14.08.2008 21:14
•
14.08.2008 21:14
•
Place and Date: Durham, North Carolina 2007
Interviewer: Banning Eyre
http://www.afropop.org/multi/interview/ID/115/Louise+Meintjes-2007-The+Zulu+Factor/
Louise
Meintjes, an Associate Professor of Music and Cultural
Anthropology at Duke University, is the principle consultant and voice of
Afropop Worldwide’s Hip Deep program “The Zulu Factor.” Her
book “Sound of Africa! Making Music Zulu in a South African Studio” (Duke
University Press, 2003) is a remarkable urban ethnography of a recording studio
in Johannesburg in the early 1990s, a moment when everything was changing in
South African music, and politics. Since that time, Louise
has kept up with events in South African music, especially among Zulu musicians,
whose creative work she continues to study. Here is the
complete transcript of the interview Banning Eyre did with Louise in June, 2007,
for “The Zulu Factor.”
Note: The color photographs of Zulus (those not from album art) are the
superb work of TJ Lemon, whose images are beautifully reproduced in
Louise’s book.
Banning Eyre: Let’s start with a little of your
background. How did you come to study this subject?
Louise Meintjes: In two ways.
Intellectually, I came to study it as an anthropologist and
ethnomusicologist working on a dissertation. I started with
a master's thesis on Paul Simon's Graceland, and the politics of
production that lie behind that album. That prompted me to thinking:
What actually happens on the ground? What
actually happens in recording studios? How do people make
decisions about what a “South African” sound is, or what a “Zulu” sound is?
Do they even care about that kind of thing? So
from that point, I went to state-of-the-art studios in downtown Johannesburg and
met sound engineers, producers, and musicians, and hung around with them.
They very kindly and generously let me sit in on the working process.
So in addition to doing interviews with various artists—and I include
sound engineers and producers in that category—I also went to rehearsals.
I went to festivals and gigs. I hung with musicians
in their homes. On that basis, I tried to produce an ethnography of a recording
studio, and of the production of sounds of “Zuluness,” and “South Africanness”
in the early 1990s.
The
other part of where my own background matters is that I am a South African, and
the music that I ended up focusing on in the early 90s, mbaqanga in
particular, and Zulu traditional music more broadly, is music that in the 1970s,
in Pretoria, my hometown, I heard on the pavements. I heard
it in the backyard. And so it was at the moment I came to
study and do research, and subsequently write a book, this music, the music of
the 1970s, of my teenage years, was in revival.B.E:
Did you love that music?
L.M: I love that music. But
I realized in the 1990s that back in the ‘70s, for me, it was really the music
of backyards and suburban sidewalks, when domestic workers were out on their
breaks and playing the radio. I realized that I never
seriously listened to it then. I heard it, but not in the
kind of intense and pleasurable way that I listened to it in the 1990s.
B.E: So in that earlier context, it was music of
another world, wasn't it?
L.M: In a sense. Yes.
It was part of the environment, but not part of my sonic and
political environment at that time in my life. In the white
suburbs of South Africa, I did not have the kind of consciousness to say, “This
is interesting. This is important.”
B.E: So when you approached it later, were you an
ethnomusicologist?
L.M: Yes, I was studying ethnomusicology at the
University of Texas in Austin.
B.E:
And you are a musician?
L.M: I grew up playing the violin.
I played music through my growing years. I studied
for a music degree in South Africa, and during that time, in the early 1980s, I
only heard one lecture that had anything to do with African music.
That was by a musicologist who thought we needed to learn something and
went and looked up things about African instruments in a book.
But as I became increasingly aware of what was going on around me
politically, and as I became increasingly interested in the sociology of music,
it took me outside of the classical tradition and led me to an understanding of,
and an interest in, the music around me. So in a sense, it
was an organic process in which a political consciousness-raising paralleled
with a kind of theoretical broadening in my reading in musicology led me into
ethnomusicology, and into an ethnography, where I came to meet and hang around
with musicians.
B.E: Good. That gives us a
little bit of a sense of who you are. Now let's get little
historical context on the Zulus. Tell us in brief the
history of the Zulu people up to the apartheid period.
L.M: That's of course an absolutely
enormous question. Many historians have dealt with this
with a lot of sophistication, so I am necessarily giving you a very abbreviated
idea here. Essentially, the Zulu are part of the Bantu
speaking peoples. The very broad narrative is that the Zulus
among the other Bantu speaking people, came down in a southern migration, and
landed up in southern Africa. The Zulu nation as we think of
it now really grew in stature under King Shaka, who is known as a kind of Zulu
Napoleon. He was essentially an imperialist who through
military conquest broadened and expanded the Zulu nation across parts of
southern Africa. The other component of the history of the
Zulu people to take into account here is that, of course, it was in a colonial
encounter that what we came to think of as the Zulu nation arose through the
last couple of centuries. The Zulu nation came into contact
with the various colonialists, and perhaps the most famous—or infamous, in this
case—is the British. There were very mighty battles,
particularly in the 1870s, against the British Army.
B.E:
I always remember that Johnny Clegg song where he sings about one of
those battles, the song “Impi.”B.E:
It seems that King Shaka is remembered in different ways, both as a
brutal and uncompromising leader, but also as a figure of a kind of romantic
pride. Isn't that right?
L.M: Yes. King Shaka is
often invoked, and invoked in different contexts. Certainly
his name circulates in popular culture, whether it is in poetic forms or music.
It’s partly because he developed this reputation as a ferocious militant,
but also because he was thought of as someone who was extremely self-possessed,
and for whom Zulu identity and Zulu culture were incredibly important.
So he was seen as a figure who was royal, self-possessed, and deeply
cultural in a sense.
