Bafana Khumalo
IT used to be that the only black people who sang choral music were those who considered themselves close to the ideal preached by their missionary saviours, the midwives of this genre of music: that is, “civilised” _ read “Westernised”. Archival photographs show these newly saved souls, mostly school teachers, dressed in tightly fitting starched collars, standing stiffly upright, trying to appear as civilised as possible.
Imilonji KaNtu Choral Society, although fully rooted in the tradition of choral music, would make the early missionaries want to give up their calling _ saving perfectly safe African souls from an imagined eternal furnace _ and go back home to where people have respect for Western traditions. This 11- year-old group has been in the forefront of changing the genre from a staid wannabe-white activity to one which can be described to some extent as Afrocentric.
“Imilonji KaNtu consists of people from all walks of life,” says conductor George Mxa-dana, sitting in the seats of a movie theatre that has seen better days.”Everyone, from labourers to bank managers, comes together to make music that affirms us as Africans.”
This is the first time Imilonji KaNtu has taken part in the Grahamstown Festival, not for lack of interest on the part of organisers but because: “We shunned it. We did not want to take part in it because it was an 1820 Settlers event, not ours.” Mxadana believes the nature of the festival is changing _ hence the choir’s attendance this year.
Though Imilonji KaNtu appeared in a downtown venue where the majority of acts were suited to the Fringe, the choir was able to fill the venue and seduce the audience. Dressed in ethno-glam regalia _ colourful, flowing robes _ they would effortlessly leap from politically incorrect compositions by Beethoven, stripping his Symphony No 9 of all its supposed Eurocentric values and infusing it with a passion that can only be described as human, not the sole preserve of any single continent, to traditional African pieces, raising their hands, doing a kind of soft shuffle as their voices lifted and lilted, punctuated by soul-searing ululation.
The 76-person choir pleasantly embarrassed the restrained audience _ no whistling or whooping it up for this gathering _ at the end of their performance by filing out into the foyer, forming a guard of honour for the patrons while singing a rousingly raw Zionist Christian Church song. It was difficult to keep a steady gait and ignore the beat.
Started as an ad hoc group to take part in a choral competition in 1983, the group won that contest and decided to stay together, not knowing how long it would last. “For some stupid reason, the whole thing worked.”
Mxadana says from its inception the choir started to make waves by singing songs which were banned by the government, most notably one banned in 1910: Hayi Usizi Lommuntu Omnyama (loosely translated as “Oh, the Grief of a Black Person”).
“At that time we were seen as a choir jumping on the political bandwagon and a lot of choirs did not want to be associated with us.” Since then protest songs have been a permanent feature of their repertoire.
“When the missionaries encouraged choral music, they were trying to teach people to be submissive and obedient. What they did not realise was that we would be able to communicate political views much more strongly using music than the spoken word.”
This stance, and their singing ability, earned Imilonji KaNtu high regard at Western choral music festivals. They have featured in places as far afield as Germany, Australia and Canada. “Whenever we travelled overseas, we always sang against apartheid and we managed to foretell that apartheid was going to die.”
This respect has not been confined to foreign countries. The choir is in demand at local festivals and functions, with perhaps its highest accolade being invited to sing at the inauguration of President Nelson Mandela. They had sung for Mandela before, when he went to Transkei in 1990 for a traditional welcome-back ceremony after he was released from prison. “After we had sung, he came to us and said: `I am now at peace with the world and myself.'”
Should the new regime show signs of acting like the old regime, will the choir start being critical of it as well? “We are already changing from what we did during the reign of apartheid,” Mxadana says. “I would like to believe that we have played a role in contributing to the peaceful transition, by just keeping on singing those songs of reconciliation.” And yes, he says, if the new regime should prove as oppressive as the previous one, “we will sing against it”.
Whatever the fortunes of the new dispensation, Imilonji KaNtu is in no hurry to quit the stage, for they can challenge any stereotype about how choral music should be sung. But would they be able to go as far as to put a popular artist like Brenda Fassie into tonic sol-fa and belt out Weekend Special?
“Let me show you something,” says Mxadana, and he gathers the choristers up on the stage. A key is given on the piano and they launch into a version of Bette Midler’s From a Distance, ridding it of all its saccharine sentiments and infusing it with a dignity that would turn the famous redhead green with envy.