More international music stars are heading our way. Our reporters preview the Def Leppard and Tevin Campbell tours
MUSIC: Hazel Friedman and David Goldberg.
THE trouble with interviewing rock stars who have lived the success-excess myth in extremis is that you tend to want to accompany them all the way down the same drain, time and time again.
Take Rick Allen, Def Leppard’s legendary one-armed drummer and undoubtedly the “spottiest” (in terms of scandals) Leppard of all. Journalists don’t want to investigate the subtleties of his drumming technique, nor his ability – with one hand – to smash those skins faster than a road runner on amphetamines. Nah, we’d much rather scratch at stuff which any self- respecting rock reptile already knows by heart: his predilection for all forms of speed, his ability to throttle his missus using only one hand and the rest of the scandalous zits afflicting the fabulously famous and envied.
But in a world saturated with hyper-real legends of the instant packet soup variety, he is endearingly authentic. Along with vocalist Joe Elliott he represents the soul of the band which began in Sheffield eighteen years ago (Allen was only fifteen when he began drumming) and which became the only band to have two albums – Pyromania and Adrenalise – top the 9-million sales mark.
Not only has he retained his title as a VIP member of the royal family of soft rock well into the 1990s, he actually seems to be living some of the lighter lyrics – take “I am the lesson to be learnt” off Gift of Flesh from Def Leppard’s most recent album Slang as an example. The sense you get from Allen is in yer ear (we’re conducting a long-distance telephone conversation) “realness”, even though the interview never really penetrates the skin.
“There are so many people who have much greater physical disabilities than me, yet who mentally are so much stronger,” he says, referring to the 1984 car accident that cost him an arm. “Some would have thought it would have been easier for me to give up there and then, but in fact, giving up drumming would have been much tougher than losing my arm.” He adds a Monty Pythonesque touch: “Anything to avoid a regular job.”
After the accident Allen began playing with a computerised electronic drum kit, including foot pedals that trigger their own sound. Last year, during the recording of Def Leppard’s latest album, he chucked the techno-crutch -along with more personal demons and played on an acoustic kit. The band thought he played better than ever.
“For us, the Eighties was an era of high- tech visual splendour and big electronic effects,” he recalls. “Our concerts were slick and spectacular. But the Nineties are far less materialistic and egotistical, much more in touch with simplicity. Likewise, these days, the band’s priorities are more from within. There’s more focus on the music than the musicians.”
That’s another thing that has been and will continue to be said about Def Leppard. Okay, accuse them of any excess, just don’t call them rock fossils. Nevertheless they might simultaneously be wildlife enthusiasts and endangered species. Their story partially echoes the classic movie This is Spinal Tap – about a heavy metal band in the throes of late-career crisis – yet they do not wear platforms in the wrong decade.
Unlike other once-illustrious bands who have become yesterday’s heroes, like the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac, their brains aren’t fried and their nasal membranes are still intact, even if their livers resemble pickled cucumbers. And they do cut their hair. It would be understandable if they stuck to the same driving formula that secured their success during the Eighties. During that time they were probably the biggest rock group on the planet with sales of more than 40 million albums. Yet they have refused to remain on the tried and tested track, as is evident from Slang.
Recorded in a house in Marbella, Spain, and freed from conventional studio constraints, Slang is a much looser, free-flowing, almost grungyfied album than its predecessors. It combines the band’s catchy rock-based guitar-driven pop melodies of the previous decade with an edgier, more experiemental fusion of funk-soul and even dance music. Slang is the proverbial rock potkjiekos; but to date it hasn’t sold much more than 4 million copies, not commercial kamikaze but proof that not all Def-Lep diehards can stomach new cuisine.
“Even if it means committing commercial suicide, our music has to grow,” Allen says, an unmistakeable Atlantic twang attached to his Sheffield accent. “We have our clashes but we really appreciate each other’s input. In fact, the best of Def Leppard is still to come.”
We steer clear of the band’s bad luck streak (the unkindest cut of all was guitarist Steve Clark’s death from an overdose in 1992). But Allen is not reticent about revealing what can only be described as his personal Saul to Paul conversion. He confesses to removing graffiti for 30 days (with only one hand, remember) as part of his sentence for spousal abuse, attending AA meetings and speaking out against domestic violence on MTV.
“I’m playing a lot better now,” he says. And the sound of that one hand drumming is thunderous.
Def Leppard’s tour intinerary: Johannesburg Stadium – December 5; Kings Park Stadium, Durban – December 7; Green Point Stadium, Cape Town – December 10
@New prince of wallpaper
MUSIC: Bafana Khumalo
THERE is no doubting his talent. At the age of 12 he made his debut appearance on Quincy Jones’s Back on the Block – the track was Tomorrow and the young Tevin Campbell sang his heart out.
While the lyrical content was not much different from the wallpaper music of the time, what was remarkable was the sheer power of the voice emanating from the boy’s tiny frame; it seemed like he was lip- synching over a track laid down by a grown man.
That was seven years ago. Now Tevin is 19, he’s matured into an experienced artist, peering suggestively from posters behind glamdreads fashionably covering his eyes. He’s poised to draw hordes of South African teenagers during his upcoming summer tour.
In America his album sales are measured in the millions. While his South African sales are of course less dramatic, they are still impressive – his debut effort I’m Ready sold 80 000 copies locally. The record company assure us that “it is not bad at all. He is up there with the big guns.”
Campbell’s music also does very well on the local airwaves. Tracks from all his CDs are played ad nausem on most pop music stations. Coming from a generation that finds pop music repetetive, one wonders why South Africans would find this form of music appealing. The record company is quick to answer, “It’s all in the music, if the music is right he will be popular.” But I find this too glib an answer as it’s a truism that most record companies spend more on marketing a foreign artist than they will on a local one.
