THERE IS BLACK IN THE UNION JACK: HOW UNDERGROUND ARTISTS ARE REIMAGINING WHAT IT MEANS TO BE BRITISH
England in 2025 finds itself in the grip of a flag fever. The Operation Raise the Colours campaign, calling for widespread display of the Union Jack and the English flag, has stoked public debate. Flags are painted on zebra crossings, tied to lampposts, and draped from roundabouts. Supporters call it patriotic pride; critics see far-right nationalism, anti-immigration sentiment, and exclusion.
In the shadow of this wave of escalating nationalism and xenophobia, a different story is being told, not in Parliament or protest squares, but in bedrooms, clubs, Discord servers and late-night studio sessions.
The UK's underground music scene is in the midst of something powerful. A new generation of Black British artists is reshaping what it means to belong, to create and to claim space in a country that has long struggled with the question of who counts as British.
At its core, this cultural wave is a rebellion against pigeonholes, stereotypes, and cultural narratives that have too often flattened Black British identity into something one-dimensional. Artists like Jim Legxacy and YT are a few among the many diverse and creative talents rising to the top of this alternative stream, whose work seeks to transcend both rigid musical and cultural binaries. Remixing heritage, rewriting histories, and resisting categorisation, their music becomes a beacon of hope, illuminating the immigrant stories too often erased from Britain’s self-image.
Historically, Black British music has often been a tool of resistance against racism, classism, and erasure. Sound system culture in the 1970s, lovers rock in the 1980s, and early grime and afroswing in the 2000s - all have long fused Caribbean, African, and British influences in a similar spirit of resistance. Today’s underground artists continue this experimental legacy, layering emo riffs with drill cadences, flipping indie samples into Afrobeats rhythms, and weaving nostalgia with diasporic futures, creating a sound that is both contemporary and reflective of diasporic experiences.
Using music as a space for connection, pride, and belonging within the diaspora, Black Britishness here is not a static identity, but a collage of sounds, slang, samples, and memories.
Jim Legxacy, YT, and the Power of Storytelling
If the question of belonging is at the heart of this new wave, South London artist Jim Legxacy answers it through sound. His 2025 project Black British Music (BBM) is less an album than a provocation. What counts as Black British music? For him, the answer spills beyond any one boundary.
One track buries a drill cadence under layered harmonies, while another distorts a Paramore sample against Afrobeats percussion, bridging subcultures as easily as he bridges genres. For instance, his track “New David Bowie” name-checks Britain’s quintessential pop-rock icon in its title, yet shifts from Bollywood-inspired sounds to harpsichord rap and glittering pop within a short duration (Pitchfork). The collision is deliberate: a meeting of postcolonial sound and British mythmaking that, by the album’s end, feels less like contradiction and more like truth - the messy, hybrid essence of modern British identity. Similarly noted for its genre-blending nature, “I Just Banged a Snus in Canada Water” layers drill beats over nostalgic indie samples, offering a visceral rap performance that explores generational trauma (Pitchfork, Northern Transmissions).
The result is a hybrid language of rhythm, memory, and cultural identity that is impossible to ignore. It is less a mixtape than a love letter to growing up Black in the 2010s. Legxacy captures what it feels like to exist in a Britain that does not always see you, but where you see each other. This sentiment is visually represented in the album's cover art, which features a collage of black and white images of Black British youth, symbolising the multifaceted nature of Black British identity.
Rising rapper-producer YT operates in a similar space, using music and visuals to present a vision of Black Britishness that is radically open. For example, his album title, and trademark adlib, Oi! plays with British colloquialisms in a way that is at once tongue-in-cheek and assertive, claiming Britishness on his own terms. His work blends several cross-cultural influences, stretching from early 2000s UK nostalgia to NYC jerk beats, articulating a broader vision of identity which transcends geographic borders. “I’m Black and I’m British to the core,” states YT, “but I’m also undeniably influenced by American sounds and I love whatever chemical reaction occurs when you mix those two things.” (The Fader)
Like Legxacy, he treats genre as a canvas for identity rather than a box to fit inside, and in doing so, recaptures what it feels like to grow up Black in Britain with kaleidoscopic effect. These artists not only symbolise innovation, but a unique kind of cultural storytelling which is proving increasingly crucial in this country.
