Song 182: “Many Rivers to Cross” by Jimmy Cliff

A History of Folk Music and 500 Songs

by Andrew H.

Song 182

Many Rivers to Cross by Jimmy Cliff

Before we begin, I have to note that Jimmy Cliff, the subject of today's episode, sadly died just a few days ago.

I had actually written most of this episode when it was announced that he died, and obviously I've had to do a bit of rewriting as a result of that.

Originally, while Cliff's song is the hook that the episode is hung on, the episode was not going to be as much about Cliff and his career as a whole as it was a more general look at the development of reggae, with Cliff's music just the lens to see it through.

With Cliff's death, it felt a little inappropriate to do that.

So this completed version now has far more about Cliff himself than I initially intended, while still being about the development of reggae and its popularisation outside Jamaica.

But this episode can still only cover a tiny fraction of the 60-year career of one of the most important Jamaican musicians of all time.

And I should note that Cliff was an extremely private man, so this really does cover his career rather than his life.

The episode also discusses racism, both anti-black racism from white people, and racism from black Jamaicans against people of Chinese descent.

James Chambers always knew he wanted to be a singer from a very early age.

He was brought up in rural Jamaica by a single father, and his early years were quite brutally poor, growing up with his father and brother in a one-room shack with no electricity and no plumbing, though there was always the river, and as he said later, I really enjoyed that period of my life, because there were rivers to go to and the beach.

His first experiences of music were singing in church, and even at an early age he seems to have had an ambivalent attitude to religion, saying, I enjoyed the singing of the church, but when the preaching came on I slept.

His father was a very religious Christian, but over the years Cliff seemed to move between different religious views, investigating them all intensely, and being first a Christian, then briefly a master, then for many years a follower of the nation of Islam, before finally deciding that, as he put it, the religious thing was one of the many doors I went through.

It was just another classroom I studied. I'm graduated now, and saying, now I believe in science.

But when he was seven, he had to move for the first time in what would become a rather peripatetic life, as he went for a while to live with his grandmother while his father rebuilt their shack after Hurricane Charlie hit.

While there, he had a couple of experiences that would affect his outlook for the rest of his life. For the first time, he experienced colourism.

The cousins he was living with were all lighter skinned than him, and his grandmother, who was also dark-skinned, tried to instill in him a blackest beautiful attitude to counteract the negative messages he was getting from others.

His grandmother also became the first person to encourage him to sing.

He would climb a tree and sing as loudly as he could, and if the neighbours complained, she would tell them off, saying that God had given him a talent and he was obviously going to use it.

While he was only with his grandmother a relatively short period of time before returning to his father, these lessons of hers seemed to have given him the kind of confidence that most people couldn't dream of, something that would make a huge difference in his chosen career.

On returning to his father's home, he started to occasionally sneak into a nearby tavern, not to drink alcohol, but to listen to music.

Young James's father was a strict Pentecostal who thought that all secular music was the work of the devil, but James disagreed, and the tavern had one of the sound systems that were becoming popular in Jamaica, playing mostly Cuban and Latin American music like son and mumba.

He would also sneak off to listen to music with a friend who had a radio, and go to another bar where they had a jukebox.

He'd listen to the songs and learn them, then offer to sing them for the customers for a glass of soda.

He was particularly impressed with New Orleans RB like Fats Domino and Professor Longhair, whose music had many of the same rhythms that were used in the Cuban music he heard on the sound system,

and in the calypso and mento made by local Jamaican musicians.

When I see the mighty rod,

I wanna know what's kind of a problem.

He also, though, developed a broad musical taste, becoming a fan of artists as varied as Bobby Darrin, Sam Cook, and Little Richard.

Of them all, though, it was Fats Domino who was his favourite, and his first performances, in talent shows at summer camps put on by the 4-H Club, an organisation that provides hands-on education for rural children, were all of Fats Domino songs.

Already a budding professional even as a child, he took on a stage name for these, saying later, I was born in the mountainous part of Summerton up in the cliffs where I could see all of Summerton, so I thought, Why don't I use Cliff, because it's the heights?

And then my father used to call me Jimmie when I was a good boy, and James when I was a bad boy, so why not use Jimmie?

James Chambers became Jimmie Cliff, and that would be the name he would use for the rest of his career.

He knew even as a child he wanted to become a professional singer, but had little idea how to go about it, and the people around him were no help.

When he asked a teacher how one wrote a song, he was told, Well, you just write one.

He did, though the song he wrote, I'll go wooing, is seemingly lost to time. But he kept trying to perform anywhere he could.

His first major performance was at the National Achievement Day run by 4-H, where children from all over the country were gathered to take part in competitions.

He entered the competition and sang the fats domino song Be My Guest, A Capella.

alright.

So be my guest tonight.

We're gonna dance to the Rock Hill.

We're gonna even

do a stroll.

We're gonna Lindy Hoppis to the cube. There's a special party just for you.

My, my, oh my.

Gee, you so.

At least, that's the story told in the one biography of Cliff, David Katzer's very good book on him. But Cliff was probably misremembering the song.

The biography says this happened when he was fourteen, so that would place it between July 1958 and July 1959, but Domino only recorded the track in August 1959.

I say he probably misremembered the song rather than misremembering the year, because we also know that when he was fourteen Cliff moved away from the countryside to Kingston in order to pursue his education.

Cliff's teachers had picked him out as especially bright, and there were no opportunities where he grew up, and so he moved to the big city.

His father had hoped for him to maybe become a doctor or lawyer, but when asked if he'd rather have extra tuition money so he could go into the professions, or have the money spent on a radio for him to take with him, Cliff chose the radio and started training to become an electrician instead, while living temporarily with various of his father's acquaintances who put him up as a favour.

He attended night school at Kingston Technical College, but soon he heard a record that would change his life forever.

What made that so special wasn't the record itself, but that Cliff found out that the singer, Laura Laitin, was Jamaican and lived in Kingston.

Suddenly, the idea of being a rhythm and blues star was something that could happen to him, not just to people in another country.

He entered a talent contest which gave cash prizes to the winner, but also led to opportunities to get broadcast on the radio.

Unfortunately, what he hadn't realised was that the winner was chosen by audience vote.

which meant in practice, as this usually means for that kind of event, that the winner was whoever had got most friends to buy tickets.

As Cliff was relatively new to the city and the show was on the other side of town from where he was staying, he hadn't packed the audience and came dead last.

However, the town show moved to different theatres each week, and he tried again closer to home, forewarned as to what to expect, and on his second attempt performed a version of Owen Gray's Sinner's Weep.

gonna weep and more

Because it's gonna be a great and boring

I want to go and tell your friends

I want you go and tell your friends

I want you go and tell your friends

Because this may be the end

This time he won enough money to buy himself a new pair of trousers and give some money to the cousin he was staying with at the time.

Frankie Benito, the pianist in the talent show's band, encouraged Cliff to try to record, but at first he couldn't get anyone interested.

At the time, most of the record production in Jamaica was, as we discussed in the episode of My Boy Lollipop, done by the DJs who ran the popular sound systems, making records primarily for themselves to play.

Cliff tried all the major sound system names like Duke Reed and Cox and Dodd. but none of them were interested.

Eventually, he went to the manager of a smaller sound system, Count Boise the Monarch, and Boise agreed to record a little Richard knockoff Cliff had written titled Daisy Got Me Crazy.

Unfortunately, Boise did not agree to pay Cliff what he thought he deserved, an experience later shared by Ivan, Cliff's character in The Harder They Come.

The deal Cliff was offered was somewhat worse than Ivan's, though. Boise only offered him a shilling for his bus fare, and never actually released the record, only playing it on his own sound system.

Cliff kept trying though. For a short while he was in a duo called Cliff and Smith with another singer Keith Smith.
But Smith proved unreliable and Cliff was soon on his own again.

His next recording was marginally more successful than his failed attempt with Count Boise.

Recording with Sir Cavalier, a new producer who'd started his own label High Tone, he finally got to release a single, an original titled I'm Sorry.

