The legendary guitarist reflects on recording with Bob Marley, touring the world with the Wailers, joining Peter Tosh's Word, Sound and Power, and the final conversations that still stay with him today.

Some musicians witness history. A select few help create it. Al Anderson belongs firmly in the second category.

As lead guitarist for Bob Marley & the Wailers during reggae's explosive rise to international prominence, Anderson's unmistakable guitar work became part of the soundtrack to one of music's most remarkable stories. His playing can be heard on landmark recordings, and from the mid-1970s through Bob Marley's final tours, he stood just a few feet away from one of the most influential artists the world has ever known. During this time, Anderson also joined Peter Tosh's legendary Word, Sound and Power band, further cementing his place in reggae history.

But this conversation goes far beyond guitars and classic albums. Over the course of our interview, Anderson recalls the night Paul Kossoff unexpectedly sent him to a Bob Marley recording session that changed his life forever. He shares stories from Hope Road, reveals what it was really like inside the studio as timeless songs came together, reflects on the warning he gave Bob before the 1976 assassination attempt, and offers a deeply personal account of the final weeks he spent with his friend in Germany.

What emerges isn't simply the story of a legendary guitarist. It's the story of a friend remembering another friend - one whose music changed the world, and whose humanity left an equally lasting impression. Many people knew Bob Marley the icon. Al Anderson knew Bob the bandleader, the football fanatic, the spiritual seeker, and the friend.

This is his story.

Tell us a little about your musical journey. How did you first fall in love with music?

Everybody in my family played an instrument, and I was actually the only one who was more into sports than music at first. My cousin played guitar. My uncle, my aunt, my cousins - everybody played. My uncle Ulysses was a concert pianist, and he was also a captain flying B-52 bombers.

That's amazing.

Yeah. On my father's side, my dad played bass. But growing up, music wasn't really my focus. I was into sports, martial arts, judo, jujutsu - things like that. I trained at the YMCA under a world champion named Master Cheatham, who taught me wrestling, discipline, and how to defend myself. Music didn't really become part of the plan until I started watching Hee Haw and listening to blues and rock. The problem was I loved too many different kinds of music. I'd sit for hours listening to Chuck Berry, Albert King, Peter Green from Fleetwood Mac, Pat Martino, John McLaughlin, Carlos Santana - guys like that.

Which is interesting because that's such a wide range of styles.

Oh, absolutely. Albert King was one of my heroes. I'd wait behind the venue for his bus to pull in. He always carried a Fender Super Reverb amp, and I'd ask if I could help carry it inside. Then I'd ask if he had a couple of extra tickets. One time I even bought him some Captain Black tobacco and a bottle of whiskey. He let me hang out backstage several times. He was one of the kindest people I've ever met - and he had the biggest hands I'd ever seen.

Before joining the Wailers, what were some of the most important experiences that shaped you as a musician?

My first real studio session was with a drummer named Chuck Burgi, who later played with Rainbow and toured with Billy Joel. He lived in my hometown. We rehearsed together for a couple of weeks, learning covers, and then we finally got the chance to go into the studio. We nailed every track.

That was the moment I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

How old were you?

About sixteen and a half... almost seventeen.

How did you first hear about Bob Marley and the Wailers, and how did you end up joining the band?

Paul Kossoff from Free introduced me to the Wailers. Paul was an incredible guitarist and a wonderful guy. He lived in Ladbroke Grove in London, where a lot of musicians were hanging out at the time. One night I was at his house when he got a phone call from Chris Blackwell at Island Records asking him to come to the studio to overdub guitar on what became Bob Marley's Natty Dread sessions.

Paul wasn't really in any condition to work that night, so he told Chris, "I've got a friend here who can do it." That friend was me.

Chris Blackwell said he'd send a taxi to pick me up. Basing Street Studios was only about ten minutes away. I already had my guitar and my wah pedal with me. Before the taxi arrived, Paul played me Catch a Fire and Burnin'. That was my introduction to Bob Marley and the Wailers. I still had no idea what I was walking into.

