The innovative recording label MELT2000 is proving to be a home for new musical talent
Claire Bezuidenhout
Robert Trunz sits with his hi-tech Nokia mini office gadget retrieving e-mails, sending MP3s, surfing the Net, answering calls from hopeful musicians and drinking ice cold water. He is one of a few people who can handle 18 things at once and still maintain a calm charming repartee with a physical party of four.
The thick wooden atmosphere of the Elangeni Hotel’s dining area overlooks the depressing heat of Durban’s North Beach. Trunz chuckles away about his lack of a tan even though he has a “beautiful house in Cape Town right by the sea”, while Madala Kunene mutters in the background, “Esh Baffo, you are a busy man!”
They’re in the midst of discussing a new recording contract for Shiyani Ngcobo on the MELT2000 label. Ngcobo is no stranger to the ears of maskanda music fans. Having played most major festivals and having the absurd honour of recording with Trunz in a bathroom in France, he silently smiles his way through the conversation which is peppered with new concepts for upcoming projects. Kunene wears his familiar stoned endearing expression while translating from Zulu to English Ngcobo’s simple philosophies on maskanda music. “We are poets. Our songs change every day because every day something changes. When I am in the location, I sing about the hardships I see. When I am in France I sing a song about how they have not many problems.”
“Yes, yes,” interrupts Trunz, “maskanda is the original African rap – the oldest form of expressing present personal interpretations of life. It is erased and replaced every day. Every time we record it is different. It’s just wonderful for its effortless spontaneity and adaptability.”
“But doesn’t it fall into the same boring clich of song about hardship in the townships?” I venture, somewhat naively.
“No, my dear,” Trunz laughs, “the concept of community commentary dates back thousands of years. Music has, and always will be, the language to raise opinions.
“When I first arrived in South Africa I literally stumbled on the most exciting and proficient musicians I had ever heard. After listening to many various styles the idea of collaboration seemed eminent, but when I first tried bringing these different artists together I was told that a certain Xhosa would not perform with one person because he was a Zulu sangoma and what not. I was like, what the fuck, just shut up and jam. We all have something to say, we’re all good at what we do, so let’s do something even crazier and collaborate – produce sounds that are even more edgy and new. Community commentary is a universal attitude.”
The conversation changes from recent projects he is engaged in like The Alien Soap Opera trilogy involving fireballs of weirdo musical relationships which have seen the likes of Pops Mahommed, Brendan Jury, Warrick Sony and northern Namibian nomadic tribes collaborate with old friends from The Orb to the latest ingenious methods of recording drums.
“So you’re a busy man then, Mr Trunz? African time not even slowing you down a bit?” I ask, as he simultaneously signs the bill, adjusts his sunglasses and takes a call.
“Not at all. This business is all- consuming, but a whole lot of fun,” he quips, gesturing for me to open a rather strange looking camping bag. Amused, I open the zipper to discover two inflated plastic pool cushions, tightly packed around what resembles anatomically perfect alien spawn. “My original business: speakers, we call them Pods. Beautifully designed and packaged. Anyway, let’s hit the beach quickly while I still have a few minutes on loan.”
Down to the beach we stroll, Trunz musing on about his Italian bella, Kunene toking away at a spliff and Ngcobo trailing behind with a rather bemused look on his face.
“This man,” coughs Kunene “he has a big heart. Siwela Sonke!”
@ Jamming with the Gods of jazz
Karen Rutter
Call me a vinyl junkie – but there’s nothing like a needle. Which is one of the considerable charms of this collaborative collector’s item – Airto Moreira and the Gods of Jazz: Killer Bees (B&W Music) comes in LP format, characterised by that delicious hiss you get when stylus and record make contact.
Moreover, it’s packaged in a box set which features a terminally funky range of album-sized posters that go with each song – thus Banana Jam is offset by a suitably fruity pull-out plus pithy commentary on the track (Airto Moreira’s take on City Sushi Man: “Hiram Bullock overdubbed in New York. He said, ‘Can I play whatever I want?’ I said, ‘Sure’. He said ‘Look Out!’ – and what you hear was done in one take.”).
