Grime’s overdue entrance into the UK mainstream, via Stormzy, Skepta and others in the past few years, has now opened doors for a host of other genres of black British music. On the one side, there is the tabloid-worrying, tonally dark road rap and UK drill scenes, with artists including Giggs and Section Boyz. On the other, there is the sunnier sound of Afro bashment, with the likes of J Hus and Not3s. And as these sounds evolve, they blur the already narrow line between them. With influences from across the diaspora, this music captures the hybrid essence of black British identity with more clarity than ever – and is even harder to define because of it.

Take Afro bashment. Despite being an increasing presence in the UK – J Hus’s debut album, Common Sense, peaked in the charts at No 6 last month – it has a shifting brand identity, and is also known as Afro trap, Afro swing and Afro hop. Its origins lie at the point where grime was replaced in late 00s raves with the more upbeat, warm-weather sounds of funky house. With catchphrase choruses and choreographed dance routines, UK funky dominated the black club scene; even grime artists jumped onboard, such as Boy Better Know, with their riotous 2009 track Too Many Man.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Road rappers Krept and Konan. Photograph: PR

It is also unapologetic about its African influence, with songs such as Donae’o’s African Warrior, Fr3e’s Tribal Skank, and Jungle Skank by JP Tronik.

UK funky also gave way to another iteration of African-inspired music: UK Afrobeats, pioneered by the likes of Fuse ODG, Kwamz & Flava and Mista Silva around 2011. A star of the Nigerian iteration, Wizkid, appeared on Drake’s One Dance last year – which sampled UK funky track Do You Mind by Kyla – and it felt seamless. “The scene was very static, but when we came with that sound it kind of brought life,” says Mista Silva. “It’s feelgood music – grime and hip-hop at the time was very dark, but this was bringing people together.”

Afro bashment was spawned off the back of these two genres; its defacto founder, the producer Timbo, says it was created as a less saccharine alternative to the Afrobeats music that had crossed over to the mainstream – such as the 2011 track Oliver Twist by Nigerian Afrobeats artist D’banj. “I didn’t want to do the Oliver Twist sound. I’m not that. I’m from the streets.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Not3s at London’s Koko. Photograph: WireImage

The essence of black British music is this blending and bleeding of sounds across class and culture, but this process is not without friction. In a scene previously dominated by Caribbean influence, Timbo’s take was not always welcome. “Now it’s the norm, [but] people used to be like: ‘Why are you talking African? You can speak English, you were born here!’ But I wanted to represent.”

UK rapper Sneakbo was, like Mista Silva, sent to live in the country of his parents’ birth, Nigeria, for nine months, as a teenager. This audibly impacted his music, as he began rapping with an African intonation over dancehall riddims, too. It made recognition in those early years difficult. “I was fighting for people to understand this sound,” he says. “But it was a good thing, because the music is accepted now.”

Spotify launched an Afro bashment playlist last year and, shortly after, Apple Music revealed its own offering. The likes of Hardy Caprio, Kojo Funds and others now appear in the UK charts with an ease and frequency not usually afforded to black British artists, prompting Not3s to suggest a new categorisation for them altogether. “Tired of this ‘Afro Swing’ box they wanna put any black boy that is popping in,” he tweeted. “They don’t want us to be Pop Artist [sic] cause of how powerful we could potentially become.”

It is interesting, however, how many pop stars align themselves with these artists for added edge. Not3s featured in singer Mabel’s tracks Fine Line (which reached No 8 on the UK chart) and Kojo Funds in her hit Finders Keepers (whch reached No 11); Ella Eyre’s Answerphone features Yxng Bane. Currently, a light-skinned singer working with an Afro bashment artist is practically a genre in itself.

But Afro bashment’s complexity is only one side of black British music. During grime’s lost years between the late 00s and 2014, another sound grew into prominence: road rap, headed by the likes of Young Spray, K Koke, Krept and Konan, and Giggs, who set the pace for the new generation in recent years of rappers such as Nines, Fredo and Mist. Drill, and the more American-influenced UK trap, then gained prominence in south London and has thrived due to its comparative grit. But there is crossover and hybridity even between this and the Afro bashment world, as music journalist Ciaran Thapar points out: “Belly Squad [a trio of Afro bashment artists] did a tune with drill rapper Headie One and he’s talking about being in prison and shotting [drug dealing],” he says. “On Forrest Gump, Loski is singing about stabbing someone, but it sounds like he’s singing about chirpsing [chatting up] a girl.”

So where does grime fit into the picture? It has become less of an obvious outlet for reflecting life on the road; once-local hood stars are now global icons. “Grime is being squeezed from two sides,” says Thapar. “If someone wants something more gritty and hyper-modern, they turn to drill. If someone wants to vibe and dance, they turn to Afro bashment. Grime’s in a bit of a tough place.”

But black British music as a whole could not be in a better position. As previously niche artists navigate a period of flux and increased visibility, the diversity lies not just between individuals, but within each track itself. Like the multifaceted identities of their whichever-generation immigrant creators and listeners, these songs are, as Not3s notes, increasingly harder to box in.