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In a performance steeped in cultural reverence and musical mastery, the Calabash Acoustic Ensemble marked the 50th anniversary of Marcus Garvey, the landmark 1975 album by reggae icon Winston ‘Burning Spear’ Rodney. Held during the Calabash International Literary Festival in St Elizabeth, the concert was both a celebration and a solemn remembrance that fused the fire of roots reggae with the enduring flame of pan-African pride.
Before the music began, Herbie Miller, director and curator of the Jamaica Music Museum, set a reverent tone held in honour of veteran musician and educator, Michael ‘Ibo’ Cooper, founding member of the legendary reggae band Third World. “My friend Ibo was on this very stage, and within a year, we lost Ibo and two members of his family. It’s only fitting that, since this was the last stage on which Ibo performed, we should hold a minute of silence,” Miller urged, drawing quiet respect from the audience.
The celebration then turned to the life and message of Jamaica’s first National Hero, Marcus Garvey, whose legacy inspired Burning Spear to create one of reggae’s most socially powerful recordings. “Like Garvey, Winston Rodney (Burning Spear’s real name) was born and nurtured in the parish of St Ann,” Miller noted.
He traced the influence of African nationalist Jomo Kenyatta – whose first name, Jomo, means “burning spear” in Kikuyu – and noted that Kenyatta was deeply influenced by Marcus Garvey’s Negro World newspaper.
“When I met Garvey and listened to him in London, I became a Garveyite,” Kenyatta once said. And like Garvey, Rodney saw his mission not as entertainment, but as education.
“Burning Spear is a teacher. Like Kenyatta, who scampered from village to village spreading Garvey’s message, Spear spreads Garvey’s consciousness through sound,” Miller declared. “
Miller’s remarks offered valuable insight into the album’s craftsmanship. He praised Herman Marquis’s horn arrangements, the subtlety of Carlton Barrett’s rhythm work, and the expressive guitar of Earl ‘Chinna’ Smith – affectionately introduced as “Melchizedek” – whose playing added a velvety, spiritual tone to the music.
“He doesn’t force it, but you feel it,” added Miller.
Dale Brown anchored the bass, Harold ‘Big Man’ Davis held court at the keyboard, and the brass section, led by Akil McIntyre on slide trumpet, added flourishes that soared and stung in equal measure.
As Miller guided the audience through the album’s track list, the Calabash Acoustic Ensemble performed all ten tracks treating each as sacred text and sonic scripture. Each track held its own lesson: Marcus Garvey, Slavery Days, The Invasion, Live Good, Give Me, Old Marcus Garvey, Tradition, Jordan River, Red, Gold and Green and Resting Place.
Burning Spear’s vocals, once described as untraceable in style, incomparable in timbre, were echoed and honoured through the voices of Kreation, Narado, Natty Pablo, Takura and Kai.
“Repetition, repetition, repetition. That’s how Spear teaches. It’s almost like he’s planting something in us. And we repeat it. And remember,” said Miller. As Slavery Days rang out, the question pulsed through the space: “ Do you remember the days of slavery?” The answer was not spoken, it was felt.
“We weren’t there, but believe you me, many of us remember the days of slavery. We call on that memory, a cultural memory, a historic memory. We feel it,” Miller highlighted.
Spear’s lyrics became invocation, “ And they beat us. Do you remember the days of slavery? And the work was so hard. Do you remember the days of slavery?
And they used us. Do you remember the days of slavery? ‘Til they refuse us. Do you remember the days of slavery?”
Every track delivered a lesson. In Marcus Garvey, the singer warns, “ He who knows the right and do it not, shall be spanked with many stripes... Do right. Do right.”
In Jordan River, rivers are cast as sacred places of transformation and in Red, Gold and Green, Garvey’s symbolic colours speak of struggle, vision and nationhood.
The album’s narrative is social, historical and prophetically political. “It reads like chapters of a well-put-together story, this is not just music. It’s scripture,” said Miller.
As the final notes of Resting Place faded, the moment did not feel like an ending. It felt like a beginning, a call, a challenge.
“This album is of such importance,” Miller concluded, “that we urge the powers that be to remix it, repackage it, re-release it. Let today’s generation feel what we felt.”
The audience rose, not just to applaud the performers, but to salute a legacy. At Calabash, fifty years on, Marcus Garvey lived again.
English (US) ·