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In July, Jamaica’s most influential living artist walked out of a Kingston prison after 13 years, drove straight to his mother’s house for a tearful reunion over steamed fish and okra — and dove immediately into preparations for Freedom Street: his first performance since his release, and the biggest concert the country would see in nearly 50 years.

Locked up for the murder of Clive “Lizard” Williams, Vybz Kartel went away as a 35-year-old man at the height of his career with seven children, two of whom would make their own musical debuts in 2014. But even behind bars, he never stopped making music — managing to secretly record and release five projects that would reach the top 10 of Billboard’s Reggae Albums chart.

“Being in prison, you can’t feel sorry for yourself. I didn’t have time to do that. I had kids to feed. I had family to take care of. I had health issues, too,” Kartel tells Billboard in a private room at Downsound Records, the live-entertainment producer behind Freedom Street, in Kingston. “There was no time to be weak. You just fight the case and do the right thing.”

Now, just days before Freedom Street — his New Year’s Eve show that will draw over 35,000 people to Kingston’s National Stadium — Kartel tells me he’s been holding daily three-hour rehearsals to ensure a “Taylor Swift- or Madonna-style” show while he records a new album at several studios, including one his children built for him while he was away. As I follow the Teacha around Kingston over the course of a sunny December day, fans of all ages stop him to profess their love and grovel for selfies — and if they aren’t trying to get his attention, they keep their eyes glued to him and hum whatever song of his comes to their minds.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Vybz Kartel is the most influential Jamaican recording artist since Bob Marley. But understanding Kartel’s singular career means grasping that his pop stardom and underground dominance have always worked in tandem. For every song of his that became a global mainstay, one of his raw, evocative mixtapes simultaneously ruled the streets of Kingston. Born Adidja Azim Palmer in Portmore, Jamaica — a coastal municipality about 15 miles outside of Kingston — Kartel has racked up 1.58 billion official on-demand U.S. streams, according to Luminate, making him one of dancehall’s commercial giants. But his countless controversies and towering sociopolitical influence have also made him a divisive cult figure.

His ’90s Alliance era cemented him as one of dancehall star Bounty Killer’s protégés and the genre’s fastest-rising star, wielding an impressive songwriting approach that blended his private and public personas through riveting gangster narratives and sexually explicit anthems. In the early to mid-2000s, Black Kartel reigned, with spunky, lewd hits like “It Bend Like Banana” launching his near-absolute rule over Jamaican society, which culminated in a seismic yearslong beef with fellow dancehall star Mavado (born David Brooks). By the dawn of the ’10s, White Kartel — by this point, the skin-bleaching he controversially sung of in 2011’s “Cake Soap” had visibly altered his skin tone (and spawned a new nickname) — had achieved several bona fide global crossover hits despite Jamaica’s banning of “daggering” songs (extremely sexually explicit tracks).

Fittingly, the Kartel I meet today is clearly a changed man. This newest iteration of Kartel is calmer and more collected; he seems firmly in his Unc era — cream Amiri beanie, custom tour T-shirt and a naughty joke always in his back pocket. His excitement for his upcoming show beams through the black sunglasses he never takes off, and the reverent air of gratitude around him is unmistakable. Kartel and his co-accused — Shawn Campbell, Kahira Jones and Andre St. John — have always maintained their innocence, and their second chance at freedom was hard-fought. According to a unanimous Court of Appeal ruling in summer 2024, the trial judge marred the original guilty verdict by allowing the jury to proceed despite knowing that one juror had attempted to bribe the others.

“Towards the end of my incarceration, I started connecting more with God. That’s why I tattooed ‘love God’ on my forehead,” Kartel reveals. “Nobody can tell me that God isn’t real. Ten years ago, I would have been saying something else, but God is real.”

Kartel’s return marks the start of a new era for both him and dancehall at large. In a Downsound Records rehearsal room, a poster displays five different Kartels with varying hairstyles, fashions and skin tones, each representative of a different chapter of his illustrious career. But whether he’s sporting a New York fitted or showing off his locs, the 48-year-old man known to his fans as Worl’ Boss has always been a chameleon, unafraid to alter his appearance to deepen his own mythos.

