiences with a red, golden, green Rastafarian roadshow that had crowds transfixed from the moment these groups took the stage, these early ska, rocksteady and roots pioneers cultivated an appreciation for Jamaican music as an art form.

The fashion, the dancing, the language.

These artists broke racial as well as musical barriers and helped pave the way for the current wave of reggae superstars.

No doubt this was tireless work.

Extended tours and time away from their families, often for low paying gigs or promotional shows just to introduce the sound and genre to new audiences.

With limited promotional budgets, exposure for reggae concerts was always challenging.

But what made things more difficult was that mainstream media and top 40 radio stations always treated reggae music like a second class citizen, even up to today.

So early on, the Rostov Revolution, which always preached about self reliance, adapted to the situation.

Reggae music built up its own infrastructure.

An underground network of publications, street teams, promoters, radio DJs, clubs and restaurant owners.

Some were part of the wave of Jamaican immigrants that arrived in the 70s to US cities like Miami, New York and LA.

Others, just hardcore reggae fans who were happy to lend a hand supporting a music and movement that they loved and were committed to.

And at the very center of this reggae universe, a vital lifeline that kept the genre alive and constantly in the public eye, were the local community radio stations and their dedicated and passionate DJs, radio hosts and program directors that continually advocated for reggae and world music.

They would spend all day digging through crates at downtown record stores and flea markets, and then long nights playing the rare selections they discovered on their search.

They interviewed the musicians passing through town on tour and plugged the local venues promoting the shows.

Often these radio DJs toiled for no reward except the pure joy of spreading the gospel of reggae to their loyal listeners and to the newly converted disciples in Jah's army.

And in no part of the country or the planet was there a more significant, more revered, more influential group of reggae disc jockeys.

Then, out in California, Starting in the mid-70s, there was the holy trinity of Lance Lennar at KUSP in Santa Cruz, Roger Stephens at KCRW in la, and Doug Wendt.

The Midnight Dread aired on KTIM in San Rafael.

These were reggae connoisseurs, truly dedicated to their craft, broadcasting live and direct, the most authentic, cutting edge, highest quality, sonically relevant sounds straight from Jamaica.

And between the trio, they covered the airwaves for the entire California coast, all at the same time for decades.

Just an amazing convergence of talent that understood and appreciated the importance of the music they were playing.

Their love for reggae was infectious, had a profound impact on generations of California youth, tweens and teens.

That would stay up late taping the radio shows so they could play them at the beaches and skate parks that very next day, While kicking back and sharing a big spliff of California's finest skunk with their crew, Some of these teenagers would become musicians themselves and draw on their early experiences with reggae radio to help define their sounds.

And speaking of Cali skunk buds, let's talk about the real glue, or should I say resin, that directly connects Jamaican reggae culture to sunny California, Two places that have a reputation for producing the most potent and sought after cannabis on the planet.

You think that's just a coincidence?

In the late 60s and early 70s, groups of hippies that had grown frustrated with the complexities of modern urban life decided to save up money and buy up plots of land in Humboldt county, A rural area in northern California made up of dense forests and rugged coastline.

They set up micro farms to help finance and build a sustainable community with proper infrastructure.

Schools, fire and police departments, community centers.

You see, after years of deforestation, the property was cheap.

And although the bohemian newcomers didn't realize it at the time, the abuse that the land suffered at the hands of the logging industry created a perfect microclimate with fertile soil, untamed watersheds, and a dense rolling fog that covered the hills with a dewy mist.

All the right conditions for cultivating cannabis.

And not just any cannabis.

Turns out, Humboldt county rose some of the finest strains of herb in the world, Considered by many to be the domes Perignon of saints Amelia.

And during the same period, on the Caribbean island of Jamaica, the influence and teachings of Rastafari elders like Mortimer Plano started to take hold in the ghettos of Kingston, the very same tenements and gullies where reggae was being incubated.

And as these musicians began to adapt the Rastafarian lifestyle, they naturally began to incorporate the spiritual elements of the faith into their music and lyrics.

And one of the main tenets central to Rastafarian philosophy is that cannabis sativa is a holy herb given to man by the Almighty Father Ja Rastafari, to be used as a sacrament in prayer.

