H.R. has a new album finished—Hey Wella comes out in September, and a handful of the tracks are streaming on his MySpace page. Respect is due and all that, but my attempt to do some quick math on the album’s reggae-to-punk track ratio led me to “You Got a Girlfriend,” a mess of loping beats and ka-chunk-ka-chunk guitars that almost made me miss Sublime. So, figure half and half, but stick with Rock for Light anyhow. Best to remember Bad Brains this way:

Or perhaps this way:

Still, if you want more, he headlines Velvet Lounge Friday, July 11.

Not that Joe Gibbs. But the legendary reggae producer Joe Gibbs. We’re a little late to this news. But here’s some info and sounds. The Guardian has a strong piece as well. And, of course, you can purchase some back catalog so you can mourn appropriately. Dustygroove has some choice selections. The record pictured above has served me quite well over the years.

What we learned this week at Black Plastic Bag:

1. Deerhunter’s singer is all like, “eat my dick.”
2. Hook up John Stabb with love and/or money.
3. There is music for that raging case of swamp crotch.
4. Faraquet has a Brazilian (tour).
5. Eddie Money goes with lots of things.
6. You may have been conceived to the sounds of George Parker.
7. Pelican digs the Deftones.
8. “Blelvis by Wonderland” has a nice ring to it.

Seems unfair to talk about “mid-to-slow tempos, plus some kind of broody, mopish vibe”–as Burton did yesterday–without tipping to ’70s dub and/or roots grooves from Jamaica. The recommended portion-control: Build the base with King Tubby and Lee Perry (with Scientist, the Roots Radics and the Upsetters in there, of course); spice the middle with Heart of the Congos and some early Burning Spear; and top things off with Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner by Black Uhuru. That’ll do ya.

(Endless reading at the conveniently titled–and lovingly compiled–Reggae Reviews. More database-y stuff at Roots Archives.)

When I was in high school one of my friends purchased a Culture album solely because it was called International Herb and it had more marijuana on the cover than either of us had ever seen in our lives (we had not yet discovered Peter Tosh). However, we soon discovered that the record had virtues beyond the foliage-heavy cover art. Culture’s combination of rocksteady rhythms and harmony vocals were as potent as anything pictured in High Times and hooky enough that we could remain blissfully ignorant of what the songs were actually about–Armageddon.

For those of true faith, the end of the world does not spell doom, but release from misery into life eternal. As two Catholic school kids from the Salt Lake City suburbs sporting Led Zeppelin tie-dyes, we didn’t really fit the “true faith” bill. In fact, we most likely would have been the first against the wall when Babylon tumbled.

I have no idea where my friend is now. The last time I spoke with him he was working at a Whole Foods and training to become a forest ranger by spending by going snow-shoeing and listening to a lot of vomitous prefix-ridden bluegrass (psycho-grass, speed-grass, Leftover Salmon). Wherever he is, I hope he finds the time to pick up the new 30th anniversary reissue of Culture’s Two Sevens Clash. Shanachie’s reissue of the band’s finest and headiest record, which comes out July 17, looks towards toward the end–which will possibly come tomorrow on 7/7/07–with major key melodies, considerable optimism, and a few decent B-sides.