The UK loves baile funk — but does it understand it?

It's common to hear baile funk beats in London clubs, yet many DJs and fans remain unaware of the music's history. The genre often intersects with hip hop, grime and trap sounds at parties, but its roots are rarely acknowledged. To understand baile funk is to confront its complexity: a celebration of Black joy and a mirror reflecting systemic oppression. As a Black Brazilian who moved from São Paulo to London in 2020, I am a product of this society. I've witnessed baile funk's influence on London's underground scene and how Western audiences embrace its sound.

My Instagram DMs are constantly bombarded by partygoers who want to know what’s up and are seeking authentic Brazilian vibes. The list is endless, from Brazilian events hosted in London like XOX, Baile Trama, Viva Baile, Nosso Baile, Ghetto, Alt Baile, Carioca Events and Vai Brasil to Pulsar in Manchester and Baile do Futuro in Bristol.

They are redefining the dancefloor, creating connections and, most importantly, giving visibility to artists, introducing Brazil to the UK through what is most important to us - our culture. The Jazz Cafe became a crucial spot for Brazilian music lovers by presenting prestigious baile funk DJs like DJ Caio Prince, TH4YS, and VHOOR, alongside Afro-Brazilian artists such as Luedji Luna, Rincon Sapiência, Djong, and Baco Exu do Blues, straight from Brazil as part of the venue's programme.

The passinhos, choreographed funk dance steps popularised by young people of Rio embedded in tambor drum beats. is a fusion of samba, frevo, and the capoeira swing born as a protest against the baile funk criminalisation to express the freedom, joy, and love story deeply attached to the genre. To help gringos keep up with the energy Baile da Silva, Body Funktion, Brazilian Dance and Funk Fest offer weekly baile funk classes across London with a pretty diverse audience.

In 2023, for the first time, baile funk had its stage at City Splash, the biggest festival that celebrates Caribbean and African culture in the UK. Latinolife, the UK's largest Latin music festival, also holds a unique space for the Brazilian hit.

From hip hop to UK garage and incorporating sounds from diverse cultures, Jyoty has played an essential role in introducing baile funk to wider audiences, particularly through her DJ sets and radio show. Nooriyah's viral Boiler Room set showcases music from the Southwest Asian and North African regions, sampling baile funk elements. She shows that no borders or language barriers can contain these sounds. Baile funk has crossed into other electronic subgenres, from UK grime to dancehall. Peroli is one of the leading DJs from Brazil connecting the dots between Brazilian grime, drill and baile funk.

Read this next: 10 crucial tracks telling the history of São Paulo's baile funk scene

The aprtment life collective shows how the baile funk is now beautifully integrated into the UK scene. These DJs are pushing the genre into new territory, experimenting with a fusion of sounds that reflects the diasporic nature of London's musical landscape: Sonia Sol illuminates us with Jamaican and Spanish roots in her; Shifa Ligero shares her sonic journey from South London spinning Jersey club to baile funk to amapiano; DJ and model Haruna represent his Nigerian and Ugandan roots in his show.

The new global wave is loved everywhere, but baile funk remains a trend for many, who do not know of its legacy and origins. Baile funk is Black music from Brazil. Baile funk is electronic music. Baile funk is now global music. What is the risk of erasing its story?

The origin of baile funk is rooted in the resilience of enslaved Africans who were forcibly brought to Brazil. Baile funk is part of Afro-Brazilian culture. It is one of the most recognisable and celebrated genres in the world. Brazil's rich identity has captivated audiences far beyond its borders, from samba, capoeira, and Carnival to the global notoriety of football legends like Pelé, Neymar, and Vinícius Jr. A new wave of Brazilian aesthetics—rooted in the favelas—is influencing global fashion and music with its hits featuring artists from Kanye West and Beyoncé to Rosalía, Drake, Asake, and Cardi B.

