Look closely at the cultural tapestry of the UK, and you’ll clearly see Bengal, the region spread between India and what is now Bangladesh, woven into it. It’s a shared relationship that stretches back over the centuries: the start of the East India Company in the 1600s was the launchpad for conniving little imps (imperialists) to turn up with flags to name Calcutta the capital of Empire (and exploitation). Said imps went out of control, wreaking havoc across the subcontinent – a bit of mass-plundering there, a bit of devastating famine here, a sprinkling of destabilisation over there. Then they packed it all in (sort of) and left India spliced and diced with Partition in 1947. Of course, all of that gallivanting later led to Britain being able to call on its Commonwealth citizens to help rebuild it post-war. Bengalis migrated to the UK in the following years and became one of the fastest-growing migrant populations during the 70s, moving to the big cities like my hometown, Birmingham and London’s East End, where Brick Lane came to be known as “Banglatown”. But even before this, the East End had long been home to different working class and migrant populations, united in fighting fascism.
It’s no surprise then that in the decade following the rise of the National Front, which turned “p-bashing” into a bloodsport, a new generation of British Bengalis grew up wanting to reinvent their response to racism and reconcile their place in contemporary British culture. This was the beginning of an era spanning the late 80s and 90s of British Asian music, otherwise known as ‘The Asian Underground Movement’ – a title not without its complications. It was alternative music that became a reckoning with the “model minority” myth, a kind of reaction to the various Morrisseys on the streets singing about obliging Bengalis in platforms.
The varied music of that era reflected the confluence of various diaspora, resulting in a cocktail of Indian classical, jazz, dub, jungle and drum & bass. It was nothing like the glittery, bombastic soundtracks of Bollywood nor the high adrenaline flamboyancy of Bhangra. It had to revert to lesser-known circuits to find its followers who were unafraid to buck the trend. Certain club nights like Anokha at Hoxton’s Blue Note became a catalyst for artists who were considered leftfield at the time. There were many with heritage from all over South Asia and the British Bengali contribution is just one part of that, but a significant one. It encapsulated the multi-layered characteristics of being not just British and Brown but more specifically, Bengali, unifying the three to create a distinct identity through music.
Joi – ‘A Desert Storm’
Joi, initially known as the Joi Bangla Sound System, was originally composed of Bradford brothers, Farook and Haroon Shamser. Haroon sadly passed away at 34, leaving Farook to continue Joi solo. Their debut single, ‘A Desert Storm’, released in 1992, cemented their position as one of the first on the scene mixing tabla rhythms, Indian classical raga vocals with electronic music. Joi performed at various London clubs, ended up supporting Spiritualised on their 1998 UK tour …
