How Immigration gave Postwar Britain Its Voice in Pop
In The Lion and the Unicorn, George Orwell claimed the British, as a people, weren’t much good at music or art. We never produced a Mozart or a Michelangelo. Ask a mid-century Englishman whether he’d rather hear Handel conducted by a maestro or join a ropey amateur performance with his mates—and he'd pick the latter, especially if there were tea and sandwiches after.
Orwell wasn’t wrong—at least in 1941. But within a generation, Britain went from also-rans to world beaters.
From Blitz to Beatles: The Rise of British Pop Hegemony
Less than 25 years after Orwell’s essay, the Beatles were taking the stage at Shea Stadium, the biggest musical act in history, and the first truly global pop group. Britain may have relinquished its empire, but it had become a cultural superpower.
How did that happen in just a quarter of a century—the same gap between Oops I Did It Again and today?
The Language Advantage
Part of it was linguistic. Pop music, like rock 'n' roll, was born in the U.S., and it was born in English. But British pop’s rise wasn’t just about speaking the right language—it was about what English had become. After centuries of empire and influence, English was uniquely expressive, absorbing words, slang and idioms from around the world.
Writers like Lennon and McCartney, Ray Davies and Pete Townshend used pop to explore subjects no one had touched before—loneliness (Eleanor Rigby), sexuality (Dedicated Follower of Fashion), masturbation (Pictures of Lily).
The Glory of Amateurism
Then there was the British love of the amateur. Where Americans obsess over technique, Brits are happy to get stuck in with three chords and a cheeky chorus. Punk may have started in New York, but it was in London that it exploded—with a DIY ethos and a sharp political edge. The Damned, The Clash, the Jam—many started recording while barely out of school. Paul Weller wrote his first Top 40 hit at 16.
But these factors alone don’t explain the cultural shift. The real driver? Immigration.
Black Music and the Birth of British Pop
The Beatles cut their teeth covering Chuck Berry. The Who's debut album covers James Brown. The Rolling Stones, the Yardbirds, and most of the British Invasion groups built their sound on American Black music—blues, R&B, soul.
So how did that music get here?
GIs and the Base Line
American GIs were stationed in Britain from 1941 onward. Even after WWII ended, the U.S. Air Force kept bases across the UK. When France pulled out of NATO in the '60s, the U.S. expanded its presence. At the height of the Cold War, over 100 military sites in Britain hosted American troops. Even today, 13 remain.
Those troops brought Black American music—records, radios, jukeboxes. But the more profound influence came from a different source.
Windrush and Beyond
The Empire Windrush docked in 1948, beginning postwar Caribbean immigration to Britain. The first generation of British beat groups were the first to grow up with Black neighbours, classmates, and musical influences.
It’s no coincidence that the most diverse cities—Liverpool, Birmingham, Manchester, London—produced the most successful bands. These weren’t monocultural places. They were ports and crossroads, alive with new sounds and ideas.
And while Windrush is the headline, Black musicians had been here longer. Rhoda Dakar’s father was running London clubs before WWII. Ken “Snakehips” Johnson was killed by a German bomb in 1941. Jazz pianist Caleb Jonas Quaye was active in the 1920s; his grandson would later play guitar for Elton John, and record this freak beat classic:
The Blue Beat Girl: Millie Small and the Ska Explosion
Caribbean immigration didn’t just bring R&B—it brought ska and reggae. Britain’s love affair with ska started with one woman: Millie Small.
Born in Jamaica, Millie started her career as a 16 year old recording with Coxsone Dodd and Prince Buster before coming to the UK in 1964.
Her single My Boy Lollipop, produced by Chris Blackwell for Island Records, became the first international ska hit. She was marketed in the U.S. as “The Blue Beat Girl”—the first Jamaican pop star.
Millie never repeated the global success of Lollipop, but she kept recording. In 1969 she made an album for Trojan Records backed by British reggae band Symarip, who themselves had a hit with Skinhead Moonstomp.
But the standout track was something bolder.
Enoch Power: The Track That Spoke Up
Millie’s song Enoch Power directly mocked Conservative politician Enoch Powell and his apocalyptic Rivers of Blood speech. The BBC banned it. The press criticised Powell—the Times called him a “racialist”—but in pop music, Millie stood alone.
That’s worth repeating. At a time when the political right was weaponising race and immigration, the only pop musician to push back was Millie Small.
And this wasn’t irony or satire—it was resistance. Powell, lest we forget, had been Health Minister in the early '60s and personally oversaw the recruitment of Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi doctors to the NHS. Their appointment letters were signed by Powell himself. When I worked at the Department of Health 15 years ago, they still maintained a contingency fund for boat fares back to Bombay—part of the original contract. No one ever claimed it.
Powell was sacked from the Conservative front bench, eventually landing as an Ulster Unionist MP—his career tangled with scandal and allegations of historic abuse. In 2015, Bishop Paul Butler publicly named Powell as an abuser in a review of child sexual abuse within the Church of England.
Clapton’s Rant and the Birth of Rock Against Racism
It took until 1976 for the music industry to find its voice. When a drunken Eric Clapton praised Powell in a racist onstage rant, it sparked the formation of Rock Against Racism—a vital movement that helped galvanise opposition to the National Front.
But still, it's sobering: only Millie and Symarip had the guts to go first.
The Return of Powellism
Today, Powellism is back. Reform UK channel his racialised conservatism, often using language Powell would approve of. Yet where’s the musical resistance now?
We don't have a Millie Small or a Symarip to speak out. Just a few small voices, mocking the racists—if we’re lucky.