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“Bad publicity is still publicity.” — an old entertainment industry proverb

Jamaica has once again found itself in the middle of one of those deeply emotional cultural debates where music, morality, heritage, commerce, and identity all collide in public view at the same time. 

This time, the controversy centres around “Hill and Gully Ride,” one of the most recognisable Jamaican folk songs, and the outrage surrounding the adaptation of the melody into a modern dancehall track with sexually explicit lyrical content. The debate has become passionate, generational, and deeply personal because for many Jamaicans, “Hill and Gully Ride” is not merely a song. It is memory. It is childhood. It is cultural inheritance. It is school concerts, community gatherings, folk education, and a simpler version of Jamaica preserved through melody.

The original “Hill and Gully Ride” emerged from Jamaican folk traditions and gained prominence through the work of Louise Bennett-Coverley, affectionately known as “Miss Lou”, whose efforts helped preserve Jamaican patois and folk culture at a time when many considered them inferior. The simple mento-style song itself became embedded in the Jamaican psyche because it represented more than entertainment. “Hill and Gully Ride” also became deeply embedded in Jamaican cultural memory through its association with Sunday evening broadcasts on the now-defunct Jamaica Broadcasting Corporation, where it featured traditional folk performances, storytelling, cultural showcases, mento influences, and depictions of everyday Jamaican rural life and identity. It represented authenticity. Entire generations grew up hearing it sung innocently by children in classrooms and by cultural groups on national stages. That is important because certain melodies eventually move beyond ownership and become emotionally sacred to a people.

This is why the present controversy has triggered such visceral reactions. To many Jamaicans, it feels less like artistic experimentation and more like someone scribbling graffiti on a national monument. Yet the debate also forces uncomfortable questions about consistency, hypocrisy, cultural evolution, censorship, and the economics of outrage.

Because if we are being honest, Jamaica has wrestled with versions of this issue for decades.

Dancehall has repeatedly borrowed from spaces once considered untouchable. In the past, dancehall artistes Beenie Man and Mr. Vegas both recorded songs that drew heavily from religious musical structures, gospel cadences, and church-inspired melodies. Entire rhythms in reggae and dancehall trace their origins to spiritual traditions, revivalist expressions, and sacred musical spaces. The tension between the sacred and the secular is therefore not new. In many ways, much of modern popular music globally emerged from precisely that collision. Blues music evolved from spirituals and work songs sung in fields and churches.

 Rock and roll borrowed heavily from gospel traditions before becoming associated with rebellion and youthful excess. Hip-hop sampled soul classics and transformed them into entirely different cultural expressions. Reggaeton has absorbed elements of Jamaican dancehall to shape much of its modern sound. Ironically, even jazz, which is now celebrated worldwide as sophisticated cultural art, was once condemned by critics as immoral noise capable of corrupting society.

History is filled with examples where respected or traditional music became the foundation for newer and more controversial forms of expression. In the 1950s, Elvis Presley helped transform Black gospel and blues traditions into rock and roll, a genre many religious leaders and parents condemned as immoral despite its deep roots in church and spiritual music. Decades later, hip-hop producers sampled revered soul artists such as Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin, often pairing those classic melodies with lyrics critics considered violent or explicit. Even classical music has undergone similar reinvention, with composers like Ludwig van Beethoven having their works adapted into heavy metal, electronic dance music, and provocative commercial advertising campaigns that traditionalists once viewed as disrespectful to the original compositions.

One could argue that much of rap music transformed soul and funk records into entirely different lyrical vehicles. Some listeners appreciated the reinvention while others viewed it as desecration. The same arguments surfaced when heavy metal bands used classical symphonic arrangements. Similar outrage emerged when pop artists sampled opera. Even Christmas melodies have occasionally been adapted into songs with themes many would consider distasteful or offensive.

The real issue here may not actually be the instrumentation itself, and that distinction matters.

Critics of the current “Hill and Gully Ride” adaptation have acknowledged the musical craftsmanship involved. One of the most outspoken cultural commentators in the debate, Fae Ellington, reportedly described the architect of this controversy, Steven McGregor, as a “genius”, and few serious observers would dispute his immense musical talent, creative vision, or influence on contemporary Jamaican music.

But in all honesty, the production quality is not what is under attack here. The objection appears to rest primarily with the lyrical content attached to a melody viewed as culturally innocent and nationally symbolic. In other words, many people are not necessarily rejecting artistic reinterpretation. They are rejecting what they perceive as vulgarity being grafted onto cultural heritage.

That nuance is important because Jamaica has long tolerated — and often celebrated — sexually explicit content in dancehall. Lady Saw built an enormously influential career pushing lyrical boundaries. Spice and Shensea continue to dominate conversations globally through provocative content and fearless performance. Vybz Kartel remains one of the most commercially powerful and culturally influential figures in Jamaican music despite years of controversy surrounding his lyrical catalogue. Entire eras of dancehall have thrived on shock value, sexual bravado, confrontation, and lyrical excess.