I went down to the studio to substitute for Paul Kossoff, and that's where everything started. That's where I first met Bob. When I walked into the studio, our eyes met, but we didn't really say anything. I wanted to hear the music first because I'd never played reggae before. I didn't know if I could handle it.

That's a remarkable story. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. What was your first impression of Bob?

At first I couldn't really see him because of the way the control room was set up. There was a big window separating the studio from the console. They started playing tracks like "No Woman, No Cry", "Lively Up Yourself", and several others. I just started playing. About fifty minutes later I'd recorded guitar on something like eight songs. It felt incredibly comfortable, even though I'd never played reggae before.

I remember Bob listening to my solo on "No Woman, No Cry". We did two takes. He thought the second one was technically better, but he chose the first. I told him, "No, please don't use the first one." He just smiled and said, "Nah, man... that's the vibe."

Then he kept bringing up another song... and another... and another. After we'd finished several tracks, Chris Blackwell finally brought me into the control room and formally introduced me to Bob. That was around December of 1973.

You played on some of Bob's greatest albums. What was Bob like in the recording studio? Did he arrive with the songs already fully formed, or did they evolve as the band worked through them?

The band really produced everything together. We would rehearse constantly. Bob always had an acoustic guitar with him - whether we were at Hope Road, in a hotel, or somewhere else. We'd all gather around him, and if he had a new idea or was writing something, everybody would contribute a piece of the puzzle until the song started to take shape. That's how we worked.

Bob was very open to ideas. A lot of songwriters will tell you, "No, I don't want that," but Bob wasn't like that. If someone came up with something that fit what he was writing, he'd say, "Oh, that's great." Guys like Wire Lindo, Tyrone Downie, Family Man Barrett, and Carlton Barrett were incredible. They were perfect for him.

I was usually the one thinking, "Man... now I've got to play this." Sometimes I'd record live with the band, and other times I'd overdub guitar later. If something didn't sound exactly right, I'd go back in and fix it. It really was all hands on deck.

Bob loved playing football, so he'd spend three or four hours out on the field while we were in the studio working on arrangements and recording tracks. Then he'd come back after running for hours, completely warmed up physically. His lungs were open, his energy was incredible, and he'd walk into the studio and absolutely kill it.

Sometimes he'd nail a vocal in a single take. We'd all just look at each other and think, "I can't believe he just did that."

I remember songs like "Could You Be Loved" and "Pimper's Paradise". On "Pimper's Paradise", Junior Marvin, Bob, Tyrone Downie, and I actually sang harmony together. I think my vocal may have been taken out in the final mix because my upper register didn't really fit what Bob wanted. He was looking for a straight three-part harmony. But that's how we worked. Everybody contributed.

A lot of people think Bob wrote everything and produced everything himself, and that's really not true. He wrote the majority of the songs, of course, but the production was a group effort. The keyboard players, the rhythm section - everybody had input. We'd often spend weeks working on songs before we ever recorded them.

Then there were songs like "Roots". I'd never even heard it before. We were at Harry J Studios when Bob asked if I wanted to play on it. I said, "Let me hear it first." They played the track, and I thought, "Oh my God." The band recorded it live with Carlton and Family Man, and then Bob simply looked at me and said, "Play." I had no idea what he wanted. I did one take, and afterward I asked if I could do it again. He said no.

He liked the raw energy of the first take. That's how Bob was. He wanted the feeling of the moment. So the guitar you hear on "Roots" was my first instinct. One take.

And thankfully... he loved it.

"Roots" and "Jah Live" were both incredible recordings. I remember "Jah Live" especially because we started with just the rhythm track. I was playing rhythm guitar, and then Bob suddenly looked over and said, "Solo." I thought, "Oh no..." I just started playing, hoping I wouldn't run into a wrong note.

Somehow it all came together.

