Riddim Driven

People know the Town of Davie for its two main attractions: the Bergeron Rodeo Grounds and the Round-Up, a country bar with the best line dancing in the hemisphere. The local McDonalds drive-through has a hitching post out front; the 7-Eleven is done up with an old-fashioned, frontier town façade. In Davie, "west of I-95" takes on a whole new meaning.

So when you see Shaggy driving a Hummer down Nob Hill Road, you do a double take. Didn't that guy have the 2001 hit "It Wasn't Me"? When you bump into a dreadlocked Beenie Man at 2 p.m. and he mumbles "Good morning," you pinch yourself. Wasn't he just hollering "Sim simma! Who got the keys to my Bimmer"? And when you see a handsome, 30-something guy cruising his yard on a riding lawn mower, you wonder, "Could that be Tony Kelly, the dancehall producer?" Yeah, it is.

If you think you don't know Tony Kelly, flip on Power 96. Odds are you'll hear "King of the Dancehall" by Beenie Man, "Deport Dem" or "Like Glue" by Sean Paul, or " Everyone Falls in Love" by Tanto Metro and Devonte. Kelly made those songs. In fact, many of those infectious dancehall tunes that you hum but can't figure out the words to -- because they're full of Jamaican slang -- are Kelly hits. Right now, he's probably churning out another from the studio inside his Davie home.

At the top of a driveway jammed with three black Benzes, Kelly answers his door barefoot, in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He's got close-cropped hair and soulful eyes and is generous with hugs. Inside, there's barely any furniture -- unless you count the seven Macintosh computers, the mixing board that eats up an entire room, and Kelly's constantly beeping BlackBerry. Sean Paul was supposed to record here today but had a scheduling conflict. Daddy Yankee and Enrique Iglesias are stopping by next week. Oops -- just missed Shaggy!

Instead, three studio musicians play with expensive toys like kids who just got home from school. It wouldn't be surprising if someone's mom came in and kicked everybody out. Instead, Kelly's wife, Leanna -- a natural, graceful beauty -- comes home and puts away groceries.

Kelly settles onto the brand-new couch in the living room. "Growing up," he says in a soft Jamaican accent, "I used to record songs off the radio. DJs talk over everything, so I'd try to edit it out, try to match the beat so it sounds like it's mixed straight through." Living in the Kingston ghetto, with his mom pulling shifts at the Salvation Army, he knew he wouldn't go the same route. "I don't want to work for nobody!" he says. "I decided music is the only way to do it."

After high school, Kelly went job-hunting at legendary Tuff Gong Studios -- the recording space founded in the mid-'60s by Bob Marley. Kelly didn't expect to get paid until he knew enough to be useful. "I learned how to mic a drum, an organ, piano; how to set up a vocal booth in a big studio room," he recalls. "It was like being an apprentice in a mechanic shop. Jamaican studios are like universities."

Soon, he was able to help several friends get a foot in the industry door. One of those feet belonged to the man who now rivals him as dancehall's biggest producer -- his three-years-younger half-brother, Dave Kelly. Although Tony has had more crossover hits in the States, Dave is just as huge in the industry. Shaggy, a platinum-selling, Grammy-winning vocalist, has worked extensively with both. "Bottom line is that Tony Kelly and David Kelly are instrumental in the evolution of dancehall," Shaggy tells us later via phone. "You can't say dancehall without saying either Tony Kelly or Dave Kelly."

Tony worked at Tuff Gong through the mid-'80s and then at industry-heavyweights Penthouse Records and Shocking Vibes Productions in the '90s. Along the way, he realized just how far his talent could take him. "A friend sent me All You Need to Know About the Music Business," he says. "That book enlightened me, man. I was like, 'So I'm getting robbed!' I didn't take it hard or anything. I just separated myself." Although he continues to do projects with other labels, he started his own, K..Licious, in 1998 and started working in the States around 2001 "for America to know me a little more." He moved to Davie two years ago because "it's quiet."

"In Jamaica, a lot of my songs are played on the radio," he says. "You go in the club and hear back to back to back to back my songs and then my brother's songs. That means we're doing something right. But it's not about the money. I'm for the progression, the advancement of this music. I know if I do good, money gonna come."