What is “Culture” Worth?

The 2020s have seen a resurgence of British culture and music worldwide, and rap music is an avenue that is consistently gaining international attention.

British art now seems to be garnering increasingly large “global” attention; if collaborations like the EsDeeKid x Timothée Chalamet Marty Supreme promo and Skepta’s repeat appearances at the Met Gala are to be trusted, British rappers appear to have all intention of keeping it.

Understandable as the push for success in markets outside our own may be, we have to stop and ask, “How does going “global” affect domestic art and culture?”

 WHAT IS CULTURE? A DEFINITION

Before discussing culture, it would be fitting to outline a definition of the word.

UNESCO defines culture as: “The collective beliefs, values, customs, and practices that characterize a particular group or society. It encompasses language, art, religion, and social norms, shaping how individuals interact with one another and perceive the world.”

It is the “art” aspect of culture that this piece focuses on. For me, culture is people, community - the things that a group does when gathered together, as well as the habits that we commonly participate in, even when we are not together.

WHY IS AMERICA SO CULTURALLY DOMINANT?

In common parlance, the word “Global” seems to be used as an alternative to the word “American.”

Artists releasing music hoping to be successful globally hardly seem to be concerned with how well their music charts in Russia, India or Botswana, but pin their hopes on the American markets, thinking (and often correctly, too) that success there will probably spell success everywhere else. And if it doesn’t, they do not seem to care, as America is where most of the money (Global Music Report 2025) and status are.

America’s hefty influence on the world did not just come to be. After WW2, the U.S. had money to devote to art and culture, whilst other Allied and Axis forces had to devote money to rebuilding their economies and countries after the war (Indispensable Nation: How The US Influences the World). This meant that the US could produce various cultural commodities through film, music, literature, art and news, and have them consumed by the rest of the world without much competition. Of course, as media and culture are soft power, each piece of culture that was disseminated carried within it some form of cultural propaganda, subtly lauding to its global audience the benefits of the American way of life, philosophies, art forms, etc., etc.

This, along with military occupation and colonisation in many parts of Asia, gave America undue influence all across the globe.

With the U.S.’ soft power permeating the globe, there seems to be a little bit of America in all of us. So it makes some sort of sense why non-American artists breaking the U.S. market are seen as “going global”, or the pinnacle of one’s career; the world watches what America watches.

It is a little more confusing when American artists promote outside of America and are given dominance over the country’s most famous domestic acts.

Last year, London-based music festival Wireless announced the inclusion of Drake on the stage, supported a group mysteriously dubbed “the Mandem”, who were later revealed to be the grime collective Boy Betta Know (BBK), which consists of prominent British rappers Skepta, JME, Frisco, Shorty, Preditah and DJ Maximum.

Drake has been a longtime collaborator with BBK, but featuring such prominent figures simply as “The Mandem” on the announcement posters incurred much debate as to why British rappers seem so willing to relegate themselves to the background, even on home turf.

Despite the history of the two parties, the message conveyed was not one of collaboration, but of sidekick syndrome, from British rappers who did not seem to understand that the international artist, having lost face on a global stage by losing a rap battle, was now seeking the cultural capital and credibility that they have with British audiences. 

THE FACE OF BRITISH RAP IN THE GLOBAL SPHERE VS. AT HOME

As UK rap ascends in international popularity, the faces that represent it grow more and more detached from the ones that built it. Feng, Fakemink, EsDeeKid and CentralCee, the latter of which has come under much scrutiny and speculation over his background and race, are some of the most well-known names on the scene to a non-British audience. But artists like Giggs, Kano, Wiley and Fredo, though incredibly well-known domestically and still going strong in their music careers, are not known to the same extent outside the country.

Modern British culture is somewhat hard to define, and much more modern Black British culture.

The culture of Black Britain is difficult to definitively pin down, because we consist mostly of immigrants from various countries across Africa, the Caribbean, and the diaspora. Within the same family, there are first, second, and even third-generation immigrants who all relate to Britishness differently across generations. Others yet have had family in Britain for decades.

Furthermore, the distribution of the Black populace across Britain is uneven, with larger densities in large cities like London, Manchester and Birmingham, and each area with different cultural norms and therefore varying takes on what it means to be “British” or “Black British”.

