By Tracy Moore
When Patrick SALT Bellamy steps behind the turntables or grabs a mic, something shifts. There’s an invisible thread he pulls between the crowd and the music—an emotional pulse that he doesn’t just follow but commands. SALT is not your average DJ. Nor is he just a lyricist, producer, or artist. He is a cultural conduit, fusing humour with heavy truths, nostalgia with next-gen energy, and rhythm with remembrance.
Based on all that he does, when asked what his superpower is, he paused: “My superpower as a DJ?” eyes sparking, with a thoughtful smile. “Taking risks. Playing the song no one else would dare to, and watching the crowd feel it. As an artist, it’s my lyricism—saying something serious but wrapping it in something funny. That way, people don’t flinch from the truth. They laugh, and then they think,” he said.
“Artistes spend a lot of money creating the music, going to producers. Even writing a song, coming up with a song is a lot of work. And once a person creates a song, it’s a part of them that they’re sharing with the world. So it’s just for us to be able to give our contribution to help them get their message out there.”
He remembers the risk of spinning See Me and Don’t See Me back in 2009—before it became a crowd favourite. He recalls the challenge and triumph of watching a crowd lean into something unfamiliar… “[but] that stood the test of time. It’s 16 years old now, it could go for a driver’s licence,” he laughed. “Anybody can play a hit. But not everybody can create a hit moment. If I can get a crowd to love a song before it trends, that’s the magic. That’s the power.”
He implores young DJs to embrace that courage and to believe in the power of discovery: “Play the song no one’s heard yet. Trust your gut. Respect the artist. And help build the story of our sound.”
SALT insists that DJs have a massive role in shaping the festival’s energy despite access to the Internet where the number of views, shares and downloads speaks to the popularity. “But for DJs now, we shape the festival in that we come out there, we bring the energy to the parties, because the parties help to drive the festival. They are the engine of the festival. That’s where people go and gather. They want to go and gather and party to music from the festival.”
SALT’s sets are layered stories. He’s not just dropping bangers. He’s sculpting soundscapes where tradition and evolution meet.
“We have most times 45 minutes to an hour to create a set where we play on stage. So, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a song that checks all the boxes. Some songs, I can call names, like Lead Pipe and Saddis’ Only Human, or Saddis’ Magnet, those are the evolution. But then, when you get Marvay’s Sweet Potato, that represents the tradition of the festival or even Lil Rick’s Call 911, that’s more of a traditional song to me, because that takes me right back to lyric chanting. But the point of the matter is that there are songs that reflect both the traditional and the evolutionary aspects of Crop Over.”
However, he says that for that music to grow, DJs must play it out there for the audience to understand and like it, “but it takes a little bravery, as I mentioned earlier, to especially bust a lot of the new music, when people don’t necessarily know it yet. Music that reflects both tradition and evolution.”
He uses callbacks and transitions like a conductor, like linking Stiffy’s I Am Blessed to MADD’s Revival and then bringing the crowd back with something new but familiar. It’s intentional. It’s thoughtful. It’s theatre, church, and road all in one.
“You start high. You bring people into a space where they trust you. Then you dip—get intimate, get real—and bring them back up. It’s like landing a plane. Everybody claps when it’s done right.”
Similarly, Crop Over, SALT insists, is not static. It shapeshifts with the people. From the slow sweetness of the 120 BPM Red Boyz era to the highenergy Bashment wave, to the Bouyon-infused power of today’s pacing—each phase marks a cultural moment.
Moreover, SALT doesn’t fear fusion. He celebrates it. Whether it’s a Dominican Bouyon, a Saint Lucian Dennery segment, a Trinidadian cadence, or Bajan bashment – he sees it all as part of the Caribbean’s collective evolution. He says it’s not just the song selection—it’s the narrative.
He isn’t trying to dominate charts. He’s trying to cultivate culture through sound. And behind the sound is a man who sees himself not just as a DJ, but as a storyteller, an interpreter, and above all—a servant of the vibe. Patrick SALT Bellamy is Crop Over. He’s been shaping its sound since 2004—and he’s not done yet.
“You start high. You bring people into a space where they trust you. Then you dip—get intimate, get real—and bring them back up. It’s like landing a plane. Everybody claps when it’s done right.”
Tracymoore@barbadostoday.bb
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