The story of how Soul Connection was made isn’t an unfamiliar one. Recorded in a bedroom in Hackney, artist Toyin Agbetu had steadily been building a community of musicians and producers drawn towards a UK street soul inclination. Having virtually no money after renting a full studio setup, Agbetu and friend Earl Myers spent two days recording a significant amount of material, under the moniker Soul Connection. However, the significance of this detail is the time between 1988 and 1990, at the height of the UK soul explosion.

During the early 1990s, as Toyin Agbetu sought to grow and expand the UK soul community through the various spin-off labels he spawned, he was joined by the likes of Omar, Zushii, David Grant, Tongue N Cheek, Young Disciples, Soul II Soul and many more as leaders of the new school. The two albums released under the Soul Connection name, Rough & Ready and Raw Street Soul, contained a blend of breakbeat, acid jazz, soul and hip-hop. The sounds on those albums were very much of their time—all synths and cowbells, elements which have been creeping into a lot of contemporary R&B of late (see: Amber-Simone and Lynda Dawn).

Last year, Soul Connection released a collection of songs from both Rough & Ready and Raw Street Soul. It’s not very often that UK soul classics get reissues such as these, but it’s an indication of the enduring influence of the early ‘90s street soul movement. “Change / Love” is a manifestation of an early jungle sound that would soon take over the British underground rave scene that decade, while tracks such as the more uptempo “Waiting 4 Your Love” felt very much like an ‘80s leftover akin to what Loose Ends were making.

In the EP’s liner notes, Agbetu touches on the environment that young Africans such as himself were creating during the late 1980s. Reading his words, it does feel as though little has changed: “In the ‘80s during the time of Street Soul, the African heritage community in the UK was going through a really bad time with police aggression, stop and search, the educational system was subnormal. And as a young man, music was the only space where I felt I had some sort of sovereignty that my gift could come out and nobody could actually downgrade me.”

The British soul scene still thrives today because it is heavily self-reliant, but the conditions in which Agbetu created are still ever-present, if not more apparent in some respects. If major labels are only just beginning to make room for more than just one or two R&B artists, attempting to get a look-in three decades ago was nigh on impossible. However, it’s that DIY ethos that Soul Connection were championed for and is still a fundamental aspect of the vibrancy and dynamism of underground music in the UK.

Agbetu also touched on the importance of archiving and the ways in which Street Soul fell through the gaps. “If you try to Shazam us, we don’t come up,” he said. “Some people may think that it’s a very trivial thing to worry about, but as someone who’s a scholar-activist and I am very aware of how important it is to archive things correctly or else people may start to forget history.” Street Soul fell outside of technical revolutions such as the CD and since it was released independently, there weren’t the resources at hand to digitise files. When we archive art in the present, it’s not just about providing context for a moment in history but it gives its existence dignity.

Due to the physical release of the EP last year, Street Soul can now be found on digital streaming platforms. It may have taken thirty years for younger generations to experience it, however the project has since taken on a new life. It not only provides a reference point for what exists today but a window into the UK soul movement of the ‘90s. Movements like these laid the foundations for the sounds that we currently enjoy, and while artists such as Soul Connection can’t be found on streaming platforms, their sound still lingers in those who stand on their shoulders today.