Bob Marley & the Wailers: Every Studio Album, Ranked

Confrontation is the only album on this list that was released posthumously. Assembled from various demos and other studio scraps recorded during Marley’s lifetime, it also feels the most separated from his core legacy.

Multiple tracks have background vocals and layered harmonies from the I-Threes added to give everything a bit of sonic consistency. Unfortunately, that approach occasionally makes this record feel like a Bob Marley tribute instead of a proper collection of unreleased gems. The overtly 80s production elements, including gated drums and overbearing synths, don’t help.

Still, there are a handful of strong moments here. “Jump Nyabinghi” and “Blackman Redemption” bubble over with sunny, soulful energy, while “Buffalo Soldier,” with those opening horn blasts and 80s drum sound, is easily the best cut on the LP, as well as its only single of note.

Despite its title, The Best of the Wailers is not a compilation, but rather an inflection point in the group’s rise to superstardom. The main reason was the man who oversaw the recording process: Leslie Kong. A famed Kingston hitmaker who’d helped other talents like Jimmy Cliff, Desmond Dekker, and Toots and Maytals break through to mainstream audiences, Kong was tasked with pulling the Wailers out of a creative slump. To my ears, he mostly succeeded.

A big part of the winning formula here is Kong’s house band, then called the Beverleys’ All Stars. The group, headed by Gladstone “Gladdy” Anderson on piano, framed the Wailers with bright, vaguely Motown-esque instrumentals and harmonies. You can really hear the latter shine through on the uplifting “Soul Shakedown Party” and the blissfully romantic “Do It Twice.” There’s also “Stop The Train,” one of Peter Tosh’s most powerful lyrical contributions to the group.

Interestingly, the Wailers weren’t thrilled with the results (they sought out Lee Perry to produce the group’s next record). Kong passed away a week after this album’s release at age 37, effectively closing the loop on any possible collaborations that would’ve made good on a similar sound.

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There’s an alternate universe where, with more infrastructure and immediate global exposure (or at least more than they enjoyed at the time), Marley, Tosh, and Bunny Wailer could’ve been Jamaica’s answer to Smokey Robinson & the Miracles.

This 1965 release is primarily a showcase for those three voices, putting them through Westernized paces that include, among other things, a cover of “What’s New Pussycat?” You can hear the influence of groups like Smokey Robinson & the Miracles and the Temptations on tracks like “I Need You,” “Ten Commandments of Love,” and “I’m Still Waiting,” where vocal harmonies soar above jangly guitars and jukebox-ready grooves. There’s also an early version of “One Love/People Get Ready,” one of Marley’s trademark songs, which he’d re-record in 1977.

Due to the recording conditions and the economic realities in mid-60s Jamaica, The Wailing Wailers’ sonic quality is subpar in spots. However, it’s still more than worth your time, particularly for those curious about the earlier part of the Bob Marley origin story.

If any album on this list epitomizes Marley’s transition from ska and roots disciple to a unique, international persona, it’s Soul Revolution. Different reissues add a “Pt. II” suffix to the record and add a few tracks, most notably “Kaya,” but for the purposes of this write-up, I’ll tackle all versions of this release as one entry into Marley’s catalog.

Produced by Perry, who was on his way to becoming one of reggae’s most successful and sought-after producers, this LP is sparse sonically, often relying on a handful of elements to carry the mix. However, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. It doesn’t have the full, more electric feel of Marley’s peak period, but it also forces him and the Wailers to captivate with their melodies and lyrics.

A good example of this dynamic at work is “Sun is Shining,” a well-known track that he’d also cannibalize and reinterpret later in his career. But, even though there’s only guitar, bass, and harmonica supporting his vocal performance, I think it works on a different level than the later version. It’s grittier and more insistent, qualities that recontextualize his words without robbing them of their soulfulness.

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Soul Rebels is an important release in Marley’s discography because of how many firsts there are. It was the first album crediting the group as Bob Marley & the Wailers, a distinction that would last until the singer’s death in 1981. It was also the first full-length collaboration with Perry following a string of generally well-received singles. You could also argue this was the first moment in time when the group started to toy with listener expectations of what constituted “real” reggae music.

