Tasha T Breaks the Barrier with New Single “Ten Foot Wall” — Out Feb 6, 2026 Toronto, Canada — FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Some songs entertain. Some songs inspire. And then there are songs that stand guard over your spirit. On February 6, 2026, reggae artist Tasha T releases her new single “Ten Foot Wall,” a soul-lifting anthem produced by RasVibe Records Inc. and Islandyard Productions. The track serves as the lead single from her highly anticipated upcoming studio album, One World—and it arrives with purpose. This isn’t background music. This is testimony in rhythm. --- 🌿 A Song Born from Faith, Not Fear “Ten Foot Wall” is a powerful reflection of Tasha T’s personal and musical journey—one marked by perseverance, spiritual grounding, and unwavering belief. The song speaks directly to anyone who has ever felt boxed in by circumstance, challenged by doubt, or tested by unseen forces. The message is simple, yet eternal: > No matter how high the wall, God’s blessings surround His pe...

THE ENGINEER BEFORE THE ECHO Long before the word dub existed, before remix culture, before producers were recognized as artists, a child named Osbourne Ruddock was born on January 28, 1941, in Kingston, Jamaica. History would come to know him as King Tubby . He did not arrive with fanfare. There was no prophecy announced. But destiny was already tuning frequencies. Raised in the Waterhouse area of Kingston, Tubby grew up in a Jamaica where sound system culture was becoming the heartbeat of the streets. Loudspeakers, amplifiers, selectors, and dances were not entertainment alone — they were community, identity, and power. Tubby trained as an electronics technician and radio repairman , mastering the science behind sound. While others focused on selection and performance, he focused on signal flow, frequency balance, and clarity . He built amplifiers, repaired radios, and understood electricity with surgical precision. That skill brought him to the heart of Jamaican sound system cultu...

  A Drumbeat Felt Before It Was Heard There are moments when music feels less like sound and more like breath. When the rhythm does not announce itself, but holds everything together . On January 26, the world learned that Sly Dunbar had stepped away from the kit, leaving behind a silence heavy with memory. It was not the absence of noise that hurt—it was the sudden awareness of how much of our musical lives had always been moving to his time. Sly Dunbar was never simply keeping the beat. He was shaping the ground beneath it . The Man Who Organized Sound Born Lowell Fillmore Dunbar in Kingston, Jamaica, Sly emerged in a time when reggae was finding its global voice. From the studios of Channel One to stages across the world, his drumming carried discipline, restraint, and intention. Each kick drum landed with authority. Each snare spoke with clarity. He understood something few musicians ever fully grasp: rhythm is responsibility . Sly did not rush. He did not overcrowd...

 In reggae history, few names carry the weight of Clement Coxsone Dodd . Coxsone Dodd is rightly celebrated as the architect of Studio One , the label often called the Motown of Jamaica . From ska to rocksteady to early reggae, Studio One helped shape the sound of a nation — and eventually, the world. But history told only through celebration is incomplete. Behind the legend of Coxsone Dodd lies a quieter, more complicated story — one about power, credit, ownership, and the musicians who built the sound but rarely received the spotlight. 🎛️ The Power of the Producer Coxsone Dodd was not a musician. He was a visionary organizer . He had the ears, the discipline, and the authority to bring singers, players, and arrangers together under one roof. In an era before formal contracts and global distribution, that kind of control meant opportunity — but it also meant imbalance. Studio One functioned like a factory. Musicians were expected to show up, create quickly, and move on. ...

  On January 18, the reggae world paused to remember Stephen "Cat" Coore—a founding member of Third World, a master guitarist, and a quiet giant whose influence reached far beyond the stage. Cat Coore was not a musician who chased attention. He was a musician who earned respect—by how he played, how he lived, and how he treated people. To understand his legacy, you don’t need a full discography. You need to understand three moments—one professional, one personal, and one rooted in giving back. Together, they tell the story of a man who believed reggae was not just sound, but responsibility. 1. The Professional Moment: When Reggae Went Global Without Losing Its Soul In the early 1970s, reggae stood at a crossroads. The music was powerful, but often boxed in—seen as regional, niche, or limited in scope. When Third World emerged, Stephen “Cat” Coore helped change that perception forever. As a founding member and musical architect, Cat Coore brought discipline, musicality, and re...

Some interviews feel like marketing. Others feel like a moment you’re supposed to hear. This conversation with Blaz’em belongs to the second category. For over 15 years, Blaz’em has lived Rastafari—not as a look, not as a trend, but as a discipline. In his exclusive Reggae Hour interview, he speaks with a clarity that cuts through noise, ego, and industry illusions. He talks about faith, elders, mistakes, music, youth, and why conscious reggae still matters when so much feels disconnected. What follows isn’t just a recap. It’s a reasoning—with the artist, and with yourself. “I Always Knew I Was Going to Be a Rasta” Blaz’em’s journey didn’t begin on a stage or in a studio. It began quietly—as a youth watching, listening, absorbing. “Looking at the elder Rastaman dem, it interest me. The picture of Selassie—I used to just stand and stare at it. I knew one day… I was going to be a Rasta.” At just 14 years old, he embraced Rastafari—not because it was popular, but because it felt like home...

Why the most principled reggae festival chose integrity over spectacle, and how the music moves forward . INTRODUCTION: A Silence That Spoke Volumes When a two-page letter quietly dropped from Rebel Salute, it didn’t just cancel a weekend — it sent shockwaves through global reggae culture. For decades, Rebel Salute has stood as more than a reggae music festival. It has been a moral compass . A place where conscious lyrics mattered more than hype, where roots and culture outweighed trends, and where the music was treated not as entertainment alone, but as responsibility. So when the official notice appeared — calm, measured, unapologetically principled — it landed heavy. Rebel Salute 2026 was canceled. Not postponed for convenience. Not reshuffled for profit. Canceled out of respect. In an era where festivals push forward no matter the cost, Rebel Salute made a radical decision: integrity over optics . Safety over spectacle. Legacy over immediacy. Hurricane Melissa didn’t just damag...