But the best thing about Killer Bees is that it is improvised. It’s one fat jam session showcasing a serious line-up of jazz maestros hanging loose in a studio – no score, no agenda, no boundaries.
Initiated by percussionist/drummer Moreira, who pulled in some buddies from his old jamming days in New York, the project soars with the spirit of unfettered genius. Which kind of describes the personnel – calling themselves the Gods of Jazz may sound a tad presumptuous, but then how else would one introduce Chick Corea, Mark Egan, Stanley Clarke, Herbie Hancock, Gary Meek, Hiram Bullock and Flora Purim?
With the majority of the nine numbers recorded in one take, (Bullock’s guitar and Meek’s saxophone the only later additions), Killer Bees buzzes with unrestrained and eclectic energy.
Take the title track, which uses traditional Aboriginal percussion in tandem with a droning bass line to create an atmospheric hum; or the driving fusion backbeat of Be There; or Clarke’s rare acoustic solo on Nevermind, a tasteful ballad introduced by Hancock; and the thumping groove of the aptly named Nasty Moves, Egan and Moreira providing the loop on bass’n’drums, Bullock piling in with manic frills a bit later.
A killer session, reminiscent of the glory days before overdubs became the norm and jazz musicians led from the heart.
@ The Fleur du Cap: war or awards?
Guy Willoughby
It’s autumn in the Cape. The municipality digs up leading arterial roads, the Stormers’ goofy lantern jaws are wrapped around all available lampposts, and in Camps Bay’s swank Rotunda Restaurant, it’s time for Fleur du Cap – the annual theatre-industry bunfight at which a kindly wine company hands out awards, worth R4E500 each, to the industry’s best and brightest.
Sounds like a good idea? Well, yes, except every year there’s controversy among this small, noisy and histrionic community about how those who won, did, and why those who didn’t, didn’t.
It’s not that people don’t trust the judges, a clutch of hard-working journos who actually get around to all available productions in the preceding year. It’s just that, in a cash-strapped industry, the Fleur du Caps make job-hunting easier: what self-respecting actor/director/designer doesn’t want to put “award-winning” on her next theatre- programme CV?
An extra thousand here or there can make a big difference to an underpaid thespian, routinely kvetching about salaries and why she/he made this career choice anyway.
One actor tearfully opined at the Rotunda last week: “We get so few platforms for public recognition in this business. To be capped by Fleur du Cap carries a helluva lot of weight accordingly.”
While there may be controversy about the winners, you can be sure that, every year, the following will happen:
l The same people who carry off awards each year will make the same tearful, can-it-be-me acceptance speeches as last time.
l Under pressure of frantic networking, 90% of the diners by lunch’s end will have hijacked other people’s seats, wine bottles or reputations.
l Most memorable frock in the glamour- studded room will be worn by University of Cape Town lecturer/theatre person John Caviggia.
l Glowering stage supremo Marthinus Basson will take the podium to make the same “theatre is dying” speech as last year.
This time, there were few surprises, and ferocious applause for expected awards: David Kramer and Taliep Petersen for best contribution to a musical (for Kat and the Kings), a fistful of honours for the glorious bergie konsert, Suip!, and the usual misty-eyed lifetime achievement award for a veteran of theatre’s palmy days (when?).
This year the recipient was Hermien Dommisse, star of endless platteland tours with Andre Huguenot in those happy pre-video/Internet/Play Station days of yore. (Intriguing to see Dommisse matched at the same table with Govan Mbeki, our President Thabo Mbeki’s pa, stalwart of a different theatre of operations in the old days. Good on the ageing comrade, he gets around to more cultural events in the Cape than either of our national arts ministers.)
In between gnashing jaws and gushing applause, it was diverting to watch Tshamano Sebe, best actor (for Master Harold and the Boys), and Dommisse both recite their autobiographies as acceptance speeches.
With broad historic sweep, Sebe took us through his life and aspirations to date, before thanking a raft of people that included (this one’s for you, Govan) former president Nelson Mandela.
