'Spice, sunshine and bassline': Notting Hill carnival's history – told through its greatest anthems

Leslie Palmer MBE, organiser, 1970s

Arrow – Hot Hot Hot (1983)
This soca song brings back memories of the 1983 carnival, when the heatwave lasted all summer, like 2018. I walked home past Westbourne Park station and a whole coachload of policemen were going home themselves, singing “I’m feeling hot hot hot!” It was the big carnival song that year. I first went in the 1960s, when it was called the Notting Hill fayre. Claudia Jones started it in 1959 to recreate the Caribbean carnival experience for the Windrush generation of immigrants in the UK, and to relieve tensions after the 1958 race riots, but it was gradually joined by hippies and squatters. I sat in Powis Square watching the early Pink Floyd and Hawkwind playing alongside calypso and steel bands.

By 1973, carnival wasn’t going to happen, people were fed up of it being the same old thing, but I answered an advert in Time Out asking for organisers and made the changes that led to the modern event: reggae bands, sound systems, bands who rehearsed in Ladbroke Grove basements, all playing simultaneously. Peter Minshall, who later designed for Olympic opening ceremonies, designed the costumes. I encouraged bands to play R&B and Afro rock, and we had a white soul band, Kokomo. Radio London’s Reggae Time programme attracted thousands of Caribbean listeners, so I asked them to broadcast live, which gave us weeks of free publicity beforehand. Over three years, we went from 500 people to three-quarters of a million.

Don Letts, film director and DJ

Fabian – Prophecy (1977)
This politicised anthem by Faybiene Miranda was a massive carnival tune as it moved on from calypso and steel bands and became more militant. We’d had the rise of the National Front, the Sus laws and the general feeling of distrust between the black community and the police, which ended up in the 1976 carnival riots. The front cover of the Clash’s Black Market Clash shows me as a teenager, walking up to a line of police. The picture doesn’t show all the brothers behind me, with bricks and bottles – I was just getting out of the way. Carnival suffered from the media emphasis on the trouble between 1976 and 1981, but otherwise it’s been a beautiful expression of unity. When it began, it was about the British black experience, but brought together Africans, Moroccans, east Europeans, rastas, punks and the poor of Ladbroke Grove. Black culture has had a huge impact on white music and regulars such as Norman Jay, Jazzie B and myself grew up listening to David Bowie and the Stones. Culture, not politics, helps us to assimilate. When my parents’ generation came to the UK, it was all Andy Capp cartoons and Knees Up Mother Brown. We brought the spice, some sunshine and the bassline.

Gladwin Wright, AKA Gladdy Wax Sound System

Bob Marley and the Wailers – One Love (1977)
This sums up the vibe of carnival. It has a good lyric and beat, but you don’t know the magic of it until you hear it with the volume and power of a sound system. I don’t need to show off my record collection by playing rare stuff. Nothing blocks the street like this. I DJed with Birmingham’s Quaker City sound system on Bob Marley’s Catch a Fire tour. I remember my brothers going: “Dreadlocks onstage! This is the real thing.” Bob’s speakers made most sound systems seem lightweight. Sound systems ran in our family. I was the DJ at my own send-off party from Jamaica aged 14, and have been at carnival since 1986. I bought a generator initially, but a guy whose house I played outside loved it and offered his electricity. The cheaper generators made as much noise as the sound systems! When everyone went digital, I played old roots reggae and ska. People called me a musical educator, but nowadays we meander through all sorts. The crowd around my sound system is heartwarming and a force for multiculturalism. We all drink beer and we all dance to the same music.

Clary Salandy, costume designer

Ella Andall – Festival Song (2000)
This a modern calypso tune with a beat going back to the Africans who came to the Caribbean: that ritual element makes it perfect for the carnival parade. If a song is too fast, the costumes we design will jerk. It has to be paced so the fabric will just float. I’ve been designing for the parade since 1981. It’s not just colourful outfits and dancing. Each costume tells a story, like characters in a play. The symbolism provides the historical context of the Caribbean carnivals’ commemoration of the journey from slavery, and even further back with the African tradition of oral storytelling. But I always choose themes with current significance. This year’s “Windrush building greatness” tells the story of the Windrush generation, from being invited to rebuild the UK after the war to Enoch Powell’s “rivers of blood” speech to today. It’s fun, but with underlying meaning. I want people to gasp, to be moved by the ingenuity of the designs and ask questions about the message. When the music and the costumes come together, it’s pure magic and energy; the spirit of carnival.

Mikey Dread, Channel One sound system

Colour Red – Natty Dreadlocks (2000)
Carnival visitors from all over the world know this track: it’s a roots tune that livens the place up instantly. If I don’t play it, someone will be after me. I’ve been at carnival for 35 years – when I started, you could plug in to the electric box on the street. Carnival only makes the news when kids throw bottles, but it’s the biggest street festival in Europe and I don’t understand why it’s not televised, like Glastonbury. It’s not £240 to get in, it’s free and, in August, it’s the place to be. People tell me: “I heard your sound system when I was a kid.” My equipment is all hand-built and every carnival is different. People come along and play saxophone or guitar, or someone will get on the mic. I play for seven hours, everything from old roots, such as Fred Locks or Tinkle Brothers, to newer artists like Sis Nya or Robert Dallas. People come to forget their problems. Channel One’s corner on Leamington Road Villas has become a meeting place for people and has inspired other sound systems. I tell people: Channel One won’t be around for ever, so start making your own history.

