WHO CAN MAKE THE DANCE RAM?
By Edwin “STATS” Houghton
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“Top ranking” is a phrase so common in the lexicon of dancehall reggae, it could almost be punctuation. That’s not to mention related terms like “highly rated,” “strictly the best,” and “tougher than tough.” It is doubtful, in fact, whether there has ever been another musical genre or subculture so uniquely focused on rankings, ratings, and constantly updated scorekeeping of who is king, queen, or even “don of all dons.”
Competition may accelerate innovation in dancehall; it’s what makes the culture such a bottomless wellspring of new rhythms, choreography, fashion, and slang. But in celebrating the best of the best, separating the tangled ingredients that make dancehall so consistently brilliant—a fearless approach to sexuality, an experimental approach to sound technology, a military approach to lyrical wordplay, a joyful approach to resistance—is like cutting open the drum to see what makes it go bang.
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Dancehall became a subgenre distinct from other styles of reggae around 1977, a time in Jamaica when deejays (equivalent to stateside MCs) were becoming as prominent as singers. In turn, the singers began adopting the call-and-response hooks and improvised couplets of deejays, creating a whole new hybrid style of singing they called “sing-jay.” Those vocals became a defining feature of dancehall, along with harder, sparer rhythm sections and an emphasis on “slackness” (raunch or decadence).
Another major driver of dancehall’s development, as a culture and artform, has been the competitive sport of soundclash. Soundclashes are gladiatorial face-offs between rival soundsystems, or mobile DJ crews who vie for the biggest crowd reactions (or “forwards”). Each attempts to fortify their position with higher walls of custom-built speaker boxes. Song selections are delivered with taunting microphone commentary in a war of words—something like a cross between a hip-hop DJ battle and a playground game. Some soundsystems are also record labels, and may bring affiliated singers or deejays to represent them.
Occasionally, notorious artists go head-to-head. Beenie Man’s 1993 face-off with Bounty Killer at Jamaica’s long-running Sting festival may be the single most infamous onstage clash, but the history books will also forever record epic match-ups like Super Cat versus Ninja Man and Vybz Kartel versus, well, everybody.
A global phenomenon that stretches from New York to Tokyo, clashes are planned as meticulously as any heavyweight bout or Olympic heat. Clashes have a clear winner and loser—which should make it easy to tell who is objectively, quantifiably the best, surely? All you have to do is follow the stats, add up the forwards that certain songs and artists get time after time to figure out who are the MVPs...just like any other sport, right?
Wronger than wrong.
Ferocious competition and constant upsets are, in fact, only two of several factors that make dancehall even harder to represent with a top 50 than other styles. Sheer mass also plays a part. Forty years of music is a lot to meaningfully assess, even before you consider that, for most of those years, Jamaica has possibly released more music per capita than any other place on earth. Literally a hundred thousand vinyl 45s have to be sifted through to arrive at a list of the “top ranking.”
Then there’s the more opened-ended question of “best” in what context? Even judging the best song on a riddim—or individual beat, on which multiple artists voice their own songs—can be a near-impossible feat. Clashes may provide clarity in the moment, but they are not the only space where dancehall comes to life. Before soundsystems clashed, they existed to make people dance. (Mostly outdoors, ironically; despite the name, instances when Jamaicans dance in an actual hall are vanishingly rare.) The spontaneous headtop gyration of a dancehall queen is just as valid an affirmation as a forward in a clash. And the clashes and dances of downtown Kingston are just the heliocentric core of a whole universe of interlocking circles that make up dancehall culture across a pan-Caribbean audience, a West Indian diaspora, and a global touring circuit. To truly be rated as one of the best dancehall anthems of all time, a boom tune must echo through all these worlds—and in some cases, rearrange their orbit, shifting the center of gravity and starting a whole new wave of dancehall evolution. This evolution is constant and, even now, the tonality of dancehall is being transformed again as Auto-Tune replaces echo chamber and digital files replace vinyl as the unit of meaning.
