Main points:
-
Dancehall developed underground in NYC alongside early Hip-Hop, driven by Caribbean immigrant communities.
-
Flatbush, Brooklyn, became the epicenter of NYC Dancehall culture with venues like Biltmore Ballroom.
-
Dancehall and Hip-Hop influenced each other through sound systems, DJs, and early artist collaborations.
-
Vybz Kartel’s 2025 Barclays Center concert marked Dancehall’s full arrival as a dominant, mainstream force.
-
A new generation of Dancehall artists is redefining the genre while honoring its rebellious roots.
When Hip-Hop was in its infancy—long before Hot 97 existed and before NYC icons like Busta Rhymes and Jay-Z ascended to cultural royalty—another phenomenon was being quietly incubated beneath the irreverence and revolutionary energy of Hip-Hop.
I imagine Biggie as a rambunctious child during this time, while Foxy Brown and Lil’ Kim were still jumping double-dutch in the streets, hair full of bubbles, completely unaware they’d one day become Hip-Hop icons.
Back then, Big Daddy Kane, Biz Markie, and Special Ed were mainstays on Red Alert’s 1s and 2s. Before Funkmaster Flex became a household name, something new was bubbling beneath the surface—a Hip-Hop variant born thousands of miles away in Jamaica. Slowly, it crept into New York’s consciousness.
Then came the game-changer in 1991: Shabba Ranks and KRS-One dropped The Jam. That collaboration triggered an avalanche of awareness. Dancehall had arrived in New York—and it wasn’t going anywhere.
Caribbean sounds resonated in New York City not only because the city housed a large Caribbean immigrant population, but because Dancehall’s texture mirrored the essence of Hip-Hop. It was gritty, raw, and deeply human. It was about identity, rebellion, and belonging. It was music and culture that was loud, proud, and defiant. It came with flavors, fashion, attitude, and movement. You didn’t just hear Dancehall; you felt it. You lived it.
Dancehall empowered a new generation—those who, by hook or by crook, had made it to America and were beginning to understand the system that had long worked against them. With a bass-heavy and drum-furious sound, it was unrelenting. It roared our demands for visibility through 20-inch bass-bottom speakers stacked with mids, tweeters, and horns.
Brooklyn’s take on Dancehall was about to be something special.
Rewind… Selecta!
Before the Shabba and KRS collab, before Dancehall hit radio rotations, Flatbush, Brooklyn was already laying the groundwork. But understand this: NYC’s brand of Dancehall wasn’t just a Jamaican thing. It was adopted by Trinis, Haitians, Bajans, Guyanese—by the rimland voices of Central and South America. Dancehall became the dominant expression of Caribbean youth in New York—those desperate to see their lives reflected in the American mirror.
Meanwhile, Americans were embracing Hip-Hop without always realizing that its architect—DJ Kool Herc—was from Trench Town Jamaica. Many of the 1970s Hip-Hop’s pioneers were of Caribbean descent. But in those early days, we weren’t thinking about roots or legacy. We were in the moment—caught up in the fever of it all.
As Hip-Hop soared, Dancehall simmered.
Brooklyn, before Barclays
Before Joey Bada$$ and Pop Smoke, before the Brooklyn Nets moved in and glass towers rose from the ruins of old brownstones, there was another kind of arena: the dance hall, housed in sacred spaces like the Biltmore Ballroom, Tilden Hall and Starlight Ballroom.
Biltmore was the crown jewel. Perched at Flatbush and Church, it was the Madison Square Garden of NYC Dancehall. On any given night, the building overflowed with energy. No one cared about capacity—we were packed in like sardines, moving as one.
If I had $10 for the cover and $5 for a Guinness, I was in. We’d catch legends like Super Cat, Shinehead, Nicodemus, and Early B. We’d see local titans like Sluggy Ranks, Red Fox, Screechy Don, and a young Shaggy finding his footing.
Brooklyn sound systems like LP International, Spectrum, and Addis curated the vibe—Jamaican selections with Brooklyn swagger. I remember Magnum Family spinning Heavy D’s Mr. Big Stuff instrumental while Lucian, a Haitian-born DJ, toasted over it effortlessly. Hip-Hop and Dancehall danced around each other, trading steps, teasing fusion.
Then came Shinehead rapping over dancehall beats, silky R&B hooks sliding in between verses. DJ Sting International, holding down a show on Kiss FM, introduced us to Red Fox, Naturally, Screechy Don, and of course—Shaggy.
The floodgates opened. Jamal-Ski, Mad Lion, wild remixes—Capleton’s Tour flipped by Atlanta’s own Lil Jon. It all started on Signet Records in NYC before Def Jam swooped in.
But that’s a story for another time.
Names like Mr. EZ, Coolie Ranks, Sluggy, James Bond, and Mickey Jarrett were our hometown heroes—long before Shaggy went multi-Platinum, or Red Fox and Screechy signed deals.
We were building something. Even then, we didn’t fully understand what it would become.
Biltmore to Barclays
By the late ’90s and early 2000s, Dancehall had breached the NYC radio bubble. Capleton, Buju Banton, Sean Paul, Shaggy, Ini Kamoze, Nadine Sutherland, Spragga Benz, Terror Fabulous—all finding their way into uptown clubs and Hot 97 rotations. But we still couldn’t imagine hardcore Dancehall sharing equal footing with American pop culture venues.
Until April 11, 2025.
Vybz Kartel, perhaps the most polarizing and prolific figure in Dancehall history, sold out Barclays Center twice, a venue first for dancehall. Over 40,000 people packed the arena over two nights with an energy that felt like time travel—an echo of our earliest dreams in those sweaty, low-ceilinged dance halls.
It was a moment. A coronation. A reminder of what we could be—what we are. Barclays that night reflected the true face of Brooklyn: multiracial, multicultural, unapologetic. Gone are the days when there were arguments for it to become crossover or co-opted culture. This was a celebration of pure, authentic and raw dancehall.
Dancehall is now all grown up, worldly, viable, sophisticated and unfiltered. It has evolved—absorbing influence, surviving waves of musical shifts, and still staying true to its spirit of rebellion.
Kartel represents this evolution. He is the mogul archetype—streaming billions, flying private, brokering brand major equity deals. He’s controversy and charisma in one package. He bottles rum and pens global hits and has redefined what it means to be a global Dancehall artist.
A New Generation Takes the Torch
In recent years, while Afrobeats, Reggaeton, and Soca gained the spotlight, Dancehall seemed disoriented and unsure of its place. But maybe that pause was necessary, because now, Gen Z is remixing the formula. They’re redefining what defiance sounds like—just as Hip-Hop birthed new waves like Playboi Carti, Gunna, and XXXTentacion, Dancehall has its own revolutionaries in Valiant, Skeng, Dexta Daps, Shenseea and Kraff Gad. The latter stealing the show at the Barclays.
These are the next chapter and Kartel remains the godfather, guiding it all from the shadows.
As an ’80s/’90s kid, I still ache for the smokey, sweat and sound of a Biltmore Ballroom Friday night, but today’s Dancehall is something else. It’s louder, glossier and more global—but no less real.
So when Fabolous, Lil’ Kim, and Busta Rhymes made surprise appearances at Barclays to support Kartel, it all came full circle. Brooklyn’s past and future danced on the same stage. Dancehall isn’t just surviving. It’s headlining.
And when 20,000 voices screamed Fever in unison, I smiled because it wasn’t what we had before.
It was something just as beautiful—just in a different key.
