Labi Siffre's story is one of defiance, resilience, and quiet revolution. Born in 1945 in Hammersmith, London, to a British mother and a Nigerian father, Siffre grew up as an openly gay Black man in a country and music industry that, for much of his life, struggled to accept either identity. Despite these challenges, he stood firm, carving out a space for himself not only as an artist but also as a beacon of moral integrity in an often exploitative industry. His music, words, and unwavering principles serve as a testament to the power of living authentically, regardless of the cost.

For Siffre, music was always profoundly personal. His early work in the 1970s showcased a tenderness and vulnerability that starkly contrasted with the masculinity typically celebrated in mainstream pop and soul. Tracks like "It Must Be Love" radiate unguarded emotion, while others, such as "(Something Inside) So Strong," draw from his lived experiences of facing systemic oppression. The latter, inspired by apartheid in South Africa, serves as a soaring anthem of resilience and justice. However, its origins are also rooted in Siffre's struggles as a gay Black man in Britain — a fight to exist in a world that often sought to erase or diminish him.

Growing up in a country where racism and homophobia were not only commonplace but socially accepted, Siffre refused to let prejudice define him. He was open about his sexuality long before it was safe to be so, meeting his first partner, Peter Lloyd, in 1964 and remaining with him for nearly five decades. This was a radical act in itself — loving openly in a society that still criminalised homosexuality until 1967 and continued to marginalise LGBTQ+ individuals for decades after. Siffre's identity wasn't just a backdrop to his work; it was central to it. His music and poetry became vehicles for challenging bigotry and celebrating difference, and his refusal to compromise his identity is what made his career both remarkable and challenging.

This unflinching moral compass was never more evident than in the controversy surrounding the sampling of his 1975 track "I Got The…". The song, taken from his album Remember My Song, features a funk-driven bassline that would become one of the most recognisable riffs in modern hip-hop. When Dr. Dre and Eminem sought to use it for "My Name Is," Siffre took issue with the original lyrics presented to him, which he found to be misogynistic and homophobic. He withheld permission, insisting the lyrics be changed before he'd allow the sample. "Dissing the victims of bigotry — women as 'b*****s', homosexuals as' f*****s' — is lazy writing," he later explained. "Diss the bigots, not their victims."

Although the revised version was released with his approval, the explicit version later surfaced, leaving Siffre feeling betrayed. This was not just a contractual issue for him but a matter of principle. His music represented his values, and he could not accept it being used in ways that undermined those values.

Despite these challenges, Siffre's influence on music is vast. Artists like Jay-Z and Kanye West have sampled his work, and his songs have found new audiences over the years. For instance, his track "It Must Be Love" became a defining hit for the ska group Madness when they covered it in 1981, bringing his songwriting to mainstream audiences in a way his own version hadn't achieved. Yet, while his compositions have been celebrated, Siffre himself has often been overlooked, his name relegated to the shadows while others profited from his creativity. It's a painful irony for an artist who spent his life championing the voices of the marginalised.

But perhaps that's what makes Siffre's legacy so enduring. Fame was never the motivating goal for him. He once said, "If I sing about love and justice, those listening will likely feel love and justice. That's why I do it." For Siffre, the message was always more important than the spotlight.