I know claiming Bob Marley is Irish might be a little difficult here tonight, but
bear with me. Jamaica and Ireland have a lot in common: Naomi Campbell, Chris
Blackwell, Guinness, a fondness for little greenleaves - the weed. Religion. The
philosophy of procrastination - don't put off til tomorrow what you can put off
til the day after. Unless, of course, it's freedom. We are both islands; we were
both colonies. We share a common yoke: the struggle for identity, the struggle
for independence, the vulnerable and uncertain future that's left behind when the
jackboot of empire is finally retreated.

The roots, the getting up, the standing up, and the hard bit: the staying up. In
such a struggle, the voice of Bob Marley was the voice of reason. These were love
songs that you could admit listening to; songs of hurt, hard but healing, tough
going; songs of Freedom, where that word meant something again; Redemption songs.
A sexy revolution where Jah is Jehovah on street level. Not over his people but
with his people. Not just stylin', jammin'. Down the line of Judah, from
Ethiopia, where it all began for the Rastaman.

I spent some time in Ethiopia with my wife, Ali, and everywhere we went we saw
Bob Marley's face. There he was, dressed to hustle God. Let my people go. An
ancient plea. Prayers catching fire in Mozambique, Nigeria, the Lebanon, Alabama,
Detroit, New York, Notting Hill, Belfast. Dr. King in dreads. A Third and a First
World superstar. Mental slavery ends where imagination begins. Here was this new
music, rocking out of the shantytowns, lolling, loping rhythms, telling it like
it was, like it is, like it ever shall be. Skanking. Ska. Blue Beat. Rock Steady.
Reggae. Dub. And now ragga. And all of this from a man who drove three BMWs. BMW
- Bob Marley and the Wailers, that was his excuse!

Rock & Roll loves its juvenilia, its caricatures, its cartoons. The protest
singer, the pop star, the sex god, your mature messiah types [laughs]. We love
the extremes, and we're expected to choose: the mud of the blues or the oxygen of
gospel, the hellhounds on our trail or the band of angels.

Well, Bob Marley didn't choose or walk down the middle. He raced to the edges,
embracing all extremes, creating a oneness. His oneness. One love. He wanted
everything at the same time. Prophet. Soul rebel. Rastaman. Herbsman. Wildman. A
natural, mystic man. Lady's man. Island man. Family man. Rita's man. Soccer man.
Showman. Shaman. Human. Jamaican!

So the spirit of Bob and the spirit of Jah lives on, in his son Ziggy and his
lover Rita Marley. I'm proud to welcome Bob Marley into the Hall of Fame. Amen!