There are fears that Sebe and Dommisse may have initiated a whole new acceptance- speech tradition that will draw out this over-extended annual lunch even further.
@ The hills are alive
A new documentary uncovers a drama of denied heritage, stolen treasures and botched excavations
Catharina Weinek
Once you have been to this place called Mapungubwe in the Limpopo valley on the border to Zimbabwe and Botswana, its landscape etches itself on your mind. The landscape is surreal with stark hills of sandstone dotted with that clichd witness to time, the baobab tree. And when the sun sets it all turns red.
Yuri Moolman, botanist and owner of a game farm, read about Mapungubwe in one of Basil Davidson’s books in 1996 and thought it would make a fascinating film about denied heritage, stolen treasures and botched excavations. He told film-maker and head of Icon Entertainment Lance Gewer about his idea. Inspired, Gewer drove up to Mapungubwe with his business partner, Cassim Shariff.
At the time, the army occupied Greefswald, the farm that the 1 000-year- old archaeological site had to share with an extensive military base. Gewer and Shariff bluffed their way past the guards at the entrance and, without directions, went in search of the hill. They were lucky to see the place. If they had asked for permission they would have gone on a long and frustrating search to find the “proper” authorities. The army, the Northern Province government and the National Parks Board would have given different answers as to who had the final authority to grant permission.
I joined the film project because it was an opportunity to learn about a magnificent era in our nation’s history. When I was 19, I reacted in anger when I first heard of Mapungubwe and its treasures. Why had I not learned about this place in school? During the filming I realised I was privileged to have heard of it at all, since most people I spoke to had not. As film-makers it became our obsession to tell the story of Mapungubwe.
At Mapungubwe, eight centuries ago, flourished Southern Africa’s first city and greatest kingdom. The climate would have been wetter and warmer, perhaps the tsetse fly would have been in abeyance, and the Limpopo river would have flowed constantly. The favourable conditions alongside the confluence of the Shashe and Limpopo rivers attracted more and more people. The trade to Mozambique’s East Coast, at Sofala, grew. This trade was the force that changed this society. Ivory, gold, iron and animal pelts were exchanged for beads, cloth and ceramics from as far afield as China, Egypt and Persia. By about AD1250, the kingdom’s power extended to 30 000km2, about the size of the modern Zulu kingdom.
Mapungubwe is the origin of civilisation in Southern Africa. Across the world we find cradles of civilisation in areas alongside major rivers – whether it is the Nile in Egypt, the Ganges in India or the Tigris and Euphrates in the Middle East. But because of the politics of the past it would have been heretical to assign to a purely African kingdom the status of “origin of civilisation”.
Gaining access to Mapungubwe became an issue for us not only in terms of the physical property but in terms of information. Gewer and Shariff started the process to gain access and the trust of the many players involved in Mapungubwe: the archaeologists, the environmentalists, the Parks Board and anthropologists. As the researcher, I made it my job to learn the “lingo” so that it became easier to gain more information and access to documents from archaeologists. Among some academics the veil of suspicion was lifted as they realised we had a commitment to tell the story of Mapungubwe.
Our commitment went so far that we went in search of the lost gold of Mapungubwe. Gewer’s car had broken down in Louis Trichardt and the mechanic had stories to tell about a place that had pots of gold. Other myths of hidden treasures abound. Then we heard of a wealthy professional of who we were told might have some gold. I, as the woman in the film team, was sent ahead to soften him up.
We saw a collection of African art in his home, the likes of which I have not seen in museums in Paris, New York or London. I felt ill as he took us on a tour of his art collection and to crown it a collection of porcelain with too many rare pieces in it. His house had been designed around his collection that encompassed three floors and so many nooks and crannies. He hoarded obsessively. He could not help himself. It was pathological.
At some point we turned the conversation to gold. By this time he was on such a high showing off his collection that he went straight to his safe and unlocked it to show us the gold. He laid a bangle in my hands, a delicate, finely curled piece of gold foil. I had only seen such a piece at Pretoria University where the Mapungubwe collection is held.
