Last word from Zola – a giant of Kwaito. Another great tune.

Yes! A complete fusion of sounds:look out for the distinct twang of the Mbaqanga guitar and uplifting bass that is threaded neatly through its groove. Nothing quite like a bit of township jive

Further to previous lessons (please look at them for the sake of my blog stats and your own musical education) here is a band that typifies south african genre busting. The beauty of good South African music has always been for me the way in which many bands embrace an eclectic mix of styles to create inspiring soundscapes. The song is by Freshlyground andthe video is fantastic. Listen with your earphones on. 

what’s this one? kwaito again – an important proponent of the genre Mandoza and some oke called Danny K- dunno who he is – that’s the second video.

The first video  is a band called Mafikizolo – i just  love their dance sound: don’t think you could call it Kwaito. Township Pop? Whatever – it’s a good sound.

Lesson 2 involves a band called Max Normal and again this is a class video. It’s not their best tune, it’s not very Hip Hop and they’re fantastic live so a video takes away from some of their quality. Still it’s an excellent video, a good song and a lesson in how good a lot of what comes out of south africa is.

The first is by a group called TKZ or TKZee. Their type of music is usually labelled as Kwaito, a mix of township style music, Hip Hop and House, but this is a lot more Hip Hop in style. The rap is, of course, indigineous, not English.

 This is a good tune and the video’s pretty good too.

but no one wanted to answer

no one wanted the answer

so we all fiddled with our pens and

stared out the window -

the sky was crisp and blue,

a hint of azure at the edges -

ignorance was our hiding place,

its warm glow protected us

and under its radiator

we laughed and played

while the question lingered

and the answer evaporated

into the mist

“So…now what?” I ask morosely, flicking the cigarette onto my lawn. Nyathi, ignores me, walks over to the Trelidor and slams it shut, closing the curtains, then picks up my portable phone and dials a number. “Hello… Inspector Engelbrecht? I imagine you’re parked outside now, right?” …pause… “Okay. Well, listen up. I’ve got the front and back doors booby trapped…” he winks at me conspiratorially, “so don’t try anything. Besides, I have a .45 pointed at Gerald Lupton’s soft little white skull so the slightest manoeuvre means I pull the trigger.” He pauses dramatically to let it sink in then… “My demands are simple. I want you to let Khumalo and his cameraman in. I know what they both look like so don’t try anything. Once the interview’s over I’ll give myself up. So, if you do everything like I say, this will go smoothly and no one will get hurt. Kulungile?” Nyathi stands staring at the floor, his hand tight on the pistol which is hanging at his side. I can see he is tense despite his attempt to play it cool– the veins in his neck are rigid and there are beads of sweat on his brow which he wipes with his gun hand then… “Good…I knew you’d see things my way.” He turns the phone off and grabs me painfully by the arm, gripping tightly; all pretences are gone – now it’s all business. “Up,” he demands, motioning in the direction of the lounge with his pistol and it’s at this point I realise how busy he must have been while I was out: all the curtains in the house are closed – thick and heavy, designed to keep voyeuristic eyes out. To be honest, he couldn’t have chosen a better building for a siege like this: not only will the alarm go off if the windows are touched but the burglar guards which protect them are cast iron, embedded in the walls – my house is a fortress. Impenetrable.

There’s a knock at the door. Nyathi thrusts me in front of him and rests the barrel of his automatic on my temple, holding me by the arm with his other hand. I can feel my heart thumping wildly – I almost piss in my pants again. But thankfully I hold onto my dignity – I’m about to become a celebrity and  not just in South Africa: with the media outside this thing’s probably already on the networks. Unconsciously I reach for my hair, combing it with my fingers. Nyathi chuckles behind me: “Getting ready for the cameras Gerald?” He lets go of my arm and maliciously ruffles my hair. “That’s better Malungu – now you look like a real hostage.” He laughs. I feel pathetic and foolish.
Nyathi shouts through the door: “Is that you Khumalo? Anyone else and I’ll blow this man’s head off!”
“Yes- it’s me, Nyathi. Just me and the camera, like you said.”
Nyathi pushes me forward and peers through the spy – hole. He puts his arm around my throat, realigning the barrel with my forehead then reaches forward, quickly opening the door, then stepping back.
I’m not prepared for the sensory overload.
Lights flashingbluewhitered…gunspeople…shoutingcarssprawledall over… my… lawn, TVcrewssattelitestents guns guns flashes like a strobe in my eyes then
Khumalo’s in and
we’re back.