Jersey House Music: The Gospel of Grit in the Early 90s

Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Last time, we were in early ‘90s New York City—Shelter, the Sound Factory, ballroom heat, and sacred sweat. This week, we cross the river. Welcome to New Jersey. Same era, but with a different spirit. Let’s get into it.

New Jersey house wasn’t trying to impress anybody. It was unfiltered. Gritty. Gospel-soaked. It moved through basements, clubs, and record shops that didn’t ask for credentials—only presence.

Let’s start in Newark, at Club Zanzibar. Located at 430 Broad Street, this venue was more than a nightclub—it was the nucleus of Jersey house. The space itself was low-lit and spacious, packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in sync to the music. The sound system was massive, and the energy was pure release. Tony Humphries began his residency there in 1982, and his sets weren’t just a sequence of tracks—they were emotional landscapes. He wove together gospel, deep house, dub, and freestyle with instinctual precision. One night, mid-set, Humphries dropped a gospel house record that froze the dancefloor. People stopped dancing and stood in stillness. Some cried. Others embraced. There was no stage, no VIP—just a community locked into one frequency. Zanzibar wasn’t just a place to dance. It was a place where emotions got worked out through rhythm.

Just up the road in East Orange, there was Movin’ Records. Founded by Abigail Adams, Movin’ began as a skate shop before transforming into one of the most influential record stores and labels in Jersey house history. It was tiny, with crates stacked floor to ceiling—but producers would travel in from all over to test their music there. Blaze, Kerri Chandler, and Tony Humphries all had work pressed through Movin’. Tracks like Blaze’s “Whatcha Gonna Do” and Kerri Chandler’s early EPs moved straight from that store into DJ crates around  the region. Producers would line up outside with test pressings, hoping Abigail would put the needle down and give it a listen. If the track hit, it got pressed. No A&R forms. No middlemen. Just gut.

Now let’s head to Club America in Plainfield. It didn’t have the name recognition of Zanzibar, but to the heads who knew, it was vital. It was one of those spaces where DJs had total freedom—there was no bottle service, there was no pretense. The booth was right up against the floor, and the energy stayed high from the first record to the last. Friday night featured local legends like DJ Punch and Earl Mixxin’ Brown, spinning vocal-heavy house sets that shook the walls. The dancefloor was small, packed, and relentlessly alive. It was loud, sweaty, and real.

Further north, you had The Lincoln Motel in Jersey City. At night, the lobby turned into a makeshift party spot, with mobile sound systems brought in and crowds flowing in from Newark, Paterson, and Brooklyn. DJs like Hippie Torrales, Naeem Johnson, and DJ Camacho used it as a testing ground for unreleased tracks. These were the spots where DJs earned your trust. Tracks that worked at Lincoln Motel ended up in rotation at Zanzibar or New York’s Shelter nightclub.  It wasn’t flashy, but it had just as much influence as the bigger venues.

The sound itself? Jersey house leaned into gospel progressions, percussion, and vocals that came from the gut. Blaze, which was comprised of Josh Milan, Kevin Hedge, and Chris Herbert—built tracks around emotional storytelling. Smack Productions worked a deep, looping groove. Sting International brought a hybrid edge, fusing reggae and R&B into house that felt homegrown.

Vocalists like Dawn Tallman gave Jersey its signature tone—powerful, grounded, full of conviction. And even though singers like Joi Cardwell and Kym Mazelle were more often

House Foundations podcast about Music, hosted by C Dub

Transcript

Hey everyone, welcome back to House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Last time, we were in early ‘90s New York City—Shelter, the Sound Factory, ballroom heat, and sacred sweat. This week, we cross the river. Welcome to New Jersey. Same era, but with a different spirit. Let’s get into it.

New Jersey house wasn’t trying to impress anybody. It was unfiltered. Gritty. Gospel-soaked. It moved through basements, clubs, and record shops that didn’t ask for credentials—only presence.

