Bafana Khumalo
ONE of the most enduring images I have of Hugh Masekela is that of stocky man surrounded by a band, hand raised and confronting an audience of rowdy revellers who would rather be sitting at a shebeen regaling each other with stories of sexual conquest than listening to jazz music.
This would sometimes last up to an embarrassing 10 minutes, with Masekela insisting on their silence and them drunkenly ignoring him. There is, of course, another image of Hugh, cheeks puffed out as he makes furious love to a flugelhorn — a lovemaking that gave birth to the hauntingly beautiful sounds of Ntyilo Ntyilo, one of the standards of South African jazz.
These are probably the only images one will remember these days because he no longer has to perform at shebeens like Kippies. He now has his own jazz club and the only people who go there will be people who actually want to listen to music.
Hugh Masekela has opened J&B Junction at the Piccadilly Centre in Yeoville. It’s sandwiched between a Chinese Food joint and a teenage hangout joint.
Hugh’s Junction is intended to be an island of civilisation in the barbaric sea of kwaito and mindless rap. The place seats 300 patrons has been embraced with a fair deal of enthusiasm by the trendy jazz-loving set.
Last Friday it was packed as people negotiated their way up the stairs to the entrance trying to avoid the drunken teenagers. Once in the Junction, we were rewarded with truly soothing music — that comes at a price. You pay R26 on the understanding that when Masekela is on stage, you shut up and listen. (One person discovered this rule when I was there. He will either never set foot in the club again or, when he does, he will be one of the best behaved patrons.)
But these have been few and far between. Maybe the cover price, with bookings at Computicket, is the reason that the riff raff keeps out. (Riff raff in this instance usually has a cellular phone and an inflated sense of self. It usually finds itself at such a place on a Friday evening after spending the day drinking. )
While I understand the need for silence and respect for performers, I must confess that the few times I have been to Hugh’s joint I have been so browbeaten that I have been afraid to sneeze, let alone talk, during a performance.