‘MoBay’s soundtrack’ Ticka Muzik laid to rest

He was the boy who outran bulls for hog plums, the footballer whose left foot sent goalkeepers ducking, and the selector who gave Montego Bay its heartbeat.

Extoll 'Ticka Muzik' Earle wasn't just a man, he was a movement, and this was evidenced by the scores of persons who travelled from all over the world for his thanksgiving ceremony last weekend at the Montego Bay Convention Centre in St James.

Long before the turntables, Earle was known as 'Dirty Harry', not Clint Eastwood's Hollywood version, but a cowboy boot-wearing boy at Christmas concerts, alongside cousin Tamara Thompson and brother Dwight Earle. Thompson, during an emotional eulogy, recalled the day that they scaled a neighbour's wall to pick hog plums, only to meet a charging bull.

"Everybody ran, but I froze. It was Exie who turned back and shouted, 'Run, Marie, run!' He hoisted me over the wall before saving himself. That's who he was. Always making sure we were alright."

At Cornwall College, Earle traded cowboy boots for football cleats, and his left foot became legend.

"Goalkeepers ducked when he kicked," recalled lifelong friend Trevor Mitchell. "That's when the name Ticka was born. And later, Ticka Muzik became a movement of its own."

Music was in his bloodstream even when it had to be hidden. Thompson laughed at the memory of him sneaking records into plants so his parents would not know he was buying them. By the 1980s, those hidden records had become the foundation of Ticka Muzik, a sound system that defined style and fashion in Montego Bay. The dances were legendary.

"When the weekend wasn't going well, people knew they could go to a Ticka dance and restore their vibes," said brother-in-law Tommy Wong Shue. It wasn't just music; it was therapy. Ticka Muzik played soul and roots reggae with the kind of depth that healed. His sets were not just for the uptown or the downtown, they were for everyone.

The discipline he showed on the field carried into family life. Thompson recalled the dinner table rituals.

"Meals had to be around a properly set table. Everybody sat properly. And you didn't leave until grace was said."

But there was flair too. When cousins planned impromptu "boredom fighter" parties, Earle became their DJ, even if he teased them first.

"We told him it was going to be a pyjama party. He said, 'You all must be mad! Who wants people coming in pyjamas?' But when it was over, he asked, 'So when is the next one?'"

But Earle wasn't only loyal to his music, he was loyal to people. Mitchell recalled a school day when he forgot his lunch money.

"Ticka collected from everybody. By the end, I had enough for four days. If it was a GoFundMe, he would have made even more!" Years later, when Mitchell got married, Earle played at the wedding for free. When Mitchell's wife passed away in 2024, Earle was the first to call, and cried with him.

Behind the music stood Rosie, Earle's wife of 32 years and partner for 50 years. Together they built a family but also endured heartbreak, losing two children and a grandchild. Still, they carried on, committed to community.

"Despite the immense loss, they remained strong," Wong Shue said. "That's why his name is so good. A good name is better than precious oil."

Cornwall College classmates claimed him proudly. Ali McNab, told mourners: "They say the meaning of life is to find your gift and share it with the world. Ticka's gift was music and he shared it with passion."

He reminded them of the "dash", the mark between birth and death. "What does your dash say? Ticka's dash says he lived with passion, touched lives, and left a good name."

And if heaven has a dancehall? "Heaven sure going to come alive when Ticka line up them boxes and start to ramp up the rhythms of Jamaica in that heavenly parlour."