For instance, you have the strange echo that runs throughout “My Cup,” lending an off-kilter energy to both the rhythm and vocals. “It’s Alright” showcases the group pushing the limits of genre hybridism and going almost entirely R&B. That said, there are more traditional rocksteady roots moments here too, like “Try Me” and “400 Years,” the latter being one of my favorite Peter Tosh vocal performances of all time.

It’s not the most polished or cohesive LP under the Bob Marley & the Wailers banner, but it’s arguably the first one that approaches, if not touches, greatness.

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Uprising is the album I had the most difficulty placing on this list, mainly due to the gulf between its highs and lows. Because it was released less than a year before his passing, a lot of the calls for spiritual and humanitarian unity are viewed through that lens, as if Marley may have known this was the last chance he’d get to express those views. Relatedly, there’s also a weariness that drags the record’s energy down in spots, possibly because the weight of being a global ambassador was finally starting to weigh on him.

In fits and starts, this LP contains some of the group’s best work. “Zion Train” folds wah-wah guitar play into a more traditional reggae track, updating sensibilities heard on “Stop The Train.” “Could You Be Loved” is an exceptional crossover effort, underpinning one of Marley’s most recognizable vocals with late-70s funk and disco vibes. The closer, “Redemption Song,” is a moment of sheer brilliance, stripping away the electric orchestration to deliver what feels, to a degree, like Marley was singing his own obituary.

And yet, for all those positives, a lot of the lyricism didn’t connect with me as much as his mid-70s period did. The messaging is not as overtly anti-establishment as his most biting protest anthems, but it’s also not as sweet and disarming as his most soulful classics. Instead, it’s caught between both those worlds, which led to it falling here in my rankings. I understand that I may be in the minority here, though.

Part 2 of this discography ranking will be released in the coming weeks. Until then, check out other record collector lists I’ve published or the deep dive I did on Coldplay’s studio albums recently.

Is there anything in these rankings you’d change? Which Bob Marley & the Wailers would you slot in at No. 1? Make your voice heard in the comments.

In today’s post, I’ll complete my ranking of every studio album released by Bob Marley & the Wailers.

A lot of great music to get to, so I won’t stand on ceremony, except for the following links:

• If you missed the first half of this discography ranking, Irecommended reading Part 1 before proceeding. You’ll also get more insight into my thought process behind the rankings themselves and a bit more context around Marley’s mythical career.
• Also, if you’re digging what you read today (and on any other day you’ve taken the time to read this newsletter), consider subscribing and sharing this content with your inner circle. With your help, I’d love to grow this incredible community of music lovers even more.

Alright, enough preamble. Let’s do this.

Survival is easily one of Marley’s most politically charged albums, which is saying quite a lot. It’s not like he hadn’t written protest anthems prior to this record, but there’s an unmistakable uptick in militancy that permeates every song on this tracklist. The LP was supposedly titledBlack Survival during the recording process, echoing the themes of Pan-African solidarity in the face of repressive regimes and bloody civil conflicts. The urgency of his messaging didn’t go unnoticed by the continent’s political decision-makers. Marley and his band would perform the track “Zimbabwe” the following year at the country’s Independence Celebration, while the South African apartheid regime partially censored some of the record’s content.

For me, this record gets a slightly higher ranking than Uprising due to the strength of its lyricism. Marley’s talent for presenting important cries for activism and unity in fresh, catchy sonic packages is unparalleled in reggae history. Tracks like “So Much Trouble in the World” and “One Drop” are full of angry, disaffected observations, but, unless you’re hanging on every word, you’d never know it by the warm, bouncy instrumentals that frame them. Despite his growing cynicism, Marley manages to end the record on a hopeful note with “Wake Up and Live,” commanding listeners to “rise, you mighty people, yeah/There’s work to be done.”

Survival is Marley at his heaviest and, at times, his most resonant.

At this point, we’re getting into near-masterpiece territory.

