---------------------------------------- Luciano: The Very Soul of Reggae By Alona Wartofsky Washington Post Staff Writer Friday, February 5, 1999; Page N17 EVER SINCE Bob Marley's death in 1981, reggae enthusiasts have hoped for an artist capable of stepping into his rather oversized shoes. Predictably, all contenders have fallen short, and by now it seems clear that contemporary reggae artists ought to be judged on their own merits, not measured against the considerable achievements of a legendary figure from another time. But Jamaican star Luciano, who along with Buju Banton and the late Garnett Silk has been a finalist in the reggae avatar contest, doesn't mind the comparisons. "Some see me as one who comes in the same light of brother Bob Marley to bring solace to theirsouls and comfort them in turbulent times," he says. "This should not detract from the power of the message. It ties two into one and makes it stronger. "When I'm compared to brother Bob Marley, or with anyone who has laid a foundation, to me it is strengthening. It is strengthening to the mission -- to educate and to elevate humanity, and to glorify Jah." These goals are precisely what Luciano strives for in his Rastafarian-informed music. His latest album, "Sweep Over My Soul" (VP), draws from traditional reggae, reggae dancehall, dub and gospel -- all in the service of disseminating his message. The inspirational title track and such songs as "Can't Stop Jah Works" and "Poor Youths" are all shaped by religious themes, while on the wistful "When Will I Be Home?" he longs to visit Africa. Luciano, 34, says that the spiritual nature of his music stems from painful lessons learned as a child. His father died when Luciano was 11. "That was like an initiation for me," he says. "There was a physical body with no spirit to move it. That really sent home a message to my soul. I realized within me that the principle of life, the essence of being, is the greatest gift of all." Luciano's father was a carpenter, and shortly before his death, he built a guitar. "I watched him put the wood to soak," he says. Luciano didn't learn to play, though, until years later. "I realized that learning to play it was showing love and respect for my father." Singing came more naturally. "I started singing in my mother's womb," he says with a laugh. As he grew up, he sang while performing his daily chores -- feeding the family's rabbit and goat. Once he got a little older, he sang at the local youth club. And when the mobile Jamaican discos known as sound systems would play on Friday and Saturday nights, "anyone who had courage enough could grab the mike and say something." Years later, Luciano sold ice cream cakes in an outdoor market in Montego Bay. When he wasn't polishing off "the spoiled soft ones," he chanted about ice cream to attract customers. "That's when I discovered the power of words and singing. I was singing words to get the attention of the people. After a while, I became a very good stage man." Friends urged him to try recording songs, but he wasn't quite ready. Instead, he moved to Spanishtown and learned a trade, working in an upholstery factory. "Still I had the music in me," he says. "I was singing in the workshop." Eventually, he began recording, and it wasn't long before he connected with Xterminator Records producer Phillip "Fattis" Burrell. Somewhere along the way, Luciano swapped his real name -- Jepther McClamont -- for Luciano. He used to say it was in honor of a singer he admired, Luciano Pavarotti, but on the phone from Jamaica last week, he playfully brought up vintage gangster "Lucky" Luciano before explaining that "luci" means "bearer of light." Luciano's major label debut, "Where There Is Life," was released by Island in 1995. It is a remarkable collection, marked by effervescent melodies and an uncommon warmth and humility. Like Buju Banton's landmark " 'Til Shiloh" of the same year, "Where There Is Life" was influential in shifting the focus of reggae dancehall. In its early years, dancehall had been dominated by X-rated "slackness" and gun lyrics. But by the mid-'90s, dancehall began embracing religious themes. "God has blessed us with some great souls, like brother Beres Hammond, Garnett Silk, Tony Rebel, Buju Banton and Cocoa Tea," Luciano says. "Every one of us, no matter how small our contribution is, must help somehow in the molding of society. We must find another way out of this wretched system and the fearlessness and the recklessness of this generation." In the post-dancehall era, even traditional reggae frequently borrows from dancehall's spare computer rhythm tracks. While Luciano's collaborators on the new album include drummer Sly Dunbar, keyboardist Robbie Lyn and Dean Fraser on horns, computers are also involved. "If man should live according to the fundamental principles of life, then we should live up on the hills and graze our sheep in the valleys," Luciano says. "But mankind has invented many things, and this is the computer age. Computer intervention gives the music a lot of new dimension. There's no doubt that dancehall music has power in it. Some people add negative words, but the music by itself is powerful. You can use synthesizers and computers and create great sounds, and then bring in the flutes or conga drums for natural vibes." "Everything that man has created so far can benefit him," he cautions. "If used with moderation and wisdom." Copyright 1999 The Washington Post Company ----------------------------------------------------------