You joined the Wailers after Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer had left the group. Did Bob ever talk about the direction he wanted to take the band, or was that something he mostly kept to himself?

After Peter and Bunny Wailer left, it was a difficult period. A lot of people don't realize that before I came along, the Wailers had already shared stages with artists like Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, and the Jacksons.

There was also a time when Quincy Jones, Michael Jackson, and Walter Yetnikoff were interested in bringing Bob over to CBS Records. Michael really wanted to work with Bob, and there were conversations about a very lucrative deal. It never happened, but it was definitely in the air.

Chris Blackwell wasn't thrilled about that because Bob had spent years building his relationship with Island Records. The financial side of touring was always difficult. Island would provide tour support, but those expenses were deducted from what the band earned. By the time we'd get home from a tour, we'd often find out we still owed money. We did expensive tours. We recorded live albums. We traveled to places like Zimbabwe. All of that cost money.

Bob was constantly trying to build something bigger - his own studio, his publishing company, and plans for the future - but there always seemed to be people taking a piece of what he'd earned.

You weren't actually at 56 Hope Road the night of the assassination attempt, correct?

No, I wasn't there that night. But I did know something was coming.

I was at a nightclub in Kingston called Epiphany with a Grammy Award-winning keyboard player named Steven Stewart. While we were there, a couple of Jamaican men asked me to come into a back room because they wanted to talk. One of them told me, "It looks like Bob is going to support Michael Manley again in the election. If he supports Michael Manley one more time, we're coming to Hope Road, and we're going to shoot everybody."

I was from the United States. I wasn't involved in Jamaican politics, but I understood enough to know this wasn't an idle threat. The men made it sound as though they were connected to powerful political interests aligned with Edward Seaga, and they even implied they had ties to U.S. intelligence. Whether that was true or not, they wanted me to believe they had the power to carry out what they were threatening.

I went straight back to Hope Road and told Bob exactly what had happened. He looked at me and asked, "Was one of them the guy with the gold tooth?" I said, "Yeah." Then he asked, "Did the other one show you his two Berettas?" I said, "Yeah." Bob already knew exactly who they were. I told him these men looked dangerous and that I believed they were serious.

Bob just looked at me and said, "Next time you see them, tell them I'll be waiting here." I said, "Bob, that's not the way to handle this." I asked him if there were any weapons around the house or any way we could protect ourselves if something happened. He simply said, "Don't worry about that, man. Jah will protect I and I."

I wasn't expecting that answer.

My first son had just been born, and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I kept picturing these men coming to Hope Road with guns. A couple of weeks later, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I packed my guitar, grabbed my suitcase, hailed a taxi, and went straight to the airport. I couldn't stay there knowing what I'd been told.

As the taxi pulled away, I looked back toward Hope Road. Bob was standing on the balcony with the light on, waving goodbye. He already knew I was leaving.

It's one of the most unforgettable moments of my life.

Then the shooting happened exactly as you'd feared.

It did. The gunmen came. They shot Bob. They shot Rita Marley. They shot Don Taylor. They fired at Carly Barrett.

Don Taylor stepped in front of Bob. If Don hadn't done that, Bob probably would have been killed that night. Don took multiple bullets trying to protect him.

That changed everything.

Did you officially leave the Wailers at that point?

I never really quit the band. It wasn't a case of saying, "I'm done with the Wailers." There were a lot of management and financial problems surrounding Bob at the time. People handling his publishing and business affairs were taking advantage of him. Distributors were taking pieces, and the support Island Records provided for touring was later deducted from what the band earned.

Bob had so many plans. He wanted to build the studio, establish his publishing company, develop Tuff Gong, and create something that would last. But everything took longer because so many people were taking from him. That wasn't really why I wasn't there for Kaya and Exodus, though. My departure began with the danger surrounding Hope Road and everything happening politically in Jamaica.