Inspired by dancehall icon Ninjaman and uncles who “used to DJ around the sound system,” Kartel began “writing 10 to 15 songs a day” as a teenager and released his debut single, “Love Fat Woman,” in 1993, which eventually landed him a spot in The Alliance, a group of dancehall DJs. “I’ve been fascinated with writing ever since I found out Babyface wrote [Karyn White’s 1989 hit] ‘Superwoman,’” he recounts. “As a kid, I was like, ‘How does a man write a song for a woman?’”

Two major factors ignited Kartel’s mainstream ascent in 2003: The release of his debut album, Up 2 Di Time, and a contentious clash with Ninjaman at Sting, Jamaica’s longest-running one-night-only reggae/dancehall showcase. At the time, Sean Paul was leading the early 2000s stateside dancehall crossover wave, but Kartel’s gritty “gun tunes” and X-rated “gyal tunes” were a far cry from the sugary-sweet riddims that made their way to top 40 radio. He smartly gilded his edgier lyrics with slick wordplay and head-spinning flows; Kartel could, and still can, dictate Jamaica’s culture with the flip of a single phrase. But some of those lyrics courted levels of controversy that threatened his — and the genre’s — continued crossover: In 2004, the U.K. Music of Black Origin Awards revoked Kartel’s nomination for best reggae act, alongside fellow Jamaican dancehall artist Elephant Man, over homophobic lyrics — a longtime point of tension in the genre as a whole. Twenty years later, speaking to Billboard, Kartel alludes to an evolution in his point of view: “The world has changed, and sometimes, you got to change with the times.”

By 2006, Kartel’s highly publicized split with The Alliance culminated in him joining the Portmore Empire — a collective of artists hailing from the neighborhood and signed to his Adidjahiem Records, which he’d established three years prior — leading to a feud with The Alliance’s Mavado, who took it upon himself to reply to Kartel’s disses. From 2006 to 2009, Kartel and Mavado lobbed searing disses at one another over the hottest riddims; Kartel even once carried a coffin with Mavado’s name on it onstage. Jamaica’s youth divided themselves between the camps — Kartel’s Palestine-referencing Gaza crew and Mavado’s hood-repping Gully clan — and, in certain cases, committed street violence in their names. On Dec. 7, 2009, in an effort to end that strife and unite the country’s youth, the two officially ended their feud with a joint performance; the next day, both met with Jamaican Prime Minister Bruce Golding.

Like any good dancehall clash, the Gaza-Gully feud only boosted Kartel’s popularity. Buoyed by its irresistible interpolation of Ne-Yo’s “Miss Independent,” Kartel and Spice’s intensely carnal “Ramping Shop” duet reached No. 76 on Billboard’s Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart in 2009, marking both artists’ charts debut. His crossover continued with 2010’s “Straight Jeans & Fitted” and “Clarks,” the latter a team-up with Popcaan, Kartel’s most successful protégé — a testament to his influence on late-’10s dancehall crossover artists. But as Kartel finally started to snag true crossover smashes, he continued oscillating between being dancehall’s global face and an underground provocateur: In 2011, he became the first musician to receive an artist-specific ban from Guyanese radio.

Kartel calls Lil Wayne his “favorite rapper,” and his life outside the studio mirrored that of the hip-hop legend in 2011. Charged with two separate murder counts, Kartel was found not guilty of murdering Jamaican businessman Barrington Burton by one jury, while a different jury found him guilty of the murder of Clive “Lizard” Williams. On April 3, 2014, Kartel was sentenced to life in prison after a 65-day trial, one of the longest in Jamaica’s history.