He confirmed that he had bought this from a family that had dug it up in the 1930s. Boasting, he told us that his best pieces were in London, that he had a gold lizard in a safe. That too had come from Mapungubwe. I have nightmares about this man and his home and an urge to report him to someone. It seems immoral.
A few weeks after completing the first round of filming I went to the Military Archive in Pretoria to find out about Mapungubwe’s military history. In the early 1970s the government handed over ownership to the army. For the documentary we wanted to know to what degree access had been denied during the military era. We also wanted to find out more about Dr Aubrey Levin, who had headed a research programme (to which Greefswald was affiliated) to “rehabilitate” gays and drug users in the army by using shock treatment.
I was expecting the atmosphere of the new government to have filtered down here. But the smell of bureaucracy never changes. Everyone was helpful until I started asking too many questions and asking for the “wrong” kind of file.
I was brought a file that among many documents held correspondence between Pretoria and the Northern Command of the Transvaal. All had to with military personnel visiting and civilians asking for permission to visit the farm Greefswald and Mapungubwe. Among them was the announcement of a visit by the then head of the army, Magnus Malan, his time of arrival per helicopter and what he would have for lunch. I asked for some of these to be photocopied.
It took several days but I was refused permission. I cannot imagine what was in those papers that could threaten our national security. Then a few days later I received a letter from the military telling me in no uncertain terms that I could only visit Greefswald if military personnel accompanied me. I had made no request to the military to visit its camp. I had already strolled through the bunkers and the bar in a rock cave at Mapungubwe. Clearly the military still believed it had some sort of jurisdiction over Mapungubwe. Had it not realised that Mapungubwe had been taken away from it some years ago?
For some unfathomable reason the Northern Province owns Greefswald, though for some years now the National Parks Board has run it. It will take years for this to become a park open to all. Farms must be bought surrounding the one that Mapungubwe stands on. The ecology has to be rebalanced as the land recovers from the scourge of cattle and adjusts to the introduction of wildlife. A park without borders that will encompass great tracts of land in Botswana, South Africa and Zimbabwe is discussed among conservationists but the politicians cannot find the time to ratify it. The elephants have ignored borders and fences for decades and cross the Limpopo in whatever direction they please.
Mapungubwe and its associated sites will be proposed as a World Heritage site to Unesco, either this year or the next. Then even more South Africans will learn about this place.
Yet Mapungubwe does not stand alone. There are hundred of associated sites that spread south and north into Botswana and Zimbabwe. These sites have to be investigated so that the story of Mapungubwe can be completed. But to continue this research into this civilisation needs the commitment of the many role players, including government.
Catharina Weinek is co-writer and scriptwriter of Mapungubwe: Secrets of the Sacred Hill. The documentary shows on March 6 at 9pm on SABC1
@ Blac like me
Black artists are defining a space where they can deal with issues vital to their lives
Paul Edmunds
There are some things, cultural worker Zayd Minty tells me, that black artists will say to each other that they won’t say in the company of their white counterparts. It is this principle that has underpinned the establishment of the Black Arts Collective (Blac), of which Minty is both initiator and co-ordinator. Inclusion in the body is open only to black cultural workers, including artists, academics, heritage and media workers – “black”, in this sense, including everyone who was previously marginalised on the basis of their race.
It is inevitable that, in the South Africa of today, such agendas tend to ruffle a few feathers, but Blac justifies this policy by saying it is not so much an exclusive as a constructive and inclusive arrangement. Blac aims to provide a nurturing as well as a critical platform with a focus on positivity, pro-activity and creativity. It also provides a context for black cultural workers to negotiate their own history and to manage their own futures. The collective works as a resource to enable people to publish and produce what they may need to serve these ends.
The “collective” is a rather loose one, with only a few constants. These include the aforementioned Minty and poet and playwright Lueen Conning-Ndlovu. Minty has made his way through numerous political, community and cultural structures, including, most recently, the Robben Island Museum. Blac in fact grew directly out of the Robben Island Artist Exchange programme, which he initiated. A changing pool of visual artists, playwrights, actors and others make up the body of the organisation.