Let’s start in Newark, at Club Zanzibar. Located at 430 Broad Street, this venue was more than a nightclub—it was the nucleus of Jersey house. The space itself was low-lit and spacious, packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in sync to the music. The sound system was massive, and the energy was pure release. Tony Humphries began his residency there in 1982, and his sets weren’t just a sequence of tracks—they were emotional landscapes. He wove together gospel, deep house, dub, and freestyle with instinctual precision. One night, mid-set, Humphries dropped a gospel house record that froze the dancefloor. People stopped dancing and stood in stillness. Some cried. Others embraced. There was no stage, no VIP—just a community locked into one frequency. Zanzibar wasn’t just a place to dance. It was a place where emotions got worked out through rhythm.

Just up the road in East Orange, there was Movin’ Records. Founded by Abigail Adams, Movin’ began as a skate shop before transforming into one of the most influential record stores and labels in Jersey house history. It was tiny, with crates stacked floor to ceiling—but producers would travel in from all over to test their music there. Blaze, Kerri Chandler, and Tony Humphries all had work pressed through Movin’. Tracks like Blaze’s “Whatcha Gonna Do” and Kerri Chandler’s early EPs moved straight from that store into DJ crates around  the region. Producers would line up outside with test pressings, hoping Abigail would put the needle down and give it a listen. If the track hit, it got pressed. No A&R forms. No middlemen. Just gut.

Now let’s head to Club America in Plainfield. It didn’t have the name recognition of Zanzibar, but to the heads who knew, it was vital. It was one of those spaces where DJs had total freedom—there was no bottle service, there was no pretense. The booth was right up against the floor, and the energy stayed high from the first record to the last. Friday night featured local legends like DJ Punch and Earl Mixxin’ Brown, spinning vocal-heavy house sets that shook the walls. The dancefloor was small, packed, and relentlessly alive. It was loud, sweaty, and real.

Further north, you had The Lincoln Motel in Jersey City. At night, the lobby turned into a makeshift party spot, with mobile sound systems brought in and crowds flowing in from Newark, Paterson, and Brooklyn. DJs like Hippie Torrales, Naeem Johnson, and DJ Camacho used it as a testing ground for unreleased tracks. These were the spots where DJs earned your trust. Tracks that worked at Lincoln Motel ended up in rotation at Zanzibar or New York’s Shelter nightclub.  It wasn’t flashy, but it had just as much influence as the bigger venues.

The sound itself? Jersey house leaned into gospel progressions, percussion, and vocals that came from the gut. Blaze, which was comprised of Josh Milan, Kevin Hedge, and Chris Herbert—built tracks around emotional storytelling. Smack Productions worked a deep, looping groove. Sting International brought a hybrid edge, fusing reggae and R&B into house that felt homegrown.

Vocalists like Dawn Tallman gave Jersey its signature tone—powerful, grounded, full of conviction. And even though singers like Joi Cardwell and Kym Mazelle were more often tied to New York City or the UK, Jersey embraced them. Because this scene wasn’t territorial. It was built on resonance.

Tony Humphries didn’t just move clubs—he moved airwaves too. His Kiss FM mixes stitched this sound into the city’s sonic fabric. Club music was no longer locked to Saturday nights—it was playing on kitchen radios and car stereos by Sunday afternoon. His sets helped bring that Jersey basement soul into everyday life.

Jersey house wasn’t a side project. It was its own lane. And when the right track hit, when the right crowd showed up, and the room was ready—you didn’t walk out of those nights feeling cute. You walked out wrung out. Changed.

That’s it for this episode of House Foundations. I’m your host, C. Dub. Thanks for rolling with me through Jersey—through the clubs, the record shops, and the rooms where house music got its grit.

Next stop? Maybe Detroit. Or maybe we linger a little longer on this coast. Either way, it’s going to be deep.

Until next time—keep the beats alive.