Jessica Lipsky

The jubilation is potent. It undulates in sync with the Afro-house, salsa, disco and R&B blasting from a stack of bright pink speakers. You feel it in your stomach, your throat and, of course, in your feet. You might be at Classon Playground in Williamsburg under the BQE, on the blacktop at Maria Hernandez Park in Bushwick, or at Herbert Von King’s amphitheater in Bed-Stuy, but the vibe is the same: absolutely immaculate.  This is Public Service—an outdoor daytime dance party that’s become a staple of Brooklyn summers over the past four years. Like many of the best things the borough has to offer during the warmer months, the roving event is free, open to everyone and lovingly curated by nightlife veterans with a passion for music and community (as well as the way those things intertwine). Public Service will hold their final party of the season on Sunday, September 14 at their “home turf” of Von King.  “Each one, each year, gets better and better,” says Public Service cofounder Cesar Toribio. “It’s just [promoted] on our Instagram, and then it’s word of mouth. Because it’s such a genuine, real thing, people come back and they’re like, I felt something so incredible that I have to come back and I gotta bring someone else.” @mariofc55)" data-width-class="" data-image-id="106317297" /> Photograph: Courtesy Mario Federico (@mariofc55)Public Service August’s Public Service reached a fever pitch, with throngs of dancers—a colorful assortment of toddlers in headphones, Bushwick ba

The walk from the Graham Avenue L station was just 30 minutes, but on the first really warm day of the early summer as the shaded sidewalks of Williamsburg disappeared into an increasingly industrial, treeless landscape, I kept wondering if the schlep would actually be worth it.  When I arrived at my destination under the Kosciuszko Bridge (I can hear my father chuckling in disbelief), I was more than pleasantly surprised. This was June 2021 and I was there for Reggae Under the Bridge—one of the early, legally-sanctioned events held after the most strict Covid regulations had been lifted. My whole community and many more were there enjoying the sun, cool shade and—well into the evening—deep cuts blasting out of a massive sound system that overlooked the Newtown Creek and the eastern Manhattan skyline. It was absolutely joyous.  Today, Under the K-Bridge has become one of New York’s most unique and hippest venues. The 6.7-acre site—an open-air, multiuse space owned by the State Department of Transportation and run by the North Brooklyn Parks Alliance—has seen everything from events held by House of Yes to massively-attended DJ sets from popular electronic acts like Björk and Four Tet (whose recent set featured a surprise appearance from Skrillex). Alternative acts have taken to the space too: Hardcore punk group Turnstile performed at the K-Bridge in early June and CBGB Fest will bring the likes of Iggy Pop, the Sex Pistols and the Linda Lindas to the space in late September.

If you were alive and clubbing in the boroughs in the 1980s and ‘90s, chances are you saw advertisements for a “sound clash.” If you were lucky—and near enough to Flatbush, Jamaica or Wakefield—you attended these wild, bombastic, occasionally dangerous and ultimately legendary dancehall parties.  Born in Jamaica in the late ‘70s, dancehall found its second home in New York (and, specifically, central Brooklyn) in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Often harder, faster and, later, more digital than its progenitor reggae, dancehall relies on instrumental “riddim” tracks that would be the bedrock for a toaster to sing and talk over. At parties and festivals, dancehall music was blasted over massive sound systems and these “sounds” would battle for supremacy in a clash. Held between competing systems from different cities, boroughs and countries, these sound clashes were the Caribbean equivalent of a rap battle. “It's hard to explain to somebody if you weren't there,” says DJ, MC and producer Walshy Fire, one half of the Grammy-winning group Major Lazer. “To experience the level of danger, the level of fashion, the flyness. To see people floss at a time where flossing was never a thing, to see floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall speakers … Thankfully, we have the flyers."  Birth and death by flyer Walshy grew up in Kingston’s Half Way Tree neighborhood—home to many legendary dancehall clubs and sounds—and spent years in Miami’s scene and in Connecticut before moving to Canarsie, Brooklyn in 1994. Whi