Every single fan of JA music post-1970 should be confused by the endless number of references that crop up to Spaghetti Westerns, its characters and the actors that played them. Of course, the tough guy angle is understandable, but anything beyond that is pretty obscure. For whatever reason, though, the names stuck and helped create a great mystique around all involved. They weren’t gunslingers in a Western sense, but some of the mid-70s deejays certainly toted around some hardware.

Regardless of that, a deejay named Trinty, who himself had a pretty successful recording career, was the older brother of a kid named Robert Brammer. That latter name isn’t going to be recognizable to too many folks, but Brammer’s assumed name eventually became Clint Eastwood. A departure from the practice of using character names, Clint Eastwood began a career during 1978 that would burst forth a great many albums in a short time and eventually find a musical compatriot a few years on which would ostensibly end his solo career.

Showing up on a showcase album in ’78 was an auspicious beginning for Eastwood. Of course, the fact that the deejay would go on to issue three full lengths during the year would, early on, cement the perception of this performer. Cranking out a trio of essential deejay efforts right out of the gates was a surprise. But that whole familial talent thing apparently holds water.

Today, more then either African Youth or Step it in a Zion, Death in the Arena is perceived to be a career and even perhaps a genre highlight. It’s not too difficult to understand why. But with even the album’s cover becoming such an iconic image, the fact that the disc today doesn’t sound unique is a bit curious.

Working a bit with Dillinger and contributing backing vocals explicates Eastwood’s style pretty well. His chanting isn’t quite as gruff as the better known deejay, but the same sort of pervasive playfulness is omnipresent over the course of Eastwood’s three long players from 1978.

It’s been noted that part of Death in the Arena’s importance was the fact that the disc signaled a shift from roots’ consciousness towards the pervasive slackness and debauchery that defined dancehall stuff. That’s debatable, but what isn’t is the fact that “Greetings to All” begining with a mention of Rastas might make that slackness argument a little flimsy. The inclusion of “African Queen,” over a familiar rhythm, with Afro-centricity firmly in place would be a foreign concept a few years on as dancehall became more and more sexist and violent.

None of this actually makes Clint Eastwood the harbinger of social consciousness, but it does serve to separate his work from that of latter day deejays. There might not be too much reason to distinguish, but there’s no reason for folks to sit around and listen to guys grunt out rhymes focusing on women’s various body parts bouncing. A market for that stuff exists, but Clint Eastwood remains firmly planted an earlier form of deejay aesthetics.