18 May 2015 Edition 3
S
omeone recently asked us what we hoped to achieve with Ja. Magazine, and in our first edition it pretty much stated that we were doing it for kicks and to fill the deep, dark, soul sucking, and hollow days spent looking for employment and accumulating bylines. Plus, not to feel ourselves too much, but “Ja.” is a beautiful South Africanism that had to be celebrated on shiny graffiti covered walls. And let’s not dismiss what we actually like doing- writing, designing, making photographs, meeting people who have some great stories to tell and generally: creating. We’re also are individuals who create work that we’re occasionally too afraid to share for fear of it being rejected as problematic, stupid, or just plain kak. So why not be brave and put our work out there? If we never articulate what we feel, see, experience, we will never be able to negotiate, understand or get into dialogues that might broaden our way of thinking – or someone else’s. Once it’s published, we can interrogate, we can reject, we can embrace it, but until we actually put it out there, it just festers. Ja. just wants to create a safe, stress-free space for people to share. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Creators and contributors: Dave Mann, Niamh Walsh-Vorster, Werner Goss-Ross, Yoraya Nydoo, Zanta Nkumane, Tshiamo Maremela, Sitha Kentane, Makonwabe Bekwa/ AudioJerk, Caleb Lloyd, Mpumelelo Msomi and Carly Hosford-Israel.
Electro
out of
by niamh walsh-vorster
Langa
Heads sway left to right, toes tap in trainers to the bass, with satisfied smiles on every face. All attention is to what comes out the speakers: “what do you feel like?” techno voices boom rhetoric as everyone responds to the track that gets them going. The jol: Bridges for Music presents Tale of Us live in Langa, Cape Town. But it’s not them who attracted my interest. Langa local, Makonwabe Bekwa, better known as AudioJerk is donned in a modest black shirt and an iSpot...I mean bucket hat, playing a set more memorable than his fashion (the way it should be). He’s played with the likes of Black Coffee, Maelstrom, and Tale of Us, but just how did cool kid AudioJerk manage that? I hate the word humble, only arrogant people claim to be so, but there’s something about AudioJerk that is probably closer to the word than most DJ’s on the Cape Town scene. “Would you like to get yourself a drink?” he asks while passing me a pink paper with a lion on it. I declined, preferring to keep a straight eye when photographing a gig, but that moment has stuck with me, maybe more giving than humble – but there’s something unassuming in the way he does things. Where he gets his character from is influenced by where he hails
– Langa Township. Langa is home to legends like Brenda Fassie, Ringo Madlingozi, Victor Ntoni and Sylvia Mdunyelwa, “I used to see some of them when I was a kid, that’s where I started my love for music.” As a lightie, young Makonabwe would involve himself wherever music was. “Where I come from, Langa, there were always DJs around me. Every time there was a street bash, I would be there watching them and was like, ‘you know what I want to be a DJ’ and started to talk to them and
they taught me how to do it”. Some twenty odd years later and Audio is landing himself gigs with top Cape Town productions and events despite restricting circumstances, which he always manages to find a way around. “I don’t have a proper laptop so I go to a friends’ and do all the things that I want to do there.” He’s Macbook-less, yet thriving through self-motivation to get to higher levels musically and socially.
“It’s about how you communicate with people. Every time there’s an event, I chat to people and tell people what I don’t have and what I do have so I can get what I want.” So far it’s managed him a scholarship at the SAE Institute (2014), recognition from the Red Bull Academy, on the NGO Bridges for Music’s radar as well as a being selected for the iKasi Connect Project (2014). He recently played at this year’s Cape Town Electronic Music Festival (CTEMF), being the youngest DJ there. Landing the gig came as a definite surprise to Audio, “I got an email and thought maybe they had made a mistake, but checked and I saw ‘ah, shit, this is happening!’” But for the young beat dropper, landing gigs and gaining support hasn’t always been easy. The likes of Brenda Fassie and
Victor Ntoni are of a different time and music genre in comparison to the techno sounds he produces. Song’s with lyrics and authentically South African sounds which resonated with the community members of that time. Electronica’s modern European influence is something which Audio, along with NGO’s such as Bridges for Music, try to introduce as positive and useful for creative opportunity for young artists, however not many people understand the hype of lyricless sound. “It was kind of hard for me. In my hood not everyone was supporting
