It didn’t take long for the message, culture, and ethos of hip-hop to spread well beyond American borders. As we continue celebrating hip-hop’s 50th, we’re showcasing the ways hip-hop evolved and grew across the globe. Delve into hip-hop's scenes and sounds from Mexico, Canada, France, Japan, India, Thailand, and beyond.

The first real watershed moment for Australian hip-hop arrived in 2003 when Hilltop Hoods’ third LP The Calling became the first local rap release to achieve mainstream success (and later became the first to go platinum). But hip-hop had hit Australia years before, discovered through music TV shows or through friends who’d been to the US and returned with tapes and vinyl. It quickly resonated with early adopters from immigrant backgrounds—some of whom started creating their own music. A scene began to grow, with artists like Def Wish Cast and AKA Brothers dropping mixtapes and playing shows. Independent hip-hop labels gave the scene—and its growing community—what it needed. Melbourne-based Obese (which started as a record store in 1995) released early albums by Hilltop Hoods, Drapht, and Illy, among others, while Sydney’s Elefant Traks, launched in 1998 by members of The Herd, kick-started careers for Horrorshow, Joelistics, and Jimblah. The underground continued to bloom, but despite groups including Koolism, Funkoars, and 1200 Techniques repping diversity and migrant stories, almost everyone really making it was white. “Aussie hip-hop” became the term used to define the sound and look—the whiteness—of those local artists achieving mainstream success and major label deals. In the 2010s, Australian—not Aussie—hip-hop started expanding and evolving, driven by both an influx of musical influences (including UK grime and drill, Atlanta trap, R&B, and pop rap) and an extraordinary, sudden rise of culturally diverse artists—and women—including Sampa the Great, Tkay Maidza, Kwame, and L-FRESH The LION. First Nations duo A.B. Original delivered the scene’s next landmark moment in 2016. Reclaim Australia and its lead single “January 26” left no stone unturned, slamming the country’s systemic racism, police brutality, and First Nations deaths in custody. They drew comparisons to Public Enemy and N.W.A—and opened new doors for diversity and hard truths. Today, Pasifika—Pacific Islander—artists like Onefour, Hooligan Hefs, and Day1 tell stories of a community overrun with violence, crime, and socio-economic disadvantages. The Kid LAROI (whose stage moniker comes from his Kamilaroi heritage) has risen to become Australia’s most successful hip-hop export, but he’s just one of an ever-growing number of vital First Nations artists, including Tasman Keith, JK-47, Ziggy Ramo, and Barkaa, who are pushing hip-hop—and its listeners—towards a future that thrives on diversity.

For many listeners around the world, the history of Canadian hip-hop can be easily divided into two eras: Before and After Drake. But while it’s impossible to overstate Drizzy’s impact in transforming the nation’s domestic product into a global phenomenon at the turn of the 2010s, Canadian rap’s history dates back to the ’70s. The talent and vision have always been there, but the music industry infrastructure needed to support them often lagged, meaning that some pioneering players who would’ve been stars south of the border remain relatively unknown in their own country to this day. From trailblazing ’80s jams like Maestro Fresh Wes’ “Let Your Backbone Slide” to Rascalz’s 1998 national anthem “Northern Touch” to Kardinal Offishall’s border-crossing hits in the 2000s, Canada has always produced rap that could hold its own against the dominant American imports, while also foregrounding the influence of the country’s large Caribbean and African diasporas. But Drake was the perfect package—with his TV-star charm, melodic ingenuity, and internet savvy—to put Canadian rap on the world stage at the dawn of the streaming era. And as Drake built an OVO empire that would define the sound of hip-hop through the 2010s and beyond, the internet also helped thrust MCs from regional Quebecois and Indigenous communities into the national rap conversation. Hip-hop may be turning 50—an age where innovation generally takes a back seat to nostalgia—but in Canada, its history continues to be written in unpredictable ways.

