MUSIC

First released in 1977, this album marked a new dawn in reggae music, blending lovers rock sweetness with deep roots vibrations. Remastered with 2 bonus tracks.

Chanting Dub with The Help of the Father a rare original rockers release featuring the rockers all stars

1972 masterpiece by Phyllis Dillon, one of the most iconic Rocksteady singers. A total　12 tunes sung neatly in a rocksteady manner with sweet melodies and slow rhythms.

Vital 1977-’79 dubs by the wee legend, all cooked up long, strong and odd at his fabled Black Ark Studio for DJ play and dancers’ satisfaction. Holding 40 minutes of golden era dub heat, ‘Disco Devil Vol. 1’ spotlights Lee “Scratch” Perry at a crest of his innovative powers. The title cut is a certified all-timer, full of chants, cauldron bubble and ten tonnes of bass that would be sampled in a ‘90s anthem by The Prodigy. Likewise he takes all the time needed to crease your Clarks with a 9 min discomix of Junior Murvin’s sparrow-voiced trotter ‘Roots Train’, and nearly 10 mins of the unreleased Seven Leaves disco mix to ‘Such is Life’, cooling Lord creator’s croon on duskiest sway and FX balm, next to soul-stir fire of Winston Watson’s ‘Dispensation.’

Recorded at Black Ark Studio, Kingston Jamaica and features some of Perry's most cavernous and deep dubs. Far reaching dimensional frequency riding of a spiritual vibration and inspirational quality. Technical virtuosity and experrymentation at the service of beauty and wonder.

Copilot said: A compilation of essential 1970s recordings by pioneering female reggae singer Jennifer Lara, who contributed session vocals and harmonies to numerous classics for the legendary Studio One label. Showcasing the warmth, depth, and unmistakable presence of one of Jamaican music's most underrated voices, this collection highlights a key figure in the evolution of reggae and rocksteady.

The 10-tracks that forms the core of this album, were originally released on the Impact! label in 1975. Less than 200 copies were pressed, even fewer than "Java Java Java Dub". Produced by Clive Chin

Deep instrumental and dub album. Recorded in 1978 in the best Jamaican studios, including Lee Perry's famous Black Ark along (as always!) the cream of the musicians including members of The Wailers. Pablo mystical and meditative sound take us far away, to the Ethiopian roots.

Re-up of Lee Perry’s cult late ‘70s works, as first issued in ’84, manipulating rhythms by the T.N.T. Players aka The Upsetters during his legendary Black Ark phase, and including a scalp-tingling dub of The Congos’ ‘Fisherman’. Back by demand for the first time since the early ‘90s, ‘Megaton Dub 2’ follows in the wake of Studio 16’s ‘Disco Devil’ reissues with some of The Upsetter’s most haunting, incomparable gear. Practically worth the price of entry alone for the spangled dub of ‘Fisherman’, his iconic production for the vocal harmony trio, the LP’s pleasures also reach to the peppery nyabinghi drums on ‘Zion in Dub’, the super slow and wide ‘Groovy Dub’ bathed in FX, and a standout steppa ‘Green Bay Killing’, featuring one of the earliest appearances on record by Lord Sassafras, who would become a major dancehall deejay in the ‘80s.

reissue of this impossible to find LP, 52 years after the Original !

This seminal 1972 album from the Crown Prince of Reggae, Dennis Brown, is a must-have for any serious reggae collection. Recorded with legendary producer Niney the Observer, it features some of Brown’s most celebrated early works, showcasing his smooth, soulful vocals and undeniable talent. The album includes classics like the title track, "No Man Is An Island," and "Westbound Train," which cemented his status as a reggae icon. The album is a testament to the golden era of roots reggae.

1967's Alton Ellis Sings Rock and Soul captures Alton as a young man with talent far beyond his years. An eclectic mix of originals and covers on this collection exhibits why Alton remains Jamaica's signature rocksteady voice.

One of the finest vocal groups of the rocksteady and early reggae periods of Jamaican music, the Heptones first drew attention for the singles and albums they cut for Clement "Coxsone" Dodd's Studio One label during the late '60s. Poised on the cusp of a cultural shift, Leroy Sibbles (also a bass-wielding session man for Dodd) and partners Barry Llewellyn and Earl Morgan tackled a combination of the sort of pained love songs then in vogue and fresher "reality" material, a mix arguably heard best on On Top.