B.E:
Also ruthless.B.E: It's interesting that Shaka himself didn't
live that long. He was assassinated in 1828.
Is it fair to say that the time between the end of Shaka and the ultimate
British victory was a very important time for the Zulu, a kind of heyday in
which the shape and character of Zululand really came together?
L.M: Yes, I think it was.
It was all about consolidating land and consolidating relations with the other
groups in southern Africa, as well as with the British.
There was a succession of kings that followed Shaka, all of whom had their own
characters and strengths. All of them made some sort of contribution to the
warrior nation ethos.
B.E: The image of Zulu warrior is central to these
people’s pride.
L.M: Absolutely. And that
pride is invoked in different ways, often through just naming Shaka.
In these praise poems that you hear in some maskanda songs,
and in Zulu ngoma dance songs as well, singers often recount
lineages in which key figures like Shaka are named.
B.E:
That's a little bit like the griots in West Africa, invoking the great
names of history and applying them to people today.B.E: Give us a
thumbnail sketch of South Africa’s pop music industry in the final days of
apartheid, late 80s and early 90s.
L.M: South Africa has always had a vibrant
music industry. If you think that the first recording units
arrived in South Africa in about 1912, there is a very long history of record
production. By the early 1980s and into the 90s, you had an
intense political situation, a part of which was the cultural boycott and
economic sanctions against South Africa. So the South
African industry had struggled to assert itself internationally, and at the same
time it was an industry that grew up with fierce independence, so that in the
late 1980s and early 1980s, there were both a lot of small record companies
producing a lot of popular musics, as well as a couple of major record
companies. Here I would name in particular Gallo (Africa), which held a kind of
monopoly over the industry. (Some people would disagree with that viewpoint).
In
addition to what was going on in the music industry, of course, the history of
radio is very important, and that again is a political history.
As part of its ideological apparatus, the South African state relied
heavily on radio. Radios were widely available and deeply
distributed into rural areas, and broadcasting was a medium over which the South
African state had complete control. Part of its ideology of
divide-and-rule was to develop radio along linguistic lines, and for that, it
also needed product. It needed a lot of local
product, and so in a sense, the political needs of the apartheid state created
an environment in which the record companies could produce music, and musicians
could play music, which if it was appropriate for the radio, they could get an
enormous amount of promotion.B.E: What were the
rules? What did it mean to be appropriate for radio?
L.M: There was very heavy censorship.
Essentially, in order to get onto the radio, you first had to fit into a
linguistically specific category. So you couldn't mix your
languages. A lot of censorship was really focused on
language. And of course, you couldn't speak politically.
So a lot of the music that was considered to be “radio
music" was disparaged for being radio music, seemingly apolitical music where
the musicians had to make compromises in how they expressed themselves in order
to enjoy the promotion of the radio.
B.E:
Do you think musicians felt oppressed by that? Did
they want to make political statements? And did they find
round-about ways to slip political ideas into their songs?B.E:
Can you give an example?
L.M: I think the best example of that is
mbaqanga. Mbaqanga was really disparaged as studio-produced
radio music—apolitical, commercialized, not part of the South African struggle.
But in fact, musicians were drawing on styles, and in particular drawing
on diasporic styles that connected them with the ethos of the Soul
movement. They were listening very carefully to Atlantic
Records at first, later to soul records, disco records, music that tied them to
the outside world, and particularly to the ethos of African America.
And they didn't do that necessarily in the words that they
sang, but they did it in the way that they incorporated aspects of those styles
into their own aesthetic. So I would argue that, in fact,
what they were doing in part was to make a very local sound, but a
local sound which said, "We are urban, we are modern, we are tied into the
larger world, and we also celebrate ideas of being black, and we know what's
going on in the rest of the world, and we know particularly what's going on
around struggles about race and civil rights."
B.E:
And you did not just say that with the words, but with the music.B.E:
What was Radio Bantu?
L.M: Radio Bantu. Well, all
radio was state-owned radio and was divided into different stations, and they
were all language based. And so Radio Bantu was the African
language section of the state-owned radio corporation. Then
within Radio Bantu, there was Radio Zulu, Radio Pedi, etc. etc. etc.
B.E: Why did the state see an advantage in
promoting all these language divisions?
L.M: With a policy of divide-and-rule, the idea
was to place a premium on ethnic purity and ethnic origins.
There was this forced removal policy. The state identified
who could belong in which area, and this of course had enormous implications for
everybody. If the state identified you as Zulu, that
determined your home, irrespective of whether you had grown up in Soweto, or
where you had grown up. Your home was KwaZulu.
And that would determine where you could work, where you could have land,
and what kind of resources were available to you.
The
other point I wanted to make is that in order to get promotion on the radio,
musicians had to decide what language they were going to sing in.
However, these musicians were multi-lingual. What
happened with groups as they became popular, such as the Mahotella Queens or
Izintombi Zesimanjemanje, is that they would sing songs in more than one
language. When a single or an LP was released, they would
release two, or three versions of the same record, say, a Zulu version and a
Tswana version that could go to different radio stations.
But you would never mix African languages on the LP itself.B.E:
I guess that's why it was radical when Johnny Clegg and Juluka mixed
English and Zulu within this song.
L.M: Yes, I think so.
Musicians would sing in English. Izintombi Zesimanjemanje or
the Mahotella Queens or the Soul Brothers, all mbaqanga groups, they would sing
in English, but they would sing whole songs in English. What
a group like Johnny Clegg’s did was to mix languages within the song.
B.E: Can you give us a good definition of
mbaqanga?
L.M: Mbaqanga is a studio-produced music,
essentially with garage band backing, a close harmony front line that could be
men or women, sometimes with a male figure like Mahlathini, who would sing with
a deep bass voice, and was known as an "groaner." It was a
form of South African Afropop that enjoyed its heyday in the 1970s, and enjoyed
a revival in the early 1990s, following the Graceland album.