me because I was playing white people music. So it was kind of negative.” But a recent music event in Langa brought about pleasant surprise to those who first doubted what he was doing. “People were dancing”, he recalls, “people can see that I’m going places and they now say they will try to listen to what I’m doing and what I’m playing.” With hopes to release an EP at end of May for CTEMF and for Red Bull under Triple Fire music, AudioJerk plans to keep doing what he digs the most- Music. Photographs by Niamh Walsh-Vorster
In -Between by zanta nkumane
Society is constructed around a number of archaic frameworks. Frameworks that view this colourful world of ours in black and white. If you don’t function according to them, you’re weird and outcast, resulting in a very difficult positioning for ‘the in-between’. Illustrations by Tshiamo Maremela
I
was having a conversation with a bisexual friend, who was deep in the struggle of being in-between and frustrated because no matter how genuine he is in his identity, acceptance remains out of reach. The bisexual man knows the pains of being in-between quite well. The bisexual man is not revered like his female counterpart. Bisexual women are more likely to be considered trendy, cool and openminded. Society welcomes them and finds them intriguing but even then, their bisexuality is seen as a phase – “she’ll eventually marry a guy” they say. The bisexual man on the other hand is met with raised eyebrows. He is not welcomed by the straight people because “if you can hook up with another guy” that’s just gay. The gays are also not understanding of his affinity for both sexes. Consequentially, the
bisexual man is ostracised. Because of the prejudice he encounters, the bisexual man tends to be elusive and refuses to categorise his sexuality. This may be a mechanism defending against the many judgements society throws his way, like being labelled promiscuous, confused or greedy. Bisexual erasure in society and media continues to keep bisexual people from fully expressing themselves. Riddled with “bi now, gay later”, bisexuality is considered a phase and not a stable identity. It’s invalidated by being miraculously cured depending on which gender they’re dating, so as to manifest an identity and culture. It is easier this way seeing as there isn’t a visible cultural identity for bisexual people. Advocate.com’s Eliel Cruz states that, based on studies, bisexual people make up the largest portion of the LGBTI community and yet
they remain the worst represented sexual orientation. The troubling consequence of bisexual erasure is the health challenges they face. Editor of ThinkProgress LGBT, Zack Ford, investigated more on this and found that bisexual people are more likely to suffer from depression, and suicide rates are higher with bisexual people than their straight and gay counterparts. Ford says it is important to affirm bisexual people, because it’s not only affirming their sexual orientation, but their identity.
often ignored and genuinely confuses some. As a society that has prevalent religious and cultural ideologies leaking through its every corner, bisexuality isn’t as easily digestible as homosexuality. “We do welcome bisexuals and gays among us but we do not marry them as that is a deviation from the order of God in creation.” Still rings the words said by a pastor from Mdantshane a few years back. It’s this social brainwashing and sexual discrimination that blocks people from accepting any deviation from heterosexuality.
Sexuality in Africa is always a tricky subject to navigate, more so for black people. With the pressure of adhering to traditions, being anything other than straight is frowned upon. It’s difficult enough accepting someone’s homosexuality in the black community, but being bisexual is still a confusing concept to explain and to internalise. Black men face intense familial pressures to not only be strong, masculine men but also to marry and procreate. All these add up and make it much harder for the bisexual man to ‘come out’. In South Africa, bisexuality is
I think bisexuality is a gift. A true, bisexual person has the ability to explore and experience sexual energy to its fullest. And it’s not merely about the sex. Sometimes we minimise sexuality to just being about sex, but it’s bigger than that: sexuality is an identity, a portal through which we experience life’s greatest pleasures and another aspect of our existence. So in defining one’s sexuality, one takes on an unspoken culture that continually draws society’s judgement. I’m envious of bisexual people; they get to live on both sides of the coin.
White Kids, Black Labels by dave mann
Friday night. Assembly. Harrington Street, Cape Town. Black Labels, shweshwe print, and white people everywhere.