This is why we went out of our way to assemble a panel of dancehall experts who represent not just Jamaica, but also New York, Toronto, and Miami—not just journalists and critics, but also selectors, producers, musicians, and scholars with fluency in all the various eras and movements of dancehall. These are not just judges (though they know their forwards from their rewinds, trust) but also, in their own way, participants in dancehall’s body politic. So this is our top of the top ranking: the 50 Best Dancehall Songs of All Time.
Edwin “STATS” Houghton is the former editor-in-chief of Questlove's music site Okayplayer and a noted music journalist, cultural commentator, and dancehall selector.
- VP, 1998
- Sasha
“Dat Sexy Body”
Originally released in 1998, on Tony Kelly’s “Bookshelf” riddim, Sasha’s “Dat Sexy Body” was not an immediate hit. Sean Paul’s “Deport Them,” also on the riddim, had all dancehall ears at the moment. By comparison, Sasha was still only somewhat known for one raunchy 1992 underground hit, “Kill the Bitch,” which featured her DJing and rapping rather than singing. But as the “Bookshelf” riddim continued to grow, and as Sean’s song became a bonafide hit, “Dat Sexy Body” took on a life of its own, crossing over into the mainstream mix show market. Lyrically lusting after an elusive lover, Sasha leaves her DJ days behind, finds her groove, and boasts her way to international recognition: “I will rock you to the rhythm of the rain/And ride you like a getaway train,” she sings. This success led to multiple re-releases of the song along with several remixes, most notably one featuring reggaeton artist Ivy Queen and another with the international party starter Fatman Scoop. In 2008, Sasha turned her focus to gospel, and stopped performing her past hits, but you can still hear her dancehall come-to-Jesus on any good floor. –Max Glazer
Listen:Sasha: “Dat Sexy Body”
- VP, 2006
- Tony Matterhorn
“Dutty Wine”
Tony “Mentally Ill” Matterhorn first gained his appetite for dancehall while playing the western Kingston-based soundsystem Inner City, and went on to gain his footing with the Brooklyn crew King Addies. After being endorsed by the godfather of dancehall, Bounty Killer, he went solo. His flirtatious, dirty lyrics, coupled with his hardcore dancehall style, has made him one of the most entertaining and sought-after selectors around.
Upon its release in 2006, “Dutty Wine”’s accompanying head-rotating and hip-gyrating dance, became such a global phenomenon, it was banned in several countries for its potential neck and spinal damage. The British Virgin Islands took this one step further when they banned the song and Matterhorn from performing altogether. But the song has remained unstoppable: Nicki Minaj shouts it out in her “Monster” verse, and it continues to pop up on dance floors, the ultimate expression of women embracing their dancehall queendom. –Treasure Aaron
Listen:Tony Matterhorn: “Dutty Wine”
- Universal, 2005
- Damian “Jr. Gong” Marley
“Welcome to Jamrock”
This song’s initial line, the Ini Kamoze sample of, “Out in the street, they call it murder,” always elicits a huge response from crowds. It’s followed by the intensity of Damian Marley’s “Welcome!”—a boom that sounds like a radio finding the right frequency. The “World Jam” riddim (so named for Kamoze’s “World a Reggae”) pairs deep bass with echoed chords and the dub flourishes of straight reggae—and at the height of its popularity, this song could run a dance singlehandedly.
On the song, Marley sings about “tourists on the beach with a few club sodas” who spend their time in the walled-off resorts of Jamaica’s north coast. (Sandals is called out by name.) To these folks, Marley offers an alternate description of the country as a place where “Poor people ah dead at random/Political violence, can't done/Pure ghost and phantom/The youth dem get blind by stardom.” After its immense global popularity, “Welcome to Jamrock” has grown, ironically, into an entire reggae music cruise. –Erin MacLeod
Listen:Damian Marley: “Welcome to Jamrock”
- Digital-B/VP, 1990
- Shabba Ranks
“Dem Bow”
Released in 1990, “Dem Bow” may be the most danceable tune from Shabba Rank’s term as king of the hill. Employing a stripped-down version of the “Poco Man” riddim—an insistent marching beat augmented by clattering Afro-Caribbean percussion—it was a natural source of inspiration for the burgeoning reggaespañol scene in the Latin Caribbean. Found in translation, so to speak, “Dem Bow” became the DNA of several whole new scenes, including Puerto Rican reggaeton and its counterpart in the Dominican Republic (where the entire genre is known simply as “dembow”).
