Sheree’s Rise: A soulful journey from survival in Brooklyn to stardom on stage

At first glance, Sheree is all light — a radiant presence with a contagious energy and a voice that weaves through genres like sunlight on Caribbean waves. But behind the confident stage name is Ayana Sheree Cedant-Colville, a 28-year-old singer-songwriter from East Flatbush, Brooklyn, whose journey to self-discovery and artistic freedom is stitched with struggle, culture, and an unshakable spirit.

Born to a Jamaican father and a Bahamian mother with Haitian roots, Sheree is a first-generation American whose life has always danced between worlds. Her upbringing was a collision of sounds and spirit, grounded in Rastafarian beliefs, yet uplifted by the soulful hymns of a Haitian church. Those seemingly opposing forces didn’t confuse her; they made her whole.

“I’m a big spirit,” she says with unapologetic warmth. “If someone judges me, I’m really not going to business. As long as I’m happy and living in my truth, then I’m good.”

But Sheree didn’t always live that truth out loud.

As a child, she found rhythm in the clatter of pots and pans and later in the drum set her father gave her. She sang in church and was surrounded by music, but did not believe she had that voice — the Whitney, the Beyoncé kind. So she turned to drawing, suppressing the sound that would one day become her salvation.

Everything changed in college, not in the classroom, but on the streets. At just 18, she was homeless and navigating depression, crashing on couches across boroughs and cities — from Jersey City to Queens. With nowhere to go but forward, she started vegan baking and selling cupcakes on the street to save money for one studio session.

“I would not go back inside until everything I baked was out of my hands,” she recalls. She made $500 — enough to record her first song.

That first track, Listen Up, opened doors. A record label showed interest. But even as the music moved, Sheree knew she needed to evolve on her terms. She pulled the track from streaming platforms, trading premature fame for artistic freedom.

Over time, her sound transformed from pop to R&B to dancehall — until she finally found her voice in Caribbean fusion, a genre as layered and complex as her identity. Her breakout song Don’t Stop, laid over the infectious Raleigh riddim and set in Brooklyn’s Church Avenue, sparked viral dance challenges and caught attention from outlets like Raja. Her next single, Flex, filmed in Jamaica, even drew praise from actress Ryan Destiny.

“I want to bring Caribbean vibes back to the mainstream,” she says. “The last time we had a real seat at the table was the late ’90s, early 2000s.”

But this journey has not been glamorous. Sheree has worked over 50 jobs — including at a luxury sauna and a smoothie bar in Equinox — just to keep the dream alive. “I’m tired,” she says, half-laughing. “I want music to fund my life.”

And yet, even fatigue hasn’t dulled her fire. Her father, a devoted Rasta and the heartbeat of her musical awakening, passed away in 2023 from multiple myeloma, just two days after her birthday. The loss cracked something open in her. She grieved deeply, then vowed to live louder, freer, more fully.

With new tracks like “Boom Bye Bye,” “Ticket,” “Worth It,” and “Signs,” Sheree isn’t just singing — she’s building a world. And she’ll drop her next single on May 24 at what will look like a casual party. But for those in the room when the DJ presses play, they’ll realize they’re witnessing something bigger: the next chapter of a woman who turned survival into sound.

“When I perform,” she says, “I feel my sweetest. Music makes me feel free.”

From couch-surfing to community stages, from East Flatbush to her dreams of global reach, Sheree’s story is more than a music career — it is a movement, a testimony, and a reminder that resilience, rooted in culture and love, becomes rhythm. And rhythm, in the right hands, can heal everything.