More Time: Review.

Review: More Time

Linton Kwesi Johnson

More Time

(LKJ Records LTD, 1998)

"More time fi abolish overtime!"

Photo by Lioness

The militant decree is from Jamaican-born, English-raised reggae poet/vocalist Linton Kwesi Johnson, on the title song from his tenth album, More Time. Designed with a tip of the hat to Desmond Dekker's Israelitesalbum sleeve, More Time makes you shake with anticipation just holding the damn thing.

.Author and performer of five of the greatest albums in the history of recorded music (Dread Beat an' Blood (1978), Forces of Victory (1979), Bass Culture (1980), LKJ in Dub (1981), and Making History (1984)) and as a political writer and activist, Johnson is distinctly aware of such anticipation

One expects edifying lyrics on an LKJ album. The uncompromising, worker-focused demand for more leisure time on "More Time" made me smile foolishly at the great man's moxie. Who does he think he is, demanding a 32-hour work week? He's a smart strategist who knows that the bosses are feeling vulnerable now, so he drops common-sense lyrics that appeal to the listener's sense of family, keeping in mind the Filipino and Thai slave laborers who prop up our consumer markets.

"Liesense fi Kill," the first single from More Time, puts LKJ in the role of Doubting Thomas as he ruminates, "Sometimes mi think mi coworker crazy," in trying to reason whether a friend obsessed with conspiracy theories about British police and black people is really all that crazy. It's a brilliant device: LKJ the militant socialist as an ordinary soul uncertain of the truth, willing to listen, in awe at the power of another's radical mind.

What a refreshing surprise, then, to hear More Time as a pop album, written for a broad audience. People who dig the hard, punishing beats of contemporary Jamaican music will grit their teeth and sweat up the dancefloor to the sharp drums and brutalizing bass of "Liesense fi Kill." Lovers of African pop may dig "If I Waz a Tap Natch Poet," the self-effacing but proud declaration of literary identity first heard on LKJ A Cappella. Those who enjoy deep, meditative sounds will rock to "Hurricane Blues," a love poem of astounding simplicity and feeling (also first heard on LKJ A Cappella), "Poems of Shape and Motion," Johnson's first 'cover' version (the lyrics are by the late Guyanese poet Martin Carter) and "Seasons of the Heart," a reggae reflection on Johnson's years of struggle as an expression of universal love.

The album is not perfect. The keyboard on "If I Waz a Tap Natch Poet" has a plastic, factory-preset quality inconsistent with the powerful, driving rhythm of the Dub Band, and those who remember the haunting harmonica of "Sonny's Lettah" from Forces of Victory may lament the descent into synthesized harmonica that introduces "Liesense fi Kill."

Long-time LKJ collaborator John Kpiaye, one of the most singular, expressive guitarists alive, is the standout instrumentalist of More Time, expressing acute pain with simple slide figures on "Hurricane Blues" and in doubling up fellow LKJ veteran Dennis Bovell's deadly bassline on "Liesense fi Kill." Johnson's ear for the long-lasting horn blast remains keen on "New Word Hawdah," and his vocal delivery throughout More Time - rock solid, rhythmically correct, authoritative, human, and very, very rich in tone - solidifies his status as one of the great vocalists of the 20th century.

Citizen, agitator, essayist, poet, songwriter, vocalist, musician - Linton Kwesi Johnson remains the highest standard by which any true socialist, artist, or thinking, feeling human being might measure her or his own achievement.

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