That track was not a success, though it did also get licensed to Bluebeat Records in the UK.

But Cliff was now officially a professional recording artist, even though the amount of money he'd made from it was minimal, he got £15,

enough to buy a pair of trousers, a hat and a chicken to eat. That was enough though for him to become convinced that he could make a living as a singer.

He quit technical school, and in doing so fell out badly with his father, and started taking odd jobs, living hand to mouth while trying to become a success as a performer.

But his single hadn't been successful enough for Sir Cavalier to want to make any more records with him. He tried every record producer in Kingston, and none of them saw his potential.

But that didn't stop Cliff. One thing that comes through over and over again in Cliff's story is that he was just not someone who would give up, no matter how impossible things seemed.

So he made his own record producer. At the time, there was a shop in Kingston called Beverly's, owned by three Chinese Jamaican brothers whose surname was Kong.

All the accounts seem to differ as to what the shop actually sold.

According to some sources, it was a restaurant and ice cream parlour with a real estate business in the back, while others say it was a jumble store selling cosmetics, ice cream and records.

Whatever it sold, Cliff decided that if he wrote a song called Dearest Beverly, that might persuade the Kong brothers to record him.

you've been away

so long

and all because I love you wrong

he came to the shop one night just as it was closing up and made his pitch to the brothers Two of them pointed out reasonably enough that they weren't in the record business and didn't know anything at all about record production but Leslie Kong was interested and asked Cliff to sing.

After Cliff finished singing his song, Fats and Cecil Kong both laughed, but Leslie decided that Cliff had a great voice and that he was going to become a record producer.

But at the time, Kong didn't completely trust his own instincts, so he asked for a second opinion.

He told Cliff that they would make a record together, but only if Cliff could get Derek Morgan to endorse him.

Derek Morgan was an acquaintance of Cliff's, and someone who had followed a somewhat similar path a year or two

Both were RB fans, though Morgan imitated Little Richard while Cliff preferred Fat Stomino.

And Morgan had started out by winning the same talent contest, via Johns's Opportunity Hour, that Cliff had tried and failed to win. But by this point, he was the biggest star in Jamaica.

He'd worked with Duke Reed, Cox and Dodd, and Prince Buster, creating hits like Fat Man.

At one point in 1960, apparently the entire top seven in the Jamaican pop charts was made up of Morgan's records. Kong had two different aims in mind with asking for Morgan's endorsement.

The first was to check that somebody with any kind of experience in the business thought that Cliff had a chance of success. A reasonable enough question given that Kong was a complete outsider.

And the second was to hopefully get Morgan to record for him as well. Even if Jimmy Cliff didn't make a hit record, Derek Morgan probably would, and that would justify Kong's investment.

Morgan thought Cliff was very talented, but he also thought that Dearest Beverly, while a good song, was too slow to be commercial, so Cliff came up with another song, Hurricane Hattie, a bouncy track with a rather unpleasant lyrical message, that if his girlfriend didn't treat him right, he'd be as destructive as a recent hurricane.

With Morgan's endorsement, Kong set up two recording sessions.

Morgan suggested the Baccamusicians, Drumbago's All-Stars, the group of session musicians who were Kingston's equivalent to the Wrecking Crew or Motown's Funkfrothers.

These musicians would change over the years and eventually evolve into the Scatalites, though by that time without the eponymous rumbago. The sessions all featured multiple singers.

At the first session, Cliff recorded Dearest Beverly, Morgan recorded She's Gone.

Sonnonda Tuesday when the third bride is not there, she's gone.

She went over to him

down in the battle, she's gone.

And Evic Monty Morris, a friend of Morgan's, who was another veteran of Via John's Opportunity Hour, and who would later go on to become the lead singer of the Scatalites, recorded Cinderella.

Cinderella don't cry

Cinderella good cry To the body

grandmother

will be there too Incidentally, Morris later recorded that song in a more well-known version for another producer Joe Gibbs.

That sort of thing happened a lot in the Jamaican music industry, where people would often remake songs many times.

The same track might be released in different mixes under different titles, and backing tracks would often be reused for other singers.

Because of this, and the way those tracks have often since been collected onto compilations in rather haphazard manners, it's possible that sometimes I'll be using the wrong version of a song without realising it.

In this case, though, that's definitely the version recorded at this session. At the second session, Kong organized, Cliff recorded Hurricane Hattie, Owen Gray recorded Darling Patricia.

And Morgan recorded Be Still, a song in which he, in part, mocked Gray and claimed to be better than him.

Be still,

I'm your superior, so please be still.

Be still,

I'm your superior, so please be still.

When a liar is sleeping, never you drag awaken.

All three of Be Still, Darling Patricia and Hurricane Hattie became Jamaican number one hits, but I'm not sure that what I just played you is the original version of Be Still.

That copy is from the 1962 UK issue of the song, and the production is credited to Prince Buster. I haven't been able to track down a copy that I can definitively source to the 1961 Jamaican issue.

And this would normally not matter too much. I'd assume that it was the same recording licensed to a different producer, given it was less than a year later.

But in this case, I'm not at all sure that any licensing agreement between Prince Buster and Leslie Kong would or could have existed, so it may well be a remade version.

You see, many of the people in this story, including at points, Cliff himself, have held to black supremacist viewpoints, being either Rastafarians at a time when most Rastas believed that all black people were superior to whites, or, as in the case of Prince Buster, and of Cliff for much of the 70s, though not yet at this point in time, members of the Nation of Islam, a religion which has a lot of the same origins as Rastafari,

both being inspired by the work of Marcus Garvey, and is essentially to mainstream Islam what Rastafari is to mainstream Christianity.

Now, the Nation of Islam holds, or certainly held at the time, the view that all white people of Western European descent, and also most Jewish people, are literal devils, created by an evil black scientist named Jacob and incapable of doing good.

Now, personally, I think there are some problems with that belief. But then, as a white person of Western European descent myself, I am hardly likely to say otherwise, am I?

That said, it is at least understandable why black people in mid-20th century America, where ex-slaves were still in living memory for many, or in Jamaica, still a colony of the British Empire until the 60s, might draw such a conclusion, even if one thinks it's perhaps a tad harsh.

The official dogma of the nation holds that this is only true of those groups, and that Asian people, for example, count as black.

Buster, on the other hand, seems to have held to a definition in which people of Chinese descent like Kong counted as white.

I've seen various discussions of the racial dynamics of colonialism in Jamaica, and the implicit and explicit racial hierarchies held at the time.

Remember that, at this point, Jamaica was still a colony of the British Empire, and how that fed into Buster's ideas about Chinese people.

And as a British white man, there is simply nothing sensible I can say about that.

But what I will say is that Buster's response was to release a string of virulently anti-Chinese records attacking his associate Morgan for recording with a Chinese man and accusing them of stealing his work.

I will not be accepting those here, but what I will say is that Jimmy Cliff, even at a point where he too was a member of the Nation of Islam and held similar racial views, said that what really upset Buster and the other producers of the time was that Leslie Kong actually paid the artists who recorded for him a decent amount of money, while none of the others did.

Leslie Kong was not the only Jamaican of Chinese descent to be making a mark in the early days of Scar.

Another, and one who had entered Jimmy Cliff's life through the same process that led to Jamaican independence, was the bass player Byron League, leader of the Dragonairs, a band so prominent that they appeared in the first James Bond film the next year, 1962, which was also the year of Jamaican independence.

Leo though didn't start out as a ska musician, and his move into the genre was as the result of one of the very politicians who was responsible for shaping Jamaica's newfound independence.

We've talked a bit about Alan Lomax in this series, but Lomax was only one of a number of ethnomusicologists educated in the US who devoted their time to going around the world recording usually black, usually poor musicians in the name of anthropology.

Most of them inspired directly or indirectly by Lomax's father John. Many of these people had impact on the world of scholarship or music.

Very few helped to popularize an important genre of music and change world culture. And even fewer did so as essentially their side hustle while helping to found a country.

