For all its Biblical heft-- the title was taken from a Marcus Garvey prophecy about chaos erupting on 7/7/77-- Culture's reggae classic Two Sevens Clash, like Funkadelic or gospel, took suffering as a means for uplift. Re-sequenced from its original running order, this 30th Anniversary Edition opens with "I'm Alone in the Wilderness", which singer Joseph Hill does appear to be, for about 20 seconds. The minor key screws up to major, and the second time Hill claims solitude, he's joined by Albert Walker and Kenneth Dayes; Robbie Shakespeare's guitar nods in repose with the rootsiness of a Band record; wet organs drone in the background; an electric piano punctuates Hill's exultations; Sly Dunbar clacks along on drums like their bejeweled rickshaw. The goal here-- not to lose sight of what already feels like heaven on earth-- was deliverance: "I'm alone with Jah almighty."
And not only are there nine more songs, but they're as impossibly ecstatic as the first. Hill understood that true redemption probably takes better root in collectivity, so a handful are calls for inclusion: "Get Ready to Ride the Lion to Zion" (the lion appears! and he roars!), "Calling Rastafari", and "Black Starliner Must Come" (referring to Garvey's back-to-Africa dream). But Rastafari were caught between Babylon and a hard place, and Hill doesn't let his kin get too comfortable, slyly reminding them on "Pirate Days" that "the Arawak was here first" (and that Zion's pretty far off).
Though it's considered a classic of roots reggae-- a late-1970s style focused on Rastafarian teaching, social distress, and political injustice-- Two Sevens Clash generally sounds a lot brassier than most of the records in its category. The rhythms, if not always dance-oriented, are springy and uptempo, the harmonies are major, and Joe Gibbs's production is bright (contra, say, dub's intoxicant muddiness). And Hill is ultimately the catalyst reveling in the middle, a wily, lemony voice, never shying away in melody or delivery, never letting harsh reality cancel out his hope, but never pretending things are any less miserable than they actually are.
The title track was released as a single in March and became so massive that when July 7th arrived, businesses closed, the military perked up, and, reportedly, most people stayed indoors. Not that the year had been a party up to that point: the country experienced a growth in the first decade after 1962's independence, but it had slowed so drastically by 1977 that the International Monetary Fund arrived in May. In economic halt, the country played host to the usual mix of violence, anxiety, and unrest. But Hill yawps about the impending doom with zeal that sounds more like anticipation than fear. He's feeling great because he's goin' to see his lord, and one glimpse of heaven's good nuff to tut-tut the fears of any of god's reverent children wandering this hurt world-- we would've called it "apocalypse"; Hill called it "glory day." Culture was signed by a subsidiary of Virgin (with the help of Johnny Rotten-- Two Sevens Clash was considered a classic amongst the punks), and Hill performed around the world until his death last August. That July 8th came never mattered.