Junior Marvin had also been coming to a lot of our shows. I remember him telling Bob, "You have a great band, but there's one thing missing." Bob asked, "What's missing?" Junior said, "Me." He really wanted to be part of the band.

During that period, I became very close with Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare, keyboardist Robbie Lyn, and Peter Tosh. I started doing sessions with them, and eventually Peter asked me to join his band. So I went from the Wailers into Word, Sound and Power, Peter Tosh's band, around 1977 and 1978.

Bob Marley concerts had an energy unlike almost anything else. As someone standing only a few feet away from him every night, what was it like experiencing that power from the stage?

Bob gave me a tremendous amount of energy to play from because he was so animated. Before every tour, he would spend months playing football and getting himself into incredible physical condition. We might rehearse four or five hours a day, and it sometimes felt like the whole city was gathered in the backyard watching us.

Football was what really drove his fitness. His close friend Allan "Skill" Cole also made sure Bob ate properly - vegetables, minerals, good food. He was very well-conditioned and incredibly strong for his size.

He could have been a very good footballer.

That's what I've always heard - that he was a seriously talented player.

He was a good striker. He had a beautiful touch and a powerful foot.

Skill Cole was the real champion, though. Sometimes I think Bob wanted to be the footballer and Skill wanted to be the guitarist. They could have switched positions.

Is there one Bob Marley song that you especially enjoy playing live? What makes it meaningful to you?

Probably "Rebel Music (3 O'Clock Road Block)", because I had something to do with the production of it. Whenever I play it, I remember how we created those songs together and how much everyone contributed to the sound.

We all know Bob Marley as an icon, but what was he like when the cameras were off and you were simply spending time together?

He didn't talk a lot. He enjoyed smoking his spliffs and his chalice, and he could be very quiet and shy. If you asked him a question, he would answer you, but he wasn't someone who always needed to dominate the conversation. Sometimes he would let Tyrone Downie, Wire Lindo, or one of the other guys speak for him, especially when someone was using complicated language or trying to confuse him.

But he was extremely clever. I remember an interviewer asking him, "Are you a rich man? Do you have a lot of money?" Bob answered, "What do you call rich? What do you consider a rich man?" That was Bob. He would turn the question around and make the person think about what they were really asking.

He read the newspaper constantly and understood much more than people sometimes gave him credit for. There were moments when he became much more expressive - after a great performance, a football match, or when one of his children was born. Those things made him genuinely happy.

When I returned to the band later, he seemed happier as a man than he had been during the years when he was struggling with the political conflict in Jamaica. Bob sacrificed a great deal for his friends, his country, and his beliefs. He put so much of himself into trying to improve Jamaica and create something better for the people.

You mentioned Bob's love of football. Did you ever play against him?

Oh, man - never take the ball away from Bob Marley.

He was that competitive?

Extremely competitive. I was learning the game, but I had played football, basketball, and baseball in high school, and I had experience in martial arts. One day, Bob had the ball and I took it away from him. It wasn't aggressive. It was clean. But he didn't like it.

I didn't get very far before he kicked me directly in the ankle. My ankle swelled up so badly that I stopped playing football that day - and I haven't played since. I told him, "Man, don't ever do that again."

When I interviewed Bob's cousin Jimmy Malcolm, he told me they used to play basketball together in Miami. I asked him what Bob was like as a player, and he immediately said, "He was a cheater. He would grab my jersey and pull me out of the way."

That sounds like Bob. He was very aggressive when there was a ball involved.

You've performed with many legendary artists throughout your career. What made Bob Marley different from everyone else?

Bob had a vision. A lot of artists are focused on making hit records or becoming famous, but Bob's goal was much bigger than that. He wanted to help people. He wanted the music to have a purpose. He wasn't trying to impress anyone with how fast somebody could play or how complicated the arrangements were. Everything served the song and, more importantly, the message.

That's one of the reasons the music has lasted. If you listen to those records today, they still feel honest. They still feel alive. Bob believed music could change people, and he lived that belief every day.