But if explicit content itself is not new, why does this particular controversy feel different?

The answer may lie in emotional proximity.

People tend to react far more strongly when something they personally cherish becomes involved. A random dancehall beat does not trigger the same emotional attachment as a folk song associated with childhood innocence and national identity. The controversy is therefore not only about vulgarity. It is about perceived violation of cultural memory.

Even as many condemn the song publicly, something else entirely predictable is happening quietly in the background. The controversy itself is dramatically increasing the song’s visibility. Every argument, every social media post, every talk show debate, every outraged commentary, and every public denunciation functions as free marketing. Even this article, if the reader has not yet heard the song, likely adds another layer of curiosity. Millions of Jamaicans who may otherwise never have encountered the track are now actively searching for it simply to understand what all the uproar is about. 

People with no prior interest suddenly feel compelled to listen for themselves. In the modern attention economy, outrage often becomes advertising, and controversy becomes oxygen.

Modern media ecosystems reward emotional reaction because outrage generates engagement, and engagement generates visibility. This phenomenon is not unique to Jamaica. It has become one of the defining economic engines of global culture. Entire careers, political movements, podcasts, books, influencers, and entertainment brands are now built upon this reality.

 One only needs to observe modern American politics to see how effectively this machinery operates. The more controversial a statement becomes, the more airtime it receives. The more media outlets condemn it, the more attention it accumulates. In many cases, criticism does not suppress popularity at all. It multiplies it. The algorithm feeds on conflict, rewards emotional intensity, and continuously amplifies whatever keeps people reacting, arguing, clicking, sharing, and watching.

Ironically, many controversial products succeed not because the public collectively loves them, but because society collectively cannot stop talking about them. This phenomenon has actually been measured repeatedly. One of the most famous examples is the “Streisand Effect,” named after Barbra Streisand, whose attempt in 2003 to suppress aerial photographs of her home unintentionally caused public interest to explode.

 Before the lawsuit, the image had reportedly been downloaded only six times. After the controversy became public, the photo was viewed more than 420,000 times within a month. Similarly, The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie saw massive global sales growth after bans and protests erupted internationally. Researchers and marketing analysts have since repeatedly observed that controversial music, books, films, and political figures often experience measurable spikes in searches, streams, sales, and engagement immediately following public condemnation because outrage itself drives curiosity, visibility, and algorithmic amplification.

The entertainment industry learned long ago that attention itself has become currency. In the digital age, visibility is monetizable, whether that visibility comes from admiration or outrage. Algorithms do not distinguish between applause and anger. Both produce clicks. Both produce shares. Both produce traffic. Both produce money.

That reality forces a broader societal question Jamaicans may need to confront honestly.

What are we collectively, inadvertently financing with our attention? The attention economy acts much like currency. Every click, every repost, every argument, every stream, every viral discussion is a form of economic endorsement, whether we intend it or not. We often imagine that money alone determines success, but attention has become just as valuable as dollars. In this modern TikTok, Instagram-fueled environment, it is perhaps even more valuable.

Platforms like Spotify and TikTok monetise attention, not morality, which means controversial songs often become highly profitable simply because people cannot stop listening, sharing, debating, remixing, or reacting to them. Every stream, repost, comment, duet, stitch, meme, and viral discussion feeds the algorithm, increases visibility, expands audience reach, and ultimately generates advertising revenue, streaming income, brand exposure, and commercial opportunities for the artist.

In many ways, modern society spends attention recklessly.

Consumers starve for meaningful educational content while feeding controversy with unlimited energy. We complain about vulgarity while turning it into trending content. We criticise what we secretly help to amplify. Sometimes society behaves like a man trying to extinguish a fire by pouring gasoline on it while insisting he is fighting the flames.

This does not mean people should remain silent about cultural concerns. Societies absolutely have the right to debate standards, values, and artistic boundaries. Healthy cultures engage in these conversations openly. But it does mean we should understand the mechanics of the environment we now live in. Public outrage no longer merely condemns. Increasingly, it markets.

Perhaps that is the deepest lesson hidden beneath the entire Hill and Gully Ride controversy.

Culture is not shaped only by what artists create. It is also shaped by what audiences reward with their energy, their attention, their arguments, and their obsession. The marketplace no longer runs solely on money. It runs on emotional investment. Every society eventually becomes a reflection of what it consistently chooses to amplify.

And if controversy truly is oxygen, then we must be careful what fires we collectively decide to breathe life into.

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Douglas Levermore, MBA, JP, is an independent management consultant and the founding Executive Director of Jamaica’s Public Investment Management Secretariat (PIMSEC)—the government unit established to strengthen project appraisal, fiscal discipline, and oversight of public investment, now known as the Public Investment Appraisal Branch (PIAB) within the Ministry of Finance and the Public Service. He also serves as a FINRA arbitrator and a commissioned Notary Public in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Douglas writes on social issues, leadership, management lessons, and organizational strategy, drawing on extensive real-world experience across both the public and private sectors.