Last year saw Blac host a seminar series with such speakers as journalist and editor Sandile Dikeni and arts administrator Mike van Graan. In these meetings issues relating to cultural practice and identity were specifically addressed. Further than this, Minty is happy to let the structure, or “space” as he calls it, evolve as it sees fit and change as the need arises.
This year a new seminar series starts on March 7 at Cape Town’s Centre for the Book, and is open to arts practitioners of all races. The first seminar is entitled “Archiving Living Culture” and will comprise a panel discussion chaired by Ciraj Rasool (University of the Western Cape history department) with Valmont Layne (District Six Museum Sound Archives), Natalie McAskill (Community Video Education Trust) and Ahmedi Vawda (Community Development, Cape Town City Council). The seminar will be preceded by a short video on jazz musician Harold Japhta produced for the District Six Sound Archive.
The seminar series continues at this venue on the first Tuesday of every month until September. There’s a catch though – entrance is free only to black cultural workers who have registered on the Blac website, www.blac online.mweb.co.za, otherwise you pay R10. The website, which will be officially launched on March 7, aims to be a supportive, informative and critical resource as well as a kind of “who’s who” of black cultural workers.
Blac has also committed itself to an annual project which this year focuses on race, power, culture and identity and is entitled “Returning the Gaze”. This will take place on September 24 and is also open to all races.
The Centre for the Book is at 62 Queen Victoria Street, Cape Town. The website launch and first seminar start at 5pm on March 7
@ Argument for ‘defined cultural spaces’
Zayd Minty
South Africans really need to talk and listen to each other. They especially need to do this in specifically formed groups where they can respectfully debate and deal with defined issues with positive ends and towards a more harmonious and united global society. Just as there are safe spaces for women to talk about rape, for example, so too is there a need for such spaces amongst specific groupings to discuss cultural repression.
Starting two talkshops has been an engaging exercise. The first – the Black Arts Collective, or Blac – is an ongoing project, for “broadly black” cultural workers (artists, producers, academics and journalists) to discuss race, power, arts, culture and identity. Its vision: an empowering, positive space to foster discourse and collaborations for a transforming South Africa – to share respectfully and intellectually.
For many participants the first Blac seminar series represented the first time they had engaged this way with their peers. Race as a defining if tenuous boundary set up many tensions, but resulted in a number of exciting discussions – about the meaning of being “black” in South Africa; the implications of racial stereotyping; the racism between coloureds and Xhosa-speakers in the Cape; the reasons for the lack of access for black artists to the programme of mainstream, often white-dominated, cultural institutions; and the notion of “standards” used by gatekeepers in such institutions.
The space opens crucial discussions about family and community histories and their relation to imagery and myth- making. Importantly, the space allows for young and established black cultural workers across media to network and meet each other – poets met heritage workers met hip-hoppers met arts managers. It has even led to some early collaborations.
The second space, the Cape Town One City Festival lecture series around broad cultural issues, was a festival hit, with comments like “we need more of this, all the time”. The event became performance in its own right. However, the series’ thematic vagueness and very broad target were problematic in terms of initiating any change – its strength was largely cathartic and informational.
In order to address unfounded negative perceptions about Blac being racist, two spaces have subsequently been created – one formal and open to all, another more informal for black artists alone, under the same banner.
It’s saddening that perceptions take over people’s rationality – there is a vital need for a range of diverse mechanisms to heal our land. When asked what I think about a white artists’ space, for example, I say: start one – if it’s to address your whiteness, perhaps your guilt, and if it can help you to build a racially tolerant society in this country, then I will support your right and celebrate your achievements.
In a country as damaged as ours by repression, there is a need for “therapy” to regain our health. Well-defined “talkshop” spaces are vital, short-term, historically contextual initiatives which, given grounding in solid positive values, could do just that.
