How Black British Music Survives Through Collective Memory

The lineage of Black music in Britain exists in the collective memories of all the sounds that enrich our lives. We’d watch older cousins and siblings pose in front of the mirror before they hit the garage rave. Watching the “Return of the Mack” for the first time on Top of the Pops in 1997. Hearing our parents tell us stories of how “Back To Life” by Soul II Soul was the biggest song in their worlds, knowing they would later pass down their love for it. Lurking in the dance and coming alive when “Talkin Da Hardest” gets a wheel up and we scream ‘jheeze’ in unison.

In order to fully grasp the global impact and influence of Black music in Britain, you’d have to trace its history going back decades. Those were just a few moments that have occurred in my own lifetime. For a group of people that represent 3% of an island of 67 million people, the music has largely existed in the underground, with many of the scenes and genres being self-sustained by independent labels, producers, DJs, artists themselves and the wider community. Of course, there has been an abundance of Black music that has reached the mainstream in the UK, as the past few years have shown. 

The most prominent sound to be exported from Black Britain would be bass culture, and as it arrived with the Windrush Generation in the late ’40s, it had found a new home beyond the Carribean. As it evolved from calypso into reggae and soul, followed by dancehall, jungle, drum & bass, garage, and grime, it’s only within the last twenty years have we seen the visibility of Black music in Britain grow, largely due to technology and the internet. Names such as J Hus, Stormzy, Jorja Smith, Dave, Little Simz and Skepta, who have reached the farthest corners, stand on the shoulders of Soul II Soul, Sade, London Posse, Tricky, Maxi Priest, Loose Ends and many, many more. 

Although reggae and grime have been Britain’s most influential cultural exports, that wouldn’t be possible without the ingenuity of its creators who were shut out from the industry and had to rely on a sense of togetherness. The groundwork laid in previous decades, when record labels would historically say that neo-soul, UK hip-hop and grime wouldn’t sell, has provided the foundation for the explosion we’ve witnessed over the past few years –– typically exemplified by Skepta’s newfound popularity in the US and Drake’s public admiration for grime. 

Black-led and independent media platforms have historically provided a gateway often where traditional, mainstream media often wouldn’t. The music that has made the mainstream comes through a filter and therefore unreflective of the true nature of Black music in Britain and the many different forms that it comes in –– whether that be reggae, grime, jazz, rap or soul. That’s largely shifted due to the ubiquitous nature of media in a post-social media world but underground music still heavily relies on offline, Black-led survive. After all, as long as the dance lives, so too, does Black music.

Due to the pervasiveness of American culture that was filtered through British media and as the frontiers of the internet would expand, so too would the influence Black American music would have on Black music in Britain. Although that’s not to say grime or any similar genre is a derivative of their American counterparts but more so that across the diaspora these sounds take shape and form in ways fit for purpose for their respective regions. While Chicago drill, for example, gave way for the rise of UK drill, the social conditions in which both were born has created a likeness and sonic kinship between the two. However, UK drill is more aptly the evolution of the underground road rap scene of the 2000s that borrows some stylistic traits of its US cousin. UK drill’s growing popularity wouldn’t be so rapid without the internet, as road rap had existed for years between the margins. But that’s where Black music in Britain has always incubated and thrived, out of plain sight. 

The current success and impact of Black British music can be measured in a number of ways. First, we can observe the festivals and worldwide tours that artists are now performing at, such as Afronation, Stormzy’s world tour of the US and Coachella in recent years. Then there are social media and streaming platforms.  Albeit not all British artists are afforded a worldwide audience, but those who do are now able to identify exactly where people are listening. Lastly, music travels in peculiar, non-linear ways and those who create it won’t often ever know just how far. 

As we usher in a new decade, the generation that emerged in the previous one follows a long line of artists who represent the staying power and survival of Black music in Britain. However, in order to celebrate the present and anticipate the future, we cannot do so without first honoring those that came before whose names have been lost to time but remain in our collective memory.