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Prisoner (Shanachie, 1990 [orig. released 1989])

A major ingredient in roots reggae is a sense of protest against injustice, of striving for what is right in the face of oppression; and there were few places in the world with a more oppressive atmosphere in the 1980s than South Africa.  Out of these surroundings was born Lucky Dube (pronounced "doo-bay," not "doob" or "doobie"), whose haunting vocals convey the anguish and heartache of living under the Apartheid regime (Some of his early works were banned in South Africa.).  Most people seem to compare Dube's voice to Peter Tosh, which it does resemble, but there is also a softer, dreamier, less militant lilt, somewhat akin to Ijahman.  Prisoner, Dube's third reggae album and the second to be picked up by Shanachie (his first few albums were recorded in the traditional Zulu mbaqanga style), is one of his most acclaimed, and it's easy to see why, as it's filled with poignant, topical lyrics, mournful yet harmonic vocals, and gentle, floating music.  Airy synthesizer keyboards and even more airy melodies -- loosely structured, a bit like Burning Spear -- predominate, so much so that some of the songs start to sound a bit alike, even with only 8 tracks.  Still, it's a nice sound to have.  His female background singers take to the foreground on most of the choruses, adding to the ethereal sound of tunes like the title track, "War and Crime," and "Remember Me."  A harder sound lifts a couple of other songs -- the scathing, dancehall-bassed "False Prophets" and the funky, electric guitar-driven "Dracula," probably my favorite cut on the album.  Prisoner isn't perfect, but it makes it apparent why Lucky Dube is so popular.

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House of Exile (Shanachie, 1992)

Much of the same sound continues on House of Exile -- indeed, the quietly wavering synth sound of the serene title track (and a few others) seems almost identical to that of some of the tunes on Prisoner (like "Prisoner" itself").   It's interesting to see how the lyrics on this album reflect the release of Nelson Mandela and the subsequent collapse of Apartheid.  Does Dube feel less oppressed somehow?  Well, in the otherwise sloppy "Running, Falling," he turns the tables, singing "Oppressor man, you running, your kingdom's falling."   Meanwhile, in "Group Areas Act," he celebrates the fall of Apartheid, but tempers it with caution in "Crazy World" ("But we don't know what tomorrow brings in this crazy world.") and "Mickey Mouse Freedom."  Most interestingly, Dube includes several songs that touch more on personal, one-on-one relationships ("Can't Blame You," "Hold On," "It's Not Easy"), as opposed to mass persecution -- perhaps relying on them to inspire his heavy-hearted wailings because he couldn't find enough sorrow amongst the then-optimistic populace of South Africa (or maybe I've taken too many English courses).  In the end, it doesn't really matter where he gets his inspiration, since he still manages to paint vivid, poignant pictures with his songs, as on the title cut.  Dube proves through songs like "It's Not Easy" -- the tale of a regretful, disillusioned man going through divorce -- that he may be the most evocative lyricist in reggae.  Still, on House of Exile, on other tracks, he resorts to tritely phrased choruses like "Reap What You Sow" and (eesh) "Up With Hope (Down With Dope)."  Thus, the material here is up and down, but still manages to deliver some potency.

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Rough Guide to Lucky Dube (Rough Guide Network, 2001)

*GUEST REVIEW*
I like experimenting with new artists. My latest experiment is the Rough Guide to Lucky Dube.  Lucky is a South African artist who experimented with upbeat African guitar pop, Zulu Soul, and traditional Zulu music before venturing into reggae.  He and Alpha Blondy appear to be the most important reggae artists in Africa. I normally like African music and the many forms it takes after many hours spent listening to DJs such as Andy Kershaw and John Peel.  However, I was rather disappointed by this album.  It is a compilation of 15 tracks that span Dube's career.  The reggae is lightweight roots with lyrics related to the African struggle.  It is poppy but just too bland and doesn't have enough interesting tracks to convince me to purchase the album or give it repeated listens.  Peter Tosh and Bob Marley were very influential on Lucky, and it shows.  However, the quality does not match their standards.  If you like the pop periods of Aswad or UB40 or want a blander version of Morgan Heritage, then give this a try.  I would like to hear Luke Dube after he was mixed by a heavyweight producer, but I doubt that will happen.