While incarcerated, Kartel clandestinely recorded — with the help of an iPad and his producer, Linton “TJ” White — a litany of projects, including 2016’s King of the Dancehall, which spawned “Fever,” arguably the biggest dancehall crossover hit of the latter 2010s. “Fever” entered two Billboard airplay charts and has earned over 104 million official on-demand U.S. streams — a win for Jamaica in a year when non-Jamaican artists such as Drake and Justin Bieber had propelled dancehall back onto top 40 radio. But between his incarceration and dancehall’s nonstandardized approach to music distribution (compilations of years-old singles tend to lord over regular studio album cycles), Kartel’s impressive consumption numbers don’t paint the full portrait of his cultural impact.

“Freedom Street [will] bring dancehall back as a serious contender in the international market,” says Downsound Records owner and CEO Joe Bogdanovich, who also notes that 700 police officers and private security workers were enlisted for the event. “[Kartel] is more conscious of good over evil and he’s doing something really positive for the youth and himself. That kind of positivity is going to make Jamaica uplift fans around the world.”

The concert — which featured explosive appearances by Spice, Popcaan, Busta Rhymes and more dancehall heavyweights — set the stage for Kartel’s incredibly busy 2025. A deluxe version of his 2015 Viking (Vybz Is King) album is due later in January, while a proper comeback album is currently in the works. “Kartel won’t say nothing. Then, tomorrow, he drops a banger that he recorded last night or the day before,” producer Cordell “Skatta” Burrell jokes. “So there’s not much I can say!”

Outside of the studio, Kartel can finally focus on the kinds of major life activities he couldn’t address in prison — like treating his Graves’ disease and wedding planning (he got engaged in November). The evolved, post-incarceration Kartel is ready to reclaim his throne — but don’t expect a run for Parliament. “Everybody loves me on both sides — I want to keep it that way!” he quips.

“Freedom Street is about Vybz Kartel’s journey for the past 13 years,” Worl’ Boss explains. “The concept is me coming out of prison, the road to that freedom and celebrating with the fans as I go into the new year a free man. We were planning this concert before I even got released. I’ve been prepping for this concert since birth.”

What was your first time back in the studio like after you were released?

The first song I recorded when I came out was at my house. When I got arrested, my kids were [so small]. Now, I’m out and recording in a studio that my children built.

How exactly did you record while incarcerated?

Initially, I figured out how to record using an iPad but a lot of times, the sound was metallic because the cell didn’t have padding like a recording studio. The sound bounced all over the place. Then, I figured out that I could use my mattress as a sponge over my head.

Me and Linton “TJ” White produced the riddim for “Fever.” At the time — don’t come for me! — I used to love watching Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries. Every time this show ended, a voice would say, “XOXO, Gossip Girl,” so that’s where I got the concept from to start “Fever” with “XOXO, my love is very special.” I recorded the song line by line, looking outside to see if anyone was coming. One line, look outside; two lines, look outside. It was necessary at the time to do what I love most. I would send the iPad out to TJ and then he got it mixed by Dunw3ll and the rest is history.

The entire process probably took a half hour. If I was in a studio, it would take maybe five or six minutes.

Did you ever get caught?

Never. I had people in other cells. If someone was coming, they would knock on the grill. [The guards] found a recording device lots of times, but they never caught me in the act of recording.

Were you aware of just how big “Fever” was even while you were away?

Not initially, but when we released the video and the numbers started going up, I [understood]. I wanted to shoot a video for “Colouring This Life,” but TJ thought how I was flowing on “Fever” was tough. I was like, “Alright, do whatever, man,” and he shot the “Fever” video. Bro, in a few months… Jesus Christ! I was like, “Good choice!” (Laughs.)

Being in prison, you can’t feel sorry for yourself. I didn’t have time to do that. I had kids to feed. I had family to take care of. I had health issues, too. There was no time to be weak; you just fight the case and do the right thing. It was crazy seeing the impact the song had, especially when it [got certified] gold [by the RIAA].

How far into your sentence were you when you started recording new material? 

In 2013, we started running out of prerecorded material, so we started recording new songs. I dabbled in it one time in 2012 with “Back to Life,” but the quality [wasn’t the best]. Young people were in the comment sections of the new songs like, “No way Kartel can see the future!” (Laughs.) They knew what was up.

