But one of the problems with writing about the music of UB40 is the notion that they became so deeply unfashionable and hard to endure it seems almost pointless trying to convince any reader of the band’s critical worth. Long before the now well-publicised family bust-up that hastened the band’s demise, and the creation of several new half-arsed UB40 entities, the original collective had long since “sold out”. From about album four or five onwards - let’s say the start of the Labour of Love series of cover albums in order to put a stake in the ground - the band’s music became utterly devoid of any real creative integrity and merely a vehicle for some of the worst lightweight reggae fluff ever inflicted upon mankind.
The music was/is simply unbearable, even if they had - by then - completely won over less discerning sections of the record-buying public. By the mid-90s, they were unrecognisable as the band that made Signing Off in 1980, one of the greatest and most utterly compelling debut reggae albums of all-time. The follow-up, Present Arms, was also quite special.
Prior to the seismic shift in the band’s direction, UB40 were serious reggae artists first and foremost, a multicultural Birmingham-based collective with something important to say about an increasingly restless UK enduring its first outbreak of rampant Thatcherism and life-changing Tory rule. The opening handful of tracks more than hint at the band’s prevailing social conscience, with unguarded references to racism and colonialism in particular.
On the opening track ‘Tyler’ - the true tale of Gary Tyler, a black teenager wrongfully convicted of the 1974 murder of a white teenager in smalltown Louisiana - the target is clear:
“Tyler is guilty, the white judge has said so, what right do we have to say it’s not so … testify under pressure, a racist jury, government lawyers, it’s all for show; with rows of white faces, false accusations, he’s framed up for murder, they won’t let him go” …
(Gary Tyler spent time on death row, before serving a life sentence, eventually being released in 2016 after serving 42 years)
Then on ‘King’ … with reference to Martin Luther King:
“You had a dream of a promised land, people of all nations walking hand in hand, but they’re not ready to accept that dream situation, yet … King, where are your people now? … chained and pacified, tried in vain to show them how, and for that you died” …
And this from the brooding ‘Burden of Shame’ (still just four tracks in):
“There are murders that we must account for, bloody deeds have been done in my name, criminal acts we must pay for, and our children will shoulder the blame … I’m a British subject, not proud of it, while I carry the burden of shame” …
All of that contained within an opening 20-minute thrust; politically aware lyrics underpinned by the laidback grooves of the now signature UB40 sax, layers of percussion, a gentle probing bass, some clever and quite beautiful floaty synth excerpts, and vocalist Ali Campbell sounding for all the world like a repressed black man doomed to remain trapped in a white man’s body. It’s a simple enough formula, but one which produces quite exceptional (and timeless) results.
After the brief instrumental interlude that is ‘Adella’, we then come to one of the album’s genuine highlights - and an eventual single lifted from the album - ‘I Think It's Going to Rain Today’. The dubby sax-infused ‘25%’ then provides for another brief instrumental break, before the band’s breakthrough single and the album’s masterpiece ‘Food For Thought’ reminds us that UB40 need not have compromised to the extent they eventually did in order to achieve commercial success. ‘Food For Thought’ was, of course, a major global smash with its infectious skank and silky smooth crossover leanings. The mournful ‘Little By Little’ and the upbeat instrumental title-track then close out the album with understated aplomb.
But it doesn’t quite end there. Signing Off also comes with a bonus EP - a separate 12-inch pressing with the vinyl edition; all three tracks as equally rewarding as the album proper, including the majestic 12-minute-plus opus ‘Madam Medusa’, an epic track which showcases some extraordinary percussion, before “Astro” Wilson adds a touch of old-school-style toasting as the sweet cherry on top. Throw in a soulful version of the dark standard ‘Strange Fruit’ and another riveting ska-paced instrumental in ‘Reefer Madness’ (does exactly what it says on the box) and you end up with one of the very best collections of UK reggae you’re ever likely to find.
UB40 would never again scale such heights, and Signing Off presents the picture of a band positively bursting with fresh ideas. They clearly had something to say and despite possessing an undoubted hunger to attain mainstream success, something that ultimately destroyed the band, the message gets through undiluted and without compromise on this wonderful debut.
Signing Off is, without question, an everythingsgonegreen Desert Island Disc.
(The Vinyl Files is a short series of posts covering the best items in your blogger’s not very extensive vinyl collection)
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