“Cauldron of people with their tops!” Goldie, Estelle, Courtney Pine, Flo and more pick great moments in black British music | culture

‘Can they play?’ Can they bury people? Yes’

Goldie: Chemistry and the Storm (Binary) by Eddie Otchery (1995)

I remember riding my bike down Camden High Street and passing Red or Dead. I saw this girl Kimmy, or Kimestry. She was mixed race, like me, and had blonde braids. incredible! We ended up going for coffee and started dating. She and her friend Storm took me to Fabio and Gruffride’s Night Fury. He was a cauldron of people, their peaks towering over the podiums, giving him loads. It blew my mind.

I wanted to make music. They just wanted to play with it. If I had a pound for every hour Chemistry and Storm spent in front of those decks, I’d be a billionaire. The issue of them being women was nothing. Can they play? Yes. Can they bury people? Yes. That’s it.

It was a tragic love story. Kimmy knew she would die young. On the night of the car accident [in April 1999]they were on their way to a party they weren’t supposed to go to, to fill in for someone. I feel a lot for Storm, that she has to carry that in her heart, but I think Kimmy lives inside of her anyway. It definitely lives in me. There’s a picture of her in my studio in Thailand, and whenever I’m in tidying up mode, I look up and say, “Is this OK, Kim?” And I get the answers I need.

“It’s not just bars for bars’ sake.”

Estelle: Slick Rick by Janet Beckman (1989)

This photo looks very fresh, for that day. You could put any artist’s head on that picture — from Dave to Kano — and it would still be relevant. Even though Rick lived in the United States, he remained himself. For me, his style and storytelling laid the foundation for British hip-hop. It’s not just bars for bars’ sake. In black British music, we tell stories. This is the lineage he left behind.

Now I live in the United States, and there is no version of me that could be here without Slick Rick. In every studio I walk into, someone says something about the accent. But it’s a “Slick Rick accent”, not English. When I got the call to do a voiceover on his 2025 album “Victory,” I said, “Do you want me to do anything else? Make you some toast?” It was the same when I was asked to perform with him at this year’s Mobos. I’m not playing around giving this guy props. He’s our legend – and he’s also my big brother.

‘We’re sweeping under the rug’

Denis Bovell: Linton Kwesi Johnson and Darcus Howe at the Race Today offices in Brixton (1979)

This brings back a lot of memories of these two vying to put Race Today on the shelves. Their publications were exceptional, and there has been no newspaper or magazine like them since. The first few gigs we did with Linton were largely related to Race Today. One of Linton’s school friends told him: “If you want to mix music with your poetry, I suggest you get Denis Bovell involved.”

At the time, Linton was working as a journalist for the BBC and came to interview my Matumbi group. That’s when he asked me if I would come on board. Two years passed, and then suddenly he came to my house and said, “I have some time to do some recording this weekend. Are you free?”

I have always considered Linton’s words to be the strongest and most accurate words coming from these shores. He dared to say what everyone was thinking. He had the strength to say: “We have been swept under the rug. We have been marginalized.” I wanted to put my own musical spin on this type of lyric. We’ve been spreading the word – and there’s still a lot more to be said.

“Those boys had pick handles.”

Fine Roland Young Cannibal Gift: Poster for Beat’s first studio album, I Just Can’t Stop It (1980)

When the Beat played in Hull, the keyboard player in my band Akrylykz gave them our demo and they invited us on tour. That was great, except when we played Birmingham. At a fish and chip shop, these lads stopped with what we thought were rolled up labels for us to sign, but were actually axe handles. Wagons were that way back then – rough and ready, with lots of fighting between skins, mods and punks.

In 1980, we visited the Beat as they recorded I Just Can’t Stop It at Roundhouse Studios in London. We were across the road at Chalk Farm Studios, which was much smaller and not as luxurious. A few years later, both bands split, Andy Cox and Everett Morton [from the Beat] They were looking for a singer for a new band. Someone remembered me and we became young cannibals.

