Nas & Damian Marley — People Get Ready?
Interpreting Distant Relatives, a landmark in Black-music history whose central theme is the very heart of Black culture—the global Black diaspora.
The collaborative album, Distant Relatives, by Nas and Damian Marley, has already been released to wide acclaim. Its title says it all: for the first time, the pair devote an entire album to a single, unified conversation. Yes, the record matters because both men are Black and proud, but the weight it carries goes much further. For those of us who love Black music, this work stands alongside the most important albums ever made on the subject of the Black diaspora. Within BMR’s (Black Music Review) editorial staff, the consensus is clear—no other 2010 release can rival it for significance. It is an album you must know, study, and enjoy, because it engages with the issues that matter most not only to Black music fans but to people everywhere.
This conversation is translated, lightly edited for content and clarity, follows below.
—When did the two of you first meet, and where?
Nas (hereafter N): “A few years ago at an event. We shook hands, talked, and realized we both knew and respected each other’s work. Basically, we were fans of one another from the start.”
—This interview focuses on Africa because the album does. Many listeners already understand how deeply your project connects to the continent, but can you talk about what Africa means to you?
Damian Marley (hereafter D): “Its spirit and essence are crucial. Africa teaches us so much and, I believe, reflects the future of this world.”
—Was there a moment when you decided the album had to be a full-length statement rather than a single or EP?
N: “We felt the topic deserved the space of a whole album. Once we began recording, ideas kept flowing—trimming it down to a few songs would have been impossible.”
—You’re both producers as well as vocalists, yet stylistically you come from hip-hop and reggae dancehall. How did you divide the studio roles?
D: “People sometimes say we ‘produced for each other,’ but that’s not quite right. We each brought ideas and sounds we care about, took risks, switched gear when necessary, and kept pushing each other. The key was staying honest with the music. That process didn’t need labels.”
—N, you’ve called the album an ‘urgent letter’ to Africans everywhere, including those across the diaspora. Why does that urgency matter to you now?
N: “Because history keeps repeating itself. Some of the problems my ancestors faced are still here. If art can spark even a small change, we owe it to ourselves to try.”
Damian Marley: “Africa is the foundation of everything. It’s the beginning, and it holds countless lessons. I think it mirrors the future of the entire planet.”
Nas: “All humanity comes from Africa. That’s why I say we’re all distant relatives—get it?”
On “My Generation”
—D, you sample Nas’s line ‘My generation…’ in the hook. Why choose that lyric?
D: “Because it sums up hope and responsibility at once. We inherit the world from our elders, but we also hand it to the next generation. That’s the cycle the song captures.”
—N, the track features Lil Wayne, who isn’t usually linked to Afro-diasporic themes. How did that happen?
N: “I respect Wayne’s craft, and I knew he’d bring a fresh angle. The diaspora is vast; hip-hop from New Orleans is part of it, too.”
On “Patience” and the “Sabo” Chant
—You lay a heavy vocal sample from Amadou & Mariam’s “Sabali” over an almost meditative beat. What did you want that contrast to do?
D: “It represents strength in stillness. ‘Patience’ is about breathing before you move. The sample’s haunting quality reminded us that great change can start quietly.”
Let’s Get Together and Feel All Right
What lies behind Distant Relatives and what it points toward.
Text: Rika Matsumoto
The guiding question of this album could be phrased as, “Where do we, the children of the Black diaspora, locate ourselves in a globalized twenty-first century?” Reggae scholar Carolyn Cooper once noted that Jamaican music has always mediated between Africa and its far-flung descendants; hip-hop, born in the South Bronx, does the same. By uniting the two, Nas and Damian create a space where those histories overlap, converse, and evolve.
Marley’s father Bob offered the blueprint on songs like “Exodus” and “Zimbabwe.” Nas, for his part, took an ideological leap forward the moment he opened his 1994 debut with a sample of the Five Percenters’ Supreme Al-Fatiha verse. Distant Relatives knits those threads into a coherent fabric, referencing titles as diverse as Marcus Garvey’s Philosophy and Opinions and Ayi Kwei Armah’s novel Two Thousand Seasons. It is no accident that the album dropped during the first administration of America’s first president of African descent; the record functions as both a mirror and a critique of global Black modernity.
Map of Africa
The shaded nations highlight regions central to the lyrical narrative: Ethiopia and Kenya as symbolic homelands of Rastafarian prophecy; Nigeria and Ghana as epicenters of Afrobeat and highlife; South Africa as a case study in struggle and reconciliation. The point is clear: the diaspora can only be understood by looking back to the continent itself.
Rastafarianism and the Imperative of Self-Liberation
Rastafari is sometimes dismissed as a “religion of ganja,” yet its theological core is self-determination. H.I.M. Haile Selassie’s coronation in 1930 signified African sovereignty at a time when colonial flags still covered the map. By invoking that lineage, Marley and Nas connect present-day economic injustice—from Kingston to Queensbridge—to older structures of exploitation. The album’s chant of “Africa must wake up” is therefore less a slogan than a demand rooted in Rastafarian eschatology.
The Dual Faces of Violence: Babylon and Zion
Violence threads through the record in two contrasting forms. First is the systemic brutality of “Babylon”—slave ships, ghettos, prisons. Second is the righteous force of “Zion,” the moral authority to overthrow oppression. Marley’s “Strong Will Continue” states it bluntly: “Only the strong will continue/Do you have it in you?” Nas responds with verses that juxtapose AK-47s and elementary-school chalkboards, insisting that the same children society ignores may one day decide its fate.
A Cautionary Tale for the Global North
The West often treats Africa as a charity case, but the album flips that gaze: what if the so-called developed world now has more to learn from post-colonial resilience than vice versa? Tracks like “Dispear” (a portmanteau of “disappear” and “despair”) force listeners to confront resource wars, NGO corruption, and the media’s selective deafness. In the closing seconds of the album, Nas utters a quiet prayer: “One love.” It is a reminder that solidarity is not sentimental—it is strategic.
Final Thoughts
Whether you were born in Kingston, Queens, or Kinshasa, the question remains: what do you owe the place your ancestors once called home? Distant Relatives does not pretend to have all the answers, but it offers a compelling framework: start by recognizing our shared origins, then channel that insight into tangible action. For Nas, that means bringing the conversation back to New York—“the Jazz Age’s last great port of call,” as he puts it. For Damian, it means amplifying grassroots efforts in Africa, from literacy drives to clean-water projects.
The album closes with a simple piano note fading into silence. Like Bob Marley’s final live performance of “Get Up, Stand Up,” it feels less like an ending than a handoff. The next move is ours.