Voice of Jamaica (Polygram, 1993)

One of the better of the group of major-label albums by dancehall DJs (Tony Rebel, Tiger, Mad Cobra, Shaggy, Terror Fabulous, Chaka Demus & Pliers, Shabba Ranks, Super Cat, etc.) released during the "Jamaican Invasion" of the early '90s.  Part of the reason this album succeeds is that the inevitable hip-hop and more crossover-styled tunes that these labels feature succeed.  While "Make My Day" and "If Loving Was a Crime" are borderline corny, they're also borderline catchy, and "Searching" and especially the funky, smooth "Commitment" -- both featuring Wayne Wonder -- draw you in whether you want them to or not.  Of the American-ized songs, only the sloppy "Wicked Act," with Busta Rhymes, falls flat.  The pure dancehall cuts are likewise solid, headlined by the hits "Deportees (Things Change)" and "A Little More Time," the DJ mix of Beres Hammond's "I Wish."  Also nice are "Him Take Off," "No Respect," and "Good Body."  Nothing as groundbreaking as Buju Banton's next major-label album, but fine in and of itself.

Inna Heights (Penthouse, 1997)

Buju Banton continues in the rootsy, cultural vein begun on Til Shiloh, this time stretching it pretty much throughout the entire album.  Easily the best song in this style is "Hills and Valleys," a great mellow modern roots tune, while "Close One Yesterday" is also enjoyable.  Unfortunately, none of the other rootsy songs are striking.  The melodies just aren't that strong, making the style sound a bit forced.  Luckily, since that sound was faltering, Banton throws in some quality traditional dancehall in the hit "Love Sponge," "My Woman Now" -- the DJ version of Beres Hammond's "Queen and Lady" -- and "Love Dem Bad" -- featuring a nice hollow, metallic rhythm that partly counteracts the annoying high-pitched vocals of Red Rat (Oh no!).  Overall, though, Inna Heights is a real disappointment, although a good number of reggae fans rank it with his best.  I think it pales in comparison to Til Shiloh, and it's not even nearly as good as Buju's pre-roots Voice of Jamaica.  Guest appearances by talented newcomers Ras Shiloh and Jahmali and legend Toots Hibbert can't save Inna Heights from being a dull experience.

Unchained Spirit (Epitaph, 2000)

Perhaps it was due to the bad taste in my mouth left by Inna Heights or perhaps I just never got around to it, but I had shied away from Unchained Spirit for quite a while.  Listening to it now, I realize that my natural evasive instincts may have been right.  While Unchained Spirit is more consistent than Inna Heights, it still lacks the punch of the landmark Til Shiloh or even Buju Banton's pre-dread Voice of Jamaica.  Somehow, I got the uneasy vibe that here he is consciously trying -- maybe a bit too hard -- to be the next Bob Marley.  That is, it feels like he's focusing too much on trying to spread his appeal worldwide -- with roots for the roots fans, dancehall for the dancehall fans, hip-hop for the urban fans, ska for the traditionalists, gospel-tinged spirituality for the righteous ones, and even what can only be described as "alt rock reggae" (featuring the band Rancid) for the crossover rock fans -- instead of focusing on crafting quality material.  As such, nothing here has the classic sound of "Untold Stories," "Champion," "Murderer," "Could You Be Loved," "Love Sponge," or "Hills and Valleys."  The dancehall tracks -- like "Guns & Bombs," "Reunion," and "Woman Dem Phat" -- are particularly generic, while the ill-fated rock reggae of "No More Misty Days" sounds just forced.  Like his unnecessary DJ version of "Queen and Lady" on Inna Heights, Buju here contributes "Pull It Up," the DJ version of Beres Hammond's "Can You Play Some More," not once but twice.  Frankly, I didn't like the original to begin with, so these proved unbearable.  This doesn't mean that there's nothing worthwhile on Unchained Spirit, however; the best tracks have to be the vivacious ska of "Better Must Come," along with the African essence of the emotional "Sudan," the old school "Life Is a Journey," and the funk of "Poor Old Man" and "Law & Order."  OK overall, but I'd come to expect more from someone of the stature of Buju Banton.

Ultimate Collection (Hip-O, 2001)

Buju Banton has had one of the shortest careers of any artist featured in Hip-O's Ultimate Collection series thus far, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have ample material for a "best of" collection.  What it does mean, however, is that there's a greater chance you already have a good portion of the material included here.  In fact, if you have Til Shiloh, Voice of Jamaica, and Inna Heights, you have half of these songs!  For those new to Buju's music, though, it provides many of his career highlights, centered around his revolutionary Til Shiloh album.  From that set are culled "Murderer," "Champion," "Untold Stories," and, oddly, the 18-second "Shiloh," which adds nothing to the compilation.  Even more oddly, though, is the omission of "Wanna Be Loved," one of the most recognizable tunes from that album and one of the few reggae songs for which I've actually seen a video.  Ultimate Collection provides several tracks from the pre-rootsy, pre-dreaded Buju that bring back memories of early '90s dancehall (most from Voice of Jamaica with a couple from Mr. Mention), but I can't help but think of all the early material that's missing.  From Mr. Mention alone, there's "The Grudge" and "Batty Rider," both superior to the two Mr. Mention tracks here, "Buju Movin'" and "How the World a Run."  And what about "Good Looking Gal," "Stamina Daddy," "Bogle," "Mine Behind the Wine," "No Second Class Love," and perhaps the most infamous of his early output, "Boom Bye Bye"?  I suppose the compilers didn't want to rehash the controversy over the homophobic lyrics in that one, but it still is a glaring hole in this collection.  The post-Voice of Jamaica cuts are more representative, although it might've been nice to have cuts like "Politics Time Again" (on Strictly the Best 17) and "Truth" (on Universal Message).  Aside from the Inna Heights selections (Smartly they chose to include the two best tracks, "Hills and Valleys" and "Love Sponge," arguably the only reasons to buy Inna Heights.), the rest of Ultimate Collection is comprised of singles not on Buju's albums, the best being the massive "Rampage" (on Reggae Gold '95), the remake of Tenor Saw's "Ring the Alarm," and "Sensemelia Persecution" (the B-side of the "Champion" single).  "Fake Smile" and "Mama Rule" are lesser singles that could have been left off, I think; the same for album cuts like "Give I Strength," "Willy (Don't Be Silly)," and "No Respect."  Disappointingly, there's nothing from Buju's most recent album, Unchained Spirit, which only serves to heighten the sense of incompleteness, although overall Ultimate Collection is a nice overview if you're just getting into Buju Banton.

