From magazine scrapbooks and HMV meet-and-greets to photographing hip hop royalty – inside the career of Jennie Baptiste

It’s Nice That (INT): What are your early memories of music and your connection to it?

Jennie Baptiste (JB): My early memories come from sharing a bedroom with my elder sister Caroline. When I was six or seven I remember she had a record player, and I remember hearing different types of music, because all three of my sisters were into different genres. And so that influence from a young age, because I had one that was into Motown and soul, then my elder sister was into rock and roll type music, which was different, then the other sister was into reggae, soca and calypso.

Then I had mum who would play music at the weekend in the living room on the turntable, and she was into everything from Dolly Parton, country and western, to reggae, calypso and pop music that would be on Top of the Pops – the whole infusion, so to speak. My sisters and I used to do mixtapes back then, pretending to be the DJs.

INT: Did you have any other interests as a kid?

JB: I was always into art as well. As a young child I would be drawing or painting, sitting on the floor in the bedroom and doing a still life of anything or drawings of album sleeve covers. Looking back now, I was very creative – my mum gave me the opportunity to just explore whatever it was I was interested in. I was also very much into dinosaurs. I had a part of the wall where I could put up whatever I wanted, so I had posters of dinosaurs and the first music artist I loved aged seven, Adam and the Ants.

INT: You’ve photographed so many stars. What’s your process for capturing them authentically?

JB: Getting to know them relatively quickly in a very short space of time! Letting them feel the relaxed energy from me and then hopefully I get a part of their persona that they may not have shown to somebody else – that’s something I learned on the job. I’ve also trained my mindset to always have an alternative at the back of my head.

For example, there’s a shoot with Nas. Illmatic had just come out, and he was talking about the streets and so on. He’d come over on his first major press conference and I told Sony I wanted to take him around to Soho, and they agreed. I ended up being the last photographer of the day and it was going to have to be in a basement kitchen. I was like, how am I gonna make it look good? I could see he was tired as well. You’ve got 15 minutes, it’s really hard to get into it, and at the same time you’ve got to be empathetic to them and what they do as an artist. I was young at that point as well, and a lot of the time I actually looked younger than what I was – if I was 20, I probably looked like 15. I’d carry prints to prove that I could take a photograph, because people would think I was the stylist on the shoot, and not the photographer. So I thought on my feet. In the dark room, I’d already done some imagery whereby I’d superimposed two images on one and that in the dark room, and I’d done it within the camera with multiple exposure too. I’ve given away a few things here, but the final photograph of Nas itself, people think up to this day that it was done by Photoshop. It wasn’t – it was done in the darkroom by me.

Some of it is down to soft skills and communication, because ultimately as a photographer, you’re talking to people on many different levels, and are having to navigate difficult situations. Sometimes people don’t want to be photographed. I’ve had scenarios where I’ve had to give them a quick “Well, actually, we’re helping each other! If you give me the chance to take your photograph, a label might like it, you might like it, and it goes in a magazine. Then your audience likes it, and your fans buy your music, it generates sales, and makes money.” I broke it down like that, and they were like, “She’s totally right – we doing the shoot.” At the end of the day, an editor’s only concerned with seeing the actual image that you’ve conveyed, not the difficulties that may have arisen along the way.

INT: It seems like it’s half about the photography and half about the interpersonal soft skills. One can’t happen without the other.

How did you manage working within this traditionally male-dominated space as a young Black woman in the 90s?

JB: I kind of had to prove that I was just as good as male counterparts. You know, this is pre internet, they couldn’t see what I had shot. I was influenced by my mum, she was an electronics engineer, so she was already working in a space that is unusual. She came here in the 60s when she was 18 years old and grafted her way up.

When I was 15 and speaking to the careers person, I’d already decided that this is what I'm doing. They weren’t going to tell me otherwise – I was very determined, I didn’t see anything as impossible. I grew up as a teenager in the 80s: I was aware of Thatcher, I was aware of Mandela being inside, and so I was aware of music being used as a political motivator and tool for the oppressed. The Special Aka came out with Free Nelson Mandela, when I was 14 or 15 in 1984 – it was a pop song in the charts! You don’t get that stuff anymore.

We had magazines like The Face, ID, Smash Hits and Essence. I had access to all of these through my sisters and my mum. There was a whole melting pot of different cultures and different points of view, which was good, because I was exposed to that, and that ‘I can do anything’ MTV generation mentality.

INT: People have whole teams doing all that sort of stuff. You were doing everything, the photographing, location sourcing and marketing?

JB: Yeah! I was reading these magazines and hearing the interviews about entrepreneurial spirit and that translated into my photography. I just started thinking, okay, so what brand wants to align with hip hop culture? Because I’ve got that audience. And Levi’s had a gallery at that point. So I went in, found out who the person I needed to speak to was, and wrote them a letter, and they ended up sponsoring Revolutions @33 1/3 rpm, an exhibition on London hip hop DJs.

Growing up, I read the autobiography of Don McCullin, Unreasonable Behaviour. I’d also watched films like Apocalypse Now, so I had an affinity and understanding of the power of the camera and how an image is cultivated and how a stereotype can be perpetuated – I was always conscious of how I shoot and what I do photograph, and how the subject is depicted.

INT: The second part of the exhibition focuses on your ongoing dancehall series. I’d love to know what drew you to trace such an iconic culture? And how has it changed since?

JB: It’s definitely changed from the very first shoot I did back in 1993 – even by then it was already getting commercial. The imagery that I was seeing within the culture at that time was of a particular type, and I was attracted to the genre because it was so vibrant. But I saw that it wasn’t really depicted in fashion magazines at that time, so I thought, I’m gonna do something on dancehall, but I’m gonna bring them into the studio – I wanted to show them in a different space. Whether it’s pop or rock music, you can photograph during the concert, you can photograph on the street. Well, you can also bring them into the studio. It’s no big deal! So I brought in people who were authentic to the culture, who dressed how they dressed, and I would just talk to them prior, and ask, can you do these moves?

INT: To wrap things up, I’d love to know if there have been any particular images or projects that you've really enjoyed returning to for the show?

JB: I think Black Chain of Icon, it’s the first time that it’s ever been shown – I’ve never put any of those images on social media. I’m from another era whereby I've still got stuff that the public hasn't seen as well. I feel certain pieces of work thrive in certain spaces and I think social media kind of flattens that. I think everything has a purpose and has a meaning, a time to drop, and a specific relevance.

Black Chain of Icons is a very early work from ’94 which includes experimental printing with different types of techniques. The original prints are mounted on aluminium plates and then hung from chains suspended from the ceiling. For me it was replicating dog tags as well and links to the past within that culture, our heritage, what’s been missing, and what chains symbolise more broadly as well. I also had quotes from Black speakers inscribed on the back of the plates, quotes from various artists, like Bob Marley’s, “emancipate yourself from mental slavery”, and Caron Wheeler, the lead singer in Soul II Soul.

I want a generation that hasn’t experienced that era to feel the essence of what it was like throughout the exhibition. I still have a business relationship with all the DJs, I still know them all 20-odd years later after shooting them. So when this exhibition came about I realised they need to be involved again. In the original Levi’s exhibition, they were all at the store, playing on the decks – it was part of the interactive experience. We’ve got a mix station with the images for each DJ so you’ll be able to put headphones on like you’re in a record store and listen to 15 minutes or half an hour of their mixes. I think it will be great for the generation who DM me and ask me questions like “What was it like in the 90s? It looks so great.”

Jennie Baptiste: Rhythm & Roots is running at Somerset House in London until 4 January. You can get tickets here.