Long before the wider attention, HNTR was paying attention to how a room moved. Not in theory, but in real time, through parties, late nights, and trial and error with No Neon. You quickly see what holds people and what loses them, and that kind of feedback leaves little room for guesswork.
That experience still sits at the center of how he makes music. Even now, the starting point hasn’t really shifted. It’s not about chasing what’s trending or what might take off online. It’s about whether a track actually works when it’s played out loud, in a space full of people who aren’t thinking about algorithms.
His remix of “Stephanie” pushed him into a different sphere, travelling far beyond the scene he came up in. But if anything, it seems to have reinforced what he already knew rather than changing direction. The sound remains dark, driving, and built to hold attention, not just grab it for a moment.
At a time when dance music is moving faster than ever online, HNTR is still measuring things differently. The internet might decide how far a track goes, but the room decides whether it lasts.
You’ve been part of Toronto’s underground for years, not just as an artist but through No Neon. How has building a scene around you shaped the kind of music you make today?
Building No Neon changed how I approach everything. When you’re throwing parties, you see in real time what actually works and what doesn’t. That naturally shapes how you produce. It made me focus more on feeling and energy than trends. My music comes from what I know will translate in a room.
Your Stephanie Remix became a global dance hit; went No.1 on Beatport, certified Gold in Australia and has now amassed 100M streams. Did that moment change how you see your place within the global dance scene?
It was a big moment, especially hitting No. 1 on Beatport and seeing it connect globally. More than anything, it reinforced that staying true to my sound works. It opened doors, but it didn’t really change how I approach music.
Your sound leans dark, heavy, and a bit unpredictable. What draws you to that space, especially when more commercial sounds tend to travel faster?
I’ve always been into music that creates tension and keeps people locked in. Darker records just feel more honest to me. Commercial stuff moves faster, but I’m more focused on what lasts in a club.
You’ve released on labels like Experts Only, Drumcode and Hellbent while also having your own imprint. How do you decide what belongs in your world versus someone else’s?
For the last 2 years, my focus has been solely on working with other labels, but I think it’s about time to get back to releasing on my own brand! Having a place where I can have complete creative control over all aspects of the music and the overall vision feels exciting again.
Dance music is moving faster than ever online, with tracks blowing up before they’re even released. How do you navigate that without losing the club-focused intent of your music?
I still build everything for the club first. If it doesn’t work in a room, it’s not done. Online can push things faster, but it doesn’t really change how I make records.
You were part of the first wave to win a JUNO in the underground dance category. Do you feel like recognition is finally catching up to what’s been happening in that space for years?
Winning a Juno Award was meaningful for the scene. It feels like things are starting to catch up, but there’s still a lot more happening under the surface.
What are your thoughts about the Future of Music in Canada?
Canada’s in a strong place right now. There are a lot of new artists coming up with their own identity. Cities like Toronto are still pushing things forward, but it feels more connected across the country now.
Ken Casey stuck around after the show in San Diego, California, talking to members of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Some of the challenge-coin haul.
The band started as a bet. “My band has a show in three weeks,” Casey’s coworker told him in 1996. “I dare you to open for us.”John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Dropkick Murphys (from left): Casey, DaRosa, Webster, Kelly, Rheault, Brennan, and Lynch John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Casey is largely the voice of the band, but the other members back him up. “We’re so lucky he’s the mouthpiece,” says Brennan, left. John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
“Only the Irish can take a song about death and destruction, famine, alcoholism, and raise a glass like it’s an anthem,” says Casey. John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
“Anytime it feels like things are about to plateau for us, something gives us a little bump,” says guitarist Lynch. “It feels exciting. It feels dangerous. It feels like doing something.” John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Jay-Z performing at the Stade de France in Saint-Denis in Paris.
Jay-Z Deserves the Super Bowl Halftime Gig
Where’s the love? Jay-Z asked that question 25 years ago, in the chorus of one of many songs in his catalog that still move audiences today. If he performs “Heart of the City” as part of his Super Bowl halftime show next February, those indignant bars are sure to be a highlight: “First the Fat Boys break up, now every day I wake up, somebody got a problem with Hov…” It would be an appropriate choice, too — because then as now, any time Jay-Z notches a new achievement, people find a way to complain.
The jokes and nonsense started almost as soon as the first rumors trickled out that Jay, whose company Roc Nation has executive-produced the Super Bowl halftime show since 2019, might be choosing himself to headline next year’s show. “Jay-Z just Dick Cheney’d himself for the Super Bowl,” Puck‘s Matthew Belloni quipped on X last week, alluding to the time that the late prince of darkness, who’d been asked to run the vice-presidential search committee for George W. Bush’s 2000 campaign, put himself on the ticket. (Super hip and current reference, and not at all apples-and-oranges.) Others pointed to TMZ reports that pop stars like Harry Styles and Justin Bieber had been asked first. “How are they the frontrunners, and he end up in the front?” Cam’Ron, who’s delighted in trolling Jay for many years, wondered aloud on his podcast. “Out of all the people on the roster, they couldn’t pick nobody else?” asked Cam’Ron‘s co-host, Ma$e.
These critiques miss the point, which is that Jay-Z is one of the best choices for a high-profile gig like this. He’s a superstar with a comparable level of name recognition to any other A-lister in music. He has a deep stack of classic songs going back decades. And he’s a highly skillful live performer who knows his way around a stadium stage, as he’s spent this year reminding people on his Jay-Z 30 tour. He tore down Yankee Stadium three nights in a row this summer; just last week, he rocked SoFi Stadium, which happens to be the same place where the 2027 Super Bowl is being held. He held the crowd’s attention with ease at all of those shows, and though there were plenty of glittery guests — that’s a given at a Jay show, and it will surely be true at the Super Bowl, too — he did it mostly through the force of his own magnetic energy. Let’s state the obvious here: Jay-Z is really, really good at rapping. We’re talking about one of the slickest, sharpest talkers in the history of words, someone who made it to the top through a sustained act of myth-making, then kept going. Are we seriously asking whether he can handle a 15-minute televised performance?
And yeah, there’s a touch of self-congratulation in the way he appointed himself. So what? Praising his own gifts is arguably Jay-Z’s greatest talent of all. He made a fine art out of self-applause. He told his story again and again, retracing the steps from Marcy Projects to the corner suite, and he made us believe. It would almost be insulting to the audience if he didn’t give himself the gig at some point.
Pop culture observers in recent years surely remember the backlash to Super Bowl headliners like Kendrick Lamar and Bad Bunny — all of it at least culturally conservative, and much of it frankly just racist. The blowback to Jay’s announcement is mostly coming from other quarters, at least for now (let’s just wait to see what the right-wing swamps make of this one). But it’s disappointing in a different way. Jay-Z has spent his career expounding hip-hop as a mainstream commercial force. He’s not a businessman, he’s a business, man. But he’s also an artist. He’s made huge amounts of money, and gotten himself into the rarefied rooms where he even has the ability to give himself a gig like this, by spinning his experiences into compelling narrative art, one verse at a time. Let’s not lose sight of how impressive his life’s work really is. Jay-Z is not some random C-suite bro, and he’s definitely not Dick Cheney. He’s one of the greatest rappers of all time, by any measure. He’s earned that Super Bowl spot.