Picture this: The year was 2007. I was wearing Old Navy capri sweatpants, a graphic T-shirt from Target and had old-school foam on-ear headphones plugged into my purple, non-skippable CD player. I was staying at my grandma’s house in Washington, D.C. for the summer, and my older brother Josh had just bought me Sean Kingston’s debut album. Life was good. While my aunts watched their shows upstairs, I was in the basement, singing and dancing to “Take You There” and “Beautiful Girls” in my best Jamaican accent. It was the soundtrack to my summer before beginning seventh grade.
In the late 90s to early 2000s (the official Y2K era), Caribbean artists like Sean Peal, Rihanna, Beenie Man, Wayne Wonder, Gyptian, Elephant Man, Vybz Kartel and Shaggy made a splash in the music industry, earning their spot on mainstream radio stations and music video channels. Their island flavor, thick accents, smooth moves and wining waists captivated us on the other side of the screen watching 106 & Park and MTV from the U.S.
Reggae, calypso, dancehall, and soca were game-changers in Black culture. At a time when white-washed movies like American Pie and The Notebook were on the rise and stereotypical depictions of Black people were being amplified in classics like Scary Movie and Bring it On, it was refreshing to hear music that celebrated Black women, Black bodies, Black joy and Black love in an easy-going, African-rooted, slow-down-and-dance type of way.
Caribbean artists of this era had a major influence on pop culture. Artists from the islands set the trends in the U.S. for music crossovers and features, dances and fashion. Think back to Rihanna’s low-rise jeans and crop tops in “Pon De Replay” and Elephant Man’s mesh shirt and bright-colored hair in “Whine Up” by Kat DeLuna.
“I adored Caribbean music,” Bajan and Guyanese author, speaker and multi-faceted creative Lyvonne Briggs says. “It was all I really knew until middle school. Caribbean music, soca in particular, felt vibrant and made me feel alive. I grew up in middle-class Caribbean neighborhoods in Queens, NY, so ‘diversity,’ to me, meant, ‘which island are you from?’”
My earliest memory of reggae music (outside of the legend Bob Marley) was listening to Shaggy’s 2000 hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The Jamaican-American’s raspy voice, partially distinguishable lyrics and melodic flow was so different from Destiny’s Child, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera and the boy bands I was listening to at the time.
“No Letting Go” by Wayne Wonder only has to play for one second before I am immediately transported back to my pre-teen years, getting dressed for “teen night” at my local community center wearing big silver hoops, light pink lip gloss and low-rise boot cut jeans with jeweled back pockets. Decades later and this song still hits like it did when it was released in 2002. It puts a spell over your body making you wine your waist, roll your stomach and tick your hips.
“The music of my childhood perfectly encapsulated what it was like to be a West Indian child of the 90s/early 2000’s,” New Orleans artist Jessica Johnson says. “I hear them and can’t help but time travel to the Crop Overs I attended or the time my grandma put me on a table and taught me to wine, or showing off those wining skills at my auntie’s cookout.”
Caribbean music tapped into something different than hip-hop or pop. Reggae feels like a relaxing, laid-back escape to the beach. Soca feels like day drinking at Carnival. Calypso feels like an uplifting, timeless performance at a hole-in-the-wall island bar. Dancehall feels like a sweaty, high-energy dance party. And that’s just scratching the surface of Caribbean music styles.
When Sean Paul entered the mainstream music chat with “Gimme the Light” and “Get Busy” in 2002, it felt as if he cracked the code and brought reggae music to the forefront. Especially when he partnered with Beyoncé for the unforgettable 2003 smash hit “Baby Boy.” The sexy, hot and dimly-lit music video blended R&B and reggae, celebrated dance and brought the viewers into a hot island party (even though it was filmed in Miami).
“My mother is Bajan, my father is Guyanese and I am a Bajan dual citizen,” Briggs says. “I grew up listening to reggae, dancehall, soca, and calypso. These were the sounds of my childhood, so when I was in high school and Sean Paul crossed over, I felt like Sidney did in Brown Sugar when she realized that other people were going to fall in love with hip-hop, too. It felt like people were intruding on my culture and now I had to ‘share’ with outsiders.”
Caribbean artists brought a fresh perspective to music. Sean Paul, Rihanna and Wayne Wonder got people back on the dancefloor, moving instinctually, sensually and freely. Seeing artists from the islands on our TV screens in the early 2000s reminded Black Americans of our connectedness to our brothers and sisters overseas and shed light on what makes our cultures unique.
About the Author: Cynthea Corfah is a contributing writer for Essence GU telling the stories of today’s history makers, culture bearers, artists, entertainers and business professionals. Based in New Orleans with Liberian heritage, she is especially passionate about highlighting Black culture, flavorful food, art with African roots and Southern creatives.