Discover why early dancehall earned its own name instead of being labeled reggae. This article explores the venues, sound-system culture, lyrical shifts, and social realities that distinguished dancehall from reggae in late 1970s Jamaica.
Jamaican music has always evolved in dialogue with its audiences. Ska, rocksteady, and reggae each reflected different generations, social conditions, and cultural energies. But when reggae gave way to dancehall in the late 1970s and early 1980s, many asked: why did this new style require its own name? Why wasn’t it simply considered another form of reggae?
The answer lies in the place of its birth — the dance hall — and the ways the genre’s sound, performance style, and cultural focus diverged from its predecessor. This article explores the reasons why early dancehall was called “dancehall” rather than reggae, examining sound-system culture, venue centrality, lyrical content, and identity politics in Jamaica during a turbulent era.
Reggae was largely studio- and album-driven, intended for both local audiences and international consumption. Dancehall, in contrast, emerged primarily in the dance halls of Kingston — open-air spaces, lawns, and clubs where sound systems set up massive speaker stacks and crowds gathered nightly (Stolzoff, 2000).
The name “dancehall” directly reflects this spatial origin. It was not just music for passive listening; it was a living performance environment defined by the interaction between selector, deejay, and audience.
Because dancehall was tied to neighborhoods and street culture, the name signified a local identity. While reggae aimed to carry Jamaica’s message abroad, dancehall was unapologetically homegrown, for the communities who created it.
In reggae, singers and bands took center stage. In dancehall, the selector (who chose and played riddims) and the deejay (who toasted over them) became the stars (Hope, 2006). This shift in performance practice meant the genre could no longer be described under reggae’s singer-centric framework.
Dub plates and stripped-down riddims provided the canvas for deejays, moving emphasis from composed songs to recycled instrumental backdrops. This created an entirely new creative economy centered around riddim culture (Manuel & Marshall, 2006).
Sound clashes — competitive battles between systems — were central to dancehall culture. This adversarial, participatory element further distinguished dancehall from reggae’s concert-based traditions.
These contrasts justified a new label: “dancehall.”
Roots reggae was anchored in Rastafarian messages, Pan-Africanism, and liberation politics. Dancehall lyrics reflected daily life, humor, romance, and slackness (Cooper, 2004).
Artists like General Echo and later Yellowman popularized slackness — risqué, often comedic lyrics that resonated with audiences but marked a sharp break from reggae’s spiritual tone.
Dancehall’s thematic focus on the immediate realities of Kingston life helped separate its identity from reggae, which by then was strongly associated with Bob Marley’s international spiritual vision.
Junjo Lawes’ Volcano label captured dancehall as its own studio sound in the late 1970s and early 1980s. His stripped-down productions with Barrington Levy and Yellowman showcased music meant first and foremost for the dance halls (Hope, 2006).
Dub engineers like King Tubby and Scientist created the versions that fueled dancehall performances, embedding the sound in studio-dubbed riddims rather than live band arrangements.
As a bridge from analog to digital, Jammy’s productions exemplified how dancehall differed from reggae: a music driven by riddims and deejay culture, not by internationally-oriented albums.
Reggae had become associated with an older generation and international markets by the late 1970s. Dancehall was the voice of Kingston’s ghetto youth, reflecting their slang, dress, and lifestyle.
By naming it “dancehall,” Jamaicans claimed a space that was distinctly theirs, separate from the globalized reggae industry. This was a way of protecting its authenticity and grounding it in the local dance experience.
Though both reggae and dancehall share rhythmic DNA, their practices diverged so much that a new name was inevitable. Reggae was a studio product. Dancehall was a live, participatory culture.
International audiences already associated reggae with Marley, Rastafari, and global consciousness. “Dancehall” differentiated the new style both domestically and abroad.
Rather than being a rejection of reggae, dancehall is better understood as its evolutionary successor, requiring a new label to mark its distinct identity.
The term “dancehall” today means more than just a genre — it refers to a cultural ecosystem:
Thus, calling it “dancehall” emphasized its total cultural experience, not just its sound.
Early dancehall was called “dancehall” rather than reggae because it was born in the dance halls, driven by sound-system culture, and marked by lyrical, musical, and social shifts that distinguished it from reggae. Its performers, producers, and audiences forged a genre that was more local, participatory, and immediate than roots reggae’s international and spiritual focus.
By embracing the name “dancehall,” Jamaicans acknowledged that this was more than just a new form of reggae — it was a new cultural force, rooted in Kingston’s streets and destined to reshape global music.