In 2017, Chengdu crew Higher Brothers released Black Cab. It was one of the first Chinese hip-hop albums to break on a global scale, and the group—along with their label, 88rising—shined an international spotlight on the region for the first time. It’s a particularly impressive feat considering the lyrics are almost entirely in Sichuanese, a regional language that even many Chinese nationals don’t speak—let alone Western audiences. But Chinese hip-hop had been growing and evolving well before then: Local folk storytelling was being adapted into modern music, while ’80s and ’90s pop and rock stars such as George Lam and Cui Jian were including spoken-word verses on tracks like “阿Lam日記” (“Diary of Ah Lam”) and “不是我不明白” (“It’s Not That I Don’t Understand”). In 2002, Detroit native Dana “Showtyme” Burton launched the Iron Mic freestyle competitions in Shanghai. These battles, which later spread to other cities, launched the careers of local rappers such as Lil Ray, PACT, and J-Fever. TV talent contest The Rap of China took hip-hop to a bigger audience than ever, and regional scenes and labels started to emerge, including Nanjing’s SHOOC, Chongqing’s GO$H, and Changsha’s SUP. The local scene was thriving with cross-genre, cross-cultural fusions. In Taiwan, there were energetic ’90s dance cuts by L.A. Boyz and 2000s pop-rap from Wang Leehom on tracks like “蓋世英雄” (“Heroes of Earth”). And Chinese American rapper MC Jin’s 2003 collab with Wyclef Jean, “Learn Chinese,” was a huge success in Chinese communities all over the world, noted for its celebration of Asian American culture and representation. Megastar Jay Chou brought Chinese classical instruments and nu-metal to songs like “雙截棍” (“Nunchucks”) and “龍拳” (“Dragon Fist”), influential hits that ultimately made Chou—easily one of the biggest pop stars in Taiwanese history—something of a guilty pleasure for hip-hop heads. Today, artists are adding more diversity, storytelling elements, and social commentary to the fore. On 2022’s ONE LIFE ONLY, Vinida Weng finds common ground between Afrobeats and folk tunes from her hometown, Fuzhou, while Zhi yu Xia nods to Nas’ New York on 2023’s Young Fresh Chin II, the boom-to-bust story of a small-town kid trying to get out.

When hip-hop reached Germany in the early 1980s, nobody expected the once-small subculture to eventually evolve into the country’s most successful genre. It arrived by way of American soldiers at German military bases: Breakdancing and graffiti became popular first, soon followed by the music—after all, it was easier to grab a can of spray paint than to write and produce a song. But as Germans caught the bug, the urge to make hip-hop in their own voice was irrepressible. While the first wave of German hip-hop was in English, by the early 1990s, artists like Advanced Chemistry, Rödelheim Hartreim Projekt, Absolute Beginner (later shortened to Beginner), and RAG were among the first to write rhymes in their native language. It took the rest of the decade, but German hip-hop continued to grow, establishing itself as a permanent fixture alongside pop and other top genres. The underground continued expanding in tandem, with local scenes developing their own sounds, styles, and flavors. In Stuttgart, artists including Freundeskreis formed a collective, Kolchose, in 1993—in turn taking on a more professional approach to the local scene. Artists there, and in Hamburg, became known for their poetic, lyrical approach to hip-hop storytelling, while artists emerging in Frankfurt and Berlin built a reputation around a more aggressive street style, its foundations rooted in battle rap. Berlin-based Kool Savas and Frankfurt-based rapper Azad had already laid the foundations in the ’90s, and thanks to underground hip-hop label Aggro Berlin, which was founded in 2001, its uncompromising, fierce nature became nothing short of a phenomenon. The following years witnessed the rise of hip-hop talent from immigrant backgrounds, with artists and musical influences by way of Turkey, the Middle East, and the Balkans helping broaden the scope and sound of Deutschrap. Haftbefehl, XATAR, Massiv, Azet, and Summer Cem played a decisive role in shaping German youth culture in this regard, while the next era saw the ever-growing influence of dancehall and Afro-trap, among others. Thanks in no small part to rappers like Cro, RAF Camora, Bonez MC, and Capital Bra—as well as growing female representation from artists such as badmómzjay, Shirin David, Juju, and Loredana—German hip-hop is now firmly established at the top of the charts.