The substance of the song is the wordplay of Shabba’s homophobia (the “bow”ing of the title) with the bowing implicit in racist colonialism. “Freedom fi black people, come now/Dat mean say the oppressors dem: Just bow.”Love it or hate it, this is dance music with a lot on its mind. –Eddie “STATS” Houghton
Listen:Shabba Ranks: “Dem Bow”
- Rude Boy, 1994
- Lady Saw
“Hardcore”
Whether profane or sacred, Lady Saw is a woman who’s passionately beholden to extremes. Born Marion Hall in the Saint Mary Parish of Jamaica, Lady Saw adopted her now-infamous rugged moniker and brash sexual persona in hopes of keeping pace with the best and bawdiest male deejays. Then she ran laps lyrically around her competition, both male and female.
In 1994, Saw made her album debut on VP Records with Lover Girl, and dropped the definitive single, “Hardcore.” She opens the track boasting about the numerous positions and ways in which she can please—and, really, intimidate—her lover. “Any way you want it baby/Gymnastic, acrobatic, slide back boogie…” To Saw, seeking pleasure was a calling that she sought brazenly and wholeheartedly. She’s made a successful career out of it for over 20 years, garnering a Grammy and numerous other awards in its lewd pursuit. These days, however, the pendulum has swung the other way for Saw: She’s given up her crown as the Queen of Dancehall, trading it in favor of the spiritual ecstasy of gospel music. –Deidre Dyer
Listen:Lady Saw: “Hardcore”
- Skengdon,1987
- Super Cat
“Mud Up”
“Mud Up” dropped in 1987, almost simultaneously with Admiral Bailey’s “Punanny”—so close, in fact, that some UK radio shows famously featured “Punanny vs. Mud Up” pick-your-favorite contests on air. Those songs can share the credit for rearranging the sound of Jamaican music for the following 10 years, at least. (And they share personnel credits, too: “Mud Up” was built by Steely & Clevie, who also ghost-built the “Punanny” riddim for King Jammy’s label.)
While “Punanny” has a surprising amount of space in its beat and four-note bassline, closely imitating the mixing board action of a live clash, “Mud Up” feels more like a missing link than a radical break. It employs lyrical Kumina guitars and a bouncing, constantly modulated digital bassline along the lines of “Sleng Teng,” but it’s punctuated by the same dotted crotchet drum pattern. Likewise, where Admiral Bailey’s chat is simple and staccato, Super Cat’s vocal on “Mud Up” is virtuoso, frenetic, unstoppable. It might, in fact, be the best example of Cat’s unique, never-take-a-breath flow, which consists less of verses or couplets than constantly mutating hooks. –Edwin “STATS” Houghton
Listen:Super Cat: “Mud Up”
- Penthouse, 1993
- Wayne Wonder
“Saddest Day”
Wayne Wonder is one of dancehall’s most enduring singers. He began his musical journey in the mid-1980s, under the tutelage of the legendary King Tubby, and sharpened his skills by singing live on soundsystems like Metro Media, making a name for himself throughout Jamaica. In the early 1990s, Wayne linked with Donovan Germain and recorded a string of hits for his Penthouse label—most notably “Saddest Day,” which helped define the sound of modern dancehall.
