There is so often talk of the “Black experience” in America, yet, in certain regards, one has to wonder if that experience isn’t even more harrowing in the UK (okay, it’s probably not—just because nothing is more terrifying than piggies in the United States). At least, musically. For it wasn’t really until a group like Soul II Soul came along that any acknowledgement of Black British culture was made in a noticeable way within a twentieth century context.
Obviously, this is the reason why FKA Twigs has decided to use “Jealousy” from Caprisongs as an opportunity to pay tribute to the collective (which also housed “which one of these is not like the other?” member Nellee Hooper in the beginning, before he went on to produce for Madonna in the mid-90s). Thus, she was determined to ensure that everyone got the major allusions to the group in her video, directed by Aidan Zamiri, by stating, “Inspired by the one and only @jazziebobe and the @soul2souluk video ‘Jazzie’s Groove.’ Soul II Soul [was] a true cultural explosion of Black British culture. Thank you Efua and Jazzie for lending me archive Soul II Soul family garms for this video xx.”
The video for “Jazzie’s Groove,” indeed, possesses the same aesthetic as “Jealousy” with its all-white backdrop and emphasis on choreography. But more than that, it’s the lyrics of “Jazzie’s Groove,” in which Jazzie remarks, “Creatin’ our own styles here in London,” that calls out this idea of Black British musicians carving out their own space in the “industry.” The groove, which is, yes, very jazzy, stands out all the more amid Jazzie’s calm, cool, collected tone.
In that same tone, Jazzie commences with the lines, “Um, what is Soul II Soul? Uh, well, we’re a sound system. An amalgamation of good dance music. There is, um, three of us from the North Side. And two from the East. And through our style, you know, people just came to recognize us as the funky dreads.”
The story of Soul II Soul’s formation continues to be told throughout the song, with Jazzie adding, “Yeah, we started in clubs in Soho. A little bit of pressure here and there. You know, we had our ups and downs. For everybody who can remember the Africa Centre—the center of the world—that gave us the, um, idea to now make our own music.” The name check of the Africa Centre (complete with a necklace in the video showcasing the continent’s unmistakable outline) is particularly poignant with regard to how Britain, like America, so often seeks to mitigate the guilt of its past with little breadcrumbs, “bones thrown.” In this case, the intent of the Africa Centre was, per journalist Lloyd Bradley, “to foster non-governmental relations between newly independent African nations by bringing people together on neutral apolitical ground. It would also maintain informal cultural links between Britain and her former colonies, while offering a friendly meeting place for Africans living in London.” Well, there’s no denying it did that for the eventual members of Soul II Soul, in addition to serving as a watering hole for the likes of Desmond Tutu and Thabo Mbeki.
Considering that “Black British” needs to be a term at all, designed (as usual) to separate, one would think that, at the bare minimum, said Black British people could have had a stronger foothold in mainstream music from the outset. Especially since the very term “Black British” was coined in the 1950s after a diaspora from the West Indies, therefore indicating (to the “White British”—who, for whatever reason, just get to be called British) a robust population of Black people within Britain for quite some time. Whereas, in America, “Black music” (a.k.a. rap and hip hop) was far more pervasive in the 80s, 90s and beyond because record executives saw that it was profitable, precisely because it appealed to a white demographic. This seemed to be addressed with more marketing ferocity than what was given to Black British musicians offering up grime, dubstep, trip hop, Afroswing, dancehall, drum n’ bass, UK drill and much more. Some would posit that British record labels’ lack of emphasis on marketing a Black musician as someone who could only fall within the categories of rap, hip hop and R&B is actually what has made the artistry to come out of Britain more of a melting pot than what comes out of America. At the same time, it has allowed more easily for appropriation, with acts as divergent as Limp Bizkit and Hot Chip grafting what they wanted from the Black British music scenes.
Perhaps FKA Twigs will more fully set the record straight with the video for “Jealousy.” Opening with Twigs crossing the screen as the typeface for the word “JEALOUSY” appears only to fade away as she walks into the letters (it’s sort of like the Clarissa Explains It All intro), we’re given a vibrant sartorial smorgasbord (some of said “garms” on loan, as mentioned, from Soul II Soul) accented by the omnipresent white background. And yes, FKA Twigs proudly sports a black leather jacket featuring the back emblazoned with the Soul II Soul moniker. Portions of the video are also shot in black and white (perhaps a subtle allegory), with Rema taking his moment to say, “I gave you the keys to my soul” (II Soul). And yet, FKA is still jealous. Just as any woman ought to be when realizing she can never remain number one in the object of her affection’s heart. Because, inevitably, ardor always wanes.
As American rap and hip hop saw its roots form in jazz, bluegrass and blues (quickly snatched up by Elvis Presley), Black British music traces its early origins to the arrival of Jamaican migrants to the UK in a major burst from the 1950s to the 1970s (with The Specials not so coincidentally arising in 1977), introducing concepts like dub and toasting. When Soul II Soul formed in 1988, it was as though they took this amalgam and exploded it all over the rest of Britain, and then, with “Back to Life (However Do You Want Me),” the world. Luckily, FKA hasn’t forgotten that, and is here to remind us that Black British culture should be far more celebrated and respected than it is.
