Yesterday's Fallout announcement brought to mind Toots and the Maytals, 1973. 

It was around that time that we first heard reggae music.  We were camping somewhere around the Delaware Water Gap in eastern Pennsylvania with a group of about 8 to 10 friends, and were sitting in Keith's tricked-out camper van searching up and down the radio for music.  We couldn't find many stations in that rural location, but somehow we came across an FM station on the far left of the dial that was playing some sort of music we had never heard before.  On the one hand, it sort of rocked but on the other it was a little corny and pop-sounding.  But then the d.j. came on with his Jamaican accent and talked about his "brothers and sisters still living in the mountains and out in the jungle" and we were hooked.  Soon, we had everybody at the campsite grooving to that crazy ONE-two-ONE-two beat percolating out of the van radio and the bizarre lyrics about rastas and ganja and irae.  It wasn't until much later that we learned that what we were hearing was something called reggae.

This was all before the cops showed up to throw us out of the campsite for trespassing (apparently we were on unused but private U.S. Steel property).  Eventually, the police let us stay the night because as they looked around and surveyed all the beer cans and kegs and various other party accoutrements around the campfire surrounded by our circle of vehicles, and heard that crazy reggae music coming out of that one tricked-out camper van, they decide most of our group were so wasted that they didn't want us out driving on the road. "We'll be back around 11:00 a.m. tomorrow, and you'd better be gone by then," they said, and we were, but the moral of this story is that reggae saved us from the cops. 

We couldn't have been more than 20 years old at the time.