PHOTOS: TODD JUDD | There are artists who make songs—and then there are artists who build worlds you can step into, drop a needle upon, and live inside for a while. Protoje has always been firmly in that second category.
Catching up with him ahead of a show, the conversation moved easily between craft, intention, and the constant push to evolve—something that’s been a defining thread throughout his catalog. But what stood out most in this moment wasn’t just where the music is going—it was how deliberately he’s thinking about how it’s experienced.
This latest chapter feels different. More controlled. More intentional. And when you talk to him about it, you start to understand why. For Protoje, it’s not just about making records—it’s about building something cohesive from start to finish. Something that invites you to listen to the way albums were meant to be heard. So naturally, that led us to vinyl.
Because for an artist whose music lives in the details—the basslines, the space, the message—there’s something fitting about hearing it all come back through a needle, pressed into wax, exactly as intended.
You’ve always carried a strong sense of purpose in your music. When you look at where you are right now creatively, what’s driving you the most?
I’m just trying to make things—just the art. Trying to get better at the art of making music and making songs and seeing if I can get things to sound exactly how they sound in my head. Bringing the vision to its closest point. As long as I’m making music, I want to reach my highest ability as an artist. That’s the main driving force.
There’s a consistency in your work, but also evolution. What feels different about this current chapter?
Just the science of the music—understanding reggae, the way we’re able to make live music now. It’s always been a challenge to recreate live drums the way we want without sampling. The songwriting—where I’m at, what I’m talking about—feels more controlled, more direct, more purposeful.
I love the new album. I actually waited to listen until my vinyl came in so I could hear it front to back, and it feels very intentional. Were you building it as a full listening experience?
Definitely. Thinking about how it flows, which song fits where, giving each song its best chance to be heard. I like when people just turn it on and listen straight through.
There’s a certain cohesion to the project—was that something you mapped out early, or did it reveal itself as the music came together?
It reveals itself. The key is finding the intro and the outro. Once you have that, everything builds. For me, there are always identity tracks—the intro, the outro, and track two. Once I find those, they get easier.
Did you always know you wanted Jesse Royal on track one?
No. I finished it myself first, then we decided to bring him on. He had the right attitude for the song.
You two work really well together. And I love “Goddess.” You and Shenseea really connect on that track. There’s a chemistry there that feels effortless, like both of you are sitting right in the pocket of that riddim. And then having Stephen Marley on the project too—it just adds another layer of depth and lineage to the album. Those collaborations really stand out.
Yeah, definitely—really good songs, really good features. I think it’s always about finding the right energy for the track. With “Goddess,” it needed that contrast and that presence, and Shenseea brought that naturally. And with Stephen, that’s just experience, that’s legacy, that’s someone who understands the music on a different level. So when those collaborations happen and they feel right, they just elevate everything.
Sonically, there’s always a balance in your work between roots, hip-hop influence, and something forward-thinking—how did that balance come together on this album?
This album is really me and Winter, so a lot of that comes from our reasoning—just being in the studio, talking, listening, seeing where we’re both at mentally and musically, what we’re listening to, what we want things to sound like. We’re usually on the same page, so it flows naturally. The balance you’re talking about isn’t something we force—it just comes from that shared understanding of the music and where we want to take it.
This is for The Vinyl District, so we’ve got to ask—do you have a vinyl collection? How big is it right now?
It’s growing. I wouldn’t say it’s massive, but it’s getting there—maybe around 200 records right now. It’s one of those things where you don’t even realize how it builds over time. You pick up something here, something there, and before you know it, you’ve got a real collection. For me, it’s not even about how big it is, it’s about what’s in it and what those records mean.
Are there one or two albums in your vinyl collection that you always go back to?
Yeah, definitely. Love Has Found Its Way by Dennis Brown is a big one for me. That record has a story too—it wasn’t something you could just go out and grab new. It had to be found and brought to me, so it carries that extra meaning.
Also, Black Uhuru Live at Rock Palace 1981—that’s one of my favorite live recordings ever. And Brutal Dub as well. Those kinds of records, especially dub and live recordings, just hit different on vinyl. You really feel the space, the energy, the depth of the sound.
Reggae was really built on vinyl—sound systems, dubplates, that whole culture. As someone who grew up around that and is now pressing your own records, what does that connection feel like?
I love it. It’s actually wild when I think about it, because I never really got to be part of the vinyl era as an artist. When I was coming up—2009, 2010—it was CDs, and even that was already starting to phase out.
