Don Cornelius spotted teenage dancer Jody Watley on Soul Train and paired her with Jeffrey Daniel, creating the group Shalamar in 1977. After Shalamar, she went on to a massive solo career. Carmen Electra, Nick Cannon, and Rosie Perez all got their starts there too.
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At 36:20 · chapter starts 35:20
Behind every great show is a behind-the-scenes architect, and for Soul Train it was Clinton Ghent. Often overshadowed by Don Cornelius, Ghent was there from the very beginning in Chicago and had two rare gifts: an eye for finding extraordinary dancers in the clubs, and an ability to combine competitive personalities into something that felt genuinely familial. Soul Train could easily have been a petty, competitive environment — these were talented people vying for camera time in a nationally broadcast show. Instead, episode after episode radiated warmth and community. That wasn't an accident. It was Ghent's curation, bringing in dancers who would lift each other rather than tear each other down. [1] — Josh Clark "Clinton Ghent, Don Cornelius's co-creator and right-hand man, had a unique talent: scouting the best dancers from Chicago clubs, then assem…" 35:20
Clinton Ghent, Don Cornelius's co-creator and right-hand man, had a unique talent: scouting the best dancers from Chicago clubs, then assembling groups that would gel like a family rather than claw each other for camera time. That family vibe wasn't an accident — it was Ghent's work.
Don Cornelius spotted teenage dancer Jody Watley on Soul Train and paired her with Jeffrey Daniel; they formed the group Shalamar in 1977.
Reggae didn't emerge from thin air — it was built layer by layer from mento in the 1940s, ska in the late 1950s, and rocksteady in the mid-1960s. Each stage absorbed new influences, from transistor radios picking up Miami R&B to the distinctive 2-and-4 rhythmic accent that defines the genre.
Before hip-hop existed, Jamaican DJs were already doing it. Electricity spreading across Jamaica enabled mobile 'sound systems,' and DJs developed toasting — speaking and singing over recorded music — a tradition that DJ Kool Herc brought from Kingston to the Bronx at age 12.
Joe Higgs is reggae's great unsung hero. This Kingston musician took teenage Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer under his wing and taught them how to sing, write songs, and make music — at a time when most artists would have focused on their own careers. Without him, the Wailers probably just would have sucked.
Reggae archivist Roger Steffens' analogy says it all: Bob Marley was reggae's Martin Luther King Jr., making the music universally palatable; Peter Tosh was its Malcolm X, inserting fierce militant political energy. Together, they gave the Wailers a depth no single voice could achieve alone.
King Tubby built his own hardware from cast-off recording gear to strip vocals and create dubbed-out instrumental reggae — essentially inventing electronic music in Kingston before Kraftwerk did it in Germany. The dubplate he created became the raw material for DJs to toast over, seeding hip-hop.
Two days before the 1976 Smile Jamaica anti-violence concert, gunmen shot Bob Marley in the chest and shoulder, shot Rita Marley, and wounded two others. He showed up and played anyway. The concert had already drawn accusations that Marley was a tool of the PNP government — a charge that frustrated him deeply.
Peter Tosh's killer was a man Tosh had taken in after prison, giving him shelter and food. The man repaid that generosity by holding Tosh hostage, torturing him for money, and shooting him in the head. It is one of the most brutal betrayals in music history.
The Windrush Generation brought Caribbean music to London after World War II, and reggae's 2-and-4 rhythm lodged itself deep in British culture — giving birth to ska bands like The Specials, pop acts like UB40, and even punk. Johnny Rotten was a reggae fan, and Public Image Limited has the dub influence to prove it.
Reggaetón didn't come from nowhere. It emerged from underground Spanish-language reggae-rap scenes in Panama and Puerto Rico, drawing directly on Jamaican reggae's rhythms and attitude. The line from Kingston to Bad Bunny's Super Bowl performance is a straight one.
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