It was invented in Ro de Janeiro, bubbling with its sunshine, beaches, and the welcoming "jeitinho carioca" way of life ("Rio's way") that we could translate as a metaphor for how people from the urban city, especially in poor communities, navigate daily challenges in the face of inequalities, violence, and paradoxical beauty. They face these by finding clever (sometimes cheeky) solutions often born of necessity in a metropolis marked by stunning landscapes and a mix of humour, love, and resourcefulness that reflects its chaotic energy. As the singer and composer MC Carol states: "O funk é a voz da Quebrada." (Funk is the voice of the periphery).

As a journalist, I want to illuminate how music journalism shapes public perceptions of Afro-Brazilian culture. We can't comprehend baile funk without knowing its origins. Let me take you on a journey to Brazil, where I come from. In 1500, my homeland was recognised as a nation and became a Portuguese colony, which it remained until 1822. Despite its European discovery by Pedro Álvares Cabral, who claimed the region for the Portuguese crown, millions of Indigenous people, like the Tupí-Guaraní and countless others, having come from Asia during the last Ice Age, lived there.

In the second half of the 16th century, the Portuguese enslaved native people to work on plantations and mines. The country saw a shift from Indigenous to African slavery as a result of diseases sickening and killing so many Indigenous people. It was a Portuguese colony for over 300 years, and in the first 67 years of its independence, it was an empire and monarchy rather than a republic.

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During the three centuries between 1550 and 1850, an estimated four million Africans were brought to Brazil, making it the country with the most significant slave population in the world at the start of the 19th century. It was the last in the Western Hemisphere to outlaw slavery, only doing so in 1888 with the Golden Law (Lei Áurea).

Enslaved people was forcibly taken from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt, Sudan, Congo, Angola, Mozambique, and other parts of Africa. Rio de Janeiro and Salvador were the two biggest ports that received enslaved people in the trade. Brazil benefited greatly from Africa's economic, cultural, and social contributions.

Examples of slavery have persisted since it was legally abolished. In 2022, the Ministry of Labour declared the most extended slavery case recorded in Brazil. A woman who spent 72 years in an exploitative situation in Rio de Janeiro was rescued after an anonymous complaint. The organisation warns that cases like hers, which occurred 134 years after the outlawing of slavery, are not uncommon.

There has been no compensation in any form, with slaved Africans left to live in poverty. Industrialisation driven by European immigration, as part of a program to whiten the population and replace Black labour, combined with soldiers returning from the bloody Canudos War—who had been promised land upon their return—resulted in the settlement of overcrowded tenement housing (cortiços), which became the precursors to favelas.

Despite Brazilians having historically believed their country was a "racial democracy", Lélia Gonzalez, a Brazilian historian and anthropologist, addresses the issue of cultural appropriation: “Racism is integral to the unconscious structures of Brazilian society, and the denial of this, as well as of the African roots of its culture, is precisely the purpose that the myth of racial democracy serves”. She highlights the need for empowerment, implicitly linking it to developing non-violent and equitable social relations within the social and political structure and in people’s unconscious.

Baile funk, born in the 1970s in Rio de Janeiro, fused Afro-Brazilian rhythms, US Black Power references, Miami bass, and more. It was pioneered by DJs like Big Boy and Ademir Lemos through sweaty, fun and hectic baile Black parties, forging a cultural identity celebrating Afro-Brazilian pride. Police repression linked the scene to radical movements. However, for decades, baile funk artists have refused to be silenced. Despite elites dismissing the genre as "noise" or "vulgar," these grassroots sounds exploded into the mainstream as duos like Claudinho & Buchecha fused baile funk's beats with pop melodies.

The baile funk parties are crucial spaces for leisure and mental well-being for Brazilian youth and people worldwide who appreciate our culture and identity. When we view baile funk merely as a sexual, tropical rhythm that allows for freedom of expression through body and dance but strips away its historical significance, we risk delegitimising the entire foundation that underpins its culture, its social struggles, and the transformations it has undergone over the years.