Possibly the only one who did was Edward Siaga, the man who would become Jamaica's fifth prime minister in 1980.

Siaga started out as a Harvard-educated anthropologist, and after graduating in 1952, he got a job with the University of the West Indies.

Siaga seems to have had a wide-ranging intellectual interest, and his early publications include one on faith healing published in, of all places, a parapsychology journal.

While working at the University of the West Indies in 1955, he had recorded an album of field recordings of Jamaican folk music for folkways records.

That experience had convinced him that there was commercial potential in Jamaican music, and he had soon started up his own record label, West Indies Records Limited, and had produced records like Higgs and Wilson's O Manio, which, as we heard in the episode of My Boy Lollipop, had been an important precursor to Scar.

Someday, Manny Yo, you can go.

But now, now, now, now, I love you so.

Pull me around the side. Sayaga was one of the most important mechup producers of the early Jamaican era, but by 1959 he had started yet another career.

He had been appointed to the Legislative Council, the then upper house of the Jamaican Parliament, as a member of the Jamaica Labour Party, which despite its name is actually the more right-wing of the two major parties on the island.

Sayaga would go on to become the country's Prime Minister in the 80s, as part of the broad rightward shift that saw Thatcher and Reagan come to power around the same time, and was already a rising star.

When he was appointed, he was only 29 and the youngest person ever to serve in the role, and he helped draft the constitution which Jamaica took on when it became independent in 1962.

As part of Jamaica becoming independent, Siaga was elected as an MP, and his constituency happened to be the one in which Jimmy Cliff lived, a constituency in West Kingston, a ghetto era.

As part of the celebrations of the upcoming independence, Siaga, who had ambitions towards becoming Minister of Culture, wanted to organise a tour celebrating Jamaica's own indigenous music, and especially the music that came from his own constituency.

So he got a 10-day celebratory tour organised, which would feature, among others, Cliff, Derek Morgan, and the toaster Count Prince Miller.

But he also wanted the tour to appeal to the more respectable middle class, as well as to the people from the ghettos.

So as the backing band, he got Byron Lee and his Dragonairs, a band who had long been associated with Siaga. Lee was a far more upmarket musician than most of the Scar musicians.

While Scar was a music associated with the ghetto and the gangsters known as Rude Boys, Lee was someone who had been playing for the upper middle classes, mostly covers of American soft pop records.

But from about 1961, Sayaga had been pushing him to make Scar records like Mash Mr. Lee.

Lee and Siaga would remain associates for some time, and in 1964 Lee was to buy Siaga's WIRL studio and turn it into Dynamic Sounds.

Lee would become the first Jamaican musician to become a millionaire, and he was resented by many of the same musicians and producers who resented Kong, partly because of his race, and partly because he was seen as an outsider who was slumming it when he worked in Scar, and of course, those two things were very intertwined.

After Cliff's first hit record, his next few were comparative failures, but he continued working with Leslie Kong at the new Beverly's record label.

He released several singles himself, like I'm Free, a song which he was splitting up with an abusive partner as a metaphor for Jamaica's independence.

But as well as singing for the label, Cliff and Morgan both worked as arrangers and talent scouts, and it was in the latter capacity that Cliff would make two of his biggest contributions to music in this period.

A welder called Desmond Dacres, who, like Cliff, had been turned down by both Duke Reed and Cox and Dodd, came to audition for the label.

Cliff and Morgan thought he was impressive, but not quite there yet.

They mentored the young man and helped him come up with stronger material, and after several auditions for them, he eventually went into the studio to record his first single, with Cliff and Morgan supervising the musicians.

Released under the name Desmond Decker, Honor your mother and father made number one in Jamaica.

Decker would become the biggest star of the 60s in Jamaica, with more than 20 Jamaican number ones.

And he would become the first Jamaican musician to have big hits in Britain, with his single 007 making the British top 20 in 1967.

For all the seven

for all seven

at ocean eleven

and no rule for the

wheel,

and of course, his UK number one single Israelite in nineteen sixty-eight.

While Decker was still polishing his act, working with Cliff and Morgan to get to a point where he could be signed, he talked with a colleague who also wanted to be a singer.

The colleague, like Decker, had been turned down by every record producer in Kingston. He'd even been turned down by Kong.

But Decker explained to him that Kong wasn't the person he really needed to see at Beverly Records. He wanted to go and speak to Jimmy Cliff and Derek Morgan.

As Cliff told the story, Decker's colleague came into the studio while Cliff was playing piano and said that what he was playing sounded good.

Cliff said, I knew knew if he could just walk in straight away and knew it sounded good, it had to be somebody really sensitive, what had a good sense of music.

He said he came to audition and told me about Desmond and sang some of his songs. And among the songs that he sang, three of them I chose.

And then when Derek come, he liked those as well, which was One Cup of Coffee, Judge Not, and Terror. And at Leslie Kong's next session, he recorded those songs.
And that was the start of Bob Marley.

Judge not

You're not ready for judgment

The road of life is rotten

And you missed on the two

So while you talk about me

Someone else is judging you

Marley's work for Beverly's as a solo artist was not a success and he soon left the label to form a group. And we'll be hearing more about that in future episodes.

One track that Cliff himself recorded in 1963 was a pointer towards the future of Jamaican music, as well as being Cliff's biggest hit after Hattie.

King of Kings was the idea of a neighbour of Derek Morgan's, Courtney Green, who came up with the basic concept and worked on the song with Morgan.

They decided that Cliff, rather than Morgan, should sing it and took the half-finished song to Cliff, who completed it.

That song was one of the earliest records to explicitly reference Rastafarianism.

Though as Rastas were at that time in Jamaica very much a despised underclass, and as Cliff himself was only dipping his toe in the water of that religion at the time, it does so by means of metaphor, though the metaphor in question is not a very subtle one.

The lyrics are about the lion defeating all the other animals and proclaiming itself to be king of kings.

But in the context of Jamaica at that time, this would be very obviously a reference to Emperor Haile Selassie, the Emperor of Ethiopia, who was believed by the Rastafari, much to Selassie's own amusement, to be the reincarnation of Jesus, and whose official titles included Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah and King of Kings of Ethiopia, Lord of Lords and Elect of God.

The song was popular, but not with everyone.

Prince Buster in particular was incensed by the track, both because it was produced by his hated rival Leslie Kong, and because, as a member of the Nation of Islam, he preferred his black supremacist new religious movements inspired by Marcus Garvey to be in a slightly different flavour from the Masters version.

He produced an answer song, The Lion Roars, pointing out that Cliff's record was a lie because it says the lion says he's the king of kings, but lions can't actually speak, so therefore Allah must be the real King of Kings.

lie

when they say,

Lion says he's king of kings.

Lords of lords,

it's a lie cause the lion can speak.

Buster's distaste for people of Chinese descent didn't stop him from working with Byron Lee himself, though, when an opportunity came for Buster and Cliff to tour the east coast of the US backed by the Dragonaires.

This was the work of Edward Sayaga, who was by this point the Minister for Development and Welfare, and of Armet Ertigan at Atlantic Records.

The two of them worked out an arrangement to present the best SCA musicians by which in practice they meant musicians with connections to the Jamaica Labour Party, at the World's Fair in New York that year.

And Buster was both one of the undoubted greats of early SCA and someone whose connections to the JLP were so close that they even provided his name.

Buster was short for Bustamante, his middle name, which was given him by his parents in tribute to Alexander Bustamante, the leader of the JLP, and at this point the first prime minister of an independent Jamaica.

Sayaga was trying to work on getting more trade between Jamaica and the US and creating greater cultural ties between the two countries.

And Ertigan was excited at an entire new country full of musicians who had been inspired by the same music he'd been releasing.

The plan was to have the Jamaican musicians appear at the World's Fair, have Atlantic release the cream of recent Jamaican scar singles in the US, have a brief tour of major markets on the East Coast, and have a publicity blitz, including a feature on the cover of Variety.

This would be great publicity for the new nation, great exposure for the musicians, and make a lot of money for everyone concerned.

