The Mighty Diamonds’ Roof Over My Head from 1976, which was informed by the conscious social movement and progressive cultural scene of the previous decade, and, which influenced many in its wake, is an early masterpiece of modern Jamaican music.

Like those whose influence they extended in ways that would add voice and significance to a culture of resistance and quicken the pace of social reform, the album’s stunning performances were guided by a vocalist that captivated the world of reggae enthusiasts.

Effortlessly visible and audibly unmistakable despite the suave Motown choreography and smooth harmonies of the group he fronted, Donald “Tabby Diamond” Shaw was the trio’s defining image and emotional heart. He made the genuinely refined harmonies of Fitzroy “Bunny” Simpson and Lloyd “Judge” Ferguson emerge unrestrained.

Shaw was The Mighty Diamonds’ lead singer, whose signature vocal dexterity established and maintained the group’s rating and individuality as one of Jamaica’s foremost and most enduring reggae acts. Shaw’s sound was naturally bittersweet — honey-coated cerasse or if you prefer, natural black chocolate containing just enough sugar. It evoked the Jamaican people’s dual personality; beauty and dread, success and suffering, love and hostility, joy and pain, optimism and desperation. His voice and lilt offered hope amidst widespread hopelessness through its soulfulness, texture, and aching inflection.

With all the positive idealisms for social equity and upliftment conveyed by this singer’s ability to deliver music with transformative concepts toward Jamaica achieving what’s most suitable and acceptable for its people, it is ironic that the flip side became Tabby’s final chapter.

Donald Orlando Shaw, 67 years old, was fatally shot while having a good time with friends in his community at the gate of his home in Waterhouse on March 27.

The refrain from one of the group’s best-known songs, which laments the island’s uncontrolled lawlessness, may have been swirling in his mind as he faced sudden and violent death.

Why me black bredda? Why? Dis robbing and killing?

Why me black bredda? Why? Dis looting and shooting?

Why me black bredda? Why? You ruing your mumma?

Why me black bredda? Why? you mash up your puppa?

What you gonna do when de voice say come?

Remember the day of judgement

Pick up your guns and you go to town

See your black brother, and you shoot dem down

That’s wrong!

While the Diamonds’ most successful hit was the 1981 Gussie Clarke produced Pass the Kutchie, a song covered to even greater success by the London-based Jamaican family group musical Youth, as Pass the Dutchie, in 1982, the Mighty Diamonds can be defined as an exceptional and venerated reggae group because of a single album, I Need A Roof.

This album contains valuable reflections from some of the most profound songs performed by Shaw as lead vocalist. These gems are considered adages that serve as departure points during reasonings among socially conscious adherents of reggae music. Moreover, they are statements from that classic period in which Tosh, Spear, Bunny, Cliff, Marley, and a few others of a particular ilk placed Jamaican music on the international radar as an art form that is much more potent than mere entertainment. We must count Shaw among those artistes, simultaneously entertaining and conveying messages concerning ominous global circumstances affecting the human condition primarily among blacks and other people of colour.

But the importance of those songs rests not only in the strength of their poetry but also in how Shaw interpreted and inflected the lyrics empathetically. For example, his heartfelt compassion and an assertive tone are comforting when he sings I Need a Roof, a poignant melody bemoaning the inadequate housing conditions affecting marginalised Jamaicans. There is a stand-out line that asks for “bread on my table, and love in my heart, with love for everyone.” This sentiment remains the fundamental cry of too many children whose educational potential is seldom realised because of systemic neglect and the nutritional deficiencies among the more impoverished classes that produced many successes like Bunny, Judge, and Tabby.

Yet, Shaw was conspicuous for his cool disposition, a persona that downplayed and masked his genuine star status. He continued to reside within his borderline community, among the marginalised and socially challenged, never mind his international acceptance as a Jamaican sensation. Perhaps he feared that to remove himself from the community would be equivalent to disengaging from the elemental spirit of the common folk. Over 35 years ago, with Bunny and Judge’s coaxing harmony and his voice edging toward desperation, Shaw reminded us that Marcus Garvey said, “time a go dread out deh, time a go bitter, every gully a go run red.”