When hip-hop’s electric energy arrived in France in the early ’80s, it immediately stole the show. In 1984, radio host and hip-hop enthusiast Sidney was given a slot on national TV to host breakdance contests and introduce kids to this new cultural phenomenon via the short-lived but legendary show H.I.P. H.O.P. With big-name guests from across the Atlantic, Sidney and his program influenced an entire generation of artists involved in dance, graffiti, rap, and DJing. The movement was gaining industry momentum, too, and received airtime on new “free” FM stations like Radio Nova. Within this context, many artists emerged, such as duo Suprême NTM—who embodied the anger and struggles of working-class communities, as expressed in their 1990 debut single “Le monde de demain” and later in ’95 with their cult album Paris sous les bombes. French rap became more and more prevalent during the ’90s, with the Marseille and Paris scenes producing mainstream hits by groups such as IAM and solo artists like MC Solaar. As the new millennium drew closer, the influence of New York and boom-bap gave way to more grandiose productions influenced by hip-hop from LA and Atlanta. The global commercial success of rap and R&B also brought forth a thematic shift in the genre’s biggest French hits—more materialism, bigger egos, bravado aplenty. It was a move away from the tone of earlier releases, many of which were focused on politics and social issues. And musically speaking, in the 2000s and after, the French scene found its voice drawing closer and closer to pop music, as well as digging into Afro-Caribbean and North African influences. Building upon this history, artists such as Jul, Ninho, SCH, PNL, Niska, and Damso opened new pathways in the mid- to late 2010s, propelling French-language hip-hop across borders—and up the charts. This vitality has inspired new generations and spread out across subgenres like drill, plug, and Jersey club.

As hip-hop culture spread globally in the 1980s, the UK’s embrace of the sound was tied to diasporic styles and local scenes. Early acts of this time were clearly indebted to the central elements of hip-hop—MCing, breakdancing, DJing—but, as the decade turned, the need to establish a fresh identity emerged. On “Money Mad” and “How’s Life in London,” for example, London Posse inspired a new generation of rhymers to validate their authentic voices. UK rap continued to elevate by refining itself alongside the diverse heritage of British soundsystem culture. Fast-forward to the new millennium and Londoners Ms. Dynamite and Dizzee Rascal stood out for rare critical acclaim with A Little Deeper and Boy in da Corner (winning Mercury Prizes in 2002 and 2003 respectively). The pair built on hard-earned credibility, skillful rhymes and musicality honed in the underground. These fusion scenes would infiltrate both the mainstream and beyond, through grime, jungle, drum ’n’ bass, or the smoothed-out licks of garage. A decade later, Skepta would help generate grime’s long-awaited second, nation-conquering wave. The revival was set in motion by Meridian Dan’s “German Whip”—a playful bop that cracked the charts in 2014. Months later, while accepting single “That’s Not Me”’s MOBO Award for Best Video, Skepta forecasted the coming sea change. Then song’s visual (costing £80) signaled a return to the underground, DIY ethos of grime—eschewing US-indebted sonics and stylings—and introduced a new mainstream wave including Novelist and Stormzy. In 2016, Skepta released fourth album Konnichiwa—drawing in both UK legends (D Double E, Wiley) and stateside counterparts (Pharrell, A$AP NAST) on truly equal footing, and beginning an imperial age for UK hip-hop. Today, artists as eclectic as Dave, Little Simz, and Central Cee take that spirit of authenticity and experimental bravery to sit atop both charts and critical lists, year after year.

If you were to ask India’s biggest hip-hop acts how they first discovered the genre, they’d be likely to mention being mesmerized watching Eminem lose himself in 8 Mile or being drawn to 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” at a party. Or, if they’re of a certain vintage, perhaps being amused and captivated by the antics of Indian rapper and entertainment figure Baba Sehgal on music channels in the early days of satellite TV. They may even have come to it indirectly via the dance-friendly bhangra-fusion bops of desi artists like Apache Indian or Panjabi MC. But however they got there, they’ve made it their own. From the gangster rap of Sidhu Moose Wala to the conscious hip-hop of Swadesi to the mumble rap of MC Stan, there’s an Indian equivalent to every mainstream global movement—not to mention homegrown offshoots like Mumbai’s gully rap. Today, Indian hip-hop is a force, from the screen—where you’ll hear hip-hop as the soundtrack to virtually every party scene—to the streets. Artists are chronicling the lives, times, and struggles of the country’s youth, telling truths and sharing stories with wide-eyed honesty in Hindi, English, and a myriad of regional tongues. There’s DIVINE talking about people’s struggles in a fast-paced Mumbai in Hindi, while Brodha V raps in English on moving ahead in spite of discrimination and Arivu voices sociopolitical issues in Tamil. And the nation is listening: From Azadi Records and Kalamkaar to Gully Gang to THE MVMNT, collectives, labels, management firms, brands, and live promoters are championing a movement that sits at a level above other Western genres in terms of domestic popularity. Rappers like Badshah, King, MC Stan, and Raftaar are topping the charts and selling out tours, while MCs from Ahmer and Naezy to Prabh Deep are crafting politically charged bars to share region-specific narratives ignored by the mainstream. This growth can be felt even beyond the borders of India itself: Some of Punjabi rap’s heaviest hitters have emerged from Canada, with first-generation immigrants such as AP Dhillon, Karan Aujla, and Shubh breaking ground in the diaspora. And while there’s still a need for more female representation in Indian hip-hop, the likes of Indian American rapper Raja Kumari are leading the way for a new generation.