Joe Gibbs' 1979 album Majestic Dub stands as a unique and innovative take on the sound of Dub. The album opens with "Ten Commandments," an energetic track featuring prominent use of synthesizers, blending early techno influences with dub rhythms. This departure from the typical sound showcases Gibbs' ambition to modernize reggae without overusing electronic elements. The title track, "Majestic Dub," highlights the rhythmic prowess of the legendary Sly and Robbie, grounding the music with a strong reggae foundation while also experimenting with electronic drums, further pushing the sonic boundaries. As the album progresses, tracks like "Social Justice" and "Kings of Dub" continue to explore new textures. "Social Justice" introduces a synthesizer subtly woven into the rhythm, enhancing the track's depth and layering. In contrast, "Kings of Dub" feels lighter and more traditionally reggae, its smooth rhythms and precise production feel more grounded. These tracks exemplify Gibbs' ability to balance innovation with respect for reggae’s roots, allowing a variety of influences and styles to shine through without overwhelming the core dub essence. The album concludes with powerful tracks like "Edward the Eighth" and "Embargo," which return to more orthodox dub sounds while incorporating dynamic effects such as echo and delay. These final songs capture the essence of Majestic Dub, where traditional reggae rhythms meet modern production techniques. Gibbs' collaboration with top-tier musicians, including Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare, and Tommy McCook, adds further depth to an already rich soundscape. Altogether, Majestic Dub serves as a bold, forward-thinking album that not only honors the roots of dub but also pushes it into exciting new territory.