In contrast, African Americans have been in America for hundreds of years, accounting for 14% of the population, whilst Black immigrants account for only 1.3%, allowing African Americans to develop a more recognisable overall Black culture.

Yet, though hip hop is indisputably categorised as Black culture, studies show that the vast majority (around 70%) of its audience is white. This does not mean Black people are not listening – at rates of over 70%, they are – but rather, they are outnumbered by their white counterparts as consumers of their own culture.

Similarly, because 82% of people in Britain are white, most consumers of British mainstream rap are white. The Black British population is only slightly over two million, and thus cannot account for the tens of millions of listeners British rap artists have accrued on platforms like Spotify. But despite beginning in Black working-class communities, the new faces of UK rap — especially those most known to the international market and touted across various outlets as the rising stars of British underground rap — are increasingly veering away from its Black roots. 

CULTURAL EXCHANGE VS. EXTRACTION

By pointing this out, it is not my intention to imply that only Black people can make rap music. Far from it, I only aim to examine the consequences for the genre, culture, and community when the faces that made it are slowly diminished from the art form once it starts gaining global attention.

When rap took root in the UK in the form of grime around the early 2000s, it was forced underground and policed due to it being heavily criminalised by the media. (Giving rap a chance: the cultural policing and consequences of the suppression of rap music in England in the twenty‐first century — SANGHAVI — 2025 — Journal of Law and Society — Wiley Online Library)

The overwhelmingly negative attitudes towards grime, fostered by police and the media, hindered its growth to the mainstream, as radio stations refused to play it, driving the community who did listen to create Pirate radio to play what they wanted to hear. From this, we can see that rap in the UK rose to prominence through the connection to and persistence of a community; in other words, the culture.

As the genre grew, Black artists continued to be criminalised by British police; even as recently as 2022, drill and grime videos were heavily moderated online, with the Met requesting the removal of several drill videos online, and successfully achieving the removal of 87% of requested content.

Offline, the police have gone as far as imposing “de facto bans” on rap shows, having impacted rapper Digga D’s scheduled performance in 2022.

The new faces of UK rap are not so plagued with such heavy police presence. Quite the opposite; where originally, rap was used to fearmonger concerns for rising gun and knife crime in urban areas (despite being shown not to have any meaningful links to increased violence), today, the Metropolitan Police force edits videos of themselves with EsDeeKid’s music playing in the background, in an attempt to endear themselves to the youthful public.

Perhaps there is no stronger demonstration of how the criminal perception of rap music is removed along with the Black faces in the genre.

Because of the media’s narratives, working-class Black people were imbued with an unshakeable immorality that would be passed on to whatever genre they touched, and to this day, most Black British rappers struggle not to be framed as criminals or inciting crime. What made newspapers uncomfortable was not the sound or genre itself, but rather, the colour of those who were making it, and what they were saying. Once the faces at the forefront changed, the in-house resistance to British rap was greatly diminished. The double oddity of non-black faces from non-working-class backgrounds creating music in a Black working-class genre is enough to draw in a white middle-class audience.

The lack of police presence and overall reduction of the narrative of criminalisation the current faces of British rap now enjoy could even be seen as a direct contributor to what raised their popularity globally: Reduced stigma meant fewer barriers to the distribution of music and thus, fewer hindrances to traditional means of popularisation such as radio and TV, and as a result, they could raise their domestic profile much more easily at the beginning of their careers in a way that early grime artists never could. This would allow them to build their local audience to the point that they begin to draw the attention of foreign artists, who seek out collaborations to capitalise on this “new” sound and subculture.

Therefore, the de-Blackening of the UK rap scene was almost inevitable for the genre to have the international success that it now sees today.

Feasibly, another contributor could be the fact that this new wave occurred at a time when radio was not as relevant. Feng, Fakemink, and other modern-day underground rappers grew through popular support on SoundCloud, a music distribution platform that allows listeners immediate and direct access to almost any catalogue they want, without having to request and then wait for a radio station to play what they like.