To those who’ve been paying attention, the local music scene has had some interesting cultural changes over the past year or two. South African hip hop, rap, and ekasi beats have tapped into the electronic music hype and found their way back into the mainstream. Not just that, but it’s Zulu, Xhosa and other black SA artists rapping in vernacular who are topping the charts. What’s interesting is that these artists have always been around, but now they’re on ‘the scene’. I largely attribute this to the overarching whiteness that forms such a large part of the South African music scene, and white peoples new found obsession with ‘kasi culture’. Illustration by Tshiamo Maremela Don’t get me wrong, for those of you who have never been to Assembly, it’s definitely a spot to check out. In terms of venues platforming local artists, it doesn’t get much better than Assembly’s main stage. It’s also a hub for everything trendy, which in Cape Town can last one to two years or all of 10 seconds. When hipsterism was
at its height there were undercuts, fur jackets, and minimalist tattoos as far as the eye could see and Gateway Drugs and Al Bairre were regular acts. Around the same time Spoek Mathambo and Lebogang Rasethaba released his Future Sounds of Mzansi documentary and accompanying artists series,
township culture became the new thing. Mathambo calls this period in SA music the ‘apartheid afterparty’. If it’s the type of afterparty that has a stringent (read rich, upperclass) admissions policy and the dress code is appropriation then I completely agree. I remember heading through there one night to check out a favourite DJ of mine. Studying away from home means I’m not in Cape Town all that often so I was eager to see if anything had changed. I arrived early and some obscure electronica was playing through the speakers, laying down the soundtrack for moody coolkids, and B- list Twitter celebs to nonchalantly ash their cigarettes to. No changes there. The smoking section was full and I could tell I was being judged for wearing Mr Price tekkies instead of Shelflife sneakers so I popped across the road to get a few beers in at the Rendezvous Sports Pub before the main act took the stage. When I climbed the Assembly stairs for the second time I was met with
OkMalumkoolkat’s ‘Sebenza’ on full blast. I’ve been a fan of OK since his early Primustofu days so I made straight for the dancefloor which is where I saw them all- A sweaty mass of white kids wearing iSpoti, chewing toothpicks, doing the taxi driver dance and singing along to “Township we all work 9- 5”. I look a little closer and see that I even know a few of these frauds. One of them I knew to be filthy rich and particularly foreign to both townships and work. I approached the Bishops Court boy and asked him how his life was going: “Ah great bru, great! Working for my dad, but it’s not like that. The pay is mad good and I get lank holiday time. Fuck how sick is Malume hey bru?” “Ja this track dropped back in 2012 though, it’s weird they’re playing it now” I respond. “Huh? No, Okmalumkoolkat bro. He’s this sick rapper from like Soweto or something.”
For lack of adequate words or alcohol to deal with the situation I head back to the bar. There I overhear gems like “Ja you know I never used to like Black Label, I always thought it was what you drank when you couldn’t afford anything better, but it’s actually really good!”, and “Yassis dude you looking lank umswenko hey?” These were of course, more white kids. White kids whose only idea of ekasi is the glance they throw Delft or Langa on their way to and from the airport. Whose definition of being poor is blowing their week’s pocket money on designer drugs and craft beer and having to ask mom and dad for more. These are the white kids who avoid eye contact with car guards and black folk on the street for fear of being stabbed or worse, being asked for money. Before now, they probably thought Mujava was an energy drink. Before this is even published they will have dropped the trend and adopted another.
The worst part is that it’s a European limelight that’s needed for local artists to gain fame amongst these kasi culture bandwagonists. In an interview with Lloyd Gedye, local artist Moonchild says it best- “It’s as if they need an overseas stamp of approval to get recognition back home.” OkayAfrica said Mashayabhuqe KaMamba is cool so he must be cool right? His new fans may even gain some street cred if they can pronounce his name correctly in front of their black friends. Perhaps the next big trend will be Orientalism or bastardising Native American culture. Who can really say? But if you missed the kasi craze or you ever feel like you need a break from your holiday house in Hermanus, don’t worry- Apparently you can get all the exotic, township experience you desire with the simple purchase of a Black Label.
BANANART
by
Werner Goss-Ross
by caleb lloyd
A
large plate of spaghetti bolognaise clattered to the floor, sending the slick mop of pasta onto Julie’s lap. Her date abruptly stood up and stared down in abject horror at the rapidly spreading pool of blood on his trousers. Fainting, he knocked the contents of his wineglass all over Julie’s white frock. Julie had finally done it. Ever since she was a little girl, Julie had known she was different. It wasn’t until she was twelve and realised she had an extra set of teeth in the sole of her left foot, that she knew just how different she was. It had begun with the small scraps that fell from the dinner table onto the floor when her family ate. Gradually, Julie’s tastes grew to include the small field mice that skittered across the floor of her father’s barn. Julie would run greedily about the barn, kicking and stomping in search of crunchy morsels. Once, she’d even found a litter of new-born kittens that a stray had given birth to. Julie’s dad had wondered where all the blood had come from. Julie had met Nathan at the local fish market where she’d been working that summer. Nathan, with his long, dark lashes and chiselled jaw-line, had been the ideal beau for hopeful girls all over the town. Julie supposed she should be flattered he’d asked her out. It had begun innocently enough. They’d gone dancing several times at the local watering hole. However, the gnawing urges in her
leg had become unbearable as they made out in the back seat of Nathan’s pick-up truck. The teeth had been moist with desire. It wasn’t until Nathan invited her to an Italian restaurant for vino and pasta that she knew she could repress it no longer. Nathan, seeing the raw hunger in Julie’s eyes from across their dinner and, interpreting it as something else, reached for her under the table. Shivering with expectation, Julie slid her foot from the heels and dragged it slowly up Nathan’s leg. The teeth gently opened as Julie moved towards Nathan’s inner thigh. He unzipped his trousers and Julie’s toes brushed against him. The teeth opened wide before rapaciously seizing Nathan by his member and severing him root and stem. Caleb Lloyd is currently trying to get over early traumatic experiences with Capetonian hipsters. He can occasionally be found at a certain bar in Grahamstown in leather brogues, a red slip, a construction helmet and Chanel no. 5. In his spare time he shelters criminally insane tarot readers from the law, gives his friends the impression he’s mildly autistic and avoids changing the bed linen. He enjoys long walks on the beach and pillow fighting. Photographs by Sitha Kentane.
