Each and every island scattered throughout the sapphire waters of the Caribbean pulsates to its own unique rhythm. The richness of the Cuba, Trinidadian, and Puerto Rican music is well-known, but for the past 30 years, the most influential of the islands has been Jamaica, with its thriving ghetto sound system culture, which as transformed the world’s popular music, disseminating the DNA of reggae, dub, dancehall, and hip hop.
After years of mainstream exposure for the music of Jamaica, the rest of the Caribbean is starting to get in on the action. St. Vincent’s Kevin Lyttle and Barbadian star Rupee have crashed the pop charts, exciting audiences with their slowed-down “raga-soca.” The intoxicating Caribbean cocktail, full of breezy tropical blends, has given a new identity to the sounds of the island globally. “That’s one of the missions behind soca music,” says Rupee. “We want to show the rest of the world that there are many other islands in the Caribbean besides Jamaica.”
Meanwhile, Jamaican dancehall rhythms like “Mad Guitar” and “Stepz” are taking the tempo up toward 120 beats per minute and beyond, and signs of rivalry have developed between reggae and soca.
The rumblings began soon after Lyttle and Spragga Benz walked away with VIBE’s first Boomshot Award. “How could they pick a soca artist?” said the insecure whispers. “Ele or Beenie shoulda won that trophy.” Never mind that the award goes to the best Caribbean song of the year, not necessarily the best artist. And there was no denying that “Turn Me On” was a phenomenal hit. Lyttle’s graciousness in the victory defused any tension among the artists. “I’m a big fan of Elephant Man and Beenie Man,” he said with an eat-to-ear grin. “To be here in their presence sharing the same stage on an international scale is nothing more than a dream come true.”
Unfortunately, the success of Rupee and Lyttle has become both a gift and a curse. With the reggae pendulum swinging back toward one-drop reggae, on the strength of rootsy anthems by Richie Stephens and I Wayne, a clear line has been drawn in the sands of the Caribbean. The reggae purists are no longer playing nice with the soca contingent. “That is devil dancing,” says the Rasta representative I Wayne. “It’s dancing with the demons. That’s why I try to wake up the people and show them some message within the music.” But Rupee argues that soca is more than the sounds of sin. “Our music is a happy music,” he counters. “It’s about dancing and forgetting your worries and problems.”
Even as “established” dancehall stars like Sean Paul and Beenie Man have elevated the craft to a higher plateau, soca haters cannot put aside their resentment and appreciate the progressive movement for Caribbean music as a whole. Luckily, many of the artists within the culture understand that unity is the key to turning the recent explosion into an all-out invasion. “We really want to show the strength of the dancehall, hip hop, and soca when they come together inna one great fusion,” says Spragga, chilling with Lyttle and Beenie Man minutes after the well-publicized award-show melee. “Cause right now, we show the world what a real takeover is,” Beenie Man smiles and concurs: “Dancehall style take over now.” And just for clarity’s sake Spragga adds: “Take over, no make over.”