- ragudave

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Soul Taker (Shanachie, 2002)

It's a real testament to Lucky Dube's staying power that Soul Taker, his 11th album released on the Shanachie label, is perhaps his best.  As the title suggests, Soul Taker has dark, melancholy streak, epitomized by the opening track, "Put a Little Love," which dispenses oh-so-cheery lyrics like:

Her life is falling apart. Her marriage is on the rocks. She thinks about her mother, she thinks about her children, she thinks about the church and everybody that thought they had it made in heaven. Suddenly the comfort in the house don't mean nothing. All she needs is some loving in her life.

If you're a manic depressive, maybe this isn't the album for you, but if you can deal with mournful vocals and topics (even when the topics aren't sad, Dube's sorrowful wailing makes it seem so), Soul Taker presents a vivid, atmospheric experience.  The lyrics to "Put a Little Love" exemplify the detailed, story-driven words that Dube croons.  He paints a vivid landscape of death, despair, corruption, and yearning for something better -- certainly feelings borne of his Apartheid and post-Apartheid experiences.  The title track -- a foreboding tale of the Grim Reaper -- is so dark, it has the feel of the theme song for a horror movie ("Walking in the darkness, like a predator from the wild, looking for those who are gasping for the last breath to take them away . . . His eyes shine wild fire, and he's here to take you away.").  Probably the most effectively troubling song here, though, is "Teach the World," a brutal admonishment to an unnamed nation (or nations):

It takes a million people to build up a good reputation, but it takes one stupid fool to destroy everything they done. The world knows your people as the most violent in the world. The world knows your nation as the most oppressive in the world. Take it upon yourself to restore your nation's dignity.

Could he be talking to America?  To Afghanistan?  To South Africa?  Perhaps all of the above and more.  That's the brilliance of the song and of Dube's songwriting.  The overall sound of Soul Taker should please both his fans and fans of roots reggae in general.  This is as emotionally wrought an album as I've ever heard, regardless of genre, with both Dube's haunting vocals and those of his gospel-tinged choral background wringing every bit of feeling out of the material.

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The Other Side (Heartbeat, 2004)
Is there any more heartbreaking voice in reggae than Lucky Dube's?  It’s no wonder, then, that his topics tend toward the melancholy, and little has changed on his most recent effort.  His first album on Heartbeat after so many successful Shanachie releases, The Other Side continues the trademark tranquil, cooing organ-buoyed sound that he established on his previous label.  It's such an awesome, tranquilizing style, in fact, that you don't necessarily care that some of his songs tend to sound alike.  You do care, however, if some of his songs aren't quite as good as his previous ones, and such is the case with this album.  The Other Side is solid, fine work, but while the sound remains the same, the material just isn't quite as striking, the melodies not quite as entrancing, the lyrics not quite as piercing as the magnificent Soul Taker.  This in turn makes the fact that these songs sound so similar to his others all the more bothersome -- as if they're pale imitations.  "The Bully," "Soldier," "Hero," and "Family Ties" certainly fall into that category.  Still, though, there are several moments on this album where style and substance prove equally powerful: namely, the typically somber "Number in the Book," (a statement on the AIDS crisis), "Cool Down" (relating the tale of a marriage on the rocks), "Divorce Party" (ditto), and the title track (a sad portrait of a victim of "the grass is always greener on the other side" syndrome).  Surprisingly, there are even a couple of lighter, less-than-suicidal tracks to be found (although why would you want that?): "Julie! Julie!" and "Ding Ding Licky Licky Licky Licky Bong" (yes, that's what I said).  As usual, you can count on Dube for vivid portraits and distinct lyrical gems such as on "The Other Side":

Every morning he goes to the airport to watch the planes come and go. He has changed his African name to a Western one 'cuz he doesn't know how it hurts to have a name you can't get out of.  He hopes that one day he can one of these birds of the sky can take him away to a very, very far land.  Running away from the very roots that so many black people of the world are wanting to come back to, a place they call home.

Overall, while this isn't a top-notch effort, there's enough on The Other Side that stands up well in comparison to Dube's body of work and that makes a solid contribution to his legacy.