Born-again Rastas are like any other kind of born-agains; they’re inclined to go a little overboard when stating their newfound faith. That’s one possible explanation for Corey Harris’ incredibly earnest dive into roots reggae. Another is that Harris has simply absorbed another style of music, done it with understanding and respect, but forgot to throw in anything of his own.

You’d think a guitarist who played the streets in New Orleans, did acoustic blues in the Mississippi Delta, and got a thumbs-up in Martin Scorsese’s blues documentary could bring a fresh spin to traditional reggae. Yet Harris seems more concerned here with spreading the gospel of Jah and Bob Marley. And there’s no denying that it sounds a little odd when a non-Jamaican who’s worked in plenty of other styles suddenly writes 12 songs with hardcore Rastafarian doctrine for lyrics. The expected rhymes(lion/Zion/iron), Biblical references and quotes from other songs (“Pressure climbing, Lord it’s gonna drop”) are all here. And just when you’re thinking that he hasn’t gotten around to name-checking Marcus Garvey yet, he turns up in a lyric right alongside Rosa Parks and Malcolm X.

Harris is hardly the first New Orleanian to embrace Rasta; Cyril Neville for one has written reggae songs for years. But Neville crossed that sound with his own brand of funk. Harris keeps all his previous work out of the mix—no Delta flavor, no Cajun accents, not even much of his own guitar (the one exception, the acoustic “Plantation Town” is the best thing here). Instead the disc plays as if someone threw all of Marley’s post-Natty Dread albums in a computer, seasoned it with a little Burning Spear and Culture, and threw on some Skatalites horns. What’s missing is any hint, either musically or lyrically, of whatever personal journey led Harris to this point. That’s the difference between a stylistic homage and a real creative statement.