Sad news has reached the reggae community.  Producer, singer and owner of four labels, Phil Pratt  has died on Wednesday 25th February 2026.

When we talk about the key producers of ska, rocksteady and early reggae, the names that always come up are those of Lee “Scratch” Perry, Duke Reid, Leslie Kong or Coxsone Dodd. But if you love this music and you’ve checked the labels, played the records, and followed the riddims, you know the name Phil Pratt has to be in that conversation too.

Phil Pratt, born George Phillips around 1942 in Kingston, grew up in Denham Town, West Kingston. It’s not the Kingston you see on postcards. This was tough, working-class Jamaica. He was the eldest of seventeen kids, raised mostly by his aunt. Music wasn’t a hobby there. It was survival, escape, community.

As a youth he carried boxes for sound systems like Sir Coxsone’s Downbeat. That meant hauling heavy speakers through Kingston’s streets just to be close to the dance. And that’s where he linked up early with Lee “Scratch” Perry. Before the studios, before the dub experiments, it all started in the yards and the dances.

At St. Ann’s Primary School he sang in a group with classmates Ken Boothe and Headley Foulding. They never recorded, but the musical fire was ignited. By the mid-’60s, Pratt moved from box carrier to studio insider, working around Studio One and then linking with producer Ken Lack at Caltone. That’s when things got serious.

In 1966 he recorded Sweet Song For My Baby, a duet with Ken Boothe. That was his first step as both singer and producer. But truth be told, even then you could see his mind was more focused on production work than standing at the mic.

At Caltone he started shaping records for artists who would become legends. A young Horace Andy cut early sides with him. Ken Boothe recorded gems like The One I Love. Larry Marshall, The Clarendonians, Pratt was right there, producing tight rocksteady sides under three minutes, driven by bass and feeling.

Then the ’70s came. And that’s when Phil Pratt really stepped into the spotlight. Through his prolific Sunshot label, he released some serious heat. John Holt’s My Heart Is Gone. Dennis Brown’s Let Love In. Pat Kelly’s How Long. These weren’t just songs, they were dance staples, heartbreak anthems, sound system ammunition.

And he didn’t stop at singers. Pratt helped push the deejay style forward. He produced early cuts for Big Youth, I-Roy, U-Roy, Dennis Alcapone, Dillinger, and Jah Woosh. Those records helped define toasting culture long before hip-hop borrowed the blueprint.

A lot of the late ’70s magic happened at Channel One Studios with the band that became The Revolutionaries with Sly Dunbar on drums and Robbie Shakespeare on bass. Heavy, clean, militant sound. Pratt knew when to pull the vocal and let the drum and bass breathe.

And yes, he embraced dub early. He stripped vocals, soaked tracks in echo, and let the bass roll. His 1978 album Star Wars Dub is still a cult favorite. He also worked at Black Ark with Lee Perry, including early cuts like Linval Thompson’s breakthrough sides. Pratt didn’t copy Perry’s wild studio science, but he absorbed that fearless approach to sound.

In the early ’80s, he moved to London. Like many Jamaican producers, he followed the diaspora and the market. He established his Terminal outlet in east London, reissuing and distributing his catalog to a growing roots audience there. The pace slowed. Digital dancehall was rising. Pratt stepped back from the frontline and even ran a restaurant named Scandal West Indian Takeaway in Harlesden for stability. But he never disappeared completely.

There were later projects, like Clash Of The Andys in 1985, featuring Horace Andy and Patrick Andy. And over the years, labels like Pressure Sounds and Burning Sounds kept his legacy alive with reissues like Safe Travel and expanded editions of Star Wars Dub. Every time those records resurfaced, a new generation realized what he had done.

As a singer, Pratt left only a handful of sides. Safe Travel remains a sweet rocksteady cut. But let’s be honest, his real voice was the studio itself.

Phil Pratt was one of those producers who didn’t chase hype. He built foundations. He gave young artists their first real shot. He helped move reggae from rocksteady to roots to dub without losing its soul. And he did it quietly, without demanding the spotlight.

If you’ve ever played a vocal cut from a Sunshot 7″ single, or let a one of his tight instrumental versions roll through your speakers, you’ve felt his touch.

Despite his significant contributions, Pratt remained somewhat unheralded. However, he will always be remembered for his incredible and eternal productions. Gone, but never forgotten!