POP MUSIC REVIEW : Brown’s Disarming Reggae: Gentle Voice for Have-Nots

At its worst, when its only concerns are good times and ganja, reggae music takes a back seat only to disco as the world’s most annoyingly soporific pop sound.

But at its best, reggae strives to be a voice of encouragement to the have-nots of the world--one of the most ambitious and important goals of any pop form.

Dennis Brown’s show Monday night at Club Postnuclear in Laguna Beach offered the ambitious kind of reggae. But instead of making strident pronouncements about the world’s injustices and the need for the oppressed to fight back, the veteran Jamaican singer got his point across with disarming gentleness and smiling good will.

Brown’s recording career dates back to the late ‘60s when reggae wasn’t an international force but just a scratchy-rhythmed quirk of the Jamaican music scene. His experience showed in a subtly constructed show as he caressed the audience first with feathery love songs, then moved into urgent rhythms and themes.

In the early going of his 80-minute set, Brown verged on fluff, singing lines like “love means never having to say you’re sorry” over and over and, at one point, even inserting a few verses from “The Way We Were.” But he sustained interest by delivering those cotton-candy sentiments in a soulful, grainy voice that conveyed depth missing from the lyrics.

The result, ultimately, was a spirit-soothing, regenerating sequence of songs that put a listener in a calm, pleasant state of mind while making the body sway.

New Age music, and bad reggae music, would let that plateau of calm lapse into an unbroken plain of slumber. But Brown had loftier aims.

With songs like “The Prophet Rides Again,” Brown moved from a state of well-being to a tone of mystical supplication. As he sang about the need for change, his delivery was yearning and troubled, not self-righteously wrathful. That tone would prevail for the rest of the show as Brown sang about the strife between oppressors and underdogs. A brace of Bob Marley songs, including “War” and “Get Up, Stand Up,” made the point best.

Brown received first-rate support from his seven-member backing group, Lloyd Parkes and We the People. Eerie synthesizer swoops from keyboardist Keith Sterling embellished the sense of mystery in “The Prophet Rides Again.” Inventive drumming, a soprano backup singer whose smooth voice complemented Brown’s rougher vocals, and the varied, sharp work of a three-man horn section were other musical highlights.

While the band sound came across clearly, Brown’s vocals were too often indistinct in the sound mix. But while the words were lost, their troubled, but hopeful drift got through.