Liminal space – We all know it, a familiar friend. The haze we slip into on our way to sleep. That warmth on your eyelids you feel when you turn your face to the sun and drift out of time for a few minutes. Those moments of stillness that belong to you in the sacred minutes before the alarm goes off, before you are fully able to acknowledge the outside world that waits on you like some hungry panther, eyeing you from strange trees. Inhabiting this zone is a luxury, but the best sort of liminality lives in a very specific dream space, one we spend the rest of our lives chasing: The deep sleep that most children know. Somewhere between familiar household sounds and being carried to your own bed, there’s the quiet that only belongs to you and some dream self – someone that you haven’t met yet, but that you make future plans for and secret promises to. June McDoom’s debut full-length, Follow the Light, feels exactly like exploring this space and pushing forward, slipping out of time and waking up someplace new, a place that’s barely familiar enough to feel like home but somehow already wholly personal and meant for you alone. June grew up in a Jamaican household in South Florida, an existence built of strong extended family, communal care, bass and harmonics. Her father, a carpenter and student of sound all his own, built his own speakers and maintained no less than three sound systems across as many rooms. The bass from his solitary DJ sets would sneak its way through her bedroom floor, making itself at home like some wayward cat as she listened to folk records, finding harmonies that were new and special to her. On the edge of the Florida Everglades, two musics in one room, meshing into something indescribable. Lushness as past and premonition. The low end of where she comes from, and the high, gentle harmony of what she would eventually seek out, sharing the same humid air. She would find folk music on her own, somewhere between the cast recording of The Sound of Music and Simon and Garfunkel’s contributions to The Graduate, all the while nobody around her listening to it and her parents referring to it as “that sleepy music.” She did not mind being the only one; the solitude afforded her the opportunity to fall in love with harmony first, before words, before anything else. Harmony is the thing that reaches her, and now it is the thing she effortlessly reaches for. You will hear it all over this album, with chords opening up to greet you before you have any idea what she’s singing about. Yet and still, an elder also traveled a similar path: Her grandfather, Colin Smith, was a distinguished mento man who played banjo and guitar, built his own rumba boxes and worked hard to keep Jamaica’s oldest form of rural acoustic folk music and storytelling alive. Mento is the genre at the root of all of it – we have the form to thank for ska, rock steady, reggae, dub and everything that came after, and he is the one who put a guitar in her hands. An inheritance, a gift and a map. Even her name is part of it, though she will tell you she landed on it more by feel than reason. She records as June McDoom, born Alyssa, June being a nickname one of her grandmothers, Joan, went by, a name she thought was cool to carry and simply liked the sound of. An etheric channel that reverberates all the same. A dub all its own. For years, this was just the sound of her family, a comfort and constant companion that did not yet feel as if it also belonged to her. It took going out into the world, living, loving, learning and coming back home, to find that she had earnestly built a full life of her own – and that there was a sound to meet it. She put on an Alton Ellis record one day and realized the soundshe had been seeking had been there her whole life, a steady groove meant to hold anyone with ears and heart enough to listen. She set out to create and ended up making music that held space for all of the sounds and feelings that she loved. Not a reggae or dub record, not a folk record, but the harmony of one laid over the rhythm of the other. Sonic liminality, echoed out into the cosmos in some places. She and her longtime partner, Evan Wright, created the songs slowly, by hand. Songcraft for the pair meant stacking parts over time, chasing texture, exercising restraint in their explorations, keeping things minimal on purpose. Nearly every one began as just her voice and a guitar before the two of them fleshed it out, Evan playing most of the instruments while June layered in the vocal harmonies she so loves to arrange. They opened the record by cutting live drums with Victor Axelrod, the producer who records as Ticklah, down in his Sunset Park basement, then carried the songs home and built the rest themselves across long days in the studio they keep at home, tracking to tape and digital both, even hauling out to a friend’s house for the harp. Dub and Wall of Sound influencing the low end, with echoes of Dionne Warwick, Minnie Riperton, Pentangle and the washy, stellar guitars of Cocteau Twins’ Victorialand haunting the outer edges of what her sound would shapeshift into. Angelic heroics, and nothing less. It was not easy, by any stretch. A casual listener won’t know that she spent twelve hours a day mixing because she wanted perfection, or that she started the process over when, on a Christmas visit, her parents told her that they couldn’t hear enough of her vocals. “Without You,” the album’s lead single, carries the fingerprints of that patience: it began with live drums running straight through and slowly became something else entirely, the deeper she steeped it in Cocteau Twins, until a dub bassline and a shoegaze shimmer met in the middle, in the last place you would think to look for either one. That was the standard she wanted to meet and surpass – but you, listener, will only hear a record that could have gone overboard but didn’t. Generous in its way, it invites you in as an active participant on the path, leaving room for you instead of telling you how to feel. At the heart, the core of all of this, is June’s grandmother Aggie. She formed the center, both in family and in this recording – a guide for June in moments of stillness, in moments of uncertainty, and at the edges that she wants to keep close. Indeed, the song “Memory” was written with her in mind. That is the light making its way through the pinhole in this camera of the mind, the guide that helps June to focus, to see and to step forward confidently. People who love you showing the way, their energy still present and shining even when their form has moved on. There’s a harder, quieter undercurrent that moves through this album – one that June explores in “Outside the Window.” There are so many different iterations of a self, all belonging to so many different sets of people and realities. What obligation do you have to them, and can you meet all of the promises that you made to yourself in those sleepy, hazy moments when you pretended you weren’t a kid anymore? What is authenticity? Who defines that? Who do you owe it to? What do you owe yourself? These are questions that prowl around the corners of the overthinking artist’s mind when creating an album this intimate, this exacting, this personal. You’re learning how to be a person in public while keeping a degree of interiority all of your own, trying to make sure that you don’t let your life pass you by as you’re trying to meet your own standards. Future You is an ancestor that your current self gets to meet. As June layers these songs, she is figuring out who she is in real time. The album holds that answer, and offers it to you, the listener, as well. It knows that none of us are just one person, but a multitude of people we’ve had to let go of, kill off, commit to meeting at a future date and time. A continuum: There’s an entire lineage of selves that we all carry with us each day, and others that we will eventually meet. We are reaching back to those people and waving hello to them at the same time, along with the lineages of people who helped to shape us and get us here. A collection of people and things that don’t seem to go together, but we let them in anyway. Dark. Light. Equals. Opposites. All there in sound, in spirit, in daily action. We turn into the light when things feel dark. We get used to feeling around for it if we can’t see it. We let the warmth of it hit our faces and slowly open eyes to see.