Friends for Life (Atlantic, 2003)

At times during Friends for Life, I forget that I'm listening to a Buju Banton album and think that this is a new Beenie Man or Sean Paul set. This doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, but I bet that a lot of his fans expecting him to chat the type of sing-songy righteous roots material that made them go ga-ga over Til Shiloh and, to a lesser extent, Inna Heights, will be disappointed. And while there is some of that rootsy stuff here (only 3 or 4 songs!), I was pretty amazed to discover the extent to which he abandoned that style in favor of both a pre-dread, pre-Til Shiloh digital dancehall stylee and a modern hip-hop/R&B/pop crossover sound. The regression of his sound is evident from the very start of this album, as he leads of with "Paid Not Played," a hip-hop/dancehall hybrid that awkwardly rides the ominous rhythm used on Sean Paul's "Shake That Thing," followed up by the obligatory Diwali-rhythmed track, the dull "Tra La La," and "Teaser," another uninspired dancehall number that is one of several that project distinctly un-righteous, un-Buju-like, shallow, name-dropping, materialistic and/or lascivious-lyrics (teaming up with Bounty Killer on its own being an odd proposition) -- in this case, the pseudo-jiggy, oh-so-hip reference to "gal a blow up mi two-way." Elsewhere, we hear lyrics like "in you Dolce and Gabana, Armani and Prada, you know yu body look good" ("Spectacular"), "getting paid not played, pushing Escalade and rocking Prada" ("Paid Not Played"), and on the interminable "Damn" the earth-shattering refrain "You got what I need, you got what I want. Give it to me 'cause you’re turning me on. All in the club shakin' that ass. Can't take it no more; you got me saying 'Damn'!" Oh my. (People who spent money on this album might be saying "damn" for another reason.) A few rootsy, more socially conscious tracks do kick in after the initial three -- highlighted by the emotional, African drum-laden, Marcus Garvey-inspired "Up Ye Mighty Race," the mellow "Maybe We Are," a nice cover of Peter Tosh’s "Mama Africa," the searing "Mr. Nine" (although this is a two year-old track, featured on Strictly the Best Volume 27), and even a fun ska tune, "Feeling Groovy" -- but for the most part, Buju reverts to the digital dancehall of "Get It On," "Hooked on the Love," and "Spectacular" and the lightweight mainstream bent of "Friends for Life," "Good Times," "La De Da," and the aforementioned bomb "Damn." Mind you, neither style is without its moments -- the old school dancehall of "Hooked on the Love" is a refreshing throwback to circa 1992, while the hip-hop/R&B flavor of "La De Da" and "Good Times" proves engaging (although is Fat Joe's cameo on the latter really necessary?), and even the acoustic ballad "All Will Be Fine" has some appeal -- but overall Friends for Life feels contrived. It seems as if Buju is striving for  the Beenie Man or Shaggy formula for crossover success, to the detriment of his artistry. (A more appropriate title might be Friends for Sale.) Perhaps he'd be better served looking at Sean Paul -- not to copy his sound, but to see that reggae artists don't have to alter their sound so drastically in order to succeed in the mainstream.

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Too Bad (Gargamel, 2006)

Too Bad is an apt title for the latest release from Buju Banton -- not because the album is bad, but rather because the veteran DJ returns to his dancehall roots to deliver hard-hitting digital riddims and rude boy-inclined, swaggering lyrics. However, unlike Sizzla, Banton avoids violent or overly sexual content (not to mention anything resembling the notoriously controversial homophobia of "Boom Bye Bye"); at worst, the lyrics could be called "shallow." Too Bad sounds like it could've been the follow-up to Voice of Jamaica instead of 'Til Shiloh; the crisp, simple beats lend a refreshing old-school air. Even when he recycles riddims, they're often a decade or more old, as with his wonderful treatment of Sly Dunbar's "Unmetered Taxi" on "Driver" or the re-cut of his own early hit "Man fi Dead" on "Hey Boy." Unfortunately, he reaches a bit too far on "Me & Oona," borrowing from the '60s surf anthem "Wipe Out" (WTF...?) to atrocious effect. Luckily, though, nothing else on the album approaches that disaster. In fact, from the get-go, it grabs hold of you and makes it evident that it won't let go until you're up and on the dance floor. The infectious refrain of "Your Night Tonight" and the pounding pace of "Try Offa Ya" (featured on Strictly the Best 35) will make you forget about your plans for an evening with Cup o' Noodles and TiVo, while "Nothing"'s staccato beat highlights perhaps the best track on the album. The rest, including a couple of more rootsy and/or lovers tunes in "Girl U Know" and "Lonely Night," is wonderfully consistent throughout, although it's "too bad" nothing lives up to the smash opening. It may not be the outright classic that some have claimed, but Too Bad is still Buju Banton's best effort since 'Til Shiloh.