Jimmy Cliff’s 10 Best Songs: Staff Picks

For “House of Exile,” which appears on his 1974 Music Maker LP, Cliff turned his attention to the psyche of those whose chickens have come home to roost. “Oh, remember you said it wouldn’t happen to you/ Now you’re thinking how to start a new/ A drowning man will catch at a straw/ You were warned but you wouldn’t take heed,” he coos, opting for a less narrative-driven approach to songwriting. Between the piercing horns announcing his subject’s demise and his onslaught of verses that pierce that subject’s pompous armour, “House of Exile” doesn’t necessarily revel in its events — but it sure does contextualize those feelings of “I told you so.” — KYLE DENIS

“She can take the light out of the day/ And paint a dark night bright/ She can ease your pain when you feel insane/ And make you feel all right,” croons Cliff in the first verse of this sweet ode to the Eves of the world. Taken from 1978’s Give Thanx, “She Is a Woman” folds notes of ’70s soul into an easy-rocking reggae groove, all tied together by Cliff’s warm, starry-eyed tenor. From the tender background harmonies to the gentle build of its instrumentation, “She Is a Woman” effortlessly captures the underlying respect that’s often missing from today’s love songs. — K.D.

A classic early-’70s reggae cut with horns and palm-muted guitars, “Struggling Man” is another showcase of Cliff’s effortless vocals, even when he’s delivering lyrics that are anything but. As the song title suggests, Cliff spins a tale of perseverance and principle, of a quest and desire to improve his situation despite the condition that he finds himself in. It’s a key theme throughout Cliff’s career — one that he did perhaps better than any of his contemporaries. — DAN RYS

It’s interesting to listen to how clear-eyed Cliff was about the future of information with a song like “The News” — especially in this current era of disinformation, alternative facts and, well, fake news. “Have you heard the news?” he repeatedly asks across deceptively jubilant guitars before breaking down the motives behind this particular propaganda machine: “They scandalizing my name/ They want to make me look shame/ Because I got little fame.”

“The News” takes inspiration from Cliff’s real-life December 1974 arrest in Nigeria in connection with a civil lawsuit. After a promoter could not provide evidence to support his claims that Cliff had breached their contract, the charges were dismissed, Cliff was released, and “The News” was born. Arriving just two years after The Harder They Come shot him to international fame, “The News” is Cliff’s fiery response to the weapons that were raised against him. — K.D.

So much of Cliff’s reputation was built on the soundtrack to his 1972 cult classic film The Harder They Come, that it’s fitting that one of his biggest hits — this cover of Johnny Nash’s 1972 Hot 100-topper — came as part of the soundtrack to another cult classic, the 1993 film Cool Runnings, about the Jamaican Olympic bobsled team. It’s a breezy rendition, showcasing Cliff’s soulful, airy vocals and upbeat vibe, a great later-career classic. — D.R.

A sweeping reggae ballad cast in the shadow of ’60s pop, it’s no surprise that “Dearest Beverley” became an early local hit for a teenage Cliff. From the universal lovestruck pang of his voice to the aching ascending glissando he pulls off on “Beverely” in the chorus, Cliff knew early on how to deliver an emotional gut-punch of a song, without falling into overwrought or saccharine territory. — K.D.

“Advertiser, sterilizer, euthanizer, commercializer/ ‘Cause commercialization is the notion of the civilization,” chants Cliff across this rollicking mélange of guitar, bass, piano, trumpet, trombone, drums, organ, and saxophone. Housed in 1973’s Unlimited, his first album following the blockbuster success of The Harder They Come, “Commercialization” finds Cliff, in some ways, pushing back on the capitalistic demands of his newfound notoriety. Not only does the song purposely eschew traditional structure, but Cliff also trades his passionate crooning for militant indictments of the systems he’s been forced to navigate throughout his career. — K.D.

A biting commentary on how flippantly war treats life and humanity, “Vietnam” couches the heartbreaking bluntness of Cliff’s songwriting with bouncy instrumentation that turns the repetition in the song’s back half into quiet desperation. As quickly as Cliff’s soldier character promises he’ll be back home by the summer, his mother receives a telegram that he’s been killed in combat. Cliff’s absurd juxtaposition of “sweet Mary’s golden lips” against a numbingly matter-of-fact death announcement is what makes “Vietnam” such an effective and towering protest song; it lays bare the contradiction of war in no uncertain terms and places them in a narrative every listener can see themselves in. — K.D.

Accented by pounding drums and a defiantly hopeful tone that trades on Cliff’s belief in the sociopolitical power of reggae music, “Raggae Down Babylon” is one of the most underrated songs in the late legend’s catalog. “This girl walk up to me one day/ This is what she had to say/ ‘Reggae makes me feel alright/ I want to do it with you tonight,’” he sings in the first verse, setting the scene for a Bonnie & Clyde-esque love story that finds him and his lover connecting by using reggae to tear down oppressive structures like Apartheid or Babylon, which refers to the materialstic, capitalist world in the Rastafari belief system. Jimmy’s voice rings out across the track with conviction, and that alone makes “Raggae” an irresistible gem. — K.D.

The title track to one of the most significant cultural moments in reggae history, “The Harder They Come,” is a thesis statement of sorts for the hardscrabble story told in the film, that of a young man who heads to Kingston to try to pull himself up out of poverty, only to encounter various webs of corruption and exploitation in the big city. In classic reggae style, the track mixes upbeat grooves and major-key vibes with lyrics that speak to real-life, systemic issues in society, and the desire to overcome struggles — all beautifully packaged in a way that would fly under the radar for anyone who isn’t paying too close attention. To anyone familiar with the subversive nature of the majority of reggae music’s history, this is a stone-cold classic. — D.R.