B.E:
What about maskanda?B.E: I had understood the
guitar was pretty much a required presence in a maskanda group.
Isn't that right?
L.M: You can be a maskanda musician and not
play the guitar. Expanding the singer-songwriter tradition,
of course, groups have grown up around different maskandi. It would be unlikely
to find a maskanda group, a maskanda band, that did not have the guitar within
it. That is right.
B.E:
What about isicathamiya?B.E: And is it specifically Zulu?
L.M: Isicathamiya is in fact Zulu.
B.E: So does that mean that the migrant labor camps
were divided ethnically?
L.M: They weren't necessarily segregated by
ethnicity, although they were increasingly segregated by ethnicity in the 1980s
and early 90s. Lots of South Africans sang.
If South Africa is known as anything musically, it is known as a nation
of voice. There are thousands and thousands and thousands of choirs of all
different kinds, from gospel to isicathamiya in South Africa.
Opera is huge in South Africa too. But isicathamiya
itself is Zulu-identified choral music.
B.E:
Okay, so isicathamiya and maskanda are both Zulu-identified, but mbaqanga
is not. I guess this is one of the things that makes
mbaqanga special, its lack of an overriding ethnic identityB.E: Let’s talk about this
notion of “Zuluness,” and its emergence as a phenomenon in the period we’re
talking about.
L.M: Okay, essentially there’s a political
history of Zuluness leading up to the 1990s. The Inkatha
Freedom Party, which was an important Zulu representation at the negotiating
tables in the lead-up to the transitional government in 1994, was not always a
political party. The Inkatha Freedom Party began essentially
as a cultural institution, some say in the 1970s, and was puppeteered into a
political party, and a military force by the apartheid state.
The reason had to do with the apartheid state's need, from their
perspective, to somehow provide a counter option to the popular resistance that
was going on in the country. This was resistance that was led by the African
National Congress, and the South African Communist Party. So
this was kind of popular, class-based resistance. The
Inkatha Freedom Party and its violent exploits grew in relationship to the
apartheid state's struggle against the African National Congress and the South
African Communist Party.
B.E:
So this late 80s early 90s surge of Zulu militarism was sort of
manipulated and exploited by the apartheid state?B.E:
So the apartheid state “puppeteered” this cultural organization into a
political force because that suited their strategy of trying to counter the
movement that was coalescing under the ANC and the Communist Party, right?
L.M: I think it's fair enough to say that.
B.E:
So, how is this all playing out on the streets around you when you began
to do your research in studios in Johannesburg in the early 90s?The struggle was also tied up with locations of residence. The informal settlements were associated with African National Congress support. Hostels, that had grown up from migrant labor, were increasingly identified as Zulu, and as places that housed Inkatha dissidents. So what became touted as an “ethnic struggle,” even in the urban areas, was actually also about all sorts of other things: location, class, political affiliation, resources. “Zulu” and “Xhosa” were the easiest markers for a lot of people to hang onto, to identify the terms of the struggle.
B.E:
How are all these dramas being reflected in the music that was being
recorded in the studios where you did your field work?In that context, there were a few producers who became giants. Hamilton Nzimande was one of them. He was one of a group that has become known as "the big five." He began as a record packer. He was never an artist of any standing himself, but he built up this formidable stable of musicians called Isibaya Esikhulu. He had promoters working for him; he had connections into the radio; he ran a very tight ship around his musicians, and produced masses of hits in different kinds of styles. West Nkosi wasn't of the same generation as Hamilton Nzimande. Essentially, he followed him, and overlapped with his career. He came into the industry as an artist in a competing stable to Hamilton Nzimande's. That was the Mavuthela stable under Rupert Bopape, who was one of the other "big five” producers. Being an artist, West was one of the musicians who became a producer and so came to take on a lot of gatekeeping responsibility within the industry, working largely for Gallo Record Company.
B.E:
Tell us a little about these two producers’ most successful groups, for
West, the Mahotella Queens, and the Makgona Tsohle Band, and for Hamilton,
Izintombi Zesimanjemanje.B.E: And they
changed their name.
L.M: The way they explained it was that
Izintombi means "young girls." They were now middle-aged
women. So they changed it to Isigqi Sesimanje, saying, "We
are no longer young girls. But we are still modern."
“Manje” means “now.” So they changed their name from
The Modern Girls to The Modern Sound, Isigqi Sesimanje.
And the other thing that I think the name change gave them was some
independence from Hamilton, as they swapped over to West.
B.E:
In this context, you describe the recording studio as an intriguing place
where all sorts of dramas are playing out. Talk about that.In the middle of all that there were the producers, the gatekeepers, who were multilingual, and who in a sense mediated between the musicians and the sound engineer. At this time, producers didn't necessarily have much technological expertise, so they were also really reliant on the white sound engineers. When you have a division of labor, on top of which are mapped issues of race, class and gender, the struggle becomes incredibly interesting. That's what I found in the studio, that in this moment of great promise and great political struggle in South Africa, you had in the studio these very creative people, in a sense, talking about race, and struggling around race, class, and gender, but not using those terms, doing it in the process of producing really beautiful music.
B.E:
Can you give us a couple of examples?Another example happened during
the Isigqi Sesimanje sessions and had to do with the change from an organ to the
marimba sound. One day the musicians came into the studio.
They had been practicing with this very florid organ sound.
It was the sound of the 1970s. They played an old
Korg, which they liked very much because it reminded them of the Hammond sound
and the Farfisa sound of the 1970s. They came into the
studio ready to play the sound that they had been rehearsing.
West Nkosi as the producer said, “No. That sound
sounds old. That's no good."