“Saddest Day” pairs Wayne’s pitch-perfect vocal and soaring bridge with a rugged riddim. His voice is full of pain as he belts out the heart-wrenching chorus: “The saddest day of my life, is when she left me with a broken heart/I was feeling the pain, the pain, the pain.” The result is a dancehall masterpiece that soothes the soul, and remains a landmark moment for Wonder. –Max Glazer
Listen:Wayne Wonder: “Saddest Day””
- Jammy’s Records, 1991
- Pinchers
“Bandelero”
“Hey gringos and pasero! I wan’ yuh to make way for the Bandelero!” These opening lines—sung in patois-inflected Spanglish by a melodic, bellowing, pitch-perfect voice—are amongst the most recognizable in dancehall. Released by the legendary producer King Jammy and the DJ Delroy “Pinchers” Thompson in 1991, “Bandelero” is one of the most influential songs done in the sing-jay style, before the hybrid approach to voicing influenced artists like Sizzla and Vegas.
“Bandelero,” with its braggadocio lyrics and country-inflected guitar riffs, is a warm and rousing warning shot, equal parts bad boy and feel-good. The title is taken from a 1968 shoot-’em-up in which James Stewart and Dean Martin attempt to evade both the sheriff and Mexican bandits. True to character, Pinchers would often appear onstage wearing a sombrero and matching cape. Thompson grew up deejaying on the Intrepid soundsystem in the Barbican area of Kingston. After “Bandelero,” he wrote several more Western-themed tunes, including “How the West Was Won” for Bounty Killer, which inadvertently sparked a major clash that drew in both Super Cat and Beenie Man. –Rishi Nath
Listen:Pinchers: “Bandelero”
- Anchor, 1988
- Lady G
'Nuff Respect'
The “Rumors” riddim, with its insistent hoofbeat and sparse, haunting horn blasts, sounds like a hunting party slowly closing in on its elusive prey. Gregory Isaacs’ ominous “Rumors” and J.C. Lodge’s sensual “Telephone Love” both ride itand match the original’s mood. However, Lady G (born Janice Marie Fyffe in Spanish Town, Jamaica) takes a different approach: She sings “Nuff Respect” over the same riddim but pins her vocals to the rolling bassline, scuttling innuendo in favor of direct confrontation.
Lady G’s voice rumbles through the speaker as soon as the record begins: “Lady G respect people dem every time/So don’t spread no rumor,” and she continues marching on the riddim straight through. Her brilliant, succinct chorus nonchalantly brushes off the pervasive classism in Jamaican society: “True me live inna di ghetto/Show mi nuff respect.” Her words make “Nuff Respect” a vibrant and hypnotic defense of dignity—and those unconvinced by Lady G’s argument will be won over by her flawless delivery. –Rishi Nath
Listen:Lady G: “Nuff Respect”
- Volcano, 1981
- Eek-A-Mouse
“Wa Do Dem”
Before the sing-jay style even had a name, Eek-A-Mouse exploded on the Jamaican reggae charts with his first big hit, “Wa Do Dem.” The easy beat and effortless flow of his lyrics appealed to both uptown and downtown listeners, launching the career of the eccentric artist and the advancing dancehall producer Junjo Lawes’ pre-digital-era hit-making streak. Its lyrics are simple: The 6'6' Eek-A-Mouse alludes to the amusement he generates when walking around Kingston with his much shorter girlfriend. “We take a walk, go a Kingston Mall/Whole heap’a people just a start to laugh, because she too short and a me too tall.”
These days, the sing-jay style is ubiquitous. But in 1981, when “Wa Do Dem” first came out, the song created a sensation. People in Jamaica were genuinely confused: What was Eek-A-Mouse? Some called him a singer, some a deejay. Radio announcers and newspaper columnists debated the question at length. Eek-A-Mouse just called the style his “Egyptian slur.” As the dancehall aesthetic spread into commercial releases, sing-jay just about replaced all other vocal styles on the dancehall circuit. Eek-A-Mouse carried his unique style through over a dozen albums and countless 45s and, with his wild costumes and extroverted antics, became an international sensation. –Beth Lesser
Listen:Eek-A-Mouse: “Wa Do Dem”