Dancehall and the Cycle of Musical Reincarnation

The sound that originally began in Jamaica echoed in waves across the world. Here’s what it means in the context of today’s hits.

Written by Kameel Karim
Illustrated by Paige Giordano

When the dancehall genre burst onto Jamaica’s music scene in the late 1970s, it perplexed the fans of the traditional reggae from which it drew its roots. Named for the open spaces where live MCs would blast it with their sound systems (collectives of DJs, sound engineers, and MCs who come together to play music), dancehall was an audacious new style, a wrench in the gears of what had become conventional. As digital instrumentation blossomed in popularity, it brought dancehall along with it; by the mid-’80s, its characteristic use of Jamaican patois and quick-moving rhythms (“riddims” in patois) had become mainstream.

However, its newfound prevalence on its home island was only the first domino in a chain reaction that lengthened as decades passed. Members of the Jamaican diaspora helped create a name for dancehall in the United Kingdom. London-born Smiley Culture garnered attention by mixing the distinct Cockney dialect with patois on his first single, “Cockney Translation,” before eventually scoring a chart entry with “Police Officer.” Wolverhampton’s Macka B built his reputation as one of Britain’s biggest “toasters” (a frequently used name for a reggae or dancehall-oriented DJ) by sticking close to his roots and paying musical homage to distinguished toasters of the ‘70s. Maxi Priest saw arguably the most success during the U.K.’s dancehall heyday; his cover of Cat Stevens’  “Wild World” hit the Top 5 of the UK Singles Chart in 1988 and propelled his subsequent crossover to the U.S. market.

By this point, a pattern could be gleaned from the movements of the dancehall wave. With each decade, the genre traveled from one hearth to another, igniting the charts until a handful of breakout singles floated to the top. First, it developed a following in Jamaica throughout the early 1980s. Then, it established a presence among Caribbean expats in Britain’s urban hubs, and by 1990, it was everywhere. Its next resurgence appeared after the turn of the century in the U.S. Pop princess Gwen Stefani’s remake of Brit duo Louchie Lou & Michie One’s “Rich Girl” shot to the top 10 of most major American charts and even received a nomination for Best Rap/Sung Collaboration (with rapper Eve) at the 47th Grammy Awards. 

If you’re wondering whether dancehall has fizzled out, it hasn’t. The 2010s chapter of its legacy is heralded by the likes of Drake and Rihanna, both of whom have incorporated the flavor of reggae into a slew of commercially successful singles — “One Dance,” “Controlla,” and “Work,” to name a few. Rihanna in particular has embraced dancehall with open arms from as early on as 2005, when her debut single “Pon de Replay” soared to number one and kickstarted her illustrious career. She often uses Bajan creole (the African-influenced and English-based tongue of her native Barbados), which has many linguistic similarities to Jamaican patois. Uniquely Caribbean, both convey immediately audible traces of the region’s history.

While Drake’s integration of dancehall riddims into projects otherwise grounded in melodic hip-hop and R&B may not constitute a true overseas revival of the genre, it certainly stands as a testament to the continued popularity of its most distinctive traits. The evolution of music is necessarily reliant on keeping its forebears alive, if perhaps a bit altered in presentation. The sounds people loved 20, 30, or 40 years ago pollinate the sounds that the masses adore today. As long as you can still dance to it, no beat will ever truly die.