He changed it to a Yamaha keyboard that he programmed to the sound of a
marimba. In the end, the musicians came to like the change.
But at first, they left grumbling because they wanted their own sound,
and saw the organ as part of their identifying sound from the 1970s.
The struggle here was over who had final say over the group’s sound.
Was it going to be organ, or was it going to be marimba?
The musicians wanted organ, because it was their sound from their most
popular time. West, I think, changed to marimba because he
wanted it to sound more African. One strategy for doing that
was to use the sound of an instrument that everybody thinks sounds like a
traditional African instrument. In this case, the marimba is
not actually a traditional Zulu instrument, but it is certainly an instrument
that is associated with southern Africa.
B.E:
You put an intriguing emphasis on the musical quality of timbre
as a signifier of various things. Why?
What does timbre tell us?West wanted the sound of the ngoma drum, but how did he get to that sound?
He had been looking for some kind of music for the international market
that would fall between Ladysmith Black Mambazo, an a cappella, choral group
that was having great success on the international scene, and the Mahotella
Queens, his mbaqanga band. He saw a gap on the market
between the two, so he was looking for the sound of a Zulu choral group, but
that would be more danceable than Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
He hit on this ngoma group, Umzansi Zulu Dance. When he
recorded Umzansi, he took the drum sound and made it really prominent in the
mix. He then took the sound of the ngoma drum that he had
arranged in Umzansi Zulu Dance’s commercial production, and inserted that into
Isigqi sesiManje’s mbaqanga mix. So he took a sound he'd
already developed and marked as a Zulu sound, and he inserted it into mbaqanga.
West asks the sound engineer to mix that drum sound and make it really tough and
ballsy. And when the engineer can't quite get the sound he
wants, West says, “Remember the album Ipitombi?
That's the sound I want." The sound engineer says to
himself, "But that's a sound that's all slap, velum, and air.”
It's actually a really bad drum sound. But he
understands the feeling that West wants on the drum. That is
to say he wants the sound of hand hitting skin. He wants the
sound of a “traditional” African drum. He wants the sound of
a live performance. And so he takes that idea, that feeling,
and then tweaks the drum sound that he has produced electronically to give a
feeling of toughness and what he calls “ballsiness.” In the
process, nobody has identified that as a Zulu sound. It's
not that West or the sound engineer necessarily want a Zulu sound.
But they have made a sound available to be retrieved as Zulu, should
listeners choose to listen to it that way.
B.E:
So "tough" and “ballsy” become code words for Zulu.B.E:
The first time the Mahotella Queens recorded in Europe was the Paris
Soweto album in about 1990. West Nkosi was again in the
role of producer, but this time he seems to have gone for a different sound.
I gather one of the sound engineers in South Africa you are working with,
John Lindemann, noticed a big difference. Talk about that
L.M: John Lindemann is a veteran sound engineer
who worked with West Nkosi a lot. For him, the Paris Soweto album
has what he calls a "French mix.” It is too clean, and
there's too much space in it. The South African studio
aesthetic for a dance music mix in the 1970s and 80s is very different.
First of all, the vocals and instruments are really treated as equals.
The instruments are mixed very high, right alongside the vocals.
And second, there's not a lot of space between the instruments as they
play. Many instruments are playing at the same time, so you
get this dense texture. The sounds are not located in
three-dimensional space as widely as, say, what John Lindemann is calling the
"French mix." And third, there's a real stridency in a lot
of the South African mixes which has to do with trying to get a really strong,
pounding bass. Stridency in the vocals and in the more high
pitched instruments is needed to cut through the pounding bass and the dense
texture. So it’s all that density, that grittiness, that
closeness, that weight, that John Lindemann does not hear in the clean sound of
the Paris Soweto album.
B.E:
Talk about the relationship between music making and violence in this
story.It also meant that when they were playing, they were constantly in places that could be dangerous. I remember I went to one festival in rural Zululand in 1991, and backstage at one moment they were about ten producers. It was a fabulous show. I think every single producer, or almost every producer had a pistol on his hip. They didn’t use them at that show. But it became the kind of climate in which these musicians were working. Of course, carrying a pistol became part of the machismo too. In addition to the pragmatics of where you could play and who you got to play for, the violence also determined who was listening to you and how they were listening. So you had to make decisions that were creative decisions, but that wound up being political decisions too. What did it mean to sound Zulu? What did it mean to be a Zulu-identified musician? Even though these kinds of questions weren't often directly spoken about in the studio, they were nevertheless present.
B.E:
You write intriguingly about how Zulu musicians balanced different
versions of Zulu identity, and felt differently about them.
Zuluness is both a source of pride and beauty and a “threat.”
Talk about that.So imagine being in the townships where rampages are happening in the early 1990s, where people come out of the Zulu-identified hostels and kill people in the African National Congress-identified informal settlements. And then there are retaliations. And you are caught in the middle of this. Within this context, the idea of Zulu is at times threatening. Are Zulu's going to come and take over your house? On the one hand, Zuluness becomes associated with fear at times. At other times, it is a celebration, an ideal of beauty. At still other times, it is just who you are in a particular moment. At some other times, it is something you deny. It really depends on the political position that you find yourself in, the social position you find yourself in, and other things, such as the music market. Zuluness is also a commodity, and it is a hot commodity in the early 1990s. In this environment, Zuluness is absolutely up for grabs. It can never be fixed, and is constantly in debate.
B.E:
That’s fascinating. Let’s talk about some specific
musical phenomena. Tell us about groaning, and about
Mahlathini. How does that fit into this story?So here we are in the studios in 1991, and Bethwell Bhengu, a good musician and a bass player who happened also to have a bass voice—was called on by the group to imitate Mahlathini. There were a number of other groaners in the 1970s, but Mahlathini was really the king of groaning. And so Bethwell is called in, but he actually doesn't groan with the kind of quality of Mahlathini. Then West laughs about it, saying, "Ha ha, imitating Mahlathini!" But he also says, "We will leave it in. The market will like it." So this idea of the groan continues to circulate as part of a South African aesthetic.