Liminal space – We all know it, a familiar friend. The haze we slip into on our way to sleep. That warmth on your eyelids you feel when you turn your face to the sun and drift out of time for a few minutes. Those moments of stillness that belong to you in the sacred minutes before the alarm goes off, before you are fully able to acknowledge the outside world that waits on you like some hungry panther, eyeing you from strange trees. Inhabiting this zone is a luxury, but the best sort of liminality lives in a very specific dream space, one we spend the rest of our lives chasing: The deep sleep that most children know. Somewhere between familiar household sounds and being carried to your own bed, there’s the quiet that only belongs to you and some dream self – someone that you haven’t met yet, but that you make future plans for and secret promises to. June McDoom’s debut full-length, Follow the Light, feels exactly like exploring this space and pushing forward, slipping out of time and waking up someplace new, a place that’s barely familiar enough to feel like home but somehow already wholly personal and meant for you alone. June grew up in a Jamaican household in South Florida, an existence built of strong extended family, communal care, bass and harmonics. Her father, a carpenter and student of sound all his own, built his own speakers and maintained no less than three sound systems across as many rooms. The bass from his solitary DJ sets would sneak its way through her bedroom floor, making itself at home like some wayward cat as she listened to folk records, finding harmonies that were new and special to her. On the edge of the Florida Everglades, two musics in one room, meshing into something indescribable. Lushness as past and premonition. The low end of where she comes from, and the high, gentle harmony of what she would eventually seek out, sharing the same humid air. She would find folk music on her own, somewhere between the cast recording of The Sound of Music and Simon and Garfunkel’s contributions to The Graduate, all the while nobody around her listening to it and her parents referring to it as “that sleepy music.” She did not mind being the only one; the solitude afforded her the opportunity to fall in love with harmony first, before words, before anything else. Harmony is the thing that reaches her, and now it is the thing she effortlessly reaches for. You will hear it all over this album, with chords opening up to greet you before you have any idea what she’s singing about. Yet and still, an elder also traveled a similar path: Her grandfather, Colin Smith, was a distinguished mento man who played banjo and guitar, built his own rumba boxes and worked hard to keep Jamaica’s oldest form of rural acoustic folk music and storytelling alive. Mento is the genre at the root of all of it – we have the form to thank for ska, rock steady, reggae, dub and everything that came after, and he is the one who put a guitar in her hands. An inheritance, a gift and a map. Even her name is part of it, though she will tell you she landed on it more by feel than reason. She records as June McDoom, born Alyssa, June being a nickname one of her grandmothers, Joan, went by, a name she thought was cool to carry and simply liked the sound of. An etheric channel that reverberates all the same. A dub all its own. For years, this was just the sound of her family, a comfort and constant companion that did not yet feel as if it also belonged to her. It took going out into the world, living, loving, learning and coming back home, to find that she had earnestly built a full life of her own – and that there was a sound to meet it. She put on an Alton Ellis record one day and realized the soundshe had been seeking had been there her whole life, a steady groove meant to hold anyone with ears and heart enough to listen. She set out to create and ended up making music that held space for all of the sounds and feelings that she loved. Not a reggae or dub record, not a folk record, but the harmony of one laid over the rhythm of the other. Sonic liminality, echoed out into the cosmos in some places. She and her longtime partner, Evan Wright, created the songs slowly, by hand. Songcraft for the pair meant stacking parts over time, chasing texture, exercising restraint in their explorations, keeping things minimal on purpose. Nearly every one began as just her voice and a guitar before the two of them fleshed it out, Evan playing most of the instruments while June layered in the vocal harmonies she so loves to arrange. They opened the record by cutting live drums with Victor Axelrod, the producer who records as Ticklah, down in his Sunset Park basement, then carried the songs home and built the rest themselves across long days in the studio they keep at home, tracking to tape and digital both, even hauling out to a friend’s house for the harp. Dub and Wall of Sound influencing the low end, with echoes of Dionne Warwick, Minnie Riperton, Pentangle and the washy, stellar guitars of Cocteau Twins’ Victorialand haunting the outer edges of what her sound would shapeshift into. Angelic heroics, and nothing less. It was not easy, by any stretch. A casual listener won’t know that she spent twelve hours a day mixing because she wanted perfection, or that she started the process over when, on a Christmas visit, her parents told her that they couldn’t hear enough of her vocals. “Without You,” the album’s lead single, carries the fingerprints of that patience: it began with live drums running straight through and slowly became something else entirely, the deeper she steeped it in Cocteau Twins, until a dub bassline and a shoegaze shimmer met in the middle, in the last place you would think to look for either one. That was the standard she wanted to meet and surpass – but you, listener, will only hear a record that could have gone overboard but didn’t. Generous in its way, it invites you in as an active participant on the path, leaving room for you instead of telling you how to feel. At the heart, the core of all of this, is June’s grandmother Aggie. She formed the center, both in family and in this recording – a guide for June in moments of stillness, in moments of uncertainty, and at the edges that she wants to keep close. Indeed, the song “Memory” was written with her in mind. That is the light making its way through the pinhole in this camera of the mind, the guide that helps June to focus, to see and to step forward confidently. People who love you showing the way, their energy still present and shining even when their form has moved on. There’s a harder, quieter undercurrent that moves through this album – one that June explores in “Outside the Window.” There are so many different iterations of a self, all belonging to so many different sets of people and realities. What obligation do you have to them, and can you meet all of the promises that you made to yourself in those sleepy, hazy moments when you pretended you weren’t a kid anymore? What is authenticity? Who defines that? Who do you owe it to? What do you owe yourself? These are questions that prowl around the corners of the overthinking artist’s mind when creating an album this intimate, this exacting, this personal. You’re learning how to be a person in public while keeping a degree of interiority all of your own, trying to make sure that you don’t let your life pass you by as you’re trying to meet your own standards. Future You is an ancestor that your current self gets to meet. As June layers these songs, she is figuring out who she is in real time. The album holds that answer, and offers it to you, the listener, as well. It knows that none of us are just one person, but a multitude of people we’ve had to let go of, kill off, commit to meeting at a future date and time. A continuum: There’s an entire lineage of selves that we all carry with us each day, and others that we will eventually meet. We are reaching back to those people and waving hello to them at the same time, along with the lineages of people who helped to shape us and get us here. A collection of people and things that don’t seem to go together, but we let them in anyway. Dark. Light. Equals. Opposites. All there in sound, in spirit, in daily action. We turn into the light when things feel dark. We get used to feeling around for it if we can’t see it. We let the warmth of it hit our faces and slowly open eyes to see.