Natty Dread was the first album Bob Marley released without reggae legends Peter Tosh and Bunny Livingston in support. Re-dubbed the Wailers, his backing band added a new dimension in a female vocal trio, the I-Threes (one of those talented women was Marley’s wife, Rita), as well as additional studio players to add a little more meat to the bones of his sound. The resulting tracks are largely acknowledged as a turning point for Marley and reggae as a whole—the moment when the genre started to put all the pieces together and emerged as a force to be reckoned with.

The bite on Marley’s political and social commentary is as sharp as ever here, with classics like “Lively Up Yourself,” “Revolution,” and the exceptional “Rebel Music (3 O’Clock Rock)” not mincing their words on topics like discrimination, poverty, and violent uprising. As the latter song declares, “A hungry mob is an angry mob.” Musically, each cut is balanced on an infectious groove, hinting at the roguish energy that Marley would lean into more and more as his career progressed. Moments of tenderness shine through too, with “No Woman, No Cry” standing tall as his most enduring ballad. The sublime live version included on most greatest hits compilations is worth seeking out if you’ve never heard it.

By 1975, Bob Marley and the Wailers were a legitimate global phenomenon. Natty Dread had been a commercial success, and the ensuing tour yielded the excellent Live! concert recording, one that immortalized his most recent Top 40 hit, “No Woman No Cry.” Following that tour, Marley would assemble a murderer’s row of production and musician talent, repair to the studio, and lay down the tracks for what has become his most underrated album.

Up to that point in his career, this record was the reggae star’s best balancing of militant protest anthems and more lighthearted material. In the former category, you have cuts like “War” and “Want More,” where he elevates himself from mere observer to prophet. “They stab you in the back,” he exclaims on the latter track, “and they claim that you are not looking.” It’s hard not to lift some knowing (or purely coincidental) foreshadowing around how Marley would become the target of violence less than a year later.

As with his other top-tier albums, Rastaman Vibration isn’t all doom and gloom either. The opening one-two combo of “Positive Vibration” and “Roots, Rock, Reggae” are among the sunniest radio singles in his repertoire. “Cry to Me” is another severely underappreciated song that doesn’t necessarily top “No Woman No Cry” but gives it a game try. In the end, what you’re left with is an LP devoid of any tracks that made it onto the Legend compilation, which has unfortunately meant that many casual fans skip over this one.

Don’t. It’s well worth your time.

Though it’s not the first album that featured Bob Marley’s political messaging front and center, Burnin’ could reasonably be considered the first LP where he and his band were openly confrontational in the face of dominant power structures. You only have to wait a few seconds to sample that energy, as the record opens with the anthemic “Get Up Stand Up,” one of the century’s most enduring protest songs. Some of the writing is still striking, as familiar as it is. When you hear Marley sing, “If you know what life is worth, you would look for yours on earth,” you realize how much the human race hasn’t learned in the intervening years.

That said, “Get Up Stand Up” isn’t even the most contemporary cut on the record. That honor goes to the equally famous “I Shot the Sheriff,” a cautionary tale about police brutality and how, when those targeted by such heinous acts stand up for themselves in self-defense, they become martyrs instead of purveyors of justice against oppression. For all the great 70s artists whose records continue to earn millions of monthly streams worldwide, there are few who can still sound as relevant as Marley. I’m not exaggerating when I say “I Shot the Sheriff” could be released tomorrow and become a hit record overnight, all while ruffling the feathers of blustery Fox News types along the way. How many fifty-plus-year-old tracks have that kind of power?

The rest of the album ranges from good to great. The remastered version also includes an expanded tracklist that includes a trio of songs conceived by Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer, who’d leave the group following this studio outing. Of that small group, “Reincarnated Soul” is the best of the bunch.

Until the end of his life, Bob Marley would record subsequent albums with the Wailers that would move more units, produce multiple hit singles, and help him sell out arenas. However, there’s a valid case to be made that Catch a Fire is the best pure reggae album he (or anyone else) ever made.

