There’s a beauty in being as close to the source as possible as it pertains to cultural production. In its 63 years of independence, Jamaica’s cultural might has given the world new aspects to food, religious, spiritual and political influence, athleticism, music, aesthetic and fashion.

From a Theophilo, to Beenie Man, to a Kishane Thompson, to a Grace Jones, the island has persevered, across generations, entertaining, inspiring and educating the world organically. Reggae exists as one of the region’s strongest exports – ironically, at the time of writing in England, Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” spouts from a cafe’s speakers. Contributing to the careers of Bob Marley, Sizzla, Dennis Alcapone, Marcia Griffiths and more, reggae emits  messages of love, introspection, politics, pan-Africanism, rastafarianism, and spirituality, interrelated with previous sonics such as mento or ska.

Part of reggae’s preservation happens in multiple festivals a year across the island. The seismic Reggae Sumfest, is known for its mammoth sets that head into the early hours of the morning. However, Reggae Month – acknowledged in February for Jamaicans – has become home to a more intimate and communal affair, Lost In Time. Inaugurated in 2023 by the island’s own veteran reggae talent, Protoje, the festival, this year’s edition was held in Hope Gardens, building on annual – sans 2025’s hiatus – canvassing of reggae’s past, present and future for Kingstonians and tourists.

This year’s festivities were no different, the two-day event (February 28 to March 1) managed to balance balm with anticipation, Kingston set alight with a beaming presentation of the reggae landscape. Earlier on day one, the Grammy-nominated, Lila Iké emphasised the diligence that reggae musicians take, especially as they ascend. Preserving her voice on a panel at Island Music Conference, she politely left the closing Q&A, the importance of her duties on stage during Lost In Time’s 2026 premiere night front of mind. “Thank you,” she told audiences who encouraged her diligence. 

Later that evening, Lila Iké soared, pristine as ever as she initiated her set with early releases like “I Spy”. Draped in blue – from braids to her leather ensemble – spectators urged her on. “I have to take this moment for peace of mind,” she began. “I think this festival is so special.” For close to an hour, she flew across her discography demonstrating reggae’s vulnerability, serenading viewers with a flurry of previous releases including “Second Chance” and “Fry Plantain”. With wisdom beyond her years, Lila Iké highlighted a tenacity of a future headliner, more than ready to navigate reggae’s future.

Headliner Protoje followed, acting as night one’s Lit Stage juggernaut, and inaugurating his The Art of Acceptance tour simultaneously. On stage for close to two hours, the titan and festival founder showcased not only the longevity of the genre, but its ability to thrill. Koffee served as one of the set’s first guests, met with an abundance of roars from her spectators. Performing their 2021 collaboration “Hit It Up”, Koffee darted around the stage with a buoyancy that reggae’s come to embody in its growth. Artists like Buju Banton and Beenie Man provide a similar zest in parts of their discography also, particularly Banton in his latter features across his career. Reggae is not an affair without a Marley embrace, and Lost In Time’s premiere this year made sure to honour the legacy in Damian and Stephen Marley’s surprise appearances across the latter half of Protoje’s set. Performing their seminal anthem “The Mission” echoes and chants felt across Hope Garden’s, Saturday served as a commanding return to glory.

Lost In Time’s conclusion the following night saw equally strong performances, a Jesse Royal rising to the occasion with humour, intimacy, and a formidable charm across his sixty minute airing. Armed in black shades, a canvas green shirt, and tapered trousers, Royal looked the part, his aesthetic emitting the confidence that comes from years of experience. His vocal projection, probably the sharpest of his peers, he advocated that “this is the power of reggae music” as he began. Later, he specified how important his job as a father is, inviting his daughter, Korus, on stage for his performance of “Love That Don’t Change”, positioning both vocations – guardian and artist – as paramount.

Chornixx acted as Lost In Time’s closing act, his performance, the first since his sophomore album Exile’s release last October. Ethereal throughout, witnessing the spectacle served as an example of how reggae isn’t just an act of resistance, but one of healing. The calm, euphoria, and respect across Hope Gardens for Lost In Time’s finale emphasised how viable reggae is as a vehicle for community. Amidst debates about the viability of the genre for Gen-Z, witnessing spectators of all ages with gleams in their eyes, tears, and joy, silenced some of those critiques in real time.

Battling against a prolonged power outage for close to 20 minutes, Chronixx persevered anchored by thousands of voices reciting each and every one of his lyrics back to him as he weaved through catalogue classics like “Skankin Sweet”, “Here Comes Trouble” and “Spanish Town Rockin’” as well as more pertinent eulogies, including “Hurricane” and “Resilient”. The latter have motivated a nation amidst the aftermath of Hurricane Melissa, almost spiritually timely in their release weeks prior to the tragic event. Amidst the effects of climate racism, artists like Chronixx commit to the lineage of the sociopolitical offloading that reggae provides, its preservation in his discography, an important aspect for west indians. 

At dub club Sundays, a weekly reggae event located in the hills of Kingston (and this week’s unofficial Lost In Time closing party), I’m reminded of a recent Sizzla interview. “Yes it is, [reggae] is still prominent,” he tells prolific presenter and DJ Seani B. “You got to hear [new reggae artists] out… This is reggae country and it can’t change.” Lost In Time acts as that medium for old and new, it provides that intergenerational dialogue that allows genres like reggae to thrive. The intimacy of a Lila Iké, paired with the sincerity of a Jesse Royal, the legacy of a Protoje paired with the spirituality and sentience of a Chronixx – all shades matter, all deserve recognition. Direct from the source, Lost In Time honours its roots and evolution for the nation, and world, to see.