The past decade has seen hip-hop take its place as an undeniable force in Japanese music. Encompassing collectives like BAD HOP, whose compelling backstory and battle rap prowess took them from the Kawasaki underground to the world stage, and trap-inspired rappers like Kohh who find fame through viral tracks, today’s hip-hop is vibrant and diverse. But its next-level popularity has deep roots that extend back through legendary ’90s pioneers to early adopters in the ’80s, when the iconic hip-hop movie Wild Style and touring acts from the US reached Japan, wowing audiences and inspiring local DJs and rappers.  In the mid-’90s, Scha Dara Parr and EAST END + YURI were hits with TV audiences for J-pop music shows, while groups like MICROPHONE PAGER, Rhymester, and KING GHIDORAH developed the mannerisms, attitude, and rhyming that codified authentic Japanese hip-hop for later generations. By the next decade, you had rappers like Zeebra, ANARCHY, and AK-69 finding mainstream fame as solo acts, as well as harder crews like SCARS, PSG, SIMI LAB, and Fla$hBackS with their own dedicated fandoms. And emerging artists across the country were cultivating regional scenes outside of Tokyo, such as THA BLUE HERB in Sapporo, Tokona-X in Nagoya, and Gagle in Sendai. J-hip-hop wasn’t just about rapping, either: The art of turntablism was emerging just as quickly, led by DJ Kentaro—who became the first Asian DJ to win the DMC World DJ Championship in 2002—and DJ IZOH. And the instrumental work of producers like DJ Krush and Nujabes laid the foundation for ambient and lo-fi hip-hop in the 2010s. Up-and-coming acts pushing hip-hop forward include PUNPEE, known for collaborations with mainstream stars like Hikaru Utada and Gen Hoshino; Awich, whose creations skillfully blend her Okinawan roots with a modern feel; and Chanmina, who captures the hearts of teenagers with masterful lyrics in Japanese, English, and Korean. Another unique phenomenon is the huge popularity of HYPNOSISMIC -D.R.B-, a mixed-media project involving anime, manga, games, and stage performances featuring popular voice actors performing rap battles.

On April 11, 1992, a rookie group called Seotaiji and Boys took to the stage of a music TV show, delivering an intense performance of their hip-hop track “I Know.” Little did anyone realize this would come to be considered the moment Korea started paying attention to hip-hop. Beforehand, Western hip-hop artists like Run-DMC, MC Hammer, and Public Enemy had slowly started gaining traction throughout the country, but the interest was niche, and the music was foreign. Seotaiji and Boys’ performance brought it home, and into a much bigger spotlight.  Though it took its musical cues from US hip-hop, its themes were lighter, with little attention given to social and political messages. Instead, ’90s Korean hip-hop focused on themes like romance, partying, daily life, and self-promotion. As the decade rolled on, though, the landscape began to change, and the mid-2000s saw a rise of underground rappers and labels. Artists like Drunken Tiger, Garion, and CB Mass started delving deeper, eschewing generic themes. From there, underground acts such as Soul Company emerged, while Bigdeal Records launched the careers of Deepflow and Mild Beats. And artists like Verbal Jint, E SENS, and Swings upped the ante with more technical lyrical flow and rhymes. Alongside these developments, mainstream artists like Dynamicduo and Epik High were bringing hip-hop to a wider audience. In 2012, the Korean hip-hop scene experienced another seismic event with the introduction of the competitive TV series Show Me the Money. The show was widely considered to have become the new center point for Korean hip-hop as a whole, and famed critics such as Kang Il Kwon went as far as to claim the series was at the center of the scene. Not only did it propel the success of labels like Hi-Lite Records and Just Music, it also popularized new subgenres coming through from the US, such as trap and emo rap. Today, Korean hip-hop is a firm fixture in mainstream music, while its underground scene continues to grow and flourish with ever-evolving approaches to storytelling and production.