Going Beyond the Tropes
Mainstream depictions of Black Britishness are often limited at best, and offensive at worst. The references are predictable: Top Boy, drill, knife crime, maybe a clip of Notting Hill Carnival if they are feeling generous.
But that is not and has never been the whole story. That is not the story the underground music scene tells. Refusing to be reduced to crime or trauma narratives, it documents joy, friendship, heartbreak, memes, late-night banter, grief, and softness. It captures the everyday complexities of Black life in Britain.
This is what makes it stand out. The sounds are recognisable because they are personal and distinct, free from the formulas of commercial UK rap and drill. These artists are not trying to be different from the mainstream. They simply are.
Social media has also transformed the underground into a shared, interactive community, where it is easy to feel a connection to these artists, as if you went to the same school, hung out in the same neighbourhoods, or scrolled the same late-night timelines. This relatability creates a sense of cultural intimacy, where identity is not only expressed but actively performed and reshaped in real time.
The scene thrives on pushing boundaries, valuing originality over imitation, and fostering an evolving, multifaceted sense of self. It doesn’t dilute its complexity to be more palatable; instead, it embraces its authenticity, reflecting the layered, dynamic experiences of Black British life.
Flag Waving and Reclaiming Britishness
One of the most provocative elements of this movement is the rise of Union Jack imagery. For many, the flag has never felt like it waved for us. It has carried the weight of empire, exclusion, racism, and the demand to “go back to where you came from.”
As Britain is currently and unfortunately experiencing flag fever, self-proclaimed nationalists have weaponised its image into a symbol of intimidation and cultural intolerance. Everywhere you look, the question of who gets to be British is under debate.
For today’s Black British artists, the same symbol carries an entirely different charge, with artists like YT and Legxacy reworking the flag in visuals, merchandise, and cover art.
Speaking to Basement Approved, YT reflected on this act of reclamation in his own work and that of his peers:
“There is definitely a sense of reclamation of the Union Jack… maybe even comparable to the way the N-word has been reclaimed by Black people. That was something that signified oppression. Now it is like we are taking it and making it our own thing.”
His statement highlights both the act of reclamation and the complex relationship these artists have with national symbols. For some it’s irony; for others, it is provocation. At its core, it is a claim: we built this too, so this is just as much ours.
Not everyone believes the flag can be reclaimed. Some argue it is beyond redemption: a music video might flip it, but it cannot erase its ties to empire and exclusion, and there can be no true reclamation until white supremacy and far-right nationalism no longer exist.
Yet, it is precisely this tension between the flag’s historical meaning and its world-building potential that gives these artists their edge. In taking up sonic and visual space, these artists redefine their identity not as a question but as a statement: both Black and British, even against the sea of red, white, and blue.
Imagining the Future
Cultural theorists such as Benedict Anderson and Stuart Hall describe identity as an imagined community, a shared story that holds people together.
Black British underground artists are actively writing new chapters of that story, not by waiting for permission, but by carving out their own spaces of belonging. Through genre-bending sound, messy visuals, and internet-age intimacy, they are building a record of Black British life that is fragmented, diasporic, unpolished, and alive.
This movement goes far beyond reclaiming symbols or flipping genres. It’s about imagining and creating new worlds: worlds where Black British children can see themselves fully, in all their complexity and nuance; worlds where belonging is never conditional; worlds where culture is not only consumed but continuously shaped, reshaped, and brought to life.
In a country still asking who belongs, their art is not just a response but a declaration, a manifesto, and perhaps the most radical answer of all.
Written by Shelley Paterson | @shelleypaterson_