Ganga, the hola herb, as it's called in Jamaica, allows the user to tap into deeper levels of consciousness and achieve an introspective state that, in the case of these reggae musicians, help them explore new musical themes.

After sense, Amelia was introduced to the sonic landscape.

It facilitated a change to the music.

The rhythm slowed down and became steady, and the one drop beat was born, or should I say reborn, Patterned after ancient African nyabingi drumming developed by our ancestors thousands of years ago.

The tempo designed to match the rate of the human heartbeat at rest.

Which is why reggae is in sync to the mind and the body.

Senseimilia, kaya, kali, ganja.

Known by many names, it became deeply ingrained in Jamaican culture.

Its presence within reggae's lyrics and imagery served to reinforce the genre's roots and cultural authenticity.

Of course, there's always idiotic white kids that smoke big fat joints pretending to be Rastas speaking horrendous patois.

But the Rastafarian concept that sense Amelia has healing properties and creates a deep spiritual awareness was nothing new to the educated and more progressive cannabis users and growers, especially in California's Emerald Triangle region.

You see, for over half a century, Jamaica's Rastas shared a common belief with California's hippies and herbalists that cannabis sativa in its various forms, whether THC or cbd, had legitimate medical uses.

For thousands of years, the herb had been brewed in teas, tonics and tinctures, smoked by indigenous people to reach higher planes of consciousness, relieve stress, cure pain, help with seizures and serious medical conditions.

All the while, the so called legitimate medical and pharmaceutical communities shrugged off these timeless, proven remedies and mocked and ridiculed those who condoned them.

Labeled cannabis proponents as weed heads, burnouts, quacks.

In Jamaica, artists like Peter Tosh, Toots Hibbert, Bunny Wailer were singled out for advocating for marijuana's legalization.

They were beaten, jailed, sacrificed precious years of their careers for their advocacy.

And now science has caught up with these Rastafarian elders and old school hippies.

And those same doctors and experts that denied cannabis healing and medicinal properties were all lining up to cash in on the cash crop.

Is it any wonder why there's so much distrust with the medical and pharmaceutical industries?

Just as the stars aligned to give Humboldt county the perfect climate for growing world class cannabis, both natural elements and man made forces came together throughout the 70s to make California a permanent reggae stronghold.

Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead embraced the music, and their merry band of socially conscious hippies in heads literally follow Jerry's lead down reggae's path.

In fact, by 1979, when you look at the audience at Bob Marley's historic California concerts, you'll notice the pack crowds, everyone on their feet singing all the lyrics to his songs.

You'll also notice that the audience is almost entirely white hippies, something that Marley himself acknowledged.

And although he never took any of his fans for granted, it became Bob's life mission.

For reggae music to make inroads in the black American community.

By the end of the decade, it was clear that a new generation of California hippies were being introduced to the mellow, one love vibe of roots reggae.

Festivals began popping up, and young deadheads in tie dyes and bandanas swarmed by the thousands to get lost in reggae's soulful sounds.

But as the 1980s started rolling in, reggae music's godfather, ska, was about to show his little boy.

The old man still had some pep in his step, some Doc Martens in his stomp.

Even Bob Marley recognized there was a punky reggae party happening in the uk.

And it turns out Callie had a bad case of fomo.

Wanted an invite, and if they didn't get one, they were ready to crash the party.

Either way, the original rude boy ska was coming to California.

But that wasn't the only family member making their way out west.

There was a young bastard cousin from Jamaica, a dangerous dude they called dancehall, also trying to make a name for himself.

And when ska, roots, reggae and dancehall got together for their dysfunctional family reunion, let's just say the result turned out to be sublime.

Oh, yeah.

Will they tell me you're papai up in the sky waiting for me when I die?

But between the day you're born and when you die they never seem to hear even your cry.

So as sure as the sun will shine I'm gonna get my sheer now what's mine and then the harder they come the harder they'll fall one and all.

Ooh, the harder they come the harder they'll fall One and all.

Well, the oppressors are trying to keep me down Trying to drive me underground.

And they think that they have got the battle won.

I say forgive them, Lord they know not what they've done.

Cause as sure as the sun will shine I'm gonna get my share now what's mine and then the harder they come the harder they'll fall One and all the harder they go One and who.