Digging so deep into a genre yields some surprising classics. But if a work is so obscured by time and lack of attention, might it cease to matter? Constructing something of a popular clutch of performers historians, writers and fans alike work to relay an individual sense of reality. So, in keeping Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Lee Perry on the lips of every reggae aficionado is as much a product of the music’s quality as it is a result of a skewed view of history.

The performers that haven’t ever garnered a tremendous amount of attention most likely have an individual view of how history transpired. But as a result of being dispossessed, to a certain degree, it’s a history that can’t and won’t ever be properly related. Even if it was, though, it wouldn’t be the entire truth.

Looking back at all of these semi-forgotten figures, it’s as interesting to guess what happened to them and where they are now as it is to listen to some of their music. With Al Campbell it’s a mixed bag. The singer is today recalled as much for his own work as for the folks that he performed alongside. Certainly stints with the Uniques and time spent at the Black Ark are important in relaying JA music’s history, but it just begins to appear that Campbell has been lost to time, partially because of who has subsequently written on the topic of reggae music.

Releasing a ridiculous amount of material during the ‘70s – some of which touches the same peeks as his better known cohort – Campbell amassed a decent following within the music community. He had a few hits in the charts, but it seems that there was more fawning over his talents in the studios then on the streets.

Singing in a Motown style – as opposed to the gritty Stax approach – finds Campbell over the duration of his albums crooning lovers rock while occasionally sprinkling his long player’s with socially conscious stuff.

Issuing his first full length in 1977, the following year found the singer hard at work releasing no less than five albums. No More Running, put out on the Terminal imprint and produced by Phil Pratt, sits somewhere between genres. Coming out so late in the decade, it’s well within the reggae genre. But with all of the lovey dovey lyrical focus some might just figure the disc for lovers rock. It’s splitting hairs, but to some listeners it’s important. And while the album doesn’t ever sink completely into a morass of clichés, “When the Grass is Green” gets pretty close. We can all appreciate a good love song, but they’re always better with discussions of foliage are left out. Who really needs that metaphor?

“Free Man” and “Can’t Get No Peace” stand out as early album political fair to balance the release out. Some semblance of even handedness crops up over the entirety of the disc, which might be the only reason to revisit the disc if the confluence of roots and lovers rock is your thing.