"Horace Andy started his career when he was 16 years old with his first hit 'Black Man Country.' His music was produced by many, including Studio One, Clocktower Records, and many others. Songs that became some of his best hits were 'Skylarking,' 'You Are My Angel,' 'Love of a Woman' and many others. Now in 2026 here comes Horace Andy with great new songs such as 'Agony Shame' and 'Scandal Herb Stock' with his producer Nkrumah Jah Thomas, so once again let's enjoy this great new LP and dance till you drop. Because music is life." -- Alfred Newman Track Listing: A1. Herb Stock A2. Women, See Them And Live With Them 2 Different Things A3. Give Me Your Loving A4. Sweet Reggae Music A5. Love You Pretty Baby B1. Shame And Scandel B2. Bad Woman B3. Agony B4. Baby Tell Me Why Do You Want To Leave B5. To Long To Come - Horace Andy coming with great new songs such as 'Agony Shame' and 'Scandal Herb Stock' with his producer Nkrumah Jah Thomas. - Horace Andy started his career when he was 16 years old with his first hit 'Black Man Country.' His music was produced by many, including Studio One, Clocktower Records, and many others.

Strut present the first ever official compilation bringing together the complete in-demand reggae / disco singles of Risco Connection between 1979 and 1980.

Drummer “Drummie” Joe Isaacs had already created history as the house drummer at Studio 1 in Jamaica on countless pre-reggae classics before moving to Canada in 1968 and is credited with slowing down the fast pace of ska during the rocksteady era. With Risco Connection, Isaacs released a series of choice reggae / disco covers, from ‘Ain’t No Stopping Us Now’ and ‘Good Times’ to ‘I’m Caught Up (In A One Night Love Affair)’ and ‘It’s My House’ as limited 12” singles on his own Black Rose imprint. “Arriving in Canada, we were one of the first set of musicians out of Jamaica coming here,” explains Isaacs. “With Risco Connection, we wanted to try something new, songs that would have a crossover between disco and the rocksteady feeling and the right lyrics. We had trouble getting them well distributed widely at the time but people still picked up on the sound.”