B.E:
Mahlathini’s sound changed quite a bit from the 70s to the 90s, didn't
it?But Graceland
did also create revivals on the ground. There was more mbaqanga.
There were a lot of isicathamiya choirs who had been singing all this
time, who now tried to get recordings going. And musicians
did get recorded. Umzansi Zulu Dancers, in effect, because
West Nkosi wanted to exploit the opening of the market, started to record as a
professional group, and they continue to do so.
There were also other struggles, and I could recount a couple of stories from
the perspective of South Africans. I mean, my sense is that
the people who fell through the cracks in this were the people who mediated the
project for Paul Simon within South Africa. I'm thinking of
one independent producer in particular, who I see as a key figure in opening up
the field of South African music for Paul Simon. In the end the producer gained
very little from the experience, other than what he learned from Roy Halee, Paul
Simon’s sound engineer. He had a real interest in learning from Halee.
This is a really fabulous person and figure in the South African music
industry, Koloi Lebona. He was the guy who, from his
account, found the musicians for Paul Simon, and put them together for him, and
was in the recording studio listening to get a mix that sounded authoritatively
South African, while Paul Simon was recording in Johannesburg.
Lebona did not benefit as significantly as I would suggest he should
have.
[Editor’s note: Koloi Lebona’s name appears as Sabata Lebona among
the South African musicians credited and thanked in the Graceland
sleeve notes.]
B.E:
That's interesting. I think it was and still is hard
for many people to appreciate the great number of artists working in that scene.
I remember my own difficulties in trying to sort out the history of the
Mahotella Queens. They simply explained that they had taken
some time off to have children, and then came back. They
didn’t tell me all the ins and outs of the other Mahotella Queens, or about all
Mahlathini’s comings and goings, or that Nobesuthu, one of the Queens we know
today, actually came from Izintombi Zesimanjemanje. So many
complications and details were left out of the story, and then when I began to
dig deeper, it became clear that it was far more involved.B.E: What was the
significance of the rise of the Soul Brothers?
L.M: The Soul Brothers grew out of Hamilton
Nzimande’s stable, alongside Izintombi Zesimanjemanje. In
fact, at the beginning, they were largely promoted by backing Izintombi
Zesimanjemanje, and then that relationship changed as the Soul Brothers became
more popular, and Izintombi Zesimanjemanje's popularity waned.
They sort of played off each other, and were integrated onto each other's
albums, etc. So when you hear backing male vocals on an
album like Best of Izintombi Zesimanjemanje, that is the Soul
Brothers. The Soul Brothers epitomized the shift from early
mbaqanga into mbaqanga plus soft soul, I would say. And then
from that, music moved into a kind of South African version of disco.
They were absolutely fabulous musicians, popular across Africa, not just
in South Africa, and as popular as the mbaqanga women's groups.
Their particular vocal sound, the close harmony, that soft close harmony
comes from multiple sources. You can hear some of that soft singing in
traditional Zulu music, and other South African sources, but I think they really
take it from soul. After the Soul Brothers, it really becomes a staple sound of
South African popular music.
B.E:
Like mbaqanga, the Soul Brothers were not tied to any particular ethnic
identity. So then they make a sort of a link between
mbaqanga and disco, and then more contemporary forms like kwaito.
B.E: Yes, and some of them
even use finger picks.
L.M: Yes, to get a really percussive attack on
the strings. In addition, a lot of players used really cheap
strings, and that fed into the acoustics of a really strident sound, as did
playing high up on the neck.
B.E:
Sometimes, they're using guitars whose necks are not very straight, and
they actually tune the strings lower, and use a capo to bring it up to pitch.
That also adds a real buzz to the sound. I noticed
that when we were interviewing Shiyani Ngcobo.B.E:
You point out that this particular sound becomes the most prominent African
guitar style in South Africa.
L.M: Yeah, I think that their way of producing the sound
on the instrument, as well as the actual sound of the guitar itself, come to be
identified as an “African” way of playing. This is partly
because of the broad similarities with other African guitar sounds, a lot of
which have a kind of stridency to them. It also has to do
with a particular kind of South African sound. If you put
just a little bit of that guitar sound into the mix, the ideology, at least as
interpreted by West Nkosi, was that the track would be heard as having a South
African sound. And I would add to this that Marks Mankwane’s
beautiful guitar playing, which was so dearly loved in South Africa and that
circulated around the world with the Mahotella Queens, and the Makgona Tshole
Band, gave the sound a special value. Because his was such a
beautiful sound, people took notice of it.
B.E:
Yes, Marks had that way of playing those fast, double-stop melodies high
on the neck. That really came to define an aspect of the
mbaqanga sound.B.E:
So what about some of the popular maskanda acts these days?
L.M: Maskanda music has remained popular from
the time of Phuzushukela on, and of course there are ways in which it has
changed. There are lots of guitarists, amateurs and
professionals. The maskanda world, with a range of artists
playing different instruments but especially the guitar, is a very live world.
On top of that, of course, there are popular musicians playing maskanda
who are distributed on CD, who are heard on the radio, who appear on South
Africa's equivalent of MTV, and who enjoy a celebrated popular musician’s life.
Amongst those, in the contemporary moment, would be Phuzekhemisi,
Bhekumuzi, and the latest phenomenon, Shwi Nomtekhala.