The people sent over were Cliff, Byron Lee and the Dragonaires, Buster, Monty Morris, Teddy Chalmers and various dancers, and by all accounts the shows were a great success.

Unfortunately, the rest of the plan didn't work out very well financially.

American mass culture only really has room in it for one one exciting new foreign sound that's the great pop sensation of the moment at any one time.

If K-pop is the latest thing, then Ukrainian progressive metal is unlikely to get a foothold.

And in April 1964, there was definitely an exciting new foreign sound already taking that place in the American musical ecosystem.

The singles released by Atlantic flopped, and a planned TV documentary on Scar was cancelled. The journey to America had a big effect on Cliff though.

It was his first time out of Jamaica and he was being treated as a star.

Vince Buster, who had been to the US before, even introduced Cliff to his acquaintance Muhammad Ali, which was the start of Cliff's own interest in the nation of Islam.

Cliff spent the next year trying to break the American market, including participating in the album The Real Jamaica Scar, produced by Carl Davis and Curtis Mayfield for American release.

New York, and there, Mary

I wanted to show the world to make this national song

But believe me people the sky was all around

Nothing worked though and Cliff eventually decided to take up a different offer.

Chris Blackwell, the head of Island Records, had seen Cliff performing in America and was already aware of his work because Leslie Kong was a minor partner in Ireland.

He'd asked Cliff at the time if he was interested in recording for him, but Cliff had decided that America seemed more inviting than Britain.

But as the doors to American success seemed to be closed, Cliff took up Blackwell's suggestion.

While by 1965, Ireland was already pivoting from being a Scar label to becoming a rock one, and Blackwell had already started to set up Trojan records for Scar-e-issues so he could keep rock and scar very separate, Blackwell was convinced that Cliff was someone he could market in Britain.

Scar was becoming popular with the mod subculture in Britain at the time, but other than records that were seen as essentially novelty hits like My Boy Lollipop, it wasn't breaking out into the mainstream.

But other music loved by the mods, like Soul, was, and Blackwell saw enough similarities between Soul and Scar, and connections between both and the white R and B bands who were becoming big in the wake of the Rolling Stones and the Animals, that he thought he could at least use Jamaican scar musicians to make British hits.

So, for example, Blackbell had headhunted the Scar singer-songwriter Jackie Edwards, who had had several big ballad hits in Jamaica. In 1965, Edwards cut the song Keep On Running as an album track.

It was soul, not scar, but it clearly had the influence of scar in its groove.

You know I'm gonna find you, baby. One day, baby, what I'll say.

Keep on hiding.

Keep on hiding.

One fine day, I'm gonna be the one to.

Blackwell then got his new signing, the Spencer Davis Group, with their young lead singer Steve Winwood, to record their own version of the song, which he licensed licensed to Fontana Records and which became a UK number one hit.

According to Blackwell's autobiography, Jimmy Cliff was in the studio for that recording, and it's him doing the whoops and hollers throughout the track. It was him you just heard shout, hey, come on!

Cliff did not like the UK. He didn't like the weather, but also there was a level of open, virulent racism that shocked him.

In 1964, for example, there had been a shock election win in one seat when a Conservative had beaten the incumbent Labour MP on a slogan of, if you want to,

and here the slogan used the N-word, for a neighbour, vote Labour. Some sources say it was vote lib for law Labour.

The MP in question had, of course, denied that there was anything racist in that sentiment.

Cliff himself was evicted from the first bedset he moved into when he came to the UK, which he had booked through a letting agency, when the landlord discovered he was black.

Such discrimination was legal in Britain until 1968.

But he was, despite this, eager to work with Blackwell, who took over his career.

Cliff's first release Ireland, licensed through Fontana like the Spencer Davis group record, was a ballad called Pride and Passion.

That track was produced by Jimmy Miller, who we've already heard about in the Sympathy for the Devil episodes, as he would go on to produce a lot of the Stone's most successful work.

Cliff also recorded a duet with Millie Small, Hey Boy, Hey Girl.

Cliff's early British recordings were not very successful, but Blackwell knew that what was needed was for him to build a reputation as a live act.

Blackwell had Cliff perform backed by a white soul group called the Phil Wayneman Band, who changed their name when backing Cliff to The New Generation, and they toured all the mod soul venues throughout Britain, performing covers of Stacks and Motown songs like Knock on Wood and Uptight.

Their first gig was at the Marquee, supporting Steam Packet, a British blues band whose three lead singers were Long John Baldry, Julie Driscoll and Rod Stewart.

As well as touring on their own, Blackwell got them support slots on a tour with The Who and the Spencer Davis group, and Cliff apparently made a big impression on Pete Townsend.

While Cliff was not yet a a success, he was convinced he would be. Everything he had done in his career up to that point had been achieved by sheer determination and self-belief.

Phil Wayneman would later recall Cliff saying to him, Phil, it's all out there, all you've got to do is go out and get it. The new generation didn't remain Cliff's backing band for long, though.

The group rubbed Cliff up the wrong way, not least because of playing racist pranks like sticking a black doll they'd found in Cliff's bed. And soon Blackwell had found him another band.

This one was called The Shakedown Sound, and initially featured Sean Jenkins on drums, Kevin Gammond on guitar, Lee Starr on bass, and Verdon Allen on keyboards.

This group would not back Cliff on records because Jimmy Miller was not impressed by them, but Cliff kept releasing singles.

Give and Take made Disc Magazine's top 50 charts, but just as it was rising higher, the magazine cut their chart to just the top 30, which the record never hit.

Another single, meanwhile, had as its b-side a ballad called Hard Road to Travel, which would later become one of Cliff's reggae classics, but at this point showed how influenced Cliff had been by Sam Cook.

My mind's made up.

No, I'll never stop in my faith.

We'll see,

see me

That was the title track of Cliff's first album, and the shakedown sound did get to play on one track on that record, a cover version of A Whiter Shade of Pale, showcasing Alan's organ playing.

Turned cut wheels across the floor.

I was feeling kind of seasick.

The crowds called out for more.

The group went through some line-up changes over the year or so that they backed Cliff. First to leave was Kevin Gannon, who went off to join the Band of Joy with Robert Plant and John Bonham.

He was replaced by a guitarist friend of Alan's, Mick Ralphs. Shortly before they parted ways with Cliff, Jenkins also left, and was replaced by an old bandmate of Ralph's, Dale Griffin.

But Island Records decided that it would make more sense for Cliff to be backed by another band on the label, Winder K. Frog, and so he parted ways with the shakedown sound.

Ralph's, Alan, and Griffin continued to play as the shakedown sound for a while, replacing star with Pete Overend Watts and adding vocalist Stan Tippins.

After they replaced Tippins with Ian Hunter in 1969, they became Mott the Hoopal.

I need T me when I got T-Rex.

Oh brother, you gave

a good man.

The young two

Cliff's records were getting nowhere.

He released several more singles, produced first by Miller and then by Muff Winwood, formerly of the Spencer Davis group, but none of them had any kind of success.

He was getting miserable, and it looked very much like his career was at an end. But then his luck changed.
Cliff was friendly with the minor psych pop duo Nirvana.

Not the same band as the much more famous 90s band of the same name. This was the duo of Patrick Campbell Lyons and Alex Spiropoulos, who had had a minor hit with the single Rainbow Chaser.

Nirvana had written a song called Waterfall and got Cliff to sing on the demo.

Without the duo's knowledge, Chris Blackwell's PA submitted that song, which became Cliff's next single, for the Rio International Song Festival.

It was accepted as the entry for Jamaica, much to Nirvana's amusement, Campbell Lyons saying later, I had to laugh to myself something written by a Greek and an Irishman representing the land of reggae.

Cliff didn't win, as he was up against stiff competition, with Paul Anke representing Canada, Francois Ardi, France, and the Righteous Brothers America.

But the track struck a chord in Brazil, where it seemed to resemble the new Tropicalia sound that was becoming popular.

