Behind Every Woman Who Loves Reggae

There’s a TikTok trend going around that says, “Behind every woman who loves reggae, is a little girl who grew up listening to her dad’s favourite songs.” And when I saw it, I felt seen.

People have asked me how I can love soca as much as I do, yet still consider my musical roots to be deeply tied to reggae. It’s almost as if I’m expected to pick a side, like my Trinidadian and Jamaican heritage should compete. But that’s never been my reality as both cultures have been constants in my life.

My parents did a beautiful job of teaching me about both sides of who I am. I spent time with both extended families, visited both countries growing up, ate food from each, and was surrounded by the music that defined them. Reggae and soca were never at odds. Instead, they coexisted, just like the two parts of my identity.

Growing up in Midtown Toronto, weekends often meant heading to the suburbs to visit my Jamaican side of the family. These drives were long, but the music made them feel like an experience. My dad had this big black leather zip-up case filled with CDs—his prized collection of reggae greats. As a child, I’d flip through them, running my fingers over each CD, fascinated by the names and artwork: Garnett Silk, Sanchez, Beres Hammond, Sizzla, Gregory Isaacs, Luciano, Bob Marley, Freddie McGregor, Glen Washington.

I didn’t always know what they were singing about, but I felt it. The richness of their voices, the storytelling, the depth of emotion. It all lingered in the air. When I’d sit in the back seat, I could feel the vibration from the bass, like I was being wrapped in melodies. My dad never had to explain why he loved reggae so much. It was something I easily understood just by being there.

And then, the tables turned.

In my early twenties, I was driving my dad back home from my grandma’s house when a song from my Apple Music library came on. Heaven in Your Eyes by Glen Washington. 

My dad asked me, surprised, "How do you know this song?" 

I laughed and said, "Because of you!"

It was a full-circle moment. All those years of driving with him, absorbing his music, had come back around. Without realizing it, he had passed down a love for reggae and an appreciation for music with substance. The kind of music that tells a story, that carries history, that means something.

I think that’s why I still love history and music with deep storytelling and messaging. It’s why I connect so deeply to reggae, even as soca keeps my heart racing. My dad taught me to feel music, not just hear it. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

So yes, I love soca. And yes, reggae is still home to me. Because behind this woman who loves reggae was a little girl in the back seat, flipping through CDs, feeling the bass, and unknowingly absorbing the soundtrack of her roots.

Thank you, Dad, for teaching me the power of music with meaning. For showing me that reggae and soca, like my Trinidadian and Jamaican heritage, were never in competition.

And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this: I was never meant to choose one over the other. I was always meant to live in harmony.