Perhaps it’s the warmer, more textured sound (which, thankfully, still shines through on the digital remaster) or the Motown-esque vocal harmonies that float effortlessly above the laid-back instrumentals. Maybe it’s the fact that this collection of songs, more than anything that would come after, was truly a group effort, bringing several truly dynamic talents to the forefront. Lest we forget, that’s the late Peter Tosh you’re hearing sing lead vocals on “Slave Driver” and “400 Years,” two of Catch a Fire’s best moments. Or, better still, maybe it’s how Marley manages to let his guard down for the first time in the studio, serving up two classic ballads in “Baby We’ve Got a Date (Rock It Baby)” and my personal favorite song in his oeuvre, “Stir It Up.”

There are some minor flaws in the production and mixing, which is likely due to the technical limitations of the Jamaican studio system at that time as much as anything else. That shouldn’t matter to serious reggae or Marley fans. Top to bottom, this is an absolute gem.

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At the apex of his fame, was there Bob Marley backlash? In trying to broaden his audience stateside, had he fallen too in love with a more mainstream, perhaps watered-down reggae sound that he’d begun to enrage the very audience that helped him rise to prominence in the first place?

You could certainly infer as much from Lester Bangs’ infamous Rolling Stone review of Kaya. “This is quite possibly the blandest set of reggae music I have ever heard,” he writes at one point. “[It’s] pleasant enough if you just let it eddy along, but [musically], Kaya is a succession of the most tepid reggae clichés, pristinely performed and recorded, every last bit of tourist bait (down to the wood blocks) in place just like a Martin Denny record. Marley sings in a cheerful lilt light and bouncy enough for panty-hose commercials.” In retrospect, it’s a little overboard, but I can understand his incredulity.

The reason is simple: Kaya is not cut from the same politically-charged cloth as the rest of his 70s output up to this point. Instead of calls to arms and philosophizing, Marley was content to sing about two of his favorite topics for an entire record—love and herb. As a result, it’s the most laid-back, comforting, and satisfying of his LPs with the Wailers. It’s also the best-sounding collection of recordings he ever produced, especially from a vocal perspective. The lilts and other small details he brings to “She’s Gone,” “Misty Morning,” and “Time Will Tell” are really sublime. They stand out even more on the recent digital remaster, where every inflection can be enjoyed in pristine detail.

There are also the major hits that made this record a bestseller. “Easy Skanking,” “Satisfy My Soul,” the ubiquitous “Sun is Shining,” and the indelible “Is This Love”—what more could you want from a roots reggae album?

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Six months before Exodus was released, Bob Marley’s life was nearly cut short.

On December 3, 1976, he was the target of an assassination attempt at his Tuff Gong compound. He and the Wailers were supposed to headline the Smile Jamaica concert two days later to unite an increasingly tense and volatile population. However, due to a hurried call for a national election, the benefit was seen as nothing more than a political stunt. The resulting outrage led a gunman to open fire on multiple people, including Marley and his wife. Everyone miraculously survived and Marley wound up performing for 90 minutes less than 48 hours later.

This context is essential when listening to Exodus. More than any other album he released, you can hear Marley trying to balance his “one love” outlook for the future, typically full of hope for unity, with the creeping realization that such an outcome might not be possible. It’s not even subtext for most of the record—he begins the opening track, “Natural Mystic,” by musing, “Many more will have to suffer/Many more will have to die/Don’t ask me why/Things are not the way they used to be.” For much of the first half of this record, he’s unwilling to suffer fools gladly. “So Much Things to Say” and “Guiltiness” rail against the willful ignorance of the powerful, while the title track asks of them: “Open your eyes (And look within)/Are you satisfied? (With the life you’re livin’?).”

Then, improbably, Marley takes his foot off the political gas pedal and serves up a second side full of bops and easy-going riddims. From the opening drum hits of “Jamming” through to the Curtis Mayfield-assisted “One Love/People Get Ready,” it’s a legendary stretch of music that ranks with the best of its contemporaries, both in reggae music and beyond. It’s an incredible example of tension and release—getting your inner tension roiling before letting all that anger fade away with the most soothing of sonic balms.

If you shell out for one non-Legend Bob Marley record in your lifetime, make it Exodus.

Surprised by any of these rankings? If yes, which one should be moved up or down the list? Let me know in the comments.