Read this next: Perifa No Toque is a baile funk haven for people on the fringe of São Paulo

Beyond that, there is also the silencing of the systemic oppressions surrounding the genre. Baile funk DJs and artists—who boast millions of followers on social media and have solid careers built on their artistic production as their primary source of income—have been unjustly accused by the Brazilian criminal system of being linked to crime. In many instances, they are treated as lower-class citizens, often being stopped by the police, denied access to certain luxury goods, or criminalised and stigmatised by the media.

This treatment is the outcome of cultural inheritance and the enduring stain of historical racism that has produced extreme inequalities, failed to provide reparations, and continues to pose challenges in modern Brazil for ensuring equal opportunities for Afro-Brazilians and other underrepresented community members.

A proposed law in Brazil late this January brought controversy by attempting to sideline funk and rap artists, aiming to ban public funding for lyrics that encourage drug use or criminal activity. The so-called 'Anti-Oruam' bill is associated with the star Oruam, whose lyrics often reflect life and portray the hardships of living in favelas and urban communities. Born in 2001 in Rio de Janeiro, he is a prominent figure in Brazilian trap music, with over 10 million monthly listeners on Spotify. The argument is that Oruam has become a symbol of artists who "glorify crime." Critics say the measure is a targeted attack on peripheral cultural movements like rap and funk.

Oruam is the son of Marcinho VP, a figure accused of leading the Comando Vermelho criminal faction and imprisoned since 1996. Oruam never had a relationship with his father. According to the rapper, this bill is part of a long-standing effort to criminalise funk, rap, and trap music. "They've always tried to criminalise our genres. Now, because the son of a trafficker became successful, they see an opportunity. I became a political target. But this isn't just about me—it's about the entire scene," Oruam stated. He expresses the media's disinterest in an interview, arguing that when controversies involving him and the police arise, news outlets use his name in headlines to paint him as a criminal.

Historically, the Brazilian state has consistently targeted and criminalised music genres predominantly produced and consumed by Black and poor youth. Meanwhile, the elite—descendants of enslavers—both reject and appropriate these cultural expressions for their benefit. Notably, the Brazilian Constitution guarantees freedom of expression, though it is still under threat, like many other rights, particularly for those without certain social privileges. In 2019, Renan da Penha, a DJ and music producer widely credited with pioneering the 150 BPM style of baile funk, pushing Afro house in Brazil, and exploring the connection of its sounds mainly through his work in Baile da Gaiola, one of Rio de Janeiro's most famous funk parties, was imprisoned, and later released, after being wrongfully convicted of drug trafficking.

Over the past two decades, more than 700,000 Black young people (aged 15–29) have been killed, approximately 59,000 deaths a year, according to the Atlas of Violence by the Institute of Applied Economic Research (IPEA) and the Brazilian Forum of Public Security (FBSP), with the highest number of killings perpetrated by the police. The denial of racism in Brazil results in the continuous appropriation of Black Brazilian cultural and intellectual production. The intentional whitewashing promoted by the national media reflects the lack of diversity in mass communication, shapes individuals’ subjectivity, influences institutional practices—including the mass incarceration of Black people—and ultimately reinforces violent structures that shape their lived experiences. Furthermore, linguistic barriers make it challenging to communicate this narrative globally, as only 1% of Brazil's population speaks English fluently.

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These cultural manifestations, also called Cultura de Quebrada (Culture of the favela), refer to artistic movements linked to lifestyle, sports, streetwear, and cultural expressions from the quebradas. The term is colloquial for working-class neighbourhoods, favelas, and urban peripheries. It symbolises a blend of identity, resistance, and creativity from social and economic struggles.

Simultaneously, it has become a voice for the underprivileged and the have-nots, intertwined with the wounds of slavery, modernisation, and postcolonial struggles in Brazil. In 2024, the footballer Vinicius Jr. won the Champions League with Real Madrid. The achievement came accompanied by racist attacks in Spain. To support Vinicius Jr. in response to the racism he faces in Europe, GR6, the largest independent music label in Latin America, produced the track 'Os Pretos no Devido Lugar', created to honour the player, which brings together 11 significant names, including Ludmilla, MC Ryan SP, MC Hariel, MC Don Juan, MC Livinho, and Ice Blue from Racionais (the biggest rap band in Brazil).