I did grow up buying vinyl, but mostly 45s. Albums for me at that time were CDs. Now, to see my own music pressed on vinyl, it means a lot. It makes it real in a different way. It’s not just sitting somewhere digital in a cloud. You can hold it, you can see it, you can put it on, and experience it physically. That’s important.
And now we’re even looking at re-releasing older music on vinyl, doing dub versions, really leaning into that format more. Once you start going down that road, it opens up a whole different way of thinking about your music.
When you actually hear your own music on vinyl—when that needle drops—what does that feel like for you?
It’s a different feeling. You’re actually seeing the creation happen in real time. You see the needle drop on the record, you hear the sound come through the system, through the speakers—it’s a full experience.
It’s not passive. You’re engaged with it. And especially when you have a proper setup, you really hear the music in a different way. The low end, the space, the textures—it all comes through differently.
Are you building out your vinyl setup right now too?
Yeah, for sure. I’ve got a setup, but I’m working toward a higher-fidelity system. I’m taking my time with it—figuring out the right speakers, the right components.
Right now, I’ve got one Technics turntable, but I want two, plus a mixer, so I can really play and move through records the way I want. It’s something I’m building piece by piece, but that’s part of the fun too—getting it exactly how you want it.
You’ve been a central voice in modern reggae for a while now. How do you view your role in the culture at this stage?
My work speaks for itself—shows, events, collaborations, working with people who have good energy. I’m just in it.
What do you think reggae needs right now—from artists, from the industry, from the audience?
I don’t know if it needs anything, to be honest. I think just positive reinforcement… continued collaboration, collaborative efforts. If I had to say one thing, from a personal standpoint as a fan, I’d love to see a really big tour with some of the artists who are making a strong impact right now—bringing that energy together in one space.
But at the same time, things are happening. So, I just salute everybody that’s out there putting in the work and pushing the music forward, because at the end of the day, it takes work.
There’s always been a strong message in your work—how do you balance that with just letting the music breathe?
Reggae does that naturally, I think—the riddim, the beat, the energy, the melodies. You can have a hard message, but the melody makes it beautiful at the same time. You can be singing something very serious, and it still feels uplifting because of how it’s delivered.
Like Bob Marley—he was always singing truths, rights, real things, but in a way where you still feel the love in it. That balance is built into the music. So that’s what I try to do—have the message there but let the music carry it in a way that people can feel, not just hear.
When it’s all said and done, what do you want your catalog to represent?
Consistency. Cohesion. Like a time capsule. Something my children could find and understand who I was.
I think you’ve done that. I was listening to your catalog on the drive here—it’s hard to pick a favorite.
Yeah, it’s crazy. I have a good catalog. I’m very proud of it. When I look at the albums, I’m like, wow… this is really cool. As a kid, I used to see artists with five or six albums and think, I want to do ten albums. That was always the goal. I’m at seven now, and seven feels like a lot. It feels like enough, in a way.
Usually, when I finish an album, I’m already thinking about the next one. But this one gave me a different feeling—it gave me a kind of peace. I’m not even thinking about what’s next right now. I’m just enjoying this one being done.
When people look back on this moment—this album, everything you’re building—what do you hope they understand about where you were in your life?
I don’t really care about people understanding my personal life. But musically, there’s empathy, love, conversation. I’m not preaching, just having conversations.
Last question: if you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be? Mine is The Chronic by Dr. Dre.
I love that album. I love The Chronic. One album for the rest of my life… damn. Today? Sly & Robbie Presents Ini Kamoze. But that’s today, you know? It could change.
I grew up on hip-hop more than reggae, to be honest. My ’90s were heavily hip-hop—very little reggae at that time. That era was crazy… like ’92 to ’97, even ’98—so much music. The Chronic, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx by Raekwon, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) by Wu-Tang Clan, Liquid Swords by GZA, The Score by Fugees… my God. So much music.
Talking with Protoje, what comes through isn’t just a commitment to the music—it’s a commitment to how the music lives in the world.
There’s no rush in his approach right now. No need to chase what’s next before fully sitting with what’s been created. At seven albums deep, there’s a sense of perspective, of someone who understands the value of building something that lasts—something that can be revisited, reinterpreted, and replayed in different moments of your life.
And maybe that’s where vinyl fits in best. Because in an era where music can feel disposable, Protoje is leaning the other way—toward intention, toward cohesion, toward creating something physical. Something you can hold, drop the needle on, and experience from beginning to end.
Not just a collection of songs. But a body of work. The kind that, years from now, still sounds exactly like it was meant to.
Protoje’s The Art Of Acceptance is in stores now—on vinyl.