SLIM CHANCES
they tell you from an early age that no one truly likes trees, just twigs and branches. your plate will often be full of worry,
you go on to learn
flavored insecurities,
that your waist should be
with a side of distortion
no size longer than the word ‘beauty’
the thirst: a cup of self esteem
eventually your life
empty.
becomes a struggle
you will continue to yearn
for this slim chance of happiness
you will find yourself others will try to confuse you
bowing
with lines like:
down to the ground
“you are enough”
praying for rest
and you will not listen however, your head will be cluttered
you won’t receive any
with the hopes of becoming a you see,
line but you will not starve
many ingredients are needed
yourself to skinny;
for slim chances
heavens no Mpumelelo Msomi
This
review ain’t as good as the album by carly hosford-israel
“Everything you know you’re meant to teach it to your son, everything you know you’re meant to learn it from your Daddy” (Papa Song). I don’t actually remember who told me about Durban born Riky Rick, but thank you. I bought his album Family Values and listened to it repeatedly on my 48 hour journey from Johannesburg to my Seattle home. Illustration by Tshiamo Maremela
R
ick’s tone is: raw, sorrowful, grateful, intimately interwoven into his personal portrayals of life’s complexities. As its title, Family Values and Madonna and Child-style album art allude to, Rick leads the listener through the conscious questions of a new father as he strives to bring his son up in this messy world. Every one of his reflective questions, such as: ‘What will you do with your freedom?’ (Bambalela) ultimately leads Rick back to exploring two core values of life: time and love. Rick opens the album with the slow calm
detail of distinguished and building instrumentals and a sample of his own baby struggling to transition from sounds to words. He then spends the remainder of the album emphasizing his planned presence in the rap game, his friends lives, his son’s childhood, and ultimately the finite details of daily life. His lyrics work against the noted complacency of a ‘carried on eyes shut’ (Gone Part 3) pattern of living, notedly similar to oppression fuelled escapism
explored by Richard Wright in Native Son, which I have just finished reading and would equally recommend. Presence is placed on a pedestal as an uncomfortable social outlier but necessary revolutionary. Rick’s track list is 18 songs long but hardly repetitive. He hits all the classic song archetypes of love (Sondela), strife (94/Its Getting Worse), and ascension (Makaveli). While following generic rap song themes Rick challenges listeners into this above mentioned presence by exposing the politics of everyday life, methodically marking inroads for action. There are moments when he prioritizes rhyming lyrics (Sondela) over more complex creativity but in total the album is compositionally compelling with a remarkable diversity of sound and style. In the United States, these last 12 months mark the unfurling of a rap renaissance. Albums like 2014 Forest Hills Drive, Cognitive Dissonance Part 2, and To Pimp a Butterfly harkens back to the emotion of rap’s earlier years. Rick himself marks the difference
between a life of material doing and a life of emotive being (Till I Die Outro). As Rick carries his listener through a logical and full bodied narrative of his past, present, and idealized future, Family Values is one of these ‘being’ albums which leaves me stoked on the geographical reach of this the return to critical rap. Rick’s title track, Boss Zonke, slides its way into your ears before you’ve had a minute to decipher lyrics, addicting, much like the beat building and deliciously deceptive drop in Katy Perry’s Dark Horse. Unlike Katy Perry’s Egyptian fantasy land, Boss Zonke’s correlating video sports cars and women dancers, but Rick’s cars are old and the women dance on their own with notable selfsatisfaction. Thank you 2015. J. Cole is pairing his music with crushing puppies, Kendrick is having conclusive conversation with a long passed Tupac, and Riky Rick is standing in front of burning out E30’s. Now, what we have again is: message, music, art, the weaving together of great sound and honest and humble human life. Thank you, Riky Rick.
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@JaMagSA
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