From ‘old people music’ to owning the streets: 60 years of Notting Hill carnival and me

My first memories of the Notting Hill carnival are not very exciting. When it began in the 1960s, the event was purely a Caribbean celebration. It was brought to Ladbroke Grove to allow Caribbean people to celebrate their culture and bring the liveliness of their home country to the somewhat dull streets of London for a few days.

While this was very important, it did not impress bored 10 or 11-year-olds like me, who were made to walk around behind the parades. It was nice to see so many Black people together, and to see parents laughing and enjoying themselves, but we felt we didn’t need to be there. We wanted to play football or ride our bikes, but instead, we were forced to walk for long distances, following what we thought of as ‘old people music’.

However, when the 1970s started, everything changed. The London sound systems, which had been growing in popularity over the previous years, became more prominent at the carnival. These systems were run by people not much older than us. They understood how the generation that arrived after the Windrush migration defined their Black identity as they grew up in London. They knew that while roots and heritage were important, it was not necessary to simply copy the Caribbean.

The sound systems played the same music we heard at parties and on our own records. This included reggae, lovers rock, soul, and funk – the music that formed the soundtrack to our lives. This music was played live from outside pubs, cafes, or people’s houses. A big advantage was that the sound systems stayed in one place. If you didn’t like the music, you could just stand around. You only had to move if the music wasn’t good or if there weren’t enough people at a particular sound system, prompting you to find another one. This might involve following a float, but not necessarily.

Getting food and drinks was never a problem. We would eat at Turnpike Lane station before leaving, or buy supplies to avoid the higher prices in Notting Hill. We usually mixed dark rum or Bacardi with Coca-Cola, or vodka with orange juice. Beer was too heavy to carry until they started selling it in four-packs. We would drink a can, thread it through the plastic ring, and carry on. Some people would hang a pack on each hip, walking like a cowboy. My son recently brought a backpack with rum, mixer, beer, and ice to an event that stayed cold for six hours. I thought about how useful that would have been at the carnival in the 70s.

Suddenly, the Notting Hill carnival felt relevant. Young people started attending in large numbers because it had become our carnival. While we respected its historical meaning, we also wanted to enjoy ourselves. Missing it was unthinkable. Carnival was the place to meet familiar faces, people you might not have seen since the previous year but were happy to have a brief chat with.

As the crowds grew, so did the area the event covered. Sound systems were often set up outside the parade route, and by renting front gardens, smaller setups could be found all the way to the canal and Colville Terrace. There were street parties of various sizes everywhere, many selling drinks or barbecue food to those who were unprepared. This expansion was one of the most appealing aspects of the weekend.

In the early 1970s, police harassment and everyday racism were common, and the hospitality industry wasn't very welcoming. Simply being able to walk around such a large part of London, seeing more people who looked like you than didn't, enjoying a drink and a dance, or just having fun without being bothered, was fantastic. It felt like we owned those streets for those few days. Everyone I knew felt energised the following week. The celebrations often started on Friday evening and continued until Monday night or Tuesday morning, with sound systems playing until the J’ouvert celebrations welcomed the sunrise.

My best carnival years were from the early 1970s to the early 1980s. The riot in 1976 changed things. The reasons for the riot are a different discussion, but the consequences, including increased policing, more regulations, and media reports focusing on violence and crime, reduced the joyful freedom and spontaneity that had made it so special. Many visitors became afraid to attend, and those who did were aware of a noticeable tension, especially around 7pm when the police would shut down the sound systems.

This naturally altered our approach. A dispiriting aspect was that an event that had largely managed itself was now subject to external decisions. It felt like something being done to us rather than by us. Regardless of how the content evolved, the entire affair became too orderly. It diminished the spontaneous, magnificent era of mass participation when simply showing up meant you were truly contributing to the essence of carnival.

But the Notting Hill carnival continued. As it approaches its 60th anniversary, it seems to be growing in size and spontaneity again, with the new generation bringing back that joyful energy. May the streets feel like theirs once more.