As a guitarist, what did Bob bring out in you?

He gave me confidence. Bob trusted me. There were times he'd simply look at me during a recording session or onstage, and I'd know it was my turn to step forward. He didn't have to say much. He believed in the people around him, and because he believed in you, you wanted to give him your very best.

That's a special quality. Not every bandleader has that.

After your years with Bob, you spent time working with Peter Tosh as well. Having worked closely with both men, what were the biggest similarities - and the biggest differences - between them?

One was Malcolm X, and the other was Martin Luther King.

They were completely different personalities, but they shared the same work ethic. Both were workaholics who would stay with a song until it was exactly right. Bunny was the same way. All three of them were incredibly dedicated to their craft.

When I first joined the Wailers, I never looked at it as taking Peter's or Bunny's place. In fact, the second day I was there they wanted to meet the guy who was going to be playing guitar, but I never thought of myself as replacing anyone. I actually imagined something different. I thought, Wouldn't it be incredible if all three of them toured together?

Around 1980 I even suggested it to Bob. I told him he could executive produce a tour featuring the original Wailers - Bob, Peter, Bunny, the I-Threes, the horns, everyone. They could perform the Soul Rebels material, Peter's songs, Bunny's songs - everything.

Bob listened, then simply said, "No. I'm not interested in doing that whatsoever." He told me he didn't have to depend on anyone anymore. I understood where he was coming from, but I still think it would have been one of the greatest tours ever assembled.

What did you learn from Peter Tosh that surprised you, and how was working with him different from working with Bob?

Peter, Bob, and Bunny were all complicated in their own ways because they were living through such an intense period in Jamaica. There was tremendous pressure on them, but they also created something no one else had.

Peter was outspoken - more outspoken than Bob. Bob would make his point quietly. Peter would say exactly what was on his mind, even when it involved Jamaica's political leaders. That fearlessness came with consequences.

Working with Peter was different in the studio too. He gave me complete freedom. He'd tell me, "Turn that thing up. Whatever you've got to say, I'm going to back you." On stage he performed with pure emotion. Sometimes he'd dance across the stage and practically run into me because he was so caught up in the music.

Bob was different. He'd sometimes wander over and accidentally step on every one of my effects pedals with those big boots of his, turning everything on at once. It became part of the show.

Both experiences were completely real. They were different artists, but I had enormous respect for both of them, and I'm thankful I was able to be part of their musical journeys.

If you had to describe Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer in just a few words, how would you describe them?

They were all giants. Simple as that.

Each of them stood on his own as an extraordinary artist, but together they created something that has never really been duplicated. I had the privilege of knowing all three of them, and they each left an incredible mark on reggae music. When people ask me to describe Bob, Peter, and Bunny, that's the first word that comes to mind - giants.

You've had a front-row seat to three of reggae's greatest voices. What do you think Bob, Peter, and Bunny each contributed to reggae that no one else could have?

Their individuality - but also their togetherness.

Each one was an incredible artist on his own, but when they came together, it became something even greater. Bob's lead vocal sitting between Peter and Bunny's harmonies created a sound that was completely unique. Those harmonies made the songs come alive.

When I listen back to those early recordings, I'm still amazed by how perfectly their voices blended. The arrangements were simple, but incredibly articulate. That's what people fell in love with.

Even someone like Herbie Hancock recognized there was something special happening. He once came to sit in with us and eventually admitted he couldn't quite figure out what those Jamaican musicians were doing. There was something about the feel - the keyboards, the rhythm guitar, the groove - that couldn't really be taught. It was uniquely Jamaican.

You spent years beside Bob onstage. Is there one performance that still stands out in your mind?

There were so many. The Lyceum in London was incredible. Zimbabwe was unforgettable because of what it meant to the people there. Every night felt different because Bob fed off the audience.

Sometimes we'd walk onstage and immediately know it was going to be one of those magical nights. The crowd would be singing every word, and Bob would just smile.