That’s a duo. These maskandi are all loved for different
reasons. Phuzekhemisi is a virtuosic guitarist, and also a
very interesting lyricist. He first made his splash in a
moment of political transition, when he started taking up national political
issues, commenting about the transition and about the government, and he has
continued to do so. He has a number of songs humorously
criticizing the post-apartheid state's slow delivery of services to rural areas,
as well as reflecting critically on the past apartheid policy.
For example, during the apartheid era, a tax was levied on dog owners in
the homelands. In a song called “Ndlwayedwa” Phuzekhemisi
wonders whether dogs in the homeland areas will get pensions now that they are
old and not working. Another song proved really
controversial with the government. Phuzekhemisi sings that
because he hasn't seen any changes in the rural areas—no roads, no lights, no
running water—he's not going to vote again. At the time of
election of local councillors, state officials intervened and asked him to
retract his sung statement because otherwise there would be no voter turnout.
B.E: So, would you say that
it's the lyrics more than the music that makes a maskanda song popular?
L.M: Well, for a lot of Zulu people who listen
closely to maskanda, there are also things about the playing that distinguish
artists. So, for instance, Bhekumuzi doesn't have a very
decorative playing style. He is especially loved for his poetics, and his very
clever lyrics. I would point to the song "Imilanjwana
(Children born out of wedlock).” Here he says, "We've got a
very big problem in South Africa. The kids are adding
another problem on top of the ones we already have. If
you're a father or a mother and your kids are getting kids while they themselves
are so young, how can you manage?” Bhekumuzi wonders whether
the availability of child support grants is the problem. He wonders if the
problem in fact comes from the government giving out money. This is confusing
young people, who are then not sticking to the right way of doing things.
B.E:
Hmm. Tough love, eh? Tell me
about Shwi?B.E: That’s great.
Let’s touch on traditional Zulu ngoma music before we end.
You mentioned this group Umzansi Zulu Dancers, the group West tried to
semi-electrify back in the early 90s. I have one of their
more recent CD’s here, and it is back to an all vocal and percussion sound.
What can you tell us about these guys?
L.M: Umzansi Zulu Dance is both a professional
group of singers and dancers, and also part of an active community team in rural
KwaZulu-Natal, around Keates Drift, where they live. They
are absolutely fabulous dancers and Siyazi Zulu, who is the captain of the team
Umzansi Zulu Dance, is also a really great composer. The
fathers of guys in this group are the dancers from whom Johnny Clegg learned to
dance. This was in the 1970s. But that
is an important part of the story. Johnny Clegg continues to support them.
He continues to come and dance on occasions down in the community in
Keates Drift, in KwaZulu-Natal, and he continues to support these musicians by
including them in gigs. That's an important part of how Umzansi Zulu Dance has
learned to be a professional group, as well as gather an audience.
Of course, that would never happen if they weren't really good.
They are absolutely fabulous on the stage, and in their community dances.
And Umzansi Zulu Dance’s lyrics are really creative.
From
their 1999 album, I'd like to give you an example of how at times they are also
really daring. There are ways in which this album is a
daring album. It is titled Ingculaza (Gallo,
1999), which means "blood." It is a reference to HIV-AIDS.
This community lives in an area that is at the global epicenter of the HIV-AIDS
epidemic. There is enormous stigma associated with HIV-AIDS in this area, and in
South Africa more generally. And here, Siyazi Zulu composes
a song entitled “Ingculaza,” and he titles the CD Ingculaza.
Recognizing that HIV-AIDS has to be named and accounted for
was an important move.B.E:
I assume this message means a lot coming from him in particular.
L.M: Yes, because he's a staunch
traditionalist. In this post-West Nkosi production — as well as on the new album
he’s working on right now— he is using a sound that is really more traditional,
one that literally focuses on his poetic strength. You have
the vocals just as they sing in the community team: a lead and a chorus, a lead
singer with a stridency and distortion in his voice, which is considered to be
powerful. Vocals are combined with the ngoma drumming, and that’s it.
B.E:
Is this song typical? I mean, in its subject matter?
B.E: Talk about Zuluness as a worldwide phenomenon.
How has this idea and identity been projected out into the world?
L.M: The idea of Zuluness has been projected
out into the world through all aesthetic domains, and all over the world, and I
think there are two components to it. On the one hand, there
is the idea of the Zulu as wild, cunning, and unpredictable.
And you see that picked up in various settings. For
instance, one of the elite Hong Kong police units is called the Z Platoon, or
the Zulu Platoon. On the other hand, what also gets picked
up is this idea of the Zulu as royal, self-possessed, and deeply cultural, and
you see that, for instance, in the long tradition in New Orleans where one of
the highest prestige Mardi Gras floats is the Zulu float.
Another example would be the Universal Zulu Nation, the hip-hop “awareness
movement” of Afrika Bambaataa. Zulu pops up in all sorts of
places. I saw it in a children's cartoon the other day,
where the Zulu Platoon represented do-good outerspace warriors.
Sometimes, working-class Texans, white working-class Texans, refer to
black people generally as Zulus. The idea of exotic Zulus
was also picked up historically, partly because the Zulu were so performative.
In Victorian times, for example, Zulu were part of the touring phenomena
of “exotic natives”. They were featured at the St Louis
exhibition.
B.E:
So wrapping up, where is the Zulu identity at today, and where is it
going?B.E:
Thanks so much. This has been great, and we look
forward to hearing more as you continue your work with Zulu music.
L.M: Thank you.
