#hailtheking

Fantan Mojah, the Jamaican reggae singer loved across Ghana for conscious anthems like Hail the King and Hungry, has died at the age of 49. The Rastafarian firebrand passed away on Tuesday evening, July 14, 2026, at the University Hospital of the West Indies in Kingston after suffering heart-related complications — just three weeks before his 50th birthday.

What Happened to Fantan Mojah?

According to reports from Jamaica, the singer’s health deteriorated rapidly in his final week. His booking agency noted that he had recently returned from the United States in seemingly good health before his condition worsened suddenly. He died surrounded by care at one of Kingston’s leading hospitals.

The news is especially painful because Fantan Mojah was preparing for a major performance at this year’s Reggae Jam Festival in Germany — his travel documents for the show had just been approved days before his passing.

Who Was Fantan Mojah?

Born Owen Moncrieffe on August 5, 1976, Fantan Mojah rose from humble beginnings in St. Elizabeth, Jamaica, to become one of the leading voices of the roots reggae revival of the 2000s. His breakthrough anthem Hail the King and the streets favourite Hungry made him a household name far beyond Jamaica — including here in Ghana, where his songs still command instant recognition at reggae nights, on radio, and in trotro speakers across the country.

His music carried the classic Rastafarian message: upliftment for the poor, fire for the corrupt, and praise for the Most High. That message resonated deeply with Ghanaian audiences and helped inspire the generation of artists who built our own dancehall and reggae movement.

Tributes Pour In

Tributes have been flooding in from across the reggae world. UB40’s Ali Campbell described him as an incredible artist and a pillar of the reggae community, while fans from Kingston to Accra have filled social media with his lyrics and memories. In Ghana, DJs and sound systems have been running his catalogue all day — the clearest sign of what he meant to us.

Fantan Mojah and Ghana’s Reggae Family

Ghana has always been a second home for Jamaican reggae, and Fantan Mojah’s influence runs through our own scene — from the roots selectors in Accra to the artists carrying the dancehall flame today. His passing is a loss for the whole reggae family, not just Jamaica. Explore more from the genre in our Dancehall & Reggae section.

A Legacy Bigger Than the Charts

Fantan Mojah belonged to the generation that brought roots reggae back to the front line in the 2000s, alongside names like Richie Spice, I Wayne, and Chuck Fender. He wasn't chasing crossover hits — he was carrying a message, and that is exactly why his songs aged so well. Two decades later, Hail the King still opens reggae sets from Kingston to Accra like it dropped yesterday, and his catalogue remains a masterclass for any young artist who wants to make music that outlives trends and speaks for the voiceless.

Fantan Mojah FAQs

What was Fantan Mojah’s cause of death?

He died from heart-related complications at the University Hospital of the West Indies in Kingston, Jamaica, on July 14, 2026, according to the Jamaica Observer.

How old was Fantan Mojah?

He was 49 years old — three weeks away from his 50th birthday on August 5.

What are Fantan Mojah’s biggest songs?

His best-known records include Hail the King, Hungry, Corruption, and Stronger — conscious roots anthems that defined the mid-2000s reggae revival.

Hail the King is now available. Click below to order your copy!

An ordinary student accidentally traveled into an other universe and became the king of a small kingdom. He had gotten a “Cheating Code” of life and was able to complete something extraordinary. This is the story about a king that was able to conquer continents and leave behind him an ultimate legend that will be recited between every generation to come.

He'd seen it as well; his Cush with her mouth swelled shut, after having suffered the ruthless extraction of her teeth. Him, forced to do nothing, if that were even imaginable, but watch it happen -- even when Lochlan knew without a doubt that he'd have went turncoat in the proverbial blink of an eye, in the proverbial beat of a heart, if... if that's what it took to keep brutal hands from hurting her. Somewhere in the deepest reaches of his sub-conscious, he saw them replacing Ismaal and his wife in that room. Put the shoe on his foot to walk around in but ya know what? It was that very visual, that possibility, <fear>, which kept him so solidified to carry out the execution and hammer that blade through a husbands hand in to his lovers neck. They had to keep the upper hand. They had to intimidate, they had to do awful things that kept stockpiling their demons, they had to follow through, they had to prove they were no match to go up against and if they told you <<this>> would happen <<IF>>...! Then <<this>> had to happen.

