Stephen “Cat” Coore, the guitarist, cellist, and musical visionary who co-founded Third World and spent fifty years proving that reggae needed no permission to conquer the globe, died suddenly on Sunday evening. He was 69. His family confirmed the passing but offered no details on the cause of death—only the brutal fact of his absence.
What died with Coore cannot be replicated. He was not merely a musician; he was an architect—a man who built bridges between conservatory discipline and sound-system rebellion, between Kingston’s uptown drawing rooms and its downtown yards.
In an industry that often rewards conformity, Coore spent his career expanding reggae’s vocabulary without ever abandoning its heartbeat.
The Legacy of Blood and Strings
Coore’s pedigree was singular. His father, David Hilton Coore, helped draft Jamaica’s Constitution and served as Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister under Michael Manley during the turbulent 1970s.
His mother, Rita Innis Coore, a Trinidadian who studied at the Royal College of London under Lloyd Webber Sr., became one of Jamaica’s most respected music teachers. When she noticed her four-year-old son walking in circles to her Pablo Casals records, she began his classical training.
By ten, the young Coore had won a silver medal at the Jamaica Festival, outperforming contestants twice his age. By twelve, he had discovered ska. By thirteen, he was lead guitarist for Inner Circle. The trajectory was improbable—a Cabinet minister’s son, classically trained, choosing Rastafari and roots music when doing so still carried stigma.
Third World: The Band That Built Bridges
In 1973, Coore and keyboardist Michael “Ibo” Cooper broke from Inner Circle to form Third World—a name that was itself a declaration of solidarity with the developing world. Chris Blackwell’s Island Records signed them in 1975, the same year they opened for Bob Marley’s world tour.
What followed was a half-century of fusion that purists debated but audiences embraced: reggae married to funk, soul, jazz, and R&B.
The hits came in waves. “96 Degrees in the Shade” (1977) became an anthem of resistance. “Now That We’ve Found Love” (1978)—a funky reimagining of the O’Jays classic—stormed pop charts worldwide.
“Try Jah Love” (1982), penned by Stevie Wonder after he joined them onstage at Reggae Sunsplash to honour the recently-departed Marley, cemented their crossover appeal. Nine Grammy nominations followed, though the award itself never came—a bittersweet crown that haunted their otherwise triumphant career.
The Cruellest Mathematics
Coore’s death devastates what remained of Third World’s founding generation. Percussionist Irvin “Carrot” Jarrett died in 2018. Ibo Cooper, Coore’s partner from the very beginning, passed in October 2023. Milton “Prilly” Hamilton, the original vocalist, followed in February 2025.
Of the architects, only bassist Richard Daley survives—a lone pillar holding up a half-century of memory.
Coore himself had battled health crises. In late 2022, emergency surgery repaired a torn oesophagus, followed by cardiac complications that sent him back to intensive care. He recovered, returned to performing, kept the faith. Until Sunday.
What Remains
Asked once about his contribution to reggae, Coore deflected with characteristic grace: “I don’t think about what I’ve contributed to reggae. Instead, I am blessed by what reggae has contributed to me.”
He was awarded the Order of Distinction by the Jamaican government in 2005. He received keys to cities across America. He played Carnegie Hall, Madison Square Garden, the Rose Bowl. But perhaps his greatest achievement was simpler: he proved that reggae didn’t need to shrink to go global. It could expand.
“Cat” Coore is survived by his wife Lisa, his children Shiah, Kanna, Stephen, and Ashley, his grandchildren, and an entire nation that will never hear his like again. WiredJA