The fun part was when everything was new: going to Top of the Pops or The Tube, hearing our song on the radio, and record labels bringing out Japanese food. Sometimes I would see people staring and thinking: “Do they want to fight?” But it would only be because we were on the cover of a magazine.

“The drinks are flowing and everyone is laughing.”

Arlo Parks: Fabio and Groverider Observe a Street Party on Tottenham Court Road, by Dave Swindells (1988)

I love the feeling of euphoria in this photo. It’s full of life. I recently went to a Juneteenth street party in New York, and there’s something about being on the street—this special sense of magic. You can feel the heat in the air, people are talking, drinks are flowing, and everyone is laughing. It’s part of the city. It’s an extra level of celebration and community.

I’ve been a student of club culture for the past few years. Fabio and Grooverider were instrumental in reviving drum and bass music. When I was learning about the rave scene in the late 80s, I heard a remix of the Stone Roses’ “Fools Gold.” Only later did I click on it by Grooverider. I love the fact that when they were on the pirate radio station Faze 1, they played a lot of soul, hip-hop, disco and house music. They are sonic explorers with an adventurous and diverse love of music. There’s a DIY energy to it – they’re investing in the grassroots, building a legacy from the ground up and raising the profile of other artists through their record labels.

“He laid the ground for people like me.”

Courtney Payne: A folder of previously owned sheet music Leslie “Jeffer” Hutchinson (1930s)

I have been researching black musicians since John Blanc, an African man who played trumpet for Henry VIII. Leslie Hutchinson’s name came up. I don’t even know his music, all I know is that he was a trumpet player who came from Jamaica and joined the army. He was rejected several times, but he was the best, and despite all the naysayers, he became the leader of the military band. He brought his skills and mission to be the best. He laid the foundation for people like me to follow.

My relationship with him is kind of scary. I’ve done a program about him on BBC Radio, and I’ve spoken to his daughter, the jazz singer Eileen Delmar, several times, and he was born on March 18, like me. To me, it’s amazing that there actually are manuscripts of his works – that someone, in the 1940s and 1950s, was recording his ideas and making them applicable to a big band. At the time, many musicians from the Caribbean were creating what jazz could be. Not all of them are well known, but we do our best to make people aware of their heritage. This volume is a time capsule.

“I sang in the streets I used to walk around when I was a kid.”

A.G. Tracy: Five girls in Notting Hill Carnival by GohNew York Beats (2010)

This photo perfectly sums up the spirit of carnival. You can feel the energy of the day and the effort they put into preparing to celebrate our culture. I grew up in Ladbroke Grove, West London, and I’m 32, so I’d say I’ve been to at least 25 carnivals. I’m Trini, and this means a lot to me. It’s part of our culture here. I’m a soca fan, but I also love listening to Vybz Kartel or old school Bob Marley – anything that will put me in a positive mood. Every year you hear a wide range of Caribbean music and it will always have an influence on me. At least 50% of the new songs I’ll put out are probably Carnival – dancehall, reggae, ragga.

I used to always go to Rampage [sound system]where the most active party-goers are located. I saw So Solid Crew there, and eventually, when I became an artist, I got invited to perform myself. The first time was with Toddla T and Annie Mac, and I saw all my friends and family in the crowd. Performing in your neighborhood, on the streets I used to walk around as a kid, is very different from performing anywhere else. It was surreal.

“Winning this was big.”

Stella, Renee and Jorja from Flo: Brit Awards Trophy by Sloan Design (2022)

Stella: This was our first Brit Award, and our first proper award actually, so it was a big deal. The fact that Sloane was a Nigerian artist made a lot of sense, given the role that other countries – especially black countries – played in shaping Britain.

Renee: It was amazing to have his legacy highlighted. Not just “this person got an award” but “this is where they came from. This is the impact.” It felt very specific to our generation. We never want to chase trophies, but recognition is one of the most important things. Seeing people like you doing amazing things can be very inspiring.

Jorja: We have people from many different communities telling us that they connect with the passion and rawness of what we do. But every time we accept an award, we do so on behalf of all the girl groups that came before us – especially those with black British members, like Little Mix and the Sugababes. They made it possible for us.