And if it took killing women, who may or may not have had a part to play against them, then... Lochlan would do it. He would kill wives and leave broken husbands behind to run back to their side of the fence and tell the tale of exactly what it was the O'Farell's did for their own counter-act of war. He would cut pretty necks all goddamn day if it meant that in the long run the enemies would never have the advantage of putting his girl, his sons and son to be, in a grimey house, used to be tortured and as a pawn against him.

So when Lochlan had looked at the married two in that room, he didn't have a beckoning to feel merciful, neither did he consider staying in the good graces of karma. This was karma, for the Chechen sweethearts, and their dirty deeds and you bet your fucking sweet ass Ismaal was leading Tommy to the slaughter. What goes around comes around, and Ismaal was being served a harty dose of it for only God and him knew what. He looked at them and knew exactly what the fuck had to be done so that it was never him and his Cush. That's where she got it backwards. And that's why she should have never been brought there.

Bleeding fucking hearts had no place in that house.

He was a fool.

And he was breathing too hard, too shallow.

Something jagged had broken off inside him. Lochlan's chest ached and felt compressed, like something heavy was sat atop of it - constricting his airway. Light, dark, light, dark...light...dark... his vision became obscurred with every hard beat of his heart, like the lights dimmed and then brightened to the rhythmic, erratic thumping as he walked to that bathroom. Where his mind left off, his body had taken over; flip the switch to turn the bulb on, twist the handle to make the water run, cup his palms under the stream to fill them, then rub them together to make a red river that eventually turned pink. Watch it swirl then drain when he washed the proof of his barbarism from his hands that shook so hard he could've been mistaken for an alcaholic who'd been forcibly dry for days.

‘Lochlan?’

He heard her, no matter if he responded or not, and his Cush landed her husband back in to the here and now. Thoughts caught up to his head from where they had stopped back at the bedroom door and suddenly he was back and forth in his twisted up mind. ‘What the fuck are you doin?’ She’d asked.

Defensive first;

"We control the fear." He said so absently, that maybe the words were only mouthed, thoughts going back to a time that had been dead for fucking years. Still wringing his hands together, the cold water making them frigid and his eyes stayed fixed on the task. They didn't veer to his wife and all be goddamn if they looked in the mirror. ‘The hell are you thinkin?’ She wanted to know.

Justification second; "He'd have killed Tommy. That's the fuckin game." Lochlan mumbled, hushed voice, sights still downcast at the water that was now running clear. They weren't answers to her questions, the guy was stuck in his conscience for a moment.

Berating third; "Shouldn'a fuckin brought you here--" he knew better, "Shouldn'a fuckin came here." The tug she gave his arm snapped him out of it and in turn Lochlan snapped <away> from her, jerking not just his limb but his entire body away from her reach so abrupt he had to grab the ledge of the counter to keep from staggering.

Fourth? Blame. "Why are you here?" Lochlan yelled at his Cush, smashing the counter that just kept him from falling like he held a hammer, "What? What, you wanna fuckin bait me? To see that shit?" He was pointing at the door, refering to Ismaal and his wife, "You needed to see the guy that helped beat and burn you you needed to see •Ilya• you called fuckin Dibs on •Ilya• but you...you go in <<there>>—“ Conveniently forgetting the part he helped her in. The way he seethed? Made it sound like ilya was all a ploy, a means to another purpose; to watch her husband do the unthinkable. It was accusing. It was crazy.... Fifth? Fear. "--and for what, Cush? What <now>? You came and you saw (him. She saw her Loch.) So what happens <<now>>?” Lochlan panted, his rant broken words and exhaustive groans between them.

