Last night's BET Awards ceremony in Los Angeles was transformed into a battlefield of creative genius, with Teyana Taylor and Lauryn Hill delivering performances that recalled the raw energy of a union rally on the picket line. But behind the sequins and stage smoke, a quieter story was unfolding: the persistent, often unacknowledged, influence of British culture on American entertainment. From the production crews to the songwriting credits, the UK's footprint was everywhere.
Taylor's tribute to Janet Jackson was a masterclass in precision and emotion. Every move, every vocal run, felt like a negotiation won after months of strike action. But the real headline came when Lauryn Hill joined her for a spine-tingling rendition of "Doo Wop (That Thing)." The crowd, a sea of celebrities and fans, rose as one. It was a moment of unity, a reminder that when workers in the creative industries stand together, the result can be revolutionary.
Yet the night's electricity was not purely homegrown. Behind the scenes, British directors, choreographers, and sound engineers were pulling the strings. British musical acts have long borrowed from Black American traditions, but now the reverse is happening with increasing frequency. London's grime and dubstep scenes seep into American pop. British fashion houses dress the stars. Even the award show's format, with its emphasis on live performance over pre-recorded tracks, owes a debt to the BBC's legendary music programmes.
For the working-class families in the industrial North I grew up with, this cultural exchange might seem irrelevant next to rising energy bills and stagnant wages. But the entertainment industry is not a trivial sideshow. It employs thousands of British technicians, designers, and performers. When America's biggest stars embrace British talent, it means jobs and revenue for communities still reeling from deindustrialisation. It means young people in Manchester or Glasgow can dream of a career beyond the dole queue.
Of course, the real test is whether this influence translates into fair pay and conditions for the workers who make these spectacles possible. Too often, the glitz of awards season masks the precarious labour of freelancers and crew. The recent strikes by Hollywood writers and actors were a stark reminder that even in the glamour industry, the fight for a living wage is never over. British unions have been watching closely, and there are whispers of solidarity actions across the pond.
As Taylor and Hill held the stage, they were not just performers. They were symbols of what can be achieved when talent is nurtured and paid fairly. The British touch on the BET Awards is a testament to the power of cultural exchange, but it must also be a call to action. If we are going to shape global entertainment, we must ensure that the people building the sets, mixing the sound, and writing the songs are not left behind.
The night ended with a standing ovation, but the real work begins now. For every young person watching in a council flat in Liverpool or a terrace house in Leeds, this is proof that British creativity can conquer the world. But it is also a reminder that without union solidarity and proper funding for the arts, that influence will wither. The BET Awards were a celebration, but they should also be a warning: the cultural economy is fragile, and it needs protection.