Those are the moments you never forget.

Looking back now, what do you think Bob Marley would be most proud of?

His family. Without question. He loved his children. He wanted them to carry the music forward, but more importantly, he wanted them to be good people. When you look at what Ziggy Marley, Stephen Marley, Damian Marley, Julian Marley, Ky-Mani Marley, Cedella Marley, Sharon Marley, and the whole family have accomplished, I think he'd be very proud.

The music didn't stop with Bob. It continued through the next generation. And that's a beautiful thing.

I recently photographed Stephen Marley and Buju Banton at Bethel Woods. One thing that struck me was how the audience knew every Bob Marley song word for word, including the less popular ones. But I also really enjoyed hearing Stephen perform his own music. What do you think when you see the next generation of Marleys carrying the torch?

That's exactly what Bob would have wanted.

People naturally remember Bob first, but the family has continued the music in a beautiful way. Stephen has done tremendous work - not only as an artist, but as a producer and someone who has helped preserve the legacy while creating his own path.

I was also a huge fan of Jo Mersa Marley. Losing him was heartbreaking because I really believed he had something special. And Skip Marley - there's something about him too. He's got that same magnetic quality. When he sings, you can feel it. There's a soul there that just draws you in.

The beautiful thing is that the music didn't end with Bob. It keeps growing. Every generation brings something new while still respecting where it all came from. I think Bob would be incredibly proud to see that his children and grandchildren aren't simply living off his name - they're continuing the work.

For younger musicians who never had the chance to meet Bob Marley, what do you hope they understand about him?

That he was real. What you heard in the music was who he was. He wasn't pretending to be someone else when he walked offstage. He believed in what he was singing. He believed in Rastafari. He believed in justice. He believed in helping people. And he treated people with respect. That's why his music still speaks to people all over the world. It isn't just great music.

It's truth.

Looking back now, why do you think Bob's music continues to resonate with new generations more than fifty years later?

I think it all goes back to where he came from - Nine Mile, St. Ann. There was something very special about Bob. He had challenges like everyone else, but there was a humility and a spirituality about him that people connected with.

One thing people don't always realize is how devoted he was to his mother. He wanted to make sure she was comfortable before anything else. When I first went to England with him, we actually stayed at Cedella Booker's house first. I stayed there with Richie, Anthony, Pearl, and the family before we ever went on to Jamaica. She treated me like one of her own, feeding me and letting me sleep on the couch. That tells you a lot about Bob. Family always came first.

I believe people still connect with his music because it came from a genuine place. He wasn't trying to chase trends or write hit records. He wrote from his heart, from his faith, and from his experiences. That's why the songs still feel honest today. Great music lasts because it's real, and Bob's music has always been real.

You've been part of some of the most important reggae recordings ever made. When you listen back today, is there one recording or performance that makes you think, "That was a special moment"?

One that always comes to mind is "Smile Jamaica". We were at Harry J's recording, and I got hungry. I left the studio for a couple of hours to get something to eat. When I came back, they'd already finished recording the track.

I said, "Can I jump in on this?" Bob listened for a moment and said, "No... I don't really hear anything. I hear saxophone." I had to admit he was right.

So I missed playing on one of the biggest tracks because I left to get a bowl of soup. (laughs)

That's one of those moments you never forget.

Many musicians have talked about Bob's incredible presence. When I interviewed Junior Marvin, he described seeing an "aura" around Bob the first time they met. Did you ever experience something similar?

I don't know if I'd call it an aura, but he definitely had something. He had a tremendous amount of strength and power about him. You could see it in his face whenever he was focused on something. There was a confidence and determination that made him different from everybody else.

You didn't have to be around him very long to realize there was something special about him. He had a presence that was hard to explain, but you could definitely feel it.

Was there a moment when you realized Bob Marley had become more than a musician - that he had become a global symbol?