It went to number two on the charts over there, and Cliff spent a couple of months in the country, and toured other South American nations as well.

While he was there, he put out his second album, Jimmy Cliff in Brazil, a patchwork job consisting of half of Hard Road to Travel, Waterfall, a handful of covers of contemporary Brazilian hits with new English lyrics by Paul Anker and Sammy Kahn, recorded while he was in South America, and one new song, Hey Mr.

Yesterday.

Hey, Mr. Yesterday,

what are you doing about today?

Tell me right now.

Hey, Mr. Yesterday,

what are you doing about today?

Are you gonna pray

for yesterday? After his time in South America, he returned to Jamaica, where in his absence the music industry had gone through two big changes.

It's very hard to find a dividing line between Scar and Rocksteady, and between Rocksteady and the later reggae.

There's a huge overlap between all three, they have a number of stylistic similarities, and a lot of the same musicians made records in all three styles.

But basically, Rocksteady bore the same relationship to the soul records coming from Motown and the Impressions, as Scar had to 50s New Orleans RB.

There was the same stress on the offbeats as Scar, but while the guitar and horns would still emphasise the second and fourth beat, now the kick drum shifted away from the backbeat towards playing on the first and third beat, and soon the kick drum would only play on the third beat, dropping the first altogether, what became known as the one drop rhythm.

The music tended to be slower, and came about because sound system DJs started to notice that some people wanted slower music to dance to than the rather more frenetic Scar, and would complain that they missed having slower records like those by Johnny Ace.

The DJs started playing slower soul ballads as the nights drew on and people got tired, and soon the musicians started to produce similar material.

The name Rocksteady actually came from a dance initially popularized by a dancer named Busby a couple of years before the genre itself took hold.

And there are various records pointed to as the first Rocksteady record, though as we always say on this podcast, there's no first anything, like Baby I Love You by Carl Dawkins or Take It Easy by Hopton Lewis, which refers in its lyrics to Doing the Rock Steady.

Take your time, take your time, take your time,

no need to hurry.

Take it easy, take it easy, take it easy,

no need to hurry.

No slipping, no sliding, no bumping, no boring. I won't.
But the record that really popularized the new genre and the name for it was Rocksteady by Elton Ellis, a hit in 1966.

Better get ready,

come to Rocksteady.

There were other differences between rocksteady and ska.

There was a greater emphasis on electric organ rather than piano, more prominent guitar, generally less use of horns, and often more vocal harmonies, with the impressions being a particular influence, as on Queen Majesty by Their Techniques, a cover of the Impressions Minstrel and Queen.

So much I've loved, I've long

to speak to you

alone

The subject matter of the records was also initially mostly inspired by the popular end of Seoul, the Impressions and Motown, especially Smokey Robinson's work.

But increasingly, as the 60s went on, Rocksteady records also started dealing with social issues, as on Prince Buster's classic Judge Dredd, in which with the help of an uncredited Lee Scratch Perry, Buster dished out punishment to the rude boy gangsters who were becoming an increasing problem in Jamaica.

Try hard you rude boys for shooting black people

In my court won the guitar as I'm vexed But I am the rude boy today

who got this

But by mid-1968 Rocksteady had moved on to become something else again.

The guitars became steadily more percussive. The bass became more prominent and stuck more to the rhythm.

The arrangements became sparser. The lyrics often became more political.
The level of reverb used start to increase. A new bubbling electric organ sound crept in, known as an organ shuffle.

And at least at first, the music started to speed up again. There are a handful of records that get pointed to as the first of this new style.
Nanny Goat by Larry Marshall.

You said that you don't be my love night anymore.

Because

you

have

some

love in you.

But I'm not gonna

let you

go won't

know.

No more heartaches by the bell tones.

Searching so long

just for you.

Now that I've found you,

please be true

noise.

People funny boy by Lee Scratch Perry.

Why,

why people funny boy?

Why,

why

people funny boy

know that you reached the top

and you've turned it shot.

All I've done for you,

you don't remember. And a handful of others.
But the new music didn't get its popular name until Toots and the Matals released Do the Reggae.

Where in Rocksteady the bass had had a primarily melodic function, with reggae the organ became the primary melody instrument, with the guitars adding a scratching percussive sound and the bass snapping to the beat.

While in the early years of SCAR, the musicians who later became known known as the Scatalites had been the go-to session musicians, by the time Rocksteady transitioned into reggae, the standard session group featured former Scatalite Tommy McCook on saxophone, Jackie Jackson on bass, Gladdy Anderson on piano, either Winston Wright, Theophilus Bickford, or Neville Hines on organ, Hooks Brown, Dougie Bryan, Ranny Bopp or Lynn Tate on guitar, and Winston Grennan, drummy or Paul Douglas on drums.

This group was initially known as Beverly's All-Stars, as Leslie Kong was the one who most regularly used them.

But as other producers kept turning to this standard group of musicians, they became Gladdy's All-Stars.

And it was this group of musicians that Cliff used when recording his next album, which was titled Just Jimmy Cliff on its initial release, but which later became better known by its American title, Wonderful World, Beautiful People.

That track, released as a single in 1969 on Trojan Records, Chris Blackwell's Scar and Reggae Label, became Cliff's first UK top 10 hit.

The album album it came from had Leslie Kong as the credited producer, and most of the basic tracks were recorded at Dynamic Sound in Jamaica, but the big difference came from overdubs that were done elsewhere.

Chris Blackwell had become convinced that, despite the occasional one-off success of reggae singles like Desmond Decker's Israelites or The Upsetter's Return of Django, reggae would not have a serious commercial presence in Britain or America in its raw form.

but that it could become popular with a little sweetening to fit ears a tune to Anglo-American pop music.

For that reason, he got Cliff to bring the multi-tracks to America, and there they added final overdubs, mostly strings and vocals, in American studios with American musicians.

It paid off with the success of the Wonderful World Beautiful People single, and while the album didn't chart, it was heard by all the right people.

I've read in several books on reggae that Bob Dylan said that Cliff's Vietnam was the best protest song ever,

though I've been unable to find the original source for this quote, and there are many fabricated quotes from Dylan.

And this is what he had to say.

Tell all my friends

that I'll be coming home soon.

And Paul Simon was impressed enough by that track that he would travel to Kingston in 1971 to record with the same session musicians for his track Mother and Child Reunion, though the piano was later overdubbed by wrecking crew player Larry Nectel.

But the track that became Cliff's most well-loved song was actually the one track that was not recorded in Kingston at all.

Chris Blackwell had wanted one extra song to round out the album, and Cliff had dug out something that he'd half-written years earlier.

About his continued struggles for success that he could never achieve, about his loneliness in Britain, and about how he was losing hope.

He described his thoughts about the song later, saying, When I came to the UK, I was still in my teens. I came full of vigour.
I'm going to make it.

I'm going to be up there with the Beatles and the Stones. And it wasn't really going like that.
I was touring clubs, not breaking through. I was struggling with work, life, my identity.

I couldn't find my place. Frustration fuelled the song.
He finished the song on the way to the studio, where it was recorded with most of the Muscle Shoals studio band backing him.

And in its final form, at least, it seems to owe something of a debt to White A Shade of Pale, but it's a much more aching, soulful song than that one.

With the success of Wonderful World, Beautiful People, Clifford now finally got part of the way to the success that had eluded him. It had a UK top 10 hit and a US top 31.

He followed that up with another single, a version of Cat Stevens's Wild World.

I should note here that while he changed his name to Yusuf Islam, and for a long time refused to use his stage name Cat Stevens, Islam now uses that stage name again for his music, and so I'll be using it here.

This was actually produced by Stevens himself. While the song is one of Stevens' most popular, he wasn't keen on it and only released it as an album track.

According to Cliff, I went to the publisher and he played me this demo of Wild World, and he told me that Steve had written it but he didn't like it.

I loved it right away, so he called up Steve and put me on the phone to him. Steve asked me what my key was, I said, and he started playing guitar down the phone.