No, is the record company’s answer. Their representative says, depending on the project, they will spend money on a local artist. “If the project is worth spending money on, the artist will get that type of marketing back-up.” He proceeds to reel off names – “MarcAlex, Mango Groove, Vicky Sampson …” While these are examples where money was spent on local artists, the representative cannot say how much, because if he were to say he spent a certain amount on a particular artist and he spent less on another, there might be some, well, misunderstanding.
There is no doubting Tervin Campbell’s talents are legit. Immediately after he was spotted by Quincy Jones other highly respected musicians joined in the queue to exploit his abilities. Prince, Babyface and Narada Michael Walden all wanted some of the Tevin magic.
While he’s popular with DJs and television music programmers, how does he compare to our local stars when it comes to shifting product off the shelves? The record company executive says: “It would be unfair to compare him to local musicians. We have people like the Soul Brothers who regularly sell over 100 000 copies. So we really can’t compare.”
Tevin Campbell plays the Three Arts, Cape Town – December 11; Standard Bank Arena, Johannesburg – December 13; Village Green, Durban – December 16
@Kansas City’s murky past
The King of Radio Zulu is dead, HAZEL FRIEDMAN reports
CYRIL BONGANI MCHUNU, known to his loving fans as “Kansas City”, was the DJ King of Radio Zulu. He was also widely rumoured to be one of the kingpins of payola – an intricate network of bribery between record companies and broadcasters. And, as fans wept over his untimely death last week, the murkier aspects of his private life came to light.
Mchunu died last Thursday at the Durban City Hospital at the age of 46. The official cause of death was tuberculosis – for which he had been hospitalised many times. But insiders from Radio Zulu say that according to gossip TB may not have been the sole cause of death.
“When he returned from the clinic in Kwamakhuthu, the station’s management acted peculiarly. They seemed to want to keep his illness under wraps,” recalls a former colleague. “But even though he was obviously ill, nothing could keep those male hormones of his inactive.”
His former colleagues at Radio Zulu, now Ukhozi FM, and SABC’s Ngomgqibelo/Kamokibelo, remember him as an extraordinarily charismatic personality and a real “people’s person” who helped make Radio Zulu the most popular station in South Africa.
But it seems that Mchunu didn’t simply court controversy over his health and legendary sexual appetite. Informed sources cite his undisguised relish for money as another weakness. “He would do anything for it,” they say, “even accept bribes from recording companies to play certain records.” In fact, Radio Zulu was widely perceived as a hotbed of payola and prior to his death, Mchunu in particular was under media scrutiny. Many believe that his lavish house, cars and lifestyle bore more than a coincidental relationship to payola payouts.
Mchunu embodied the best and worst of the African dream. Born to a poor rural family, he matriculated while working as a clerk. In 1972 he joined Radio Zulu, where his charisma and communication skills soon catapulted him into the position of programme compiler.
By 1975, Akulalwa, the “party time programme” was launched, transforming Mchunu into a radio icon. And his star shone even brighter with the Saturday Evening Top 20 and a phone-in show Zakhala Izingcingo on Sundays. His TV debut co-hosting Ngomgqibelo/Kamokibelo was no less successful. In 1990 he won an Artes for Best Presenter.
But while his career sailed along seamlessly, the pieces of his personal life were more jagged. And his marriage to the niece of his dead wife further dogged the man who was often teased about having “the freedom of the city”. Recalls a close friend: “He was an incredible guy. But he did what suited him – straddling a western lifestyle and reverting to tradition as the mood took him, spending like a maniac, screwing around, getting the record companies to dance to his tune. He believed he was invincible.”
@Storm in a loincloth
FINEART: Hazel Friedman
BELLVILLE’S bureaucrats might not know about art, but they know they don’t like Mark Coetzee’s art. They won’t allow his images of nude males in the gallery run by the Bellville branch of the South African Association of Arts (SAAA). And the SAAA, whose president Conrad Thys has voiced his opposition to censorship, has proven impotent in acting on it.
The storm in a loincloth began after Coetzee won the Volkskas Atelier Award four years ago. This included a sojourn in Paris. On his return he was contractually obliged to exhibit in one of the 23 SAAA galleries
Coetzee said Bellville was not his first choice but his preferred gallery had left the SAAA. He then approached Bellville, as it was close, asking branch administrator Johan Coetzee if the gallery needed to see his work first, as a courtesy, even though this is unprecedented for an Atelier winner. The gallery assured him it was unnecessary.
But attitudes stiffened after Coetzee disclosed the contents of his work. While the Bellville members probably have no problem admiring pictures of naked women, pictures of men in similar states of unadornment are a different ball game.
The person whose ethical sensibilities were pricked most was town administrator Sakkie De Villiers. He declared the work “should not be accessible to the public”. The Association’s Coetzee adopted a more pragmatic approach. He requested, without having seen the offending work, that certain images be omitted or restricted to an area reserved for “dirty” work.
“I refused,” says Coetzee, “because this would have been censorship.”
Even SAAA president Conrad Thys appears to be bowing to Bellville’s moral minority.
Thys said all SAAA branches were autonomous and Coetzee’s is not exempt from selection. He rejects the artist’s request not to exhibit at an SAAA gallery because this would also amount to bowing to censorship. Coetzee, he suggests, should submit his work to an independent selection panel set up by head office.
But Coetzee rejects the SAAA’s flaccid response as “hypocritical” and plans to bring his battle of the bulges before a special hearing.
“What really bothers me is that these double standards restrict open debate. And now my show hangs in the balance.”