Anyone attempting to chronicle the rise of reggae in 1977 – especially if that person wasn’t from the island itself – was going to run into at least a few problems. Firstly, the colonial point of view was most likely inescapable for Mr. Jeremy Marre, the documentarian that helmed Roots, Rock, Reggae as a portion of a music/culture series called Beats of the Heart. Additionally, reggae music in ’77 wasn’t exactly an established genre. Bob was already insanely famous and the Stones had recorded in JA, but to have any sort of authentic perspective on the genre or how it came to be at that time was kinda foolish. Roots, Rock, Reggae certainly isn’t void of entertainment or proper forethought, but in a few places it seems to get kinda rocky.

Beginning with the audition process, the JA music industry does get a good looking over. And it’s unquestionably interesting to watch vocal groups and singers – some sans musical accompaniment – perform in someone’s court yard. Even more interestingly, the folks that get a shot at singing are all pretty adept at their craft. Each group would probably be able to put your local white boy reggae troupe to shame.

The video, at thirty some odd years old by this point, is probably gonna be familiar to anyone who enjoys reggae music and makes use of the culturally important and copyright infringing YouTube. There’re portions of the documentary at every corner. But even with that, getting to watch U-Roy dance around in a green suit is as entertaining as any other concert video. Big Youth even shows up at some point – who isn’t mentioned amidst the voice overs – and just mills about in-front of Randy’s record store. And while it’s clear that Marre intends this picture to count as some sort of proper musical critique, it’s more of a series of concert footage than anything else – but that’s just as good.

There’re a few old clips from the ‘60s of Jimmy Cliff dressed up like Ricky Ricardo and performing some ska juxtaposed with a ’77 version of the same singer speaking eloquently about how he arrived at his station in life. It’s interesting, but not too deep. Marre doesn’t seem to be asking the right questions, just recording the right sessions. The Abyssinian’s crop up sitting around in what looks like an abandoned barn (although it was probably just someone’s shanty) and perform “Satta Massagana” with just an acoustic guitar. It’s stirring. That’s it.

Following that devastatingly heart felt performance, though, Marre launches into some high highfalutin language figuring that the Abyssinian’s would continue to relative unknowns due to their religious adherences. Fortunately for the band, but not for the film maker, “Satta” went on to become the most versioned rhythm in JA music. That one fact alone points to the short comings of Roots, Rock, Reggae. And while it’s not the fault of the filmmakers for not possessing the ability to appropriately comment on all of this, some of the verbal miscues wind up being as funny as the final feature going to Inner Circle as they tool around the island in a Benz.