@ Jungle man on safari
Riaan Wolmarans
His mother was horrified when, back in the Eighties, he bought his first Technics record player for an expensive 200. Little did she know that this was the start of a long and industrious musical career for Cut la Roc, one of the United Kingdom’s finest big beat/house/jungle DJs. La Roc is currently visiting South Africa – he’ll play in Johannesburg and Cape Town on March 3 and 4.
La Roc started off on the hip-hop scene in the late Eighties, but grew somewhat disillusioned. “I was irritated by the bad attittude of the people in the hip-hop scene towards music,” he says. He also started hearing other kinds of music, such as garage and house, being played by friends, and discovered that he liked it: “I liked house because it still had a funky element in it, along with lots of different things.” This led to him starting to experiment in these genres, and finding them easier to play in, since the hip-hop DJs were very critical about his DJing.
He ended up in a studio for the first time, not knowing what to expect at all. “I just knew a studio was a place with a metronome-like thing in it,” he laughs. >From then his music started to evolve into a mix of big beat and house, and he released his first single – admittedly not too brilliant at first, he says.
He’s since made his peace with the hip- hop crew who gave him such a hard time a decade ago: “Today’s hip-hop scene is much more open. I knew it before and now, and the stuff I play – if it’s not up to their standard, they’re much more complimentary, where eight or nine years ago they would have told me to fuck off.”
>From then he’s been rising in fame, playing all over the world, producing two EPs, Mad Skills volumes 1 and 2, which spawned hits like Hip Hop Bippedty Bop. A full-length CD, La Roc Rocs, is about to be released on his record label, Skint, where he’s one of the main acts alongside big names Fatboy Slim, Bentley Rhythm Ace and Midfield General. He has even set a world record for DJing on nine decks simultaneously.
What can fans expect from his live act? He’ll be playing “a mish-mash of different things: hip-hop, big beat, house, other sounds from Skint. I take a big box with me, I have a contingency plan for every event, so I can take the crowd on a rollercoaster ride, if that’s what they want.” He’ll be playing from mixed genres, with a few tricks up his sleeve to slip in things like drum’n’bass before you even know it. “I’ll be playing the best of each scene with the bits all mixed up – just any old madness.”
His showmanship comes up, and he admits that he can be “quite hyper”, depending on the equipment and the audience. His scratching, he says, is done in a way that’s not annoying – it’s more rhythmic scratching that adds to the track itself, with a few breakdowns and the like thrown in. “I make it interesting, manipulate the music without upsetting the dance floor.”
His next big project is an album which he’ll do with MC Det, which should sound like a “hip-hoppier, funkier version of Massive Attack … ideal for a film soundtrack”. It will also feature female vocalist Elizabeth Troy.
As we’re at the beginning of a new decade, it’s a good time to wonder about the future of his genre of music. “British magazines are proclaiming lots of music dead: trance, big beats and so on,” he says. “I want to write a letter asking: is there any music left that’s not dead? As long as people make good music, it will last.” Even though the big-beat scene is a bit played out in the United Kingdom, he feels it will survive through innovation, with people like the Chemical Brothers whose sound changes and progresses.
He’s been to Africa before – a jungle DJ on safari, no less – but never to South Africa, and he’s quite eager to hear what the local DJs on his scene are up to. On Friday March 3, he headlines at the All Dressed Up and Somewhere to Go party in Cape Town, alongside 22 of our own big- beat, breakbeat, jungle and drum’n’bass wizards, including DJ Myles, the Bonanza Clone, Jazza and Bob. He’ll also play at 206 in Johannesburg on Saturday March 4. See the music lists on page 19 for more info.
@ Statue of Liberty for Durban
A competition to find a design for a millennium tower on Durban’s Bluff drew 52 entries
Nina Lori Saunders
Icons sell cities. Bartholdi’s Statue of Liberty is New York and Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado Hill is Rio de Janeiro. The new Guggenheim Gallery is putting Bilbao on the map and the zigzag roof of Jrn Utzon’s Sydney Opera House inspired the official logo for the Olympics 2000. Durban’s tourism authorities have long been searching for visual symbols to reflect Durban’s diversity.