Here are a list of albums heard on Afropop Worldwide's The Zulu Factor:
Various artists "The Kings And Queens Of Township Jive" (Earthworks 1990)
Isigqi Sesimanje "Lomculo Unzima" (RPM Records 1992)
Shwi no Mthekala "Wangisiza Baba" (Bula Music 2004)
Various artists "Squashbox: Zulu, Soto And Xhosa Concertina-" 1930-65 (Silex 1993)
Juluka "African Litany" (H.R. Music B.V. 1982, Rhythm Safari 1991)
Various artists "Singing In An Open Space:" Zulu Rhythm and Harmony, 1962-82 (Rounder Records 1990)
Izintombi Zesimanjemanje "The Best Of Izintombi Zesimanjemanje" (Gallo)
Soul Brothers "Rough Guide To The Soul Brothers" (World Music Network 2001)
Ladysmith Black Mambazo "Best Of Ladysmith Black Mambazo" (Shanachie 1992)
"Original Sax Jive Hits" (Gallo 1991)
Mahlathini and the Mahotella Queens "King Of The Groaners" (Earthworks 1993)
Shiyani Ngcobo "Introducing - Shiyani Ngcobo" With vocals as sweet as Koite's and guitar playing as penetrating as King Sunny Ade at his best, Ngcobo's introduction is worth seeking out. (World Music Network 2004)
Lahlumlenze "Sandla Fun' Indawo" (Gallo 1997)
Busi Mhlongo "Urbanzulu" (Melt 2000 2000)
Also look for these recommended titles.
Phuzekhemisi "Nginenkinga" (Gallo 2001)
Mahlathini and the Mahotella Queens "Paris-soweto" (Polydor 1989)
Sam Tshabalala "Meadowlands" (Tropical Music (GEMA) 2005)
Juluka "Musa Ukungilandela" (H.R. Music B.V. 1984, Rhythm Safari 1992)
Juluka "Ubuhle Bemvelo" (H.R. Music B.V. 1982, Rhythm Safari 1991)
Harry Belafonte "Paradise In Gazankulu" (EMI Records Ltd. 1988)
Paul Simon "Graceland" (Warner Brothers 1986)
Soul Brothers "Jump & Jive" (Earthworks 1995)
Bhekumuzi Luthuli "Impempe" (Gallo 2005)
Shabalala Rhythm "Vuma" (Gallo 2005)
West Nkosi "Rhythm Of Healing" (Earthworks 1992)
http://www.afropop.org/podcast/
When
Johnny Clegg first brought his half-Zulu, half-white band Juluka to Europe,
amazed audiences saw a young white man singing in Zulu, playing traditional
guitar riffs and nailing difficult, high-kicking indlamu war dances with his
lithe partner Dudu Zulu. French fans dubbed Clegg "Le Zoulou Blanc" (The White
Zulu). Born in England, raised in Zimbabwe and Zambia, Clegg landed in
Johannesburg, South Africa a shy, inarticulate boy of 12, who by his own account
hated school and music. A chance encounter with an old Zulu street guitarist
caught Clegg's ear, and led him to Zulu culture. Clegg teamed up with guitarist
and songwriter Sipho Mchunu to form Juluka. In South Africa, Juluka alarmed
authorities by presenting black and white musicians together on stage. When the
group's potent marriage of Zulu war songs and English folk-rock caught on,
Juluka faced bomb threats, concert shutdowns and racism from both the black and
white music industries. Mchunu retired to his farm in 1986, and Clegg formed a
more western pop-oriented outfit called Savuka, which continues to record hits
and wow audiences, especially abroad. Savuka performed its resonant tribute to
political victims of apartheid, "Asimbonanga," at Nelson Mandela's inauguration.
In the wake of Dudu Zulu's murder in 1993, and South Africa's new political
reality, Clegg has moved on to new projects--a revived Juluka with Mchunu on
board, an album in the Sotho language, an autobiographical film, and a campaign
to bolster South African pop on local radio and stages in the face of new
international competition introduced by the lifting of apartheid's barriers.
New web radio listings (posted October 2002) http://www.afropop.org/multi/feature/ID/12
Note to our users: Due to technical issues in some of these countries, not all stations are available at all times. Also, stations sometimes change their contact addresses. We do our best to keep these links up to date, but we can't guarantee that they will all work at all times. Happy exploring!
General World Music
BBC London; The Sound of the City with Charlie Gillett
Listen to this great show live from the BBC every Saturday night at 2200 GMT or click anytime for archived shows.
UGANDA
Tune in to hear the latest news and music from
Uganda
REUNION ISLAND
RFO REUNION
Original listings
AFRICA:
ANGOLA
RNA ANGOLA
live REAL AUDIO stream
BENIN
GOLFE FM
live REAL AUDIO stream
Great source for West African music from Cotonou, Benin. Unfortunately, their
webcasting stream is currently spotty.
GABON
AFRICA #1 is now ONLINE! You can listen to their broadcast from GABON at
http://www.africa1.com/frameset.htm
GHANA
Here is one of my favorites: Lots of Highlife, Soca, and Afrobeat on Ghana's
GFM: http://www.gfmradio.com/
MALI
Mali's RADIO LIBERTE is now online, broadcasting the latest music and news from
Bamako. Tune in with "Windows Media" at:
http://www.comfm.com/live/radio/radioliberte/
MOROCCO
MEDI 1
live REAL AUDIO stream
One of the best stations to hear North African music, Medi1 broadcasts primarily
music (a mix of North African and French) plus news.
MOZAMBIQUE
Live365 has 2 stations from Mobuto, Mozambique To tune in, go to:
http://www.live365.com/stations/26167
http://www.live365.com/stations/29144
REUNION
Reunion's FREEDOM FM radio station is online at
http://www.freedom.fr/
You can hear it live through REAL AUDIO at:
http://www.freedom.fr/live.ram
SENEGAL
WALF (Wal Fadjri Radio)
website News and Music from
Dakar, Senegal. Unfortunately, they are only occaisionally broadcastsing online.
SOMALIA
Live365 now has a SOMALIAN station... hear the latest through the REAL AUDIO
link:
http://www.geocities.com/hotman_nl/somaliradio.pls
http://listen.to/Somaliradio has links to other Somali Broadcasts, including BBC-Somalia, and other live365 Somalian music station.
