Minister of Culture

Toots' uncommon music talent eases winter's unyielding rule Friday, April 08, 2005 Michael Heaton Plain Dealer Columnist I was weary. God knows.

I had a monster fire going in the fireplace all day during last Saturday's miserable, snowy onslaught. It was all I could do to battle this town's most unrelenting winter in recorded history.

I was so tired of feeling that I was a prisoner of cold, heavy weather. The blaze was an attempt to recapture the fire I had witnessed the night before at the House of Blues in downtown Cleveland. Reggae legends Toots and the Maytals temporarily lifted me out of my fugue the same way they did the rest of the sold-out club.

It's Toots' gift. He spreads the roots-rock-reggae gospel of soul with a joy so contagious it makes you want to come back again and again. I first saw him perform four years ago and was made a believer by the power and energy of his show. Last Friday, I was born again.

Now sixtysomething, Fredrick "Toots" Hibbert hasn't lost a step. Maybe just one step.

He didn't do his trademark turn and drop-split that night, but he still wore out the crowd in his 1½-hour set. There was an extra reason to come out and celebrate with Toots last week. After more than four decades of performing and recording, Toots won his first Grammy this year for an album called "True Love."

"True Love" is a collection of Toots' greatest hits re-recorded with other stars sitting in. Toots hooked up with Bonnie Raitt, Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Trey Anastasio and others. You could be cynical and say that he only won the award because other, bigger stars were on board. The fact is, they were paying homage, not the other way around.

Toots' style combines island rhythm and flavor with a hard-charging '60s soul sound and drive. Backed by a red-hot seven-piece band, he's a master showman in the James Brown tradition. On top of that, the soul shaman has star-quality charisma that just won't quit. He beams with an infectious kind of one-world, one-love delight.

Toots has the power to grab an audience and hold it in a raucous-crazy spell.

Halfway through his set, I began experiencing a wonderful and vague absence of burden. I felt physically different. I thought about all the nasty divisiveness that has been such a big part of our national screaming match the last couple of years. Global terrorism, the war, the election, the economy, Terri Schiavo, you name it.

For 90 minutes that night, a wildly diverse bunch of us - young and old, black and white, Toots die-hards and Toots neophytes - were lifted out of a swamp of troubles and given cause to dance as though we were all on our way to heaven, with love in our hearts and cold beers in hand.

And then we woke up to an ugly, driving snowstorm that was soul-sapping and heart-crushing. That's why I just kept heaving logs on the fire and wondering where Toots' magic had gone. I was bone-tired of fighting nature and wondering when I was going to get some love from above.

Then I remembered my favorite Toots quote. When I saw him in 2001, he and his band had driven straight from Canada all day for a 9 p.m. gig here. The bus arrived minutes before the show. Toots went to his dressing room, brushed his teeth, then went onstage and ripped the roof off the place. The crowd screamed and danced the whole time.

So, knocked out by his show, I caught up with him the next morning in his hotel lobby as he was getting back on the bus to go do it again the following night. I asked how he was able to keep up that pace. He didn't hesitate. "We never grow weary," he said seriously, "because God loves us."

See, God loves everybody. Some people know it.

To reach this Plain Dealer columnist:

mheaton@plaind.com, 216-999-4569