In December last year, Portnet, the Durban Port authorities, launched a provincial competition for the design of a new Millennium Tower on the Bluff, the prominent headland defining the harbour entrance.
The brief stipulated that the tower had to accommodate vessel traffic management, signals activities, plus maritime search and rescue operations. Registered architects were invited to submit entries. The entries were adjudicated by Brian Kearney, Professor Emeritus University of Natal, Durban; Themba Mtetwa, KwaZulu-Natal Institute for Architecture; Derrick Cooke, port captain; Johnathan Edkins, Durban Council director of architecture; Nick Webb, Durban Council urban design manager; and Pat Raw, the port engineer of Durban.
A remarkable 52 competition entries were on display at the Ocean Terminal Building on T-Jetty at Durban harbour. Testimony not only to a competition well run, but also to the enthusiasm of a profession. Architecture holds up a mirror to society and from the response it is clear that a transforming South Africa is largely preoccupied with cultural syncretism.
Many designs used the interplay of various cultural forms as design generators. Schemes explored forms in the rich regalia of the rickshaw pullers, Indian dance choreography, surf culture and, more specifically, drew reference from Zulu cultural artefacts. Iziqu beadwork patterns inspired column decoration. Horsehair umqhele headbands, worn by prominent male members of the community, inspired roof forms, and other structures took the shape of Nguni cattle horns.
The site itself is highly evocative. The Bluff has long been Durban’s mute witness and the forested dunes a powerful visual backdrop to the city. With its dubious history of quarantine stations, whaling works and military operations the Bluff has to date successfully deflected commercial development. Proposals to recognise the Bluff as a heritage park have seemed the best way to ensure that this counterpoint to Durban remains intact.
Historically it has been the region’s vantage point – also known as isibubulungu (the white man’s bluff) – the point from where shipwrecked survivors would signal passing ships. The Bluff itself is visible from Tollgate, the inland entrance to the city, from along the harbour and sea edges to as far north as Umhlanga.
With a brief to design a tower at least 30m above the ridge of the Bluff, the scene is set for a regional landmark. It is also apt that the port authorities, albeit to meet their own functional needs, end up being the patron of what could become an icon for Durban, Africa’s largest port.
The design of Sarkin Jain and Jeremy Wafer was a meditated inquiry into the processes of time and change. Their proposal called for the existing tower to be clad in metal rings, etched with dates and significant events in the country’s history. Collective as well as personal memories were activated by the diverse associations contained in ring forms – the rings of yellowwood trees, brass armbands (izingxotha) awarded by Zulu kings to warriors who demonstrated great accomplishment, and umdaka trade rings. The tower was topped by a 30m torched shaft of light which “penetrates the profound silence and evokes the sublime”.
Izintingu lattices – the wattle framework used in the construction of traditional dwellings – were translated into the sunscreening devices of the Datum Architects submission. In other entries there were references to regional, nautical and maritime imagery using shields, bulkheads, spinnakers, surfboards and cuttlefish as points of departure. Aquatic organisms and Seventies revivalism also had a place – among shell forms and lava lamp designs.
OMM Design Workshop proposed a pristine form hovering over a wild landscape – a restful yet dynamic structure with a translucent glowing skin, constructed with a membrane over a skeletal framework, as in the building of ships.
A revived shipwreck, which looked a lot like a latter-day Noah’s Ark – the value of which should not be underestimated considering the current deluge – was an enterprising submission by East Coast Architects.
The second runner-up entry of Myles Pugh Sherlock Murray combined the desire for all-round visibility with the need for effective sun-control by providing an external sunscreen on a pivoted lattice structure that traces the path of the sun: elegantly mastered to look like a billowing sail.
The first runner-up entry of Fridjhon Fulford and Partners extended the nautical theme by inferring dimensions of movement with streamlined dynamic forms. For others movement was not only confined to maritime realms, but extended to Cape Canaveral ambitions. Travelling even further, the Clark and Thomas entry could easily rival Carl Sagan’s dynamic Contact capsule for catapulted extra-terrestrial travel.