The prevalence of algorithms, both for discovering music on platforms like SoundCloud and for sharing music on vertical video platforms such as TikTok and Instagram, allows the new rappers to reach international audiences without the need for collaborations with prominent overseas artists. Of course, this sharing would later lead to international collaborations as even more well-known acts are known to want to capitalise on their online visibility.

Yet another part of what raised their popularity globally is again the audience. As mentioned in previous paragraphs, though the genre was started by and is still mostly Black, the money-making market is largely white.

What this means is that white audiences largely decide not only the contents of an artist’s music, but also the kind of artist that receives global platforms in the first place.

In fan forums all over the internet, the subject of repeated debate is whether lyricism really matters in rap music, or whether the feeling the music provides is more important than what the artist has to say.

The emphasis put on feeling over lyrics suggests that people listen to British rap because it makes them feel cool. Its visual hallmarks linger: tracksuits, trainers, streetwear, hoodies, balaclavas and other face coverings, but now, divorced from their Black, working-class origins, so that only the veneer of “coolness” and cultural capital it has garnered over the years remains.

The content of the music also changes, no longer referencing any of the societal injustices or frustrations that drove young Black people to make grime or drill, yet keeps all the braggadocio.

The lyrics revolve chiefly around money, possessions, and sexuality, encapsulating the feel-good experience listeners say they want.

Without any links to the origins of British rap, and with little sincerity being shown from artists (at the request of their audience), the music becomes hollow and aesthetically focused; formulated only to deliver a vague feeling of pleasantness to the audience.

Now with attention from a global and foreign audience, this distancing from the core of the culture is sure to worsen. Artists may go from making uniquely British references to mentions of more generic, sweeping situations, so as not to alienate any potential audience member.

The music becomes little more than simple rhymes said over an intriguing beat, novel only for the fact that a British accent on a rap track is foreign to American ears.

In my opinion, Cultural Art needs to be centred around people who create that art as a response to their surroundings. With new British rappers moving further and further away from the Isles, having already discarded the community that created it, there will be nothing to anchor the sound to, and so for this new audience, the novelty will wear off almost as quickly as it was discovered.

HOW MUCH CULTURE CAN YOU SELL?

Despite the elevation of non-Black artists in this current wave, many well-known Black British rappers who started decades ago are experiencing massive bursts in their global reach.

With each seat costing upwards of £56,000, Black British rappers Stormzy, Skepta and Dave being repeatedly selected by brands like Tom Ford, Jacquemus, Burberry and Thom Browne to represent them at the Met Gala and fashion shows is a reflection of their marketability, the attention the country’s rap music industry is now generating globally, and also perhaps, the value of the British market in fashion. Each brand sponsoring a celebrity is making a carefully calculated decision based on who best aligns with their house codes and image, and who can generate the most internet traffic and attention to their brand.

The value of culture is one that can hardly be denied, especially commercially. Many brands have realised this and, as a result, look to position themselves as synonymous with a culture or subculture.

Brands have commercially benefited from mentions in rap songs, in particular, as this is a genre that is popular with the youth. So, by plugging these brands, rappers integrate them with culture, lending them “coolness” and credibility, and drilling their products into the minds of millions of listeners for years via a catchy song; thereby creating a market of aspirational buyers for luxury brands.

However, these rappers face a singular dilemma: they rose to fame by making traditional grime and drill, speaking about their background and culture, and still continue to do so today, yet their audiences (like the rest of the rap industry’s) are mostly white. So how do they juggle honesty and staying connected to their roots with marketability?

In the film Bamboozled (2000), Spike Lee laments how difficult it is to navigate this conflict as a Black artist and how it often leads to Black artists abandoning their principles in pursuit of commercial success.

In essence, they have to toe the line between what they want to say and what entertains their audience, sometimes abandoning themselves to remain marketable.

Because Black music and culture have been generally regarded by the media, and by extension, the public, as evoking violence and overt sexuality, to white middle-class listeners, rap music becomes a way to flirt with the perceived dangers that come with being Black, without having to encounter any real and lasting damage themselves.

A rapper then becomes a listener’s avatar; a body through which they imagine themselves within these dangerous settings/people without having to suffer any harm to their real body. 