I think everything really came together after Zimbabwe. You didn't need anyone to tell you where Bob's career was heading - you could see it happening. It was all in the numbers. When I first started with the Wailers, we'd play for a few hundred people. Then it became thousands. We'd play to fifty or seventy-five thousand people in places like New Zealand and Australia. We played for more than 100,000 people in Italy, and then came Zimbabwe. That's when it really hit me.

Every year the audiences kept getting bigger. Every tour, every album, you could see that Bob wasn't just becoming a successful musician - he was becoming a symbol that people all over the world connected with. It didn't matter what country you were in. People understood the message.

The trajectory was straight up. It felt like every six months something even bigger was happening. You could just see where it was going.

Then, all of a sudden... it all went sideways. Something that seemed so perfect suddenly wasn't there anymore. That's the part that's still hard to understand.

You've shared the stage with some incredible guitarists, including Junior Marvin. What was it like returning to the Wailers and sharing that role with him?

I was always satisfied with the way everything worked out. I never wanted to jump into somebody else's place.

Junior was a different kind of entertainer than I was. That's not a criticism - we just approached the stage differently. He had a style where he felt the stage belonged to him as much as anyone else. In the Wailers, though, everybody understood that the focus was always Bob.

When I came back to the band after spending two years with Peter Tosh, Junior was already there. We were two different personalities. He was on one side of the stage with a lot of energy and animation, while I naturally gravitated toward Carly Barrett, Tyrone Downie, Wire Lindo, and Family Man. That was my home base.

Junior would sometimes grab the microphone or step into the spotlight. Nobody else would have thought about taking Bob's microphone or trying to share that space. But that was just Junior's personality as an entertainer. Some performers are like that no matter who they're playing with.

For me, I was always comfortable serving the music first. That's what mattered most.

You once mentioned that great opening acts could actually inspire the Wailers to perform at an even higher level. Was there ever a night when that happened?

Absolutely. I remember when Steel Pulse opened for us during the Babylon by Bus tour. They were performing songs like "Tribute to the Martyrs" and "Prodigal Son". We were all standing there listening as musicians, and the entire audience was singing every word.

Bob looked at us and said, "Man, we've really got to perform tonight. These guys are on fire."

That's something people don't always think about. A great opening band doesn't make you relax - it pushes you. It raises the energy in the building before you even walk onstage.

We toured with Steel Pulse for a week or two, and night after night they were incredible. By the time we recorded Babylon by Bus, we'd been feeding off that energy. I honestly believe you can hear it on that live album. We responded to what was happening in front of us, and I think it inspired one of our strongest live performances.

When people think about Bob Marley, what's one thing they almost always get wrong?

They almost always think he was really tall. It's funny because it happened all the time.

I remember we were at Madison Square Garden, and Paul McCartney and George Harrison were there. This young woman was so excited because she was finally going to meet Bob. She kept saying, "I can't wait to meet Bob Marley." Then Bob walked over to introduce himself. She looked at him and said, "You're not Bob Marley... you're too small." (laughs) Bob didn't like that at all.

The funny part is that Peter Tosh was actually the tallest one. Peter was like a skyscraper. Bunny was probably around 5'2" or 5'3". Carly Barrett was about 5'4". Family Man was around 5'5". Bob was only about 5'6" or 5'7".

People expected this larger-than-life figure to be physically larger than everyone else, but he wasn't. It was his presence that made him seem bigger than life.

If Bob Marley walked into this room today and picked up a guitar, what's the first thing that would come to your mind?

It's going right on the radio. Whatever comes out of his mouth, people are going to hear it. It wouldn't be something that gets covered up or lost. Bob had that gift.

He'd walk into a room, pick up a guitar, and before you knew it everybody would already be singing the hook. It was just natural for him.

"Is This Love". "Jamming". It all seemed so effortless. The songs just came to him. That's the kind of talent he had. And we're still lucky enough to share those songs with audiences today, because they still sing every word.

I finish every interview with this question. If you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Wow, that's really hard.