In Harbison’s The Built, the Unbuilt and the Unbuildable he comments that monuments are more or less monstrous exaggerations of the requirement that architecture be permanent. In a country where monuments, like Moerdyk’s Voortrekker monument in Pretoria, have sought to reinforce the purported indomitability of a regime, this point is well made.
In the winning entry the required height of 30m is exaggerated but aspires to subvert the traditional notion of monuments. It’s called the Transient Monument and is a 75m-high kinetic structure, evoking growth, transformation and well, transience. It is inspired by organic forms – budding sugar cane shoots, shell forms and nautical imagery – masts and funnels. It settles itself in a very different paradigm to our previous notions of monuments. This may well be in keeping with the evolution of technology – where entrenched parameters are constantly shifted. The winning entry was submitted by Don Albert and Alex Pienaar – the “digital Jedis” of sound/space design.
The success of the entry lies in the effective way in which the form and function integrate. The tower speaks to the city from its silent site, relaying environmental and weather information. Harnessing the natural elements around the site, the shaped cowl on the superstructure acts as a wind vane and revolves the structure in the direction of the prevailing wind. A 50m central barometer spirals and pulsates to indicate tide variances, while a rotating sunscreen tracks the sun.
At night the tower is to be animated by random illuminated algorithmic formulae played out across the screen of the cowl. The silent green podium that is the Bluff is animated, yet not invaded.
This submission counteracts ideas like the gigantic Shaka monument proposed for the end of the Point – which will neither serve utility nor stretch the mind. There are far more eloquent ways to honour a city and its people, past and present.
An exhibition of the winning entries will be on display at the Durban Art Gallery from April 6 to 26
@ Vita prize nominees announced
Kathryn Smith
If this year’s FNB Vita Art Prize 2000 nominees are anything to go by, photography is no longer the bastard child of the fine arts. In fact, new proponents of the medium are being hailed as achievers in the field.
Announced on February 28 at a small ceremony at the Sandton Civic Gallery, Hentie van der Merwe (Johannesburg), Claudette Schreuders (Pretoria), Terry Kurgan (Cape Town) and Berni Searle (Cape Town) emerged as this year’s contenders.
Except for Schreuders, all the nominated artists have made their mark in photo-based installations.
Artists are no longer only nominated for one specific work, although this can also be the case. Van der Merwe was selected for His Master’s Voice, which appeared on Babel Tower at the Johannesburg Civic Gallery; Schreuders for her eight pieces on Liberated Voices – Contemporary Art from South Africa (Museum for African Art, New York); Kurgan for her exhibition Family Affairs (Mark Coetzee Fine Art Cabinet, Cape Town); and Searle for her show Colour Me (also hosted by Coetzee).
Ranging between four and six possible nominees per year, this year’s judging panel, comprising Clive van den Berg, Pat Mautloa, David Koloane, Julia Charlton and Willem Boshoff, decided on the less-is-more approach.
But where the number of artists decreased, the incentive increased. Each artist receives an R8 000 commissioning fee from FNB, with which they produce a work specifically intended for the Sandton Civic Gallery space.
The Goodman Gallery extended a hand of support this year and increased each artist’s fee by R2E000, bringing it to a total of R10E000 each.
The winner, who will be announced at the exhibition opening in July, looks forward to a R30E000 first prize, an increase of R10E000 from last year’s purse.
In addition to this, MTN and IFAS have pledged their ever-impressive support to an extensive education programme around the exhibition, something which has been much in demand for some time. It seems that the relationships between corporates and artists are finally coming into their own. Past winners include the controversial performance artist Steven Cohen (1998) and photographer and video artist Jo Ractliffe (1999).
@ Get the hang of 4x4s
The New Frontiers course teaches drivers about rocks, mud, water and how to trust their cars
Jean Spear
‘Have you ever seen a bird with so much pluck, hey lovie?” asks one of the four- wheel-drive owners as he watches a woman in her 4×4 descend a nasty incline.
The woman at the wheel does an impressive skid, pumps the brakes and makes a clean break from the donga. Two wheels spinning off the ground and she keeps her cool. The men