He said we have to record it together, so he went in and did the track, and I went in the following day, helped put on the backing voices with Doris Troy, and then it was time for me to put my voice on.

And Steve directed me to sing the high notes on the song. He was a really good producer, and it was a big hit.

just upon a smile.

That became another UK top ten hit for him. And rather surprisingly, given that some of his most well-known songs only came out afterwards, it would be his last.

This is partly because of what happened with his next single, You Can Get It If You Really Want, a song which might well be considered Cliff's theme song, as it summed up his attitude to success in life, in a much more upbeat way, given his recent success, than in Many Rivers to Cross.

you really want But you must try

Try and try

Try and try

You succeed at last

While that is one of Cliff's most famous recordings, the single itself wasn't a hit.

Just as Cliff had had the hit with one of Cat Stevens' most famous songs, now Desmond Decker, who had been given his first big break by Cliff, had the hit with You Can Get It If You Really Want.

His cover version, released almost simultaneously with Cliff's original, made number two in the UK.

You can get it if you really want.

You can get it if you really want.

You can get it if you

Rather surprisingly, Cliff's planned Next Island album, which would have featured both You Can Get It If You Really Want and Wild World, was shelved after it was recorded in Jamaica.

Instead, Cliff travelled to Muscle Shoals to record a totally different album. As he said later, After Wonderful World, they started giving respectability to reggae in England, so that was good.

But by then, all the blues and RB that I had been doing while playing clubs in England had become a part of me, so I welcomed the opportunity to record in Muscle Shoals, and it was a very positive experience.

Another cycle was really different from the reggae things that I was doing.

Lots of people thought that it was a bad move because I was doing good with reggae, so why change and go into a different kind of thing?

That album, Another Cycle, seems like another attempt to capture the US market, though again it was unsuccessful, despite featuring one of Cliff's most popular tracks, Sitting in Limbo.

But I know it won't be long.

Sitting here in limbo,

like a bird without a song.

Well, they're putting up resistance,

But even while he was recording that, Cliff had already made the connection that would make him known in the US, though it would take longer than he expected to come to fruition.

While recording his abandoned album, Cliff had been visited in the studio by a white Jamaican filmmaker, Perry Hensel.

Hensel was intending to make what would be the first ever film made in Jamaica by Jamaicans.

The initial plan was to make a biopic of the notorious criminal Vincent Ivanhoe Martin, known known as Rygan.

Rygan was a bank robber turned spree killer, who had killed three people and wounded four more in the 1940s, before being shot himself by the police.

Despite being a truly terrible human being, he had become something of a folk hero in Jamaica, and in the late 60s and early 70s there had been a spate of films about such criminal culture heroes, like Ned Kelly, the film starring Mick Jagger that we talked about in the Sympathy for the Devil episodes, and, most famously and successfully, Bonnie and Clyde, the film some credit for starting the whole new Hollywood style that dominated the late 60s and 70s.

Henzel had been impressed by the photos on the cover of Wonderful World Beautiful People. In Cliff's words, one where I looked like a winner and the other where I looked like a sufferer.

He decided that those two photos showed enough emotional range that Cliff would be perfect to play the lead in his film, and if the film could get some new songs for its soundtrack from the man who was currently Jerry's biggest international pop star, so much the better.

As it turned out, Cliff only recorded one new song for the film, though it would end up giving the film its title.

But Cliff did become the star of the film, and as the film progressed, the story of Ivanhoe Martin got intermingled with the story of Cliff.

Cliff's character shared his name with Martin, and similarly murders policemen and is himself shot to death.

But the story was updated to the late 1960s, and the character shared many biographical details with Cliff himself.

He travels to to Kingston from the countryside and becomes determined to make a record and become a star, but gets ripped off by the record producers. What's the meaning of this, sir?

That means you get $20 for the record.

$20, sir? That don't sound right.

How much do you think it's worth, then?

I don't really know, you know, sir. Come on, you must have an idea.
What do you think it's worth?

I think that'd be about $200, you know, sir.

I don't think I'm signing this for $20, you know, sir.

Look like we have a new perusal.

I wish you luck.

Hi, brother. How are you doing? Not bad, you know.
I have this record I'd like you to play for me. Oh, yeah? Let me have a look.
Hey, you're on a Hilton's neighbor, huh?

Oh, well, I use a studio, you know, I like the sound. I see.

But, well, I deal direct with Hilton's man.

This is my personal record, you know.

This is personally mine. I'm an independent producer as well.
Well, like I said, I deal with Hilton's direct. You know, this is show business, baby.
No business, no show.

However, unlike Cliff, Ivan descends into criminality. First getting sentenced to be whipped, after an altercation with someone who stole his bike leads to him slashing the thief's face.

Then, as he finds no success with his record, taking a job as a cannabis runner.

Ivan complains about his low pay for doing the work, not realising that the whole of society is in on the crime, with corrupt police looking the other way and taking a cut off the top.

Ivan is arrested to teach him a lesson about who's actually in charge, but remembering his whipping, he shoots the arresting officer instead.

He then goes on a murder spree, killing three police officers and a woman he's had a brief affair with, and realises he's become far more famous as an outlaw than he ever was as a singer.

The film ends up with him getting gunned down, while we hear the sounds of a cinema audience cheering, as they had earlier at a Western film Ivan had watched.

The film itself is the kind of ultra-low budget thing that could only really have got an audience in the late 1960s.

It's made on Super 16 film, for example, but that cheap option gives the film an air of documentary realism, which is helped by many of the parts in the film being played by non-actors, including small roles for Prince Buster, Duke Reid, sound engineer Carlton Lee, and record producer Joe Gibbs.

Something that's also very obvious in the editing.

Many of the conversations are edited together from close-ups, so the actors involved don't have to remember more than a line or two of dialogue at a time.

It's a bleak but very powerful film, and one which serves very much as a Jamaican answer to new Hollywood films like Easy Rider.

It's a little out of the scope of this episode, but there's a fascinating essay for somebody to write on the parallels and differences between The Harder They Come and Jailhouse Rock, a film made a little over a decade earlier.

Both are cheaply made but surprisingly good films which feature their stars playing sullen, unsympathetic characters, at least partly based on themselves, who want to become successful singers, who end up getting arrested for a violent crime that is at least arguably justifiable and who get ripped off badly by record executives.

Both even feature mildly homoerotic scenes of their protagonists tied up and getting whipped.

But while Jailhouse Rock has the production code era a happy ending and redemption of its central character, The Harder They Come is very much a post-code film with an altogether less sanitized worldview.

talking about milk and only in the sky. Well, no milk and only no in the sky, not for you, not for me.
It's right down here, and I want my no tonight!

The film would cause friction between Cliff and Blackwell, though.

Blackwell had encouraged Cliff to star in the film, seeing it as the thing that would give him a clear image and also popularise reggae music as a whole to a greater extent.

But the film dragged on nearly two years in production because of funding difficulties and also some problems with permissions from the Jamaican government, who both definitely wanted the kudos of a homegrown feature film, Jamaica's First, but didn't particularly want that film to be about institutional corruption and Jamaica's criminal underclass.

And while he was working on the film, Cliff's musical releases were less successful.

Nothing from Another Cycle chartered, and nor did Trapped, another collaboration with Cat Stevens to follow up Wild World.

But good must conquer evil and fruit will set me free So you see that somewhere I have found the key

Yes you see that somewhere I have found the key

Chris Blackwell was sanguine about this though When the film came out it would be such a boost to Cliff's career and reggae and jumble that it would supercharge everything.

And indeed these days the film's soundtrack album regularly makes lists of the greatest reggae albums and greatest soundtrack albums of all time, even though Cliff contributed so little that in order to pad it out to full album length, Ireland had to include alternate versions of the title track and You Can Get It If You Really Want.

The album featured several other recent reggae hits heard in the film, like 007 by Desmond Decker.

Ocean Eleven

I know who boys are all fear

all them all the deer

boys cannot fear

All them must head dear

and rivers of Babylon by the Melodians by the rivers of Babylon

where he sat down

and there we went

when he remembers Zion

Was the week in Jarinos away

required from us a song

in us.