Lisa Mercedez, dancehall artist

Soca Boys – One Cent, Five Cent, Ten Cent, Dollar (1998)
This is a cover of a track originally called Dollar Wine by Colin Lucas. It’s also been done by Byron Lee and the Dragonaires, a soca band who first played at Jamaican carnivals in the 1950s. I first heard it as a child growing up there and it came with me to the UK. Jamaican carnivals are wilder, but here it’s one of the few places where people can really let themselves go and have fun – be sexy, get drunk, everything – without being judged. As a woman, it’s well policed and a safe environment to wear skimpy outfits. We all need to let our hair down once in a while. It’s always been male dominated, but when I saw the lineup for this year I went “wow”. It’s time for us women to show the guys that we can do it, too, maybe even better.

Keith Franklin, KCC and the Rocking Crew

Shaun Escoffery – Days Like This (Spinna & Ticklah Club Mix) (2002)
This is a classic house tune that people really respond to. It’s beautiful when you can lower the music and people are still singing. I’ve been playing house music all night long, as they say, at carnival since 1990. It was difficult at first. Carnival was built on reggae and soca, so people called us names, but I busted my tunes and crowds followed. We’ve had Roger Sanchez, Mousse T and Heller & Farley on our sound system: it’s whoever turns up, and we break new tunes each year. Currently, Afro house is strong.

I haven’t missed a carnival since I was 10 and have had some wonderful times, like watching Frank Bruno breakdancing. As a young British black kid, I saw Jah Shaka on the mic at carnival and thought: “I wanna do that.” I built a system and got my chance when Soul II Soul pulled out and we knocked on a neighbour’s door to ask for electricity. An old lady would cook jerk chicken or someone would charge people to use their toilet. There are more restrictions nowadays and I sometimes think: “Why do we do this?” but as soon as you hear that tsk-tsk-tsk coming through the speakers and people start smiling, it’s wonderful.

Lady Banton (Marilyn Dennis), Seduction City sound system

Bob Marley and the Wailers – Three Little Birds (1977)
Bob Marley exemplifies carnival. On our street this gets everybody singing together, and we pass round the mic and some of the younger people might sing a verse. It’s about bringing everybody together. There aren’t many female sound systems. When I started in a youth club, guys would book us and want to get us off when they realised we were women. In the early 90s, I saw a female sound system at carnival called Three Women and a Baby. They never came back but I thought: “I can do that.” In 1994, my Mellotone sound system played out of a lorry; I then started Seduction City in 2016. Today, the road is heaving. Women play the music differently. I’ll play heartbreak music, which many guys won’t, and fuse reggae together with everything from Afrobeats to garage. I won’t play gun or homophobic lyrics. I provide a safe environment for everyone. We’ve got three female selectors, including an MC, Andrea C, who sings. Girls go: “Wow, those are women up there.” It’s really good for them. There will be more female sound systems, definitely.

DJ D’Nyce, Rampage sound system

Sticky featuring Ms Dynamite – Booo! (2001)
This is a great garage tune that Ms Dynamite performed with us at carnival. The whole road surged forward; we were on scaffolding towers that almost toppled and we were hanging on for dear life, but Ms Dynamite handled it. She was like a mum, telling the crowd off. I’ve seen all sorts at carnival. People bring dogs. I once saw someone carrying a boa constrictor. People like Shaggy or Dizzee Rascal have performed with Rampage and we had Stormzy on before he was known. As a female DJ, I’ve been sheltered by being with Rampage. I have had women come up to me thinking I’m someone’s girlfriend, but I’ve also had girls say: “You inspired me.” I think women mix tunes with a different feel. I play drum‘n’bass, hip-hop, everything really, to 20,000 people in Colville Square. Gentrification has changed carnival, though – when the music starts you see rich property owners fleeing with suitcases, but, mostly, Ladbroke Grove and Notting Hill has the haves and the have-nots living together amicably. Nowadays, even the policemen are dancing. They know the tunes because they’re all ex-ravers.

Benjamin D, The Heatwave, dancehall DJ squad

Mr Vegas – I Am Blessed (2012)
This is quite a religious dancehall tune about the feeling of waking up happy. It’s really catchy, a carnival smash. Dancehall has had increasing influence, like hip-hop, but you hear it more from static sound systems than the trucks, which are rooted in the traditions of calypso and soca. Afrobeats has had more influence lately, and the interaction of that with dancehall is the sound of 2018. People treat carnival as an opportunity to get pissed, but, behind that, it’s a manifestation of people resisting oppression and racism. Like any cultural experience, it helps you learn about other people. I first came aged 10 or 11 and, as a white kid, embraced sound-system culture. As multiculturalism is attacked, carnival helps people to understand that it’s not about white English and black Caribbean: it’s about our shared experience, because of Windrush and the NHS. Last year was affected by Grenfell: the remains of the building were in everyone’s eyeline, but it felt like various communities coming together in solidarity. I introduced the minute’s silence, when everyone stopped partying and stood, respectful. It was deep.