The rise of Baile funk—especially with social media propelling it to global stages—has provided Brazilian artists with financial opportunities regardless of educational qualifications, race, gender, or social status. Baile funk remains to empower the historically voiceless and enables development in places where survival often hinges on crime, violence, or exploitation. ”Baile" is a way to translate the English word "party" into a social gathering for dancing. Brazilians tend to say simply "funk."

Artists like MC Soffia, a young voice that highlights African-descendant culture through her rhymes, and Rincon Sapiência blend Afro-Brazilian rhythms with a sharp social critique that taps into the sound of African music. They bring a broader contribution to the movement of favela music and identity.

When MC Soffia sang about playing with dolls as a child, she addressed Black children's realities because the doll was Black. Her mother's activism, her experiences with racism, and her studies of Black Brazilian history all influence who she is.

Rincon Sapiência focuses on Black people's identity, diversity, and self-esteem in the Brazilian context. His rhymes celebrate his identity and combat various forms of prejudice and discrimination.

With 79 million views of the 'Empurra Empurra' track and many other hits, MC Dricka solidified her place in the Brazilian funk music industry. Inspired by pioneers such as Ludmilla, Tati Quebra Barraco, MC Carol, and MC Marcelly. Dricka sings about women's pleasure and the freedom to be and do what they want. Although there remains ample scope for improving fair representation within this arena, many women and queer artists are achieving success through their art and changing lives. They are not just consumers or passive subjects in the tunes but active protagonists. While some lyrics might be sexist, the genre has evolved alongside social changes. Music has been a lifeline for many—paths that might have led to very different or tragic outcomes without this cultural outlet.

In contrast to UK rave culture, "fluxos" are street parties, often called Baile de favela (favela parties or pancadões), pulsing bass-driven gatherings held on the outskirts of São Paulo. These events are free meet-ups where young people enjoy baile funk, often under the authorities' radar. The documentary, also named Fluxo, narrates the experience of Fábio — a 22-year-old Black man from Cidade Tiradentes, a working-class district in São Paulo's East Zone.

We must also acknowledge the educational role of these spaces. Baile funk challenges the norms of club culture by offering a setting for enjoyment, respect, self-expression, connection, opportunity creation, learning, and economic and social development. Yet, those who experience baile funk first-hand—whether music lovers, cultural enthusiasts, or partygoers—witness an atmosphere that goes beyond a mere dance club.

According to the Brazilian Embassy's 2023 report, an estimated 70,000 Brazilians reside in London, with 30% under 35. Young Brazilians living in the UK have immigrated here and needed spaces to connect with British peers and the lively world of UK Black music that thrives in the city and links us globally. From these international connections and a shared sense of love and homesickness—a longing for a nonjudgmental space where everyone could dance, embrace one another, speak both Portuguese and English and celebrate a new identity away from home while still holding on to our roots—the Baile Funk Culture party was born. It promotes integration among young Brazilians and Black British. It shares Brazil's African heritage through a musical journey via the sounds of the diaspora, blending the unique multiculturalism that London breathes.

The documentary Baile Funk Culture - The Beginning tells the inspiring story of two Brazilian girls who moved to London to establish a dynamic collective called BFC. It was produced by Santano Productions, a collaboration between the creative minds of Henrique Sungo from Angola and Filipe Anjos from São Tomé and Príncipe.

In summary, baile funk is an open and well-integrated culture that wishes to share its story within the United Kingdom by providing an actual narrative, highlighting our purpose in this genre and its historical foundation, and showcasing our love of our culture. Together, we can continue to use music for social change, build communities, and preserve the legacy and continuation of grassroots songs.

Gabriela Vallim is a journalist, cultural producer and founder of Baile Funk Culture, follow her on Instagram

Blackout Mixmag is an editorial series dedicated to Black artists, issues and stories, first launched in 2020. Our 2025 features are co-guest edited by Kevin Saunderson and Kwame Safo (AKA Funk Butcher). Read all of the previously published pieces here