Once again, it’s to Marcus Garvey as guide and influencer that through Shaw’s clear vocal, the Diamonds’ Right Time forecasted the social cataclysm that characterises neighbourhoods across the nation we are contending with today. Communities comparable to his choice to continue residing, believing the presence of someone such as himself could influence neighbourhood cohesion. While he lived among the “massive,” he assured them, Natty Dread would never run away.

Additionally, it took more than a good voice, excellent songs, and imaginative interpretation to make Shaw an outstanding performer. It was also the precision of his intrinsic editorial sensibility at work in selecting free-form interjections, executing smooth slurs between notes, and altering timbre over the secure backing of the other members of the trio

Shaw’s expression was filled with feelings, experiences, how he perceived governance and social conditions, and what he felt was right and wrong about this country. It’s what attracted people to him and drew them to the music of The Mighty Diamonds; he was a voice against those things that severely affected the masses. It’s what made the group so effective; it was delightful, inspiring, powerful, and entertaining.

In his articulation on Them Never Love Poor Marcus, Shaw’s contempt for the traitors who betrayed the pan-Africanist for “rice and peas” is no less impassioned, sincere, and damning than anyone’s elsewhere. Meanwhile, declaring “there shall be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth,” he reminds us of the Armageddon awaiting the wicked.

After rebuking men who abuse women, “ no me black bredda, no?” you beat yu black sister, Shaw shifts to reminiscing. Then, with Shame and Pride, he accentuates love, loyalty, commitment, and morality as he admonishes some women for their transgressive conduct. Articulating the lyric as a comforting loved one may have, genuine care encourages reflection, accountability, and repentance.

His affection for Africa as his homeland is a nostalgic reflection of the land from whence his ancestors were seized and shipped into enslavement. Africa is also the land to which he yearned to be repatriated. The reverence for the forefathers and contempt for the horrors of slavery are sensitively and plaintively evoked.

Then, on Have Mercy, he’s like a preacher. It’s about acknowledgement as it’s a cry to Jah, a prayer for guidance, help, and mercy. “Have mercy on a good man and help him, we pray Jah man. Have mercy on a good girl and help her; we pray Jah man. Give us all your blessing and help us, we pray Jah man. Change them who’s gone astray and show them the way, we pray Jah man.”

Ultimately, evaluating the scores of incredible recordings espousing social commentary by artistes of more considerable acclaim, Roof Over My Head exists as a stellar accomplishment. Few artistes or groups have had the good fortune to document so cohesively and lucidly programmed, what we have universally accepted as an album. The Mighty Diamonds have achieved that with Roof Over My Head. Rather than a random set of good or even outstanding songs, we inherited a suite containing excellent compositions intelligently themed, edited, sequenced, and artistically performed to seamlessly interact with each other to make a coherent statement. As an audible document, this landmark recording is educational, inspirational, spiritual, and socio-political, and it achieved music’s most anticipated objective; it is genuinely entertaining.

In this age of accumulating music virtually, this is a recording all serious music collectors, cultural studies practitioners, and social scientist-minded aficionados must own in all formats. It’s one for the community library, home shelves, the car, and the classroom, and a sealed copy should be set aside for posterity. Yet, for all its attributes, Roof Over My Head is a recording made more accessible because Donald “Tabby” Shaw supported by his bandmates was among the most socially conscious artistes and equipped singers to have expressed the love and pain of the Jamaican people.

Almost immediately following his slaying, there emerged a short video of Tabby’s last swirl, drink in hand, singing and signifying, a picture of his pulsating body in motion, angled forward in a stylised fashion, dancing up and down on his corner — a makeshift community bar. It captured the spirit of the brethren’s last but cheerful communal activity.

This year Jamaica commemorates 60 years of incomplete political Independence. Once again, we ponder the island’s status as a genuinely independent republic. Shaw expressed his and Jamaica’s reality, conveying the joy of living regardless of the social and political situation and exposing the underlying core of the nation’s unfulfilled pledges and ills for all to ponder and work toward getting right. Unfortunately, while we deliberate, those ills claimed him as yet another among its thousands of victims. Sadly, Shaw is another of our treasured troubadours brutally murdered. Why Me Black Bredda? Why?

Herbie Miller is a cultural historian interested in slave culture, sociomuiscology, and black diasporic arts, and is director of the Jamaica Music Museum, an arm of the Institute of Jamaica.