SOUTH AFRICA
Johanessburg's METRO FM broadcasts great Black South African Music including
Kwaito, Mbaqanga, and R & B.
http://www.metrofm.co.za/
TUNISIA
RADIO TUNIS
live REAL AUDIO stream
North African music and news. Wonderful place to hear "malouf", Tunisian
Arab-Andalousian folk music plus Arabic pop.
1000% Oriental is a station that plays Arabic and North African music
24/7
http://www.comfm.com/live/radio/oriental/
http://www.africmusic.com/ has three 24/7 webstreaming African channels, featuring the latest Soukous, Mbalax, and more.
CARIBBEAN:
ARUBA
Here is a great one from ARUBA! Canal 90! Tune in with REAL AUDIO at:
http://landronchi.setarnet.aw:8080/ramgen/encoder/Canal90live.rm
or visit their website:
http://www.canal90fm.aw/
BAHAMAS
100JAMZ
live REAL AUDIO stream
100 Jamz has a format called "Urban Island", mixinig reggae, soca, salsa,
junkanoo, rake and scrape with American hip-hop and R&B.
BERMUDA
ZION Radio (part of "live 365" web radio) is a station that specializes in roots
reggae. Here is the "real audio" stream:
http://www.ossaimdread.com/ZIONRadio.ram?mode=compact
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC
RADIOMERENGUE.COM
website
RadioMerengue.com is an online radio station broadcasting merengue music.
GUADELOUPE AND MARTINIQUE
RCI - RADIO CARAIBES INTERNATIONAL
live REAL AUDIO stream
Great mix of Zouk, plus some salsa and news from Les Antilles.
HAITI -
RADIO VISION 2000
live REAL AUDIO stream
News and music (mainly Compas) from Haiti.
JAMAICA
www.radiojamaica.com has great reggae and dancehall. Tune in via Real Audio
at:
http://www.ewess.com/stations/rjr.m3u
TRINIDAD & TOBAGO
Live365 has a great station called SOCA RADIO. Tune in through REAL AUDIO at
http://www.shoutcast.com/sbin/shoutcast-playlist.pls?addr=166.90.148.108:8472&file=filename.pls
TriniRadio broadcasts great Calypso, Soca, steel pan, and more through
REAL AUDIO at:
http://www.shoutcast.com/sbin/shoutcast-playlist.pls?addr=166.90.148.108:8472&file=filename.pls
CENTRAL AMERICA
COSTA RICA
RADIO COLOMBIA
live REAL AUDIO stream
SOUTH AMERICA
BRAZIL
RADIO BOA VISTA
website
live stream with WINDOWS MEDIA EXPLORER
BRAZIL
RADIO AMAZONAS
website
live stream with WINDOWS MEDIA EXPLORER
Great mix of northeastern forro, plus axe, and MPB.
COLOMBIA
www.lavallenata.com
is home to great Colombian Vallenato Music broadcasting live from Bogota. Listen
via REAL AUDIO at
http://real.uole.com/ramgen/encoder/lavallenata.rm
www.tropicanafm.com is another great Colombian radio station broadcasting from Bogota. Tune into great salsa, cumbia, and more via REAL AUDIO at: http://real.uole.com/ramgen/encoder/tropicana.rm
VENEZUELA
RELOJ 93.5 FM
live
REAL AUDIO stream
Mix of Gaita and Rock en Espanol from Maracaibo, Venezuela.
LATIN SUPERSTATIONS
BATANGA.COM
Batanga.com is an internet radio megastation with over 20 radio stations (Cubanismo, Tango, Bolero and more) with online playlist information and email song requests.
Batanga.com
"Cubanismo" live REAL AUDIO stream
Batanga.com "Salsa" live REAL
AUDIO stream
Batanga.com "Merengue" live
REAL AUDIO stream
Batanga.com "Boleros" live
REAL AUDIO stream
EUROPE
1000% Tzigane is a station that broadcasts Rom (Gypsy) music 24/7
(also with "Windows Media")
http://www.comfm.com/live/radio/tzigane/
FRANCE - br> RADIO NOVA
website
One of the most popular radio stations in Paris. Celebrating it's 20th
anniversary with a unique mix of Rai, Salsa, Zouk, Hip-Hop, African, and
electronica.
FRANCE
RADIO LATINA
live REAL AUDIO stream
Popular Parisian radio station broadcasting predominantly salsa and a mix of
Caribbean music (reggae, zouk etc.)
Here is a great one:
http://www.onlyrai.com/accueil.html
is a 24/7 rai station from France. Just click on the "live audio" box to tune
in.
Berbere Radio - A great 24/7 Berber channel from France. Go to:
http://www.brtv.fr/ and click on
"ecoutez"
Radio Maghreb - Another French station. You have to go to the page:
http://www.tv-radio.com/fr/pages/villes/paris.htm
Then click on the "real" icon on "France Maghreb"
RFO now has all of their radio stations online at the page:
http://www.rfo.fr/emissions/emis_s_radio.htm
There, you can listen to stations in:
Guadeloupe
Martinique
Guyana
Reunion
Nouvelle Caledonie
Polynesie
and more...
1000% Zouk is a 24/7 Zouk webcasting station from Paris. You can
listen with "Windows Media" from the website:
http://www.comfm.com/live/radio/zouk/
PORTUGAL-AFRICA
RDP AFRICA
website
live stream with WINDOWS MEDIA EXPLORER
The Lusophone supersation, broadcasting African music live in Lisbon, Angola,
Sao Tome, Brazil, South Africa, and Mozambique, and on the internet.
Compiled by Afropop contributor Dan Rosenberg