He didn't know how to self sooth - [emotionally. She had always done it for him. So now, her seeing him as the devil many others did? What the fuck did that mean? If she were at home, if this was any normal night, he'd drag the sheet off her body and cover it back with his own. Pull her arms around his neck. Her kisses and soft mewing moans of his name and her love a reminder that he was okay because they were okay.

What happens when he comes home again, becaue he will, and she doesn't wanna touch him and can't find it in her to look at him because she becomes of the mind he just came crawling home to her after stabbing a woman in the neck? That's where the root of his fear was at, and that's why he was acting fucking crazy in the bathroom. And that's why he sat on the ledge of the tub and raked his hands down his face, frustrated that they wouldn't be goddamn still,

There was an incessant buzzing in Lochlan's head that had nothing to do with the four discharges of his gun. Sound like a bee hive, and it made his skull and teeth feel as if it caused a vibration. Even his vision became disoriented, much like the way an old television screen glitched around the edges. He was watching his Cush, crouched down and talking, but Loch wasn't really seeing her, or them. Damn sure didn't glance at Tommy, who stood just off to his right with a fallen face and accusing eyes; ‘see whatcha did? Now what the fuck we sposed to do?’ There was a goddamned plan in place - an evil one, some might say, but one that served a purpose! Sent a message. How was he supposed to back-pedal that? Spin it?

He wasn't.

And that's why the state of his mentality shifted when she walked away from him and went to the couple. And it's why he had to let his head drift away in to the black-buzz from the place Loch would otherwise fight to keep it - he couldn't care what his Cush thought about him, he couldn't care about maintaining control, he couldn't care about the repercussion's that may befall his image in her eyes. What the fuck did she think it spoke about him, about all of them, if Lochlan let it be perceived that she could come in and change the whole game? It wasn't about looking weak, it was about seeing a woman who held the power to make Lochlan change his mind when he was otherwise known to mean what he says and make good on it.

She wasn't going to 'suay him -- he was passed the point of even inexorable; Lochlan was <nothing>.

That woman, who was "loved" so much by Ismaal that her mouth was nearly empty?

Her temporary hope wasn't going to last.

And Lochlan did what he denied his Cush to do before entering the room with Ilya;

Shut the fuck off.

He and Tommy moved at the same time, his friend bending down to hook an arm around Cush and drag her backwards away from the couple. Ismaal must have known then that the Queen's word wasn't always law because he panicked, hands clutching around her neck when he faced her. There was noise, there was talking-yelling-screaming-something going on between man and wife, Loch knew it but it just wouldn't soak in and it didn't make him miss a single beat. He retrieved the blade previously put away with his right hand and squatted down, jaw so fixed it's a wonder his back teeth weren't cracking.

But, he didn't follow through on what he said he would do if his Cush was hurt.

Instead, he took the blade and plunged it clean through the center of Ismaal's hand -- which would sink in to his wife's neck on the other side of his palm, severing the major artery while simultaneously sewing them together. He'd watch the woman he supposedly loved, forced to hold her fatal wound, bound to her until the blade that fused them was free'd -- die in front of him. And there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it, there wasn't no saving her, and Ismaal was helpless to stop it.

That buzzing was louder, he couldn't hear the sounds she made or the manic wails Ismaal was in. Lochlan stood up and used the back of his hand to wipe what he assumed was sweat off of his cheek, face too numb to have felt the splash of blood that squirted across it.

"This is for you." He said, voice so far away from that room and his being it might as well have been a ten year old note found on a crumbling piece of paper instead of spoken in that moment. Lochlan had pulled a lone bullet out of his front pocket and tossed it over Ismaal's shoulder in to his lap. The one he could use to hunt him, just like Loch had told him he would do. That he <wanted> him to. Ismaal could use Lochlan's own fucking bullet to try and get his own vengeance. It was Lochlan's own way of saying I have the final fuck you.

When he turned around, the only look he gave to his wife was ‘look what you just made me fucking do’, but what his glare failed to convey was the ‘in front of you’ part.

But his eyes couldn't stay on her, couldn't see her own looking back at him. Didn't want to.