This article began as a conversation, but it quickly became something deeper than that. I set out to speak with a few people about music in the diaspora, especially the Caribbean diaspora, to find a way to link music into fashion. But what started as a simple question about sound turned into something much more emotional, much more spiritual, and much more powerful than I expected.
“There can be one song that every time I hear it, no matter where I am, it reminds me of my mum’s blue Honda Civic. It’s linked to a specific time and place.” (DJ Xrated, 2025)
Because when people talk about music in the diaspora, they don’t just talk about songs. They talk about survival. They talk about memory. They talk about something that lives in the body as much as it lives in the speakers. One of the first things that stood out across all the interviews was how early music becomes part of identity. It isn’t something people “discover” later, but it’s something they grow up inside. “I definitely feel it came from my mum and dad,” DJ Uneek (2025) explained, “The older generation – 60s, 70s, 80s, I feel music was a way of healing pain and getting through day-to-day life. Growing up in a Caribbean household, music was electrifying. It was contagious, in a good way.”
That word contagious came up more than once. Not in a negative sense, but as something that spreads emotionally, culturally, and spiritually from one generation to the next. Another interviewee described it even more simply: “I’ve been into music since I was a little kid. It’s always been a part of my life, from singing with my mum to 90s R&B on the radio, to listening to Al Green and James Brown with my dad.” (Rio Sterling, 2025)
What becomes clear very quickly is that music in the diaspora isn’t just entertainment. It’s inheritance.
“Music is a way of life for me. I’ve got an anagram for it in my head – music is my everything. One day I’ll get that tatted.” (DJ Xrated, 2025)
Music as healing
Something that came up repeatedly in every interview was healing. Not in a vague sense, but in a very personal, almost everyday way. “Music means everything to me,” DJ Uneek (2025) told me. “I can feel down or stressed… I might feel like I’ve got grey clouds over me. I’ll listen to certain tunes and they’ll uplift me or remind me: you’re a strong person, you can do this, you can get through it.”
“I listened to drum & bass or rap to get out frustrations of life instead of doing things I shouldn’t have.” (DJ Hercules, 2025)
Rio Sterling (2025) described it even more directly: “It’s healed me. In times where I’ve been hurt, it’s helped. If you’re in a relationship that’s gone wrong, you can put on certain songs and the lyrics make you feel like someone else has gone through the same suffering you’re going through. You hear their pain and you’re like, ‘Okay, this is touching my soul.’”
DJ Uneek (2025) summed it up in a way that felt almost poetic without trying to be: “Music is like love and support. If someone’s down and they need someone to talk to, they’ve got a friend’s shoulder to lean on. I feel music does that for me.” What makes these responses powerful is how similar they are.
“Music is a release. Whether I’m practising mixes at home, digging into playlists for an upcoming gig or getting the sounds out of my head into my laptop when producing, it’s all about expression.” (DJ Hercules, 2025)
Sound that lives in the body
One of the most interesting themes that came up was not just music as something you hear, but music as something you feel physically.
“I think it’s the vibrations that got me,” one interviewee said when describing why they fell in love with music as a child. “Vibrations touch the soul in a different way and draw you in more and more, to hear music in a different way and feel it in a different way.” (DJ Uneek, 2025)
That idea of vibration, bass, rhythm and movement came up again when the conversation moved towards dub music and sound system culture.
“If you go to a dub event you actually feel the bassline touching your mind, body and soul,” he explained. “You’re listening to it, but you’re also feeling it. It takes you to another place… that’s where we go to meditate. That’s where we go to touch our roots… to link with our ancestors.” – DJ Uneek (2025)
DJ Xrated (2025) agrees “If you’re playing the right tones, frequencies and vibrations, they open up a framework. Vibrations matter.”
What makes this so important in the context of diaspora is that sound becomes a way of reconnecting with something that geography has separated. Even when people are born in Britain, the feeling of “back home” still exists, and music becomes one of the strongest ways of accessing it.
Rio Sterling, (2025) explained it in a quieter but equally powerful way: “There’s a reason certain drum patterns show up in the music we make and why we resonate with them. It connects us to our homeland in a way. It connects us to nature and spirituality. Music is a very spiritual thing.”
Caribbean culture isn’t fading, it’s transforming
One of the most emotional parts of the interviews was the question of whether Caribbean culture in Britain is fading away. Some people felt it is slowly declining in numbers, but almost everyone agreed that culturally, it is still very much alive especially through music.
“I think the culture itself isn’t dying,” Rio Sterling (2025) explained. “I think us being aware of the decline is helping to revive it, especially through music. I’m always going to express how Caribbean I am in my music.”
DJ Uneek (2025) said something similar but in a much more emotional way: “There’s an invisible connection that brings us together. Even if you don’t have family back home, as a Caribbean person you still feel it.”
That idea of an invisible connection runs through the entire project, Huis Boom. It’s not something you can measure statistically, and it’s not something that always shows up in obvious ways. Instead, it shows up in rhythm, in memory, in shared emotion, in the way certain songs instantly feel familiar even if you’ve never heard them before.
Music as freedom
Something else that came up repeatedly was the idea of music as freedom. Emotional freedom, creative freedom, and sometimes even freedom from everyday pressure.
“When we put these shows on, the vibe is pure freedom,…You know when you go to a concert and you dance like nobody’s watching? Music is so powerful. It controls our emotions and makes us feel whatever the artist wants us to feel.” (Rio Sterling, 2025)
(DJ Xrated (2025) said something much similar, “Music is a way of life for me. It’s there when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m celebrating, when I’m trying to get through a moment. Even if I don’t have headphones on, a little beat will come into my head and I get creative.”
Music doesn’t just reflect identity in the diaspora; it actively shapes it.
Why diaspora music still matters
What these interviews really show is that music in the diaspora is not just about sound, and it’s not just about culture in a traditional sense. It’s about survival, memory, spirituality, and emotional connection.
It’s about children growing up in households where music isn’t something you turn on occasionally. It’s something that surrounds you. It’s about people using music to heal themselves when life becomes overwhelming. It’s about basslines that feel spiritual, not just musical. It’s about sound that carries history, even when you don’t fully understand it yet.
And maybe most importantly, it’s about celebration.
Because even when people spoke about struggle, displacement, or culture fading, the way they spoke about music was never negative. It was proud. Emotional. Powerful. Alive.
One of the simplest quotes from the interviews might actually say the most:
“Music touches my soul and connects me to my roots. It reminds me of my family, my home, my friends. It connects people.” (Rio Sterling, 2025)
And maybe that’s exactly why diaspora music still matters so much. Not just because of where it comes from, but because of what it still holds. 🎧✨
Watch the interview below
