In his dazzling, rubadub flow, with intricate rhyming, lavish word-play and off-the-wall allusiveness, his genial socialism and jubilant, green-fingered vegetarianism, his knockabout sense of humour and all-round irrepressible good vibes, Ranger is the peerless heir to U-Roy and Dennis Alcapone… and the most diplomatic of envoys for the new dancehall styles just around the corner. He’s undervalued because of a perceived lack of gravitas, but he’s one of the all-time great deejays, and this is his best work.
Have a listen to the musical shock attack Automatic: over Take A Ride, no less, he bundles the Last Poets into a breakneck stream of consciousness, with walk-ons for Marcus Garvey, Bag O Wire, and Garvey’s secretary Mother Muschett; Dovecot Memorial Park and Madison Square; a bad boy who doesn’t know Ranger’s dad is a cop; succinct advice like ‘natty don’t play card inna Babylon yard’; a big baboon in the light of the moon, a broken chair, a felt hat, an anchor you can’t conchor…
“Everybody was wondering why I sounded different. And the reason I sounded different was through I did grow in England and I have the English accent and when I speak you can hear every word I am saying clearly. It was a plus for me. And then through I liked to write poetry and write songs, you know I’m a writer, I stick to the topic from start to finish.”
And the musical rhythms are a preposterous fish-tea tidal wave of Studio One classics (plus a Shank I Sheck): Take A Ride/Truths & Rights, Real Rock/Armageddon Time, One Step Beyond, Hot Milk, Throw Me Corn, Never Let Go, Full Up, Please Be True, Things A Come Up To Bump.

So let the good time roll, with Sir Coxsone at the control. When Ranger talk, the dance it have fe cork.
Deliriously enjoyable. Terrific cover art, too.
Very highly recommended. Five ribbits, five bims, five flash-its, five oinks.