Melodies have woven a deep cultural thread in my life growing up in Pakistan, where songs and lyrics carry the weight of family histories, blessings and prayers. Whether at weddings, celebrating a new birth, or marking Independence Day, every occasion has its song, passed down through generations, binding us to tradition and memory.

When I moved to London last year with my family, I was unnerved by the absence of a symphony in our lives. It was a balmy summer evening in London when I finally realised what our new lives were missing. It was the sound of music. I was reminded of the words of the great French Romantic poet, novelist and dramatist Victor Hugo, who said: “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”

I had been grappling with the concept of home and how one maintains a link to one’s roots after crossing oceans when my ten-year-old daughter, who was missing her cousins and friends the most, alerted me to the sounds of music coming from outside our house on Talbot Road. It was my first experience of witnessing the Notting Hill Carnival, a window into the rich tapestry of Black British music.

Black British music was a completely new and unexplored area for someone like me, who considered themselves a bit of a music connoisseur. So when the opportunity to visit the Beyond the Bassline exhibition at the British Library and explore 500 years of Black British music history and the journey of African and Caribbean people in Britain came up, I grabbed it with both hands.

I have always considered music a time capsule. It encapsulates the era, informed by social, economic and political ethos and pulse, while continuing to evolve and grow with time. The invisible threads that tug at our heart were highlighted by Susan Sontag when she said that music is at once the most wonderful, the most alive of all the arts. It is the most abstract, the most perfect, the most pure — and the most sensual. I listen with my body, and it is my body that aches in response to the passion and pathos embodied in this music.

Before visiting the exhibition, I brushed up on my knowledge of the history of Black British music. The exhibition is curated by Dr Aleema Gray at the British Library in collaboration with Dr Mykaell Riley at the University of Westminster. It highlights how little the general public knows about and appreciates the cultural influence of Black communities in the UK. I’ll be the first to admit that until that day, I had not known much about the lives and contributions of pivotal figures such as Ignatius Sancho, the 18th-century composer, and Dame Shirley Bassey. Key moments in the evolution of musical genres like calypso, jazz, grime, and jungle were also brought home to me.

The exhibition featured more than 200 items, including letters from Sancho, a 1970s outfit worn by jazz singer Patti Flynn, Steel Pulse’s KKK-style hood, a Nokia 3370, early grime photography by Simon Wheatley, and footage from the MOBO Awards. You know when you sift through old trunks in the attic and unearth hidden gems that hold the history of entire generations? That was the feeling I had when gazing upon these objects telling the stories of Black British music’s evolution – from Lovers’ rock and two-tone to jazz, reggae, jungle, Afroswing and beyond. They said so much, highlighting the genre’s role in celebration, protest, and continuous transformation, underscoring its enduring importance.

I was overwhelmed by a sense of history and scope as I left the exhibition. Beyond the Bassline was comprehensive, leaving no aspect of Black British music and culture unexplored. It covered sound system culture and the influence of African rock (including Fela Kuti’s London education). It highlighted key figures like Dennis Bovell, Winifred Atwell, Poly Styrene, and Pauline Black. It also acknowledged the contributions of Soul II Soul, Gabrielle, Stormzy, and the MOBO Awards. Most notably, Beyond The Bassline stands out as a Black-led initiative, distancing itself from the common narrative of Black history being curated by white institutions. The program proudly declared, “Our story and our music begin in Africa…”

The exhibition offered a powerful opportunity for both Black and non-Black attendees to gain and share knowledge, enriching themselves with the profound legacy of this remarkable music and culture. Most of all, the exhibition gave me hope, a sense of belonging, and empowerment.

The full version of this article appeared on Writing Our Legacy under the title ‘Reflections I Rhythms of Identity: An Exhibition Review’ on November 15, 2024. You can read it here.