‘‘When I’m making records and writing songs, I always reference reggae singers – Bob Marley, Ini Kamoze, Alpha Blondy,” says rising British vocalist Ady Suleiman. “Their songs are simple technically, but it’s about tone. There’s truth and passion in the way they sing. It’s the message in the music that is so important. Reggae artists talk about quite dark and serious subjects but always in a way that has a positive feel. That’s the way I approach my music.”

Born in Grantham to a Tanzanian father, the 23-year-old is part of a crop of young British talent for whom roots reggae is not a crackly transmission from the 70s and 80s but a vibrant modern force. Suleiman has been tipped as a breakthrough act by BBC 6 Music DJ Gilles Peterson for his uplifting fusion of reggae’s vocal stylings and the club inflections of R&B and hip-hop.

His love of the golden era of reggae is matched by the resurgence of the roots sound in Jamaica itself, spearheaded by mercurial young singer Chronixx, who burst on to the scene last year. “People who thought of reggae as their parents’ music are being presented with it in a new light,” says emerging British producer Cadenza. “New roots artists are coming through in Jamaica – Chronixx, Protoje and Kabaka Pyramid – who are young, trendy characters. Kids are relating to that.”

Whenever the world is in turmoil, and people are looking for comfort, they go back to the spiritual form of reggae music

Cadenza is Oliver Rodigan, son of indefatigable reggae DJ David Rodigan, and was raised among mountains of Jamaican vinyl. Now a collaborator with the likes of Lily Allen and Sean Paul, as well as London vocalists Kiko Bun and Stylo G, Rodigan Jr takes contemporary sounds and gives them a reggae seasoning. “Club music can be monotonous,” he says. “Reggae has a colourful element that kids like, but people also see the culture that surrounds reggae and they’re drawn to it. It’s positive, it’s about celebrating community, and people embrace the message that a lot of the songs have.”

What is that message? With their Rastafarian influence, reggae lyrics often address faith and morality, politics and injustice, or offer hope to the poor man trapped in an iniquitous system. When British reggae was at its strongest in the late 70s and early 80s, these were the subjects at its heart. Groups like Bristol’s Black Roots, formed in 1979, made strident, empowering music that reflected troubled times. They released their 14th studio album, Son of Man, last month. Founder Jabulani Ngozi, who came to the UK from Jamaica as a child in 1965, is not surprised that reggae has captured a new generation.

“Whenever the world is in turmoil, and people are looking for comfort, they go back to the spiritual form of the reggae music,” he says, in a sonorous patois undimmed by 50 years in the west country. “Cos reggae fulfil the spirit, and ease the mind of all the pressures of the world. That’s why there is coming a resurge in the reggae, because the people need comforting.

“Jamaica is a leader for the young people. Before, the youths there used to have hip-hop and dancehall kind of vibes, but now we have some new youths coming up, and they are seeing the spiritual side of the music. Chronixx, Protoje and such are going back into their history, and making music for the soothing of the mind.”

Yet for all that, reggae can easily morph into its alter ego, ska, something playful and exuberant. It’s this malleability that drew young Londoner Marcia Richards to reggae. Now keyboard, sax and flute player in underground ska/reggae band the Skints, Richards was a classical music student until she encountered a boxset on classic Jamaican label Trojan Records.

Watch the Skints perform This Town.

“I loved the horns. I was learning to play saxophone, and I’d never heard it played like that before. And they actually said something in their lyrics – the songs had meaning, whereas lots of the music I heard at the time didn’t say anything to me. It was the first music I heard that meant something. Also the ska is so unapologetically fun. I loved listening to it, and now I love making it.”

Formed in 2007 at their school near Walthamstow in north-east London, the Skints are a fiercely independent set-up and owe their success to a live schedule of up to 150 gigs a year. “Half of them are festivals,” says Richards, “and the reaction there to reggae and ska is amazing – it really excites people. At festivals like Boom Town Fair [held near Winchester since 2009], which is huge now, so much of the music is Jamaican-influenced.

“People appreciate us because we have built up a following by connecting directly with audiences live, and nowadays that seems rarer. That is another reason why reggae is coming back – because it’s real music, it’s rebel music. And I think, especially at the moment, people want that.”

I’ve only ever met one person who doesn’t like reggae

The Skints play a circuit that covers the US and much of Europe, where France, Germany and Holland have highly developed reggae scenes with a ferocious appetite for new material, much of it locally produced. A cursory listen to David Rodigan’s radio show on BBC 1xtra will find him playing reggae made in Israel, Croatia, Canada and beyond. While still anchored in Jamaica, it has been reinvigorated by countries across the world.

Yet this global scene of artists and audiences is self-contained. Roots reggae is not a powerful commercial entity but rather, as its name suggests, a culture that is strongest at ground level. In the same way that these new British artists are now taking inspiration from reggae, so the trip-hop innovators of the late 80s and 90s – Massive Attack, Tricky, Portishead – were influenced by the yawning bass and conscious lyrics of Jabulani Ngozi’s Black Roots.

While its visibility waxes and wanes, reggae is a constant. In it resides the DNA of popular music, always available for the next generation to explore. “I’ve only ever met one person who doesn’t like reggae – it has a worldwide appeal,” says Ady Suleiman.

Ngozi agrees: “At our shows, our supporters from the early 80s are there – but their kids and their grandkids come to watch us now. The music never die. It come down through the blood of their parents. Reggae is a heartical [heartfelt] thing – the concept of reggae, and the beat of the reggae, is the pump of the heart. It’s simple, isn’t it? The simple is always the best, man. In the reggae, everyone can just search and find what they’re looking for within it.”

The Reggae Renaissance

Cadenza – aka producer Oliver Rodigan, he has worked with Lily Allen, Stylo G and Sean Paul. Son of DJ David Rodigan, king of soundclash and sensible jumpers.

‘Celebrating community’: emerging producer Cadenza, aka Oliver Rodigan.

Ady Suleiman – straight outta Grantham, now living in Nottinghamshire, he mixes street productions with sweet melodies. Like a much-less-stoned Finley Quaye.

Chronixx – super-likable saviour of Jamaican roots. Lyrics attack “the thieving Queen of Inglan” for colonial appropriation and pillaging of the Caribbean.

Major Lazer – big-selling, influential group project of US studio midas Diplo. Has taken dancehall, reggaeton et al out of the ghetto and into the arena.

The Skints – perma-gigging London four-piece combine reggae, ska and punk to uproarious effect. Loyal fans crowd-fund their albums.

‘Real music’: Marcia Richards of the Skints. Photograph: Isopix/Rex/Shutterstock

Lianne La Havas – aka singer Lianne Barnes from Tooting. Last album produced by reggae-man Stephen McGregor. Prince has performed in her living room.

Kiko Bun – half-Panamanian, half-Italian, all Londoner. Vocalist and contributor to soundtrack for This Is England ’90. Signature look: hat with brim turned up.

Gentleman’s Dub Club – nine-piece, all-white dub reggae collective led by Johnny Scratchley, co-founder of Outlook, Croatia’s annual “soundsystem culture” festival. Started out playing Iration Steppas’ famed Dub Club parties at Leeds’ West Indian Centre.