To that end, a largely white audience means that, to a great extent, white opinions control what artists become popular, and what kind of music those artists make. Whatever part of a rapper’s Black experience their audience wants to hear and partake in is what the artists find themselves repeatedly having to make.

Communities create culture, yes, but once culture seeks to go global (read “American”), it expands beyond the hands of the local community, and it is no longer controlled by the hands that made it.

It is hard to see how this situation can benefit communities of origin. So whilst British rap becomes more popular on a global stage, it is increasingly divorced from its Black beginnings and Black audience. And in being so, it is removed from its core, meaning it will only be a matter of time before the genre fades, and with it, the cultural relevancy of the artists at its vanguard.

SHOULD WE CARE ABOUT [SELLING] CULTURE?

Following the last paragraph, I am inclined to ask: What good is the globalisation of a culture when those who created it are not the ones who reap the benefits?

My answer is that it is useless.
Some may argue that because the globalisation of British rap, particularly of Black British rappers, leads to them making more money, and that means that Black people do benefit. I disagree. It means that the artist benefits immensely, but the culture – the community – gets nothing.

Not only do they not gain monetarily, but they also lose control of how their culture is perceived on a global stage, sometimes being divorced from the narrative altogether. Without the community being fed, globalisation is simply a fast track to the dissolution of the genre.

Because culture is community-centred, it can only be somewhat meaningfully measured by its impact on the community it has been created in.

As Chinua Achebe wrote in Things Fall Apart: “When we gather together in the moonlit village ground, it is not because of the moon. Every man can see it in his own compound. We come together because it is good for kinsmen to do so.”

We do not gather to create cultural art in order to make money; rather, it is because of community that culture has so much monetary value.

The problem is twofold: first, the abandonment of the community by the artist; second, the stifling of the original community by the global fan base.

To tackle the first, I consider it an imperative for artists to consciously and frequently feed back into their community.

New artists should be respectful of the art form, using their platform to acknowledge the roots of the genre as well as those who came before them.

Any artist can play big venues and do international collaborations, but I urge that they frequently return to the cultural hubs that created them so they can absorb new influences, create and perform there.

Create mindful collaborations with local artists or with new sounds that add dynamism to the music and keep listeners across the world interested while still promoting domestic artists to your growing worldwide audience. This way, artists can give back to their communities while still profiting from their rising stardom.

In the worst-case scenario, should they lose the interest of the global market, they retain their credibility and cultural connections in their hometown for truly valuing and growing the art and culture.

Take the example of DJ AG Online, the London DJ who gained virality by posting videos of the free, public sets he would do on the streets of London, and the crowds that gathered to listen to his music. As his platform grew, he received the opportunity to collaborate with internationally famous artists and figures like Ciara, Rick Ross, Ne-Yo, Usain Bolt, Oxlade, Wale, Dystinct, and more. But even after collaborating with these famous foreign figures, he continued to prioritise his domestic audience, travelling across London and even across the UK to Manchester to host his sessions. He frequently uses his sets to platform local talent and also collaborates with famous Brits, such as Ed Sheeran, JME, and Alesha Dixon.

HOW IS CULTURAL EXCHANGE POSSIBLE?

Now to the problem of the audience. Having established that British rap — even rising, underground rap — has a majority white audience, which is not just a condition for their fame, but also grows as they become more internationally popular, and that this audience, whether deliberately or not, controls who becomes popular and what kinds of music artists produce, I want to clarify that the purpose of this article is not to discourage international cultural exchange or collaboration, but rather, to begin a conversation on where we draw the line between meaningful exchange and cultural extraction and the thinning out of culture.

You cannot control an audience’s listening — it would be unreasonable to try to demand that all non-Black fans of Black music and art genres stop participating in Black art. Not only would they refuse, but there would be no way of enforcing it.

So instead, I think we should limit our desire for globalisation. In the thirst to reach international fame, artists can be too quick to discard the community that built them up at home. Previous paragraphs have explained how that leads to the alienation of the community from their music and why that will end in the hollowing out and eventual desertion of the genre by fans, both at home and abroad.

We want to make sure that those being attracted to the art form like it for what it is and that British talent, specifically the Black British rap scene, understands their draw, and the cultural draw of the Black British audience.