At Coachella in 2022, Thai rapper MILLI’s energetic performance of “SAD AEROBIC” and “Mango Sticky Rice”—a dish she ate onstage—marked a turning point for Thai hip-hop. Those two tracks are emblematic of how artists from Thailand are finding ways to express themselves freely, without stylistic or linguistic limitations. Although you’ll almost always feel a Western influence in Thai hip-hop, the local cultural context is an ever-increasing presence in the genre’s sound and lyrics. Thai rappers today are telling stories from both the heart and the streets. Rap Against Dictatorship, a collective founded in 2017, addresses politics and social controversies head-on (as their name suggests)—and they’ve been recognized and awarded by global human rights organizations for their work. On a personal level, AUTTA speaks openly and transparently about his own experiences with mental health in a way that aims to build awareness and amplify the conversation in Thai society, while Rhymekhamhaeng digs deep into culture by sampling traditional songs in tracks that vividly depict life in the Bangkapi area where he lives. Hip-hop songs and videos often enjoy quick viral success, with lyrics and sounds ripe for adoption as catchphrases. Bangkok’s YOUNGOHM, who speaks honestly and thoughtfully about school and friends on his 2023 album THATTHONG SOUND, delivered two catchy lines on the title track—“Yo! This is the sound of temple boys” and the name “E Kie”—that became popular slang far beyond the hip-hop community. Prolific and recognizable up-and-comers 1MILL and SARAN are among a rising generation of artists finding viral fame. And when “ทน” (“Ton”), a 2021 collaboration between SPRITE and GUYGEEGEE, became the first-ever Thai song to enter the Billboard Global Charts, it only reaffirmed what fans already knew—today’s Thai hip-hop transcends boundaries of genre and culture.

Hip-hop is inherently tied to culture and freedom of expression, and in South Africa, the genre’s growth is linked with the country’s journey towards freedom and equality. While the mid 1980s were characterized by bubblegum pop sounds, rapper Thula “Senyaka” Kekana would emerge as one of South African hip-hop’s earliest pioneers—layering fiery raps over disco beats as he did on the 1986 album that spawned singles “Go Away” and “Jabulani MC.” Sparks of the genre also popped up in Cape Town, with the breakdance crew Black Noise emerging out of the Cape Flats as a fully fledged hip-hop outfit into graffiti art, DJing, and conscious lyricism. Prophets of Da City, meanwhile, launched their outspoken LP Our World in 1990 and Boomstyle in 1991 with an unapologetic anti-apartheid stance that eventually led to them being banned from radio and television by the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC). Along with the advent of South African democracy, the ’90s saw new generations seek to establish their identity on both local and global stages. The emergence of the YFM radio station in the country’s Gauteng province in 1997 provided a way for local rappers to share their music. Groups like Cape Town’s Brasse Vannie Kaap incorporated local slang, and part of a shift that saw artists move away from American-inspired sounds was beginning. The early 2000s continued that trend, as hip-hop culture became the dominant form of expression for the county’s youth. Skwatta Kamp’s second record Mkhukhu Funkshen was the first hip-hop project to go gold and paved the way for a raft of artists who followed. The motswako sub-genre gained popularity as artists like HHP began to rap in English and Setswana, making the sounds even more relevant. From the 2010s onwards, South African hip-hop entered its current golden era, with a new generation of artists reflecting the trials and triumphs of everyday life in mixtures of English and vernacular-infused street slang, over soundbeds that borrowed from kwaito and dance cultures. Today, stars including Cassper Nyovest is a flourishing example of hip-hop’s self-made ethos, and the late Riky Rick established a legacy of “doing it for the culture” through Cotton Fest, the music festival-cum-cultural phenomenon he founded. Emerging stars such as Blxckie continue the spirit of innovation by incorporating modern drill and trap sounds into hyperlocal storytelling.