Bob Marley died (of cancer at the age of 36) when his son was just two, so Damian never really knew him. He has hazy memories of being told "what happened." Of course, there's a vast amount of material in the public domain about Bob, but rather than use it to get a better sense of what his father was like, Damian ignores it.
"I've never read a book about my father," he says. "These books, they're one-sided. What I know of my father is what my mother tells me, or people like [Wailers co-founder] Bunny Wailer, my brothers. I don't need dem books."
Nor would he trace his rebellious character to Bob alone. In fact, he says, it was first triggered by his stepfather, criminal lawyer Tom Vincent, whom Breakspeare married a year after Bob's death, and who also has a history of political engagement.
Vincent taught the youngster to count by tapping a pencil on the table. "I'd go, `One-two-three-five' and get a tap on the knuckles with the pencil. Of course I rebelled." He sees the benefits now, but in childhood there were arguments with his mother and trouble at school.
Marley formed his first band when still at school. Called the Shepherds, they comprised the offspring of other reggae celebrities Freddie McGregor and Third World, and would perform songs by their parents -- plus, inexplicably, a cover of Phil Collins' Another Day in Paradise. Marley cringes. "I hated it. At the time I wanted to be dancehall. My hero was (New York hip-hopper) Jeru the Damaja."
Initially worried that his schoolwork would suffer, his mother glimpsed young Damian's potential when the band got together to rehearse in the living room, and instead of the dirt bike he wanted for his birthday, she bought him music equipment. He recorded his first album in high school and proudly called it Mr Marley, a mark of his growing awareness of Bob's ethereal presence in his life.
Damian had always listened to Bob's music, but initially they were just tunes his mother played, along with the Beatles, Sade, Nat King Cole. As he grew older, he became fascinated by the troubled, isolated voice on songs like Crazy Baldheads and If the Cap Fits, long ignored by the radio but now occasionally featuring in Damian's live set. It was these -- plus the Shabba Ranks, Super Cat and Dennis Brown concerts he attended in his teens -- that most influenced his own lyrics and sound.
You get the sense that for Damian, making political music is a -- possibly subconscious -- way of getting closer to his father. He has, though, been criticized for performing songs such as his father's War. "Some people say, `You didn't have to suffer. You weren't raised in the ghetto,'" he admits. "Or, `His father sang One Love. Why does he say these things?' But my father also sang Burning and Looting. I have never wanted for material things but that doesn't mean I can't make a contribution to other people's lives. I'm part of a community, the world. If I could suffer to help them I would."
He shivers at talk of him filling the chasm left in reggae since Bob's death, but he has undeniably inherited his father's desire to "make a difference." Three decades after Bob Marley united Jamaica's warring politicians, his son talks of his hopes to build schools and refresh neighborhoods. "I want to become a force for change -- even if that means upsetting people," he declares. "I'm thankful it was Jamrock, the track, which opened things up for me. I'm a popular artist who's known as a political artist." Will that continue? He flashes a grin. "Knowing me, more than likely."
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