Singer J is frustrated. He’s frustrated with mismanagement. Frustrated with Jamaica’s DJ fixation. Frustrated with all the clashing and passa-passa in the business. Most of all, he’s frustrated with the steady, but slow, progress of his own career. Singer J is ready to blow up.

His name is a perfect summation of his style. He’s a singer first and foremost, but he’s also a singjay in the Mr. Vegas mold. “It’s two different kind of market coming on in the music,” he says. “You have the jump-up side, and you still have that smooth side. The Beres side. The Luciano side. But mi have the two side. I have a Dancehall side, and I have a Beres side. So I would call Singer J a Jack of a whole heap of trade!” But he prefers the singing: “The best thing for the music is vocals,” he says. “Cause that’s the thing that’s gonna last. That’s the thing whe John Holt and many more still live off of.”

Singer J calls his talent “an inborn concept.” His uncle is Bob Andy – one of the greatest singer/songwriters in Reggae history. But a more direct influence is Dancehall crooner Sanchez, who took Singer J under his wing. “Me and [Sanchez] used to smoke a lot of chalice together,” J remembers. “Me as a likkle youth, and him as a man whe out deh before me. Every Sunday him used to stop a my place and pick me up and carry me up a di beach, and we just smoke and hold vibes.”

In 1998, Cobra introduced Singer J to Jamaica at Bounty Killer’s annual Saddle To The East concert. Hit collaborations with Cobra and Elephant Man followed, culminating with Singer J’s biggest tune to date, the rowdy “I Am Not Afraid [To Shot A Batty-Bwoy].” He’s got an unreleased duet with Buju Banton on the forthcoming “Wake Up” rhythm that he expects to blow up internationally.

Still, things could be better. Singer J has a tune on the brand new “Dancehall Rock” beat, but he’s afraid that it’s going to get lost in the hype of the DJ war between Vybz Kartel and Spragga Benz that’s fought out on the rhythm. “Just hearing the rhythm the other day in Jamaica,” he recalls. “They played about six of the tunes, six DJs – and the six DJ just a war wid dem one another! There is so much things with the DJ dem, the vocalist can’t get no attention in Jamaica. And they’re so much vocalists down here!” J doesn’t see the sense of the DJ wars. “Music is such a big cake,” he says. “If you can take your fingernail and scoop a little icing off of this cake, you nice man. You set. It’s nothing for anyone to war over and say they own it.”

He’s also not enamored of the cold realities of the business. J used to be part of a crew managed by the ubiquitous Q45, but when Q took on Elephant Man as a client, the energy god’s meteoric rise left J in the shadows, and forced him and Q to part ways. While still showing love to Ele and Q, he wonders why more artists can’t show Beenie Man’s level of loyalty. “ I will always say Beenie Man a di greatest DJ in Jamaica,” he says. “Cause Beenie Man never lef Little Kirk, and him will never lef Silver Cat, no way. So whether they have a [hit] song or not… well, you will forever hear [Silver Cat’s one tune] ‘Two Fowl A Mi Yard’ then.”

Things could definitely be worse, though. Singer J has linked up with Rohan Butler, who also manages Vybz Kartel and who takes a more collective approach to sharing the wealth. “Just like sharing a pound of salt with your neighbour and don’t talk about it,” he says. “A so the music fi go.” And Singer J hasn’t forgotten his childhood on the street, “wiping car glass” with a squeegee for loose change. “You haffi give thanks,” he acknowledges. “Cause mi reach far still, to where somebody from the States know your name. People inna Germany and England and Japan. Yeah, give thanks still.”