Recorded at Glen Johansen’s small studio Integrated Sound in Toronto, musicians included Jamaican, US and Canadian players with Isaacs on drums and percussion, bassist Clarence Greer, guitarist Tony Campbell and keyboardist/singer Glen Ricketts. Isaacs also called on a number of great independent vocalists including Terry Hope (‘It’s My House’), Merlyn “Lorna” Brooks, (‘Caught Up’), Otis Gayle and Juliette Morgan (‘Bringing The Sun Out’ and ‘Sitting In The Park’) and Tobi Lark (‘Good Times’). The biggest hit of all the singles was Risco’s dynamite cover of McFadden and Whitehead’s ‘Ain’t No Stopping Us Now’. selling over 5,000 copies in Toronto and New York with the dub version becoming a firm favourite of David Mancuso at his famed Loft parties.

‘Risco Version’ brings together all of the vocal versions, dubs and extra tracks from the singles. Both formats feature an interview with Joe Isaacs and liner notes by journalist Angus Taylor. Audio is restored by Sean P and fully remastered and cut loud and proud by The Carvery. 

Classic Studio One instrumentals featured on Lennie Hibbert's essential album, including the spellbinding Roselen and bonus versions of Twilight Zone and Village Soul.

There are a dozen nice sultry instrumentals on this LP, released in the early '70s, though as always with vintage reggae albums, that doesn't necessarily indicate that all of the material was recorded then. Certainly it has the sound of the best rocksteady music, some of its trancier grooves hinting at the dub era.

Ewart Brown aka Cobra (later, and more prolifically known as Mad Cobra) released the Goldmine LP in 1993 for Prince Jazzbo's Ujama label. This is the first LP pressing for a collection of dubbed out versions in Jazzbo's inimitable prouction style, showcasing the talents of engineer Albert Thompson aka Junior Chemist at I&I recording studios, alongside Delroy Thompson otherwise known as the prolific mastering engineer Spiderman

The third (and most impressive) of four volumes of dub mixes from the studio of producer Joe Gibbs, African Dub, Chapter 3 finds engineer Errol Thompson getting a bit more adventurous than he had on the earlier installments. More of these dub versions keep shreds and snatches of the original vocal tracks in the mix, which is almost always a plus in a dub context -- little snippets of disembodied vocals float through the otherworldly musical atmosphere, lending a sometimes spooky human element to the sound and often casting new and refracted light on the meaning of the original lyrics. And on this volume, Thompson seems to be taking a few cues from his competitor Lee "Scratch" Perry, throwing such extramusical elements as water sounds (on "Freedom Call") and ringing telephones (on "Jubilation Dub") into the mix along with the usual gossamer shreds of guitar, horn, and keyboard. Highly recommended. - Rick Anderson

Producer Joe Gibbs took the credit for the four discs released in the mid-'70s under the title African Dub All-Mighty, but the musicians were in reality a shifting aggregation of members of the Soul Syndicate, We the People, and Revolutionaries bands, and the man actually working the mixing board was famed sound engineer Errol Thompson. Chapter 1 is a fine listening experience -- note in particular "Campus Rock" (a dub version of Dennis Brown's "Let Me Live") and "Treasure Dub," which is a version of the Jamaicans' rocksteady classic "Ba Ba Boom." Recommended. - Rick Anderson

In the late 1960s, Canada’s largest city was musically booming as Caribbean immigrants made Toronto their new home. The finest ska, rocksteady, and reggae recording artists of the era—Studio One, Treasure Isle, and Trojan Records originators—simply did what came naturally to them. One by one, they hit the studio and captured some of the toughest tunes this side of Kingston. Collectively, they broke down racial and cultural barriers to form an unprecedented and little-known Canadian reggae community. Jamaica to Toronto: Soul, Funk, & Reggae 1967-1974 details this crucial sonic migration.