There are a few words that could convey the devastation we’re all feeling over the sudden death of Jamal Edwards.
Shocked, heartbroken and floored are just some of them but one other would be surreal. Surreal to be mourning the loss of someone as vibrant, impactful and present as Jamal was, and surreal because he was just 31 years old.
In those short 31 years, Jamal achieved more than many of us could only dream of in one lifetime and he really did do it all.
Successful business? He nailed it. Charity work? His philanthropy efforts were beyond admirable. And just being an all-round good human being? His kind nature was legendary.
There are so many good things to say about Jamal and the work he so passionately carried out. The most notable, of course, being that he founded online music platform SBTV in 2006 at the age of 15 for which he was and will forever be synonymous with.
He was the man behind the camera with a dream and the vision to spotlight unsung artists before platforms like YouTube had any real impact. It was through SBTV that Jamal gave a voice to ‘urban’ artists who otherwise weren’t receiving the same opportunities and exposure that other pop artists were.
Grime and UK rap stars such as Chipmunk, Akala, the Boy Better Know collective, Tinchy Stryder and Wretch 32 were regular faces on SBTV when they were still young and hungry talents waiting for their big break. Well, for many of them, SBTV was their big break. Often shot street-style, one video of a minute-long freestyle could amass thousands of views in a matter of hours, the channel’s reach was so wide. This was also way before the social media era we’re so familiar with today.
Admirably, it wasn’t just Black artists who Jamal gave a platform to; Ed Sheeran, Jessie J and Rita Ora are just some of the stars whose music we might not know today if it weren’t for the entrepreneur. So often we, as spectators of music, attribute the makings of an artist’s career to the person who ‘discovered’ them, but what is so unique about Jamal is that the musicians themselves have made clear that their careers wouldn’t be what they are today without his help.
Some of us were good friends of Jamal, others only met him once and the majority knew him only from afar, but the consensus has been the same: he was one of the most genuine souls you could meet.
They willingly and proudly give Jamal the credit he so deserves.
SBTV became a cultural phenomenon that many of us who were teens growing up in big cities such as London would watch religiously, excitedly waiting for the next big freestyle and talking about it with our friends.
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As much as Jamal was behind the camera, we knew his name just as much as the platform he built from his humble beginnings in west London.
Even as his success continued to exceed expectations over the years, the one thing that seemed to remain constant about Jamal, was how relatable and accessible he was. He could have been rubbing shoulders with Richard Branson on Necker Island one night, and then shooting a video on a council estate the next.
Jamal never let his success inflate his ego, something that is becoming increasingly rare in this social media age of influencers. It’s ironic because Jamal is actually the true definition of an influencer. He influenced other young Black men to recognise that their dreams could also be attained despite their circumstances, but he also influenced the music industry at large. Record labels quickly realised that SBTV was the launchpad for some of the country’s best musical talents and Jamal became a well-respected figure in a predominantly white male-led business.
To work with Jamal was undoubtedly a special experience, but to meet him was equally a pleasure.
Since the awful news of his death broke on Sunday evening, many of us have sat with our thoughts and remembered the person Jamal was as much as his professional achievements. Some of us were good friends of Jamal, others only met him once and the majority knew him only from afar, but the consensus has been the same: he was one of the most genuine souls you could meet.
He could have been rubbing shoulders with Richard Branson on Necker Island one night, and then shooting a video on a council estate the next.
I personally only met Jamal twice but saw him at countless showbiz parties over the years. SBTV was at its peak in my first real year of working in journalism back in 2011, and it was hard to go to a showbiz event where Jamal wasn’t a guest of honour.
We first had a brief conversation at his E-book launch at the now shuttered Rose Club in 2013 and, even though he had the task of mingling with everyone else at the party, made me feel as though he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. He was warm like that. We both grew up in west London and so to meet him when I myself was trying to carve out a successful career was honestly an honour.
My memory of meeting Jamal isn’t unique; social media has been filled with so many stories of the kind person he was.
Jamal truly was a diamond in the rough and his career achievements will be unmatched for a long time. His work with the Prince’s Trust, receiving an MBE for services to music at the age of 24 and the iconic Google Chrome advert are moments that will outlive us all.
His mural in Acton, west London where he proudly grew up, will be a place where young aspirational children will visit and look upon as the mark of what you can achieve if you’re as much of an ambitious visionary as Jamal was.
Jamal’s legacy in Black British culture will long be admired and treasured.
In recent hours, a poignant tweet of his has resurfaced from 2012, which reads: ‘We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.’
Those are difficult words to digest so soon after his sudden and tragic death, but Jamal was ultimately right.
The goal is to create something that will live forever and that he absolutely did.
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