Have You Heard? The Harder They Come [1972]

Thanks to a wonderful, caring counselor who helped shape my class schedule each year and lots of hard work, I entered my Senior year of high school in August 1983, short of a few credits to graduate early. I elected to have shorter school days. Continuing my AP classes in mathematics and humanities, both of which earned college credit, along with the two P.E. classes/credits that I was somehow short, I was done before second lunch every day.

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My first semester P.E. class was tennis/ping pong. If it was nice outside (below 90, not rainy or too cold), we played tennis on the courts just outside the gym; otherwise, we played ping pong on six tables in the gym that we had to set up and fold down to store. There was a guy in that P.E. class nicknamed "Flash" who was a race walker. His given name escapes me now, and he's not pictured in the yearbooks. Someone gave him the nickname because occasionally he would do his race walking thing outside of the fenced-in tennis courts while waiting his turn to play on one of the four courts. We had no other classes together, and I don't recall ever seeing him outside of P.E., but he was cool. We shared a fondness for books, movies, and music.

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The class was "loose"; it began at a leisurely pace, rather than when the bell rang like every other class, with the tennis coach appearing and taking attendance about halfway through the period. Also, we were allowed to wear our Walkmans during class. Well, not really allowed, just not reprimanded if we chose to wear the headphones on our ears or around our necks.

One day, I asked Flash what he was listening to, and he said something about a movie soundtrack. I was also listening to a movie soundtrack in my off-brand Walkman. I told Flash I was listening to Wild Style, which I had borrowed from my friend Mike. He told me he was listening to The Harder They Come.

Flash then gave me a 15-minute testimonial on why I should pick up The Harder They Come and what a difference it would make in my life. He took the tape out and showed it to me. It was one of those tapes that had the same album on both sides in case you wanted to record over one side. It was part of a brief initiative dubbed 1+1. After his sermon, I asked Flash if it was music or something else, and what I remember him saying was something cool like "Reggae is something else," but don't quote me on that.

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It was probably early 1984 before I found a very used, very smelly copy of The Harder They Come in all its gatefold glory. I taped the album and began listening to it regularly, falling under its spell as Flash had predicted. The Jimmy Cliff songs in particular appealed to me on several levels, known and unknown. Cover versions of those songs by Joe Jackson, Linda Ronstadt, and Joe Cocker still carry the potency and the spirituality of Cliff's originals. 

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Years later, I picked up a clean, non-smelly copy of The Harder They Come and re-dubbed my tape. The attraction to the music went deeper than the lyrics and the catchy rhythms. This stuff touches my soul and smooths my edges.

In 2003, I grabbed the Deluxe Edition of The Harder They Come and continue to enjoy it when I need to calm all the noise, live in the moment, and be grateful for my blessings. Like when I read that Jimmy Cliff had passed.