But the core of of the album was four cliff songs.

The title track, You Can Get It If You Really Want, his recent single Sitting in Limbo, and his old album track, Many Rivers to Cross.

Wondering, I am lost

as I travel

along

the white cliffs of Dover

Many rivers to claim. When the soundtrack album became popular, that song became the standout and became the closest thing to a standard that Cliff had ever written.

Over the years, it's been recorded by Arthur Lee.

Wandering, I am lost

as I travel

along

the white cliffs of Dover

And there are many rivers to cross

and it's only my will

that keeps me alive

I've been licked washer for years Annie Lennox

I've been lit washed freeze

and I merely survived

because of my pride

And this loneliness won't leave me alone

It's such a drag to be on your own

Share

and this loneliness won't leave me alone

It's so try to drag me on your own

Cause my man left me and I didn't say well

So I guess I'll have to cry

Well, I've got many rivers to cross Cliff's friend Joe Cucker

Many rivers to cross

but I can't seem to find

my

river

wandering I've lost

as I travel along

the white cliffs of all

And was a UK top twenty hit for UB40.

Many rivers are drawn,

but I can't determine

my wheel

wandering out along

as I drive along

white clips of gone.

meet

with

love

and it's only my weakness

And perhaps most consequentially, it was recorded by Harry Nilsson with production by Nilsson's friend John Lennon.

But I just can't seem to find

my beautiful

Wondering I am lost

as I drive

along.

And Lennon liked the string counter melody he wrote for that arrangement enough that he adapted it into his hit single Number 9 Dream, one of his most popular and beloved solo tracks.

But the success of the soundtrack album, like the success of the film, wasn't as quick as anyone had hoped.

Not only did the film take a while to make and get a release, it took even longer to find an audience, at least in the two big markets that mattered, the US and the UK.

It won some awards fairly early in European film festivals, and the film was such an important event in Jamaican culture that Cliff and Hensel were awarded the Order of Distinction by the new Democratic Socialist Jamaican government when it came out in 1972.

But in the UK, the film was originally ignored by the critics and played at first only to Caribbean immigrant communities.

But then George Melley happened to go and see the film.

Melley is someone we've mentioned in passing in various episodes, most notably in the episode on Rock Island Line, where I mentioned that his 1951 version of that song was the only song thus far I'd not been able to find a digital release of.

Happily, that's been rectified in the years since I did that episode, so let's hear a clip of that now.

If you were riding on the ride and like you finally get your ticket. Melly was a rather extraordinary man with a wide range of achievements.

As well as his success as a trad jazz singer and one of the founders of the trad jazz movement, he was also an anarchist political activist, a renowned lecturer on surrealist art, a comic strip writer, and the author of Revolting to Style, a book I've referenced before as the first book by a serious intellectual to take British pop culture seriously on its own terms, as worth analysis from the inside rather than as an outside observer.

Among these achievements, he was also the most respected respected British film critic of the age, writing for The Observer.

And he began his column that week with the statement, Far and away the best film of the week was the first ever Jamaican film, The Harder They Come.

That was enough to get media interest in the UK, and the film became, if not a massive box office success, a moderate hit with both audiences and critics. Sadly, the same didn't happen with the US.

There the film was licensed to Roger Cormann and his company New World Pictures.

Corman, who we've seen in the background of many episodes due to his association with American International Pictures, which he left to found New World in 1970, was one of the most important people in mid-century American independent cinema, mentoring half the most famous directors and cinematographers of the 70s and 80s, and also responsible for the US release of a lot of independent non-American films.

But as those who know the story of the release of The Wickerman will know, for example, he was more concerned than anything else about turning a profit, and would often have films brutally edited to fit a particular mode of release, and would market films in genres other than the ones they fit in if they could make more money that way.

In the case of The Harder They Come, he tried to market it in the then popular blacksploitation genre, and in some ways it fit that quite well.

It was, after all, a crime story with a predominantly black cast, a great soundtrack, and dealing with the underworld in a hard-hitting, violent way.

But it was not an escapist film like a lot of blacksploitation films were.

And it was also performed by actors speaking in their own natural Jamaican patois, which was at times so thick that I've seen claims from some that it was the first English-language film to be put on general release with subtitles, because American audiences couldn't understand what they were saying.

Alright, leave it to me. Why am I still the trader, sir?

They would just have to hold off for a couple of days, husse.

But the traders paying protection later on, husse.

The film sank without a trace in this market.

And eventually, Henzel got the rights to the film back from Cormann and started having it shown in one-off showings at universities and art cinemas, where it built up a cult following.

The rebel outlaw image of the film was so successful that the title track has since been covered by everyone from the English second-wave scar band Madness to William Nelson.

as the sun will shine

I'm gonna get my share now of what's mine

harder they come however the time the film's success took it didn't end up becoming successful in the US until 1975 caused a massive breakdown between Cliff and Chris Blackwell Cliff was already inclined to distrust Blackwell simply because of his race.

At this point, Cliff had firmly joined the Nation of Islam, though within within a few years he would have moved on to become a mainstream Sunni Muslim, and so he believed that all white people were devils.

But Blackwell had also been the one to push for Cliff to be in the film, on which Blackwell was an uncredited co-producer and for which he supplied a chunk of the funding.

Blackwell wanted to use the film to promote a new rebellious image for Cliff, one that Cliff was fine with at the start of filming, but with which he was increasingly uncomfortable as he got deeper into the Nation of Islam and its emphasis on outward respectability.

Blackwell had a whole plan set up to make Cliff into a superstar, a three-pronged strategy which involved having The Harder They Come make reggae into a commercial proposition in America, continuing to sweeten Cliff's reggae music to make it conform a little more to Anglo-American pop conventions, and promoting Cliff with the rebellious image.

Blackwell had explained his plan to Cliff at the start of making the film, when Cliff had been offered $50,000 to leave Ireland and sign to RCA on the back of his initial British success.

He'd told Cliff he was going to make him a star, make him rich and popularise reggae.

But after years of listening to this, Cliff resented the fact that he was in a worse place career-wise than before they'd started to make the film, and left, signing to reprise records in the US and EMI in Europe.

So Blackwell instead used his plan on the next reggae act he signed, getting them to record their most rebellious music to fit US rock sensibilities, and getting Wayne Perkins, the white Alabaman guitarist from the Muscle Scholls band who played on Cliff's records, to overdub additional guitar.

No sun will shine in my day to day.

Blackwell's star-making plan worked, but it worked for Bob Marley, the man who a decade earlier Cliff had signed to his first record deal, rather than for Cliff himself.

Instead, Cliff found himself floundering.

His initial recordings for EMIM reprise, like Born to Win, are very similar in subject matter to the optimistic records he'd had his biggest success with, and might theoretically have brought him more commercial success.

But he found he was competing with his old material. The soundtrack albums, The How Do They Come, from his old record label, started doing big business.

And Ireland were also repackaging non-album singles and outtakes into new albums. And the new material he was doing, while pleasant, was not quite up to the standard of his best earlier work.

He'd lost his commercial touch, and the audiences just wanted to hear the old stuff, which was new to many of them. For the next few years, Cliff had essentially three different careers.

He would play in Britain as a very popular nostalgia act, for audiences who remembered his hits from a few years ago.

He would play those same songs in America as an emerging artist for audiences who were just discovering them.

And as one of the few reggae artists to venture into Africa, he became hugely popular in Nigeria, Ghana and Senegal.

But his new recordings were doing nothing, and soon he was venting his frustration at Blackwell in songs like Number One Rip Off Man.

will get away.

For several years, Cliff continued doing what he had done so successfully with his island breakthrough, recording with the best Jamaican musicians and then adding overdubs by American session players.

His 1975 album Follow My Mind, for example, has a rhythm section including Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare, the preeminent Jamaican drum and bass duo of the 70s and 80s, but featured Dennis Coffey, the guitarist who played on most of the Temptation 70s funk hits on guitar, and Van Dyke Parks on keyboards.