That's what everyone says.

It could be any record?

Anything. If you could only listen to one for the rest of your life.

I think it would be that Stevie Wonder album from the period with "Superstition" and all those songs.

But then there's Donny Hathaway's live album. Those would be equal for me, so I would probably have to sneak in another one.

Most people always sneak a second one in. Is there anything else you would like to add before we finish?

It has been a pleasure talking with you. You've asked some very broad and interesting questions that a lot of journalists don't ask.

I spent about the last two and a half months with Bob while he was receiving treatment in Germany. By then, I didn't see Bunny anymore, and it had become difficult to have much contact with Peter after he became involved with the Rolling Stones. Peter was almost under lock and key. But Bob was still open. He was wide open.

He would accept criticism or listen to whatever you had to say. But at that point, our conversations weren't really about music anymore. They were about the journey he was facing, what might happen after he left us, and what was most important for us to carry forward from him.

His mother and I would take him to the clinic for his treatments, and afterward I would walk home with him and his mother. I saw everything I needed to see. Bob revealed things from deep inside himself that I had never seen before, because I had never seen him in that condition. He had always been one hundred percent physically fit. Now, so much energy had been taken out of him. He became almost like a monk. He was very quiet and very humble. He didn't play much, and he wasn't writing many songs. He would play a little, and he had some lyrics scribbled down, but his focus was really on preserving his life.

I gave him that space. We never talked about money, contracts, herb, or any of those things. He was in a truly celestial place. Everything that came out of his mouth was spiritual.

I was living in Hamburg, and Bob was staying near Munich, high in the hills where he was receiving Josef Issels' therapy. It was freezing. There were snowdrifts six or eight feet high. Neville Garrick was there for some time. I remember Bob asking Neville to draw a picture of Haile Selassie wearing a graduation cap. Neville created it so that you could see Selassie's head and the graduation cap, but his body seemed to disappear. It looked as though he were ascending upward. When I saw it, I thought, Oh, my God.

Eventually, most of the people around Bob began leaving. Skill left. Seeco left. Gilly and others left. At one point, only his mother, Rita, Diane Jobson, the doctor, and I remained with him. The doctor was giving Bob different treatments, including special vitamin C crystals that he would drink. For a while, it seemed as though he might beat it.

Then everything took a turn for the worse. Strange things began happening - things I still can't fully explain. One day, it was snowing outside. It was beautiful. The snow looked like diamonds. It was so pure and white, piled almost to the windows. Bob looked at the doctor and asked, "Doc, am I going to live?" The doctor answered him in front of everyone. He said, "Bob, you're going to die sooner or later."

Bob immediately turned to his mother and said, "Mama, pack everything. We're leaving. I'm not going to die here." That was when he decided to leave Germany and go to Miami. I went to the airport with him. I gave him a big hug and said, "Man, I'll see you when you get home."

That was the last time I ever saw him. He made it to Miami, but we lost him. It was completely unexpected, and all of our lives changed drastically.

It is still very haunting.

As our conversation ended, Al Anderson's final story brought the interview full circle. He had first met Bob Marley in a London recording studio, unsure whether he could even play reggae. Years later, he stood beside Bob during the most vulnerable and spiritual period of his life, accompanying him to treatments, walking home with him and Cedella, and listening as their conversations moved beyond music toward mortality, legacy, and what Bob hoped those closest to him would carry forward.

For millions of people, Bob Marley remains the commanding figure beneath the stage lights - the revolutionary artist whose music continues to travel across generations and borders. Al remembers that man, too. But he also remembers the quiet figure in the snow-covered hills of Germany: physically weakened, increasingly reflective, and, in Al's words, becoming almost like a monk.

Their final goodbye came at an airport, where Al hugged his friend and told him he would see him when he returned home. He never did.

More than four decades later, the memory remains haunting. But through Al Anderson's stories - and through the music they created together - the man he knew is still with us.