Friday night :Xoli Norman
There is something unrelentingly inviting about the Newtown art and entertainment scene, especially on Fridays. The sparsely peopled district brings on a dense nostalgia evocative of the good old days of a vibrant Market Theatre precinct.
Today the place retains an edgy vibe, but for different reasons. What people fight for and what they actually get is an interesting question and a debate well suited to the confines of Niki’s, a soothingly jazzy joint that’s become a prime hangout for artistic black fundis.
The genial ambience embraces me as I walk in. There are a few people scattered about at tables, two guys are playing pool and the burgundy bar sends out welcoming sounds of The Jazz Ministers – an all-time evergreen.
Niki (the Oasis queen) walks by, her face a ray of smile, and I can’t help thinking that she is pretty. Patrons trickle in – the weekly soire has started.
Niki’s is a definite if you’re black, into jazz and discerning, or white, open-minded and interested in the latest off-off mainstream provocative black interpretations of our times. It’s a pity they don’t sell Guinness, a flaw I’ve subtly accepted with a combo of compromise and indifference because the place makes up for it with Niki’s rivetingly kaleidoscopic jazz collection.
I walk out to the strains of Donald Byrd’s Up-Up, across Jeppe Street and right onto the precinct. The faithful patrons of theatre perfume the air with sweet smells. Being a fledgling theatre practitioner myself, seeing them gives me hope. The tempting aroma of African cuisine gently hits me from Kofifi. “You are home,” it seems to echo.
Even at Kippies I don’t stand a chance of a drop of Guinness so I carry one more fruit juice to my waiting table and sit and wait for Bra Hugh to blow the place apart.
A buzz fleets through the place as people meet long lost friends – at least that’s how it appears: one never knows with a nation like ours given to such dramatics.
Some are laughing sumptuously, probably for the first time this week considering the times we live in. A strikingly beautiful woman walks in, her hand cradled in that of her partner – a tall, dark boy, probably in his early thirties. With his air of solitude and indifference he reminds one of the birth of the blues.
Hugh Masekela takes the stage and people start clapping. He is in spirit tonight. The cultured audience is seemingly oblivious to Bra Hugh’s constant pleas to keep quiet. Soon he has the house jumping. I think of the legendary Buddy Bolden and am enthralled by the energy of Masekela’s mastership. Khawuleza – from Black to the Future -is given a refreshingly stunning interpretation; the horn is made to sing new notes tonight.
What a night! What a country! We are in the jazz cathedral, the prophet himself is serving holy communion and the healing is crushing. He frequently takes you through the semantics and enunciations of the Nguni terms in his songs. It’s a wonder that the colourful cloths that serve as backdrop to the stage don’t not tear from the loudness of the master’s trumpet sound.
There may have been no Guinness, but it never gets this hot on juice.
Composer Xoli Norman is a trainee director in the new series of Soul City currently in production.