Do you have a dear mother?

Kind, devoted, and true.

Dear mother, I'm sending to you

best wishes and all the days through.

May your days be cloudless and clear.

By the late 70s, Cliff was clearly being more influenced by the African musicians like Fela Kuti he was associating with on his frequent West African tours, than by the Solon R ⁇ B singers who had been his initial inspiration.

1978's album Give Thanks, its name taken from a Mastifarian practice, was produced by Bob Johnston, who had produced many of the finest records by Dylan, Johnny Cash, Simon Ngarfunkel and Leonard Cohen, but is as far from those artists as one can imagine, often, as in Meeting in Africa, foreshadowing the 80s world music trend and its incorporation of African pop influences.

Give Thanks was, unlike much of Cliff's work in this period, a critical success, but it was not a commercial one.

Nor was the follow-up, I Am the Living, which had another celebrity producer, this time Luther Dixon.

1982 saw the release of Bongo Man, a documentary about Cliff's world tour of 1980, and in particular about his appearances in Jamaica during a time of great political turmoil for the nation.

That documentary covers events that we will be looking at in much more detail in a future episode, as while Cliff was a peripheral figure in the events surrounding the Jamaican election, Bob Marley was far more directly involved.

The early 80s were problematic for Cliff in multiple ways.

He had changed record labels to MCA, and the recordings he made during that period are widely regarded as his worst, trying to change his style up to appeal to a pop audience and falling between two stools.

He also fell afoul of anti-apartheid activists by going to South Africa to play a show in Soweto for an integrated audience.

We'll be talking about the complicated ethics of the cultural boycott of South Africa in a future episode, but for now we can just say that it's very obvious that Jimmy Cliff, a very politically conscious black man himself, was not a supporter of apartheid and believed that by playing the gig he was helping to work towards the end of apartheid, not to prop it up, while those who supported the boycott had equally good reasons for thinking it was important to show a united front on the matter.

This disagreement was eventually resolved amicably though, and one of Cliff's most prominent media appearances of the 80s was as one of the all-star group of vocalists who recorded the song Sun City, under the name Artists United Against Apartheid in 1985.

Among the many artists on that track were Rundy MC, Afrika Bambata, David Ruffin, Eddie Kendrick, Bruce Springsteen, Bonnie Rait, Lou Reed, Hauler Notes, Pete Townsend, Ringo Starr, Keith Richards, Ron Wood and Bob Dylan.

Cliff's solo line is actually harmonised with Devil Hall, in a verse whose other lines are sung by George Clinton, Joey Ramone, and Darley in Love.

Ain't gonna make some sense today.

I ain't no

It says something about how respected a figure Cliff was in the worldwide music scene, that even though he had had no commercial success in the major music markets in over a decade at that point, he was considered a peer of those others.

And 1985 would see several events that would affirm that status. Sun City was, of course, just one of many multi-artist all-star singles made in the mid-80s to support some cause or other.

With similar records being released to support, for example, the victims of the Zabrugga Ferry disaster, the victims of the Bradford City Stadium fire, and the victims of the BBC's decision to wait 18 months between seasons of Doctor Who.

These all came about as a result of the success of the singles that started the trend, Band Aid's Do They Know It's Christmas, and USA for Africa's follow-up We Are the World, both raising money for Ethiopian famine relief.

We Are the World led to a full album, and for that album Bruce Springsteen, at the time arguably the biggest rock star in the world, recorded Cliff's Trapped.

And I know someday I'll find the key.

And I know somewhere I'll find

In 1985, Cliff also co-starred in his second film, Club Paradise, a not very highly regarded comedy film directed by Harold Ramis, which also starred Robin Williams, Peter O'Toole, Rick Moranis, and Twiggy, and for which Cliff contributed several songs to the soundtrack.

The film was a box office and critical failure, but it did raise Cliff's profile some more.

And while Club Paradise was a failure as a film, the soundtrack album got a Grammy nomination.

Along with odd tracks by people like the legendary Calypsonian Mighty Sparrow, Cliff contributed seven tracks, including a collaboration with Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Seven Day Weekend.

You've seen Monday's long enough, but this is just the start.

Fruit that's just the same as Monday, without the supplies ain't far.

When's this fight of no return? When you swung and are you mad? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and a week.

The same year, he guested with the Rolling Stones on the track Too Rude, a cover version of the reggae song Winsome, originally by Halfpaint, released the next year on their album Dirty Work.

And he finished 1985, his most high-profile year in over a decade, with the album Cliffhanger, his second to be produced by Cool in the Gang guitarist Amir Salam Bayan.

As well as the normal Jamaican musicians like Sly and Bobby, the album featured several Cool in the Gang members, plus guest spots from Jacko Pastorius and a couple of songs co-written by Latoya Jackson.

find that girl and make her mine. Yeah, mine.

Oh, she's the one with the big brown eyes.

In my dream, I met this girl.

We were in love at Cape Royal's cold.

I promised her I'd show her a world.

But now I'm awaiting, and there is no girl. The album was not a huge seller, but won Cliff his first Grammy Award for Best Reggae Album.

Cliff would spend the rest of the 80s 80s and early 90s putting out moderately successful albums that didn't chart, but which did get Grammy nominations, though they usually didn't win, playing to huge crowds in South America and Africa, and playing to smaller but very respectable crowds in Europe and America, with occasional support slots on bigger shows by people like Steve Winwood and The Grateful Dead.

1993 saw him have what would be his final US top 20 hit, with a cover version of Johnny Nash's I Can See Clearly Now, recorded for the soundtrack of the film Cool Runnings.

Over the next few decades, Cliff shifted steadily more towards live work as opposed to the studio.

The albums he did release were a mixture of attempts to appeal to a pop audience and more political roots-y reggae, so you wouldn't know from one song or album to the next whether you were going to get a song called Democracy Don't Work, with lines like, When it comes to indigenous people's rights, why is the system always giving us fight?

and masses of people don't have enough to eat, democracy is built up only for the elite, or a light-hearted cover of Obla Dee Obla Dah.

But he continued to stun audiences in live performances.

A typical album was 2002's Fantastic Plastic People, produced by Dave Stewart, formerly of Demorithmics, and featuring guest appearances from Annie Lennox, Jules Holland, Sting, and Joe Strummer.

That track was actually the last studio recording Strummer made to be released in his lifetime.

Strummer's final band, The Mescaleros, would often cover The Harder They Come live, and The Clashers' Guns of Brixton, which Cliff would cover himself later, had lyrics referencing the film.

In the last 20 years, Cliff only released two albums.

2012's Rebirth, produced by Tim Armstrong of Rancid, was widely regarded as his best work in years, made Rolling Stone's list of albums of the year, won the Grammy Award for Best Reggae Album, and went to number one on the US reggae charts.

One more!

One more!

one more,

one more.

I got one more song I'ma sing

Ding-a-ling,

freedom ring.

I got one more song I'ma sing

simple song,

so sing along. While 2022's Refugees, featuring Wyclef John on their title track, is an angrily political album with tracks bluntly titled Racism, We Want Justice, and of course, refugees.

It's hard to sum up Cliff's life and career succinctly, because his impact on music was widespread rather than concentrated.

He wasn't the biggest star in the world, but he was moderately big everywhere, a truly worldwide success, and he did more to popularize the reggae genre outside Jamaica than anyone other than Bob Marley.

And while I don't consider the so-called Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as having any special validity, it is notable that those two men are the only two Jamaicans inducted into the hall as of right now.

When he died on the 24th of November this year, the outpouring of love for him was far, far greater than the mere statistics of chart placements and awards would suggest.

Jimmy Cliff had a career that was built on self-belief and hard work, and he changed the face of popular music.

And while he didn't reach the heights of superstardom that other artists he inspired did, he achieved more than enough to prove that, in his case at least, the lyrics to one of his most popular songs were entirely correct: You must try, try and try, try and try.

You'll succeed at last.

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