What went through your head when you learned your sentence was overturned?

We had been fighting for so many years, so the feeling was overwhelming. The other guys I was charged with started getting ready and putting their clothes on, but then the judge said, “The case is overturned, but we are sending it back to Jamaica [from the United Kingdom] to let them decide if they’re going to retry the case or throw it out.” I was just listening because, as a ghetto yute, I’m used to disappointment. I don’t get excited too quickly. It’s never over till the fat lady sings, right? I was sitting with my legs crossed in my cell, listening to the radio and talking to my lawyer on my cell in my cell — get it? (Laughs.) He was like, “Yo, I think this is it,” and I said, “I’m going to put my clothes on.”

Immediately as I hung up, it was like an earthquake. [The decision] came over the radio and everyone in the prison was listening. Imagine 2,000 people shaking the bars and rumbling and celebrating — that’s when I knew, “Yeah. This is it.” I put my clothes on, jumped up, they came for me, I packed and left. I didn’t even bring anything with me; I gave my sneakers and TVs and stuff to the guys still in there.

What was the first meal you had after your release?

Steamed fish with okra. My mom made it for me. I went to her house first before I went anywhere else. It was a tear-jerking moment; tears of joy, and, in a sense, tears of sadness to know that I missed out on so much with my mother and my kids. [Kartel has five sons and two daughters.] My mom didn’t say anything to me when I went away because I never made her come visit me. It’s not her fault that I was in there. Why would I want her to see me in that place? I only saw her once during my incarceration; I was so sick that they had to take me to the hospital. I said to the superintendent, “Can you grant me a special visit, so I can see her?” And she and my dad came to the hospital.

How does present-day Kartel compare to the man that went away 13 years ago?

The Vybz Kartel of now is more chill and more mature. He’s more laid-back. The one that went in was a beast. I’m still a beast musically, but Iooking back at my personal evolution, I like who I am now. The Vybz Kartel of old gave me musical fame and fortune, so I don’t have any regrets about him. But I don’t want to go back to that Kartel. I’m good right here. That evolution was something I never knew I needed, but I did — especially having faith in God and believing and seeing him work.

I was born in the ’70s, so of course I grew up going to church. I started going around 11 years old, and, like most Jamaicans, when you reach a certain age, you start to fuss about going. I haven’t been to church yet since I’ve come home; every day my mom is asking me, but I’m going soon, mom!

How has Kingston changed from when you first went away? 

The roads look different. The other day, my fiancée [Sidem Öztürk] had to tell me where to drive, and I’m like, “You’re from England!” But she’s been here for two years while I was locked down, so she got to know the place. Even on the highway going to the country, she had to drive me. It’s like relearning your own country. It’s fun, though! The other day, I literally got lost. I couldn’t believe it. I eventually figured it out, but so much has changed.

In hip-hop, there have been a few instances where prosecutors tried to use artists’ lyrics against them, which has sparked interesting debates about music censorship. Do you have any thoughts?

I don’t think art should be censored for the artist. It should be censored for the consumer. For example, “Vybz Kartel does adult songs, don’t let your kids listen.” But you can’t tell me that, because your children have ears, I can’t sing what I want to sing. That’s rubbish. The same shop that sells sweets also sells alcohol. If you catch your 10-year-old son drinking a beer, you’re not going to run to the beer-maker like, “What the hell are you doing?” So, if you catch your child listening to Kartel, don’t come to me. That’s a “you” problem.

Drake has called you one of his “biggest inspirations.” How do you think he handled his feud with Kendrick Lamar last year?

I’m not a fan of Kendrick. I don’t even listen to Kendrick, so I wouldn’t know. What does he rap? I saw it on the internet, but no disrespect to the dude, I hear him, but I don’t listen to him. Drake is more in tune with Jamaica and the culture. Drake is a better and bigger artist.

When did you and Mavado last speak?

When I came out! But we spoke a lot of times while I was inside. His son is also in the same prison that I was in. His appeal is coming up next year. Our sons grew up together, were in the same class at school and went to each other’s houses for birthdays. They’re still friends to this day. Me and David cool.

Since you went away, Afrobeats has exploded in global popularity. How in tune with that world are you?

Shatta Wale, Wizkid and Burna Boy are my three favorite Afrobeats artists. I like Tems too. Afrobeats is nice, you can just vibe to it. I think Buju Banton was saying something [controversial] about it [during an interview last year], but I understand where he’s coming from. Buju is a dancehall/reggae artist, so he’s going to be singing more conscious stuff about society. But there is a space for happy, fun music.

How can dancehall score another crossover moment?

What they do now is called trap dancehall, so it’s going to take a minute for the big markets to get used to it. It’s the kids’ time now. I like Kraff Gad and Pablo YG. Once the sound catches on in mainstream markets — London, New York, Toronto — I think they will have success.

There was a big thing a few years ago — I was even a part of it — with older artists saying, “This music is not going to go anywhere!” The music that runs the place is dictated by the kids at all times. That doesn’t mean the legends can be removed, but don’t fight the kids. Let them do what they’re doing.

I think the lyrics could [also] be a bit more tolerant and less X-rated. Says Kartel! (Laughs.) Afrobeats made such a big global impact because it can be played anywhere and for all ages. The lyrics need to be more commercialized and more tolerant, and sky’s the limit. Jamaica gave the world five genres: reggae, rocksteady, ska, mento and dancehall. We had hands in creating hip-hop and reggaetón. We’re not short of talent.

You’re nominated for your first Grammy, for best reggae album for Party With Me. How does it feel to finally earn that recognition?

If I wasn’t incarcerated, I would have been nominated already. But I understand, why would they want to nominate a dude in prison? I know if I wasn’t arrested, based on the trajectory that my career was on, I would have definitely won. But I’m very, very grateful.

[The 2024 Party With Me EP] was done in prison. I was under a vibe and got some beats from [producer] Din Din. It was getting closer to crunch time because the case was now in England. I was writing to keep my mind occupied, ended up with these songs and said, “Let me just put them on a little EP.” Bam, Grammy.

How’s the process of organizing your catalog been going?

Slowly but surely. I’m going to shoot videos for a lot of those songs I released while in prison. I’m in talks right now with a few American companies that want to give me a distribution platform so I can sign artists and get Jamaican dancehall music released in a more standardized way. We’re also working on a new album.

When will you be back in the United States? 

We put the documents in. It would be a good look for all of us who are nominated to be at the Grammys. I’m headlining Wireless Festival in England this year. I’m already booked for some German shows in July. My No. 1 market was always America, but, over the last two years, my biggest streaming market is now the U.K. My fiancée is from the U.K. too. [The couple met during his incarceration in 2015 after she found him by “stalking his babymother’s Instagram”; he moved her to Jamaica in 2022.] I think that has a lot to do with the love, like, “Oh, wow. He’s dating one of us.”

When’s the wedding?

We wanted to do it in January on my birthday, but we’re going to wait because of unforeseen circumstances. Maybe Valentine’s Day. I’m such a romantic, right?

How did you prepare for Freedom Street? 

We did roughly three hours of rehearsal each day, but the first one was four hours and eight minutes — and we still didn’t DJ half of the songs. We sacrificed around 1,000 songs and ended up down to three hours. And that’s just like my performance. Everybody and their mom wanted to come. And I have no problem with that anyway, because it’s New Year’s! Let’s ring it in in a star-studded manner.

Where are you most excited to perform?

The entire Caribbean and New York — that’s Jamaica outside of Jamaica.

Speaking of New York, would you ever hop on a song with Cardi B? She recently jumped to your defense when people criticized your post-release appearance.

I love Cardi! We got a song coming out next year. We are actually in the process of writing it. Even if I have to walk, I’m performing that song in New York!