Justin Pearce
The voices of the Morning Stars echo up the stairs of the fluorescent-lit warehouse in Market Street. Dressed in medical orderlies’ white coats with “MS” embroidered on the breast pocket, the Morning Stars enter in single file, and women from the audience jump up from their chairs to tag along behind the procession. The choir gets into formation at the front of the room, while women stand at the side dancing in time to the song.
The music is isicatamiya, the unaccompanied male-voice singing style which dates back to early this century, and which has been taken to commercial success by groups such as Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
According to David Coplan’s book In Township Tonight!, isicatamiya grew out of an earlier style called ingom’ebusuku (night music), performed solely at evening entertainments featuring Western-style choirs. Some historians have suggested that ingom’ebusuku has its roots in Methodist hymns, whose vocal style was adapted for secular lyrics and acquired the syncopations of the then-popular ragtime.
Today, some of the songs are religious, some humorous, some whimsically moralistic: “You like to look at someone’s wife, but you don’t want anyone to look at your wife.” The messages are illustrated by sound effects such as hissing or thigh-slapping. Each song has its own dance routine, and isicatamiya refers to the stealthy, swaying movement of the dance steps.
Once the singers have got into their stride, it’s time for the tributes: one by one, the women come forward, take off their scarves or necklaces, and use them to adorn a favourite singer. At the end of the Morning Stars’ set, the women reclaim their scarves and necklaces to pass on to the next choir: the Zulu Boys, who wear blue college blazers and lapel pins stamped
Presiding over the event is Joe Buthelezi, a magnificently rotund man who, in his suit and panama hat, handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, looks like a past winner of the best-dressed man competition. With a bellow of “woza two!” he summons the next competitors to the stage.
Sitting at a table between the choir and the audience are two white brekers from the East Rand, who were recruited as judges after Buthelezi found them hanging around Park Station. White judges are preferred for both the best-dressed man and the choral competition, and any white person who comes to see the competition will certainly be urged to be a judge.
The tradition of white judges goes back to the period after World War I, when mine owners organised dance and song competitions as a diversion for their employees. Naturally, the bosses took it upon themselves to be judges. Today, the black organisers reckon the choice of outsiders as judges ensures impartiality.
One of the veterans of the choirs is Victor Mhlongo, who has been in the Morning Stars for more than 30 years — the choir itself has been around for half a century. He recalls the days when the choir used to do concert tours down to Durban, and would like once more to take the singing out of its seedy warehouse.
“It’s very hard,” he says. “We can’t get sponsors, and we don’t play for big money. If we could have the sponsor’s name on our coats, I’d be happy.”
At the moment, the prize money and warehouse rent are scraped together from the choirs’ entry fees and the door takings. Like many people for whom entertainment is something worth battling for, Mhlongo justifies the activity on the grounds that it keeps people out of trouble.
“I’ve never known a police station — I’m always thinking about the choir, and I spend my time at the hostel polishing my shoes.”
The public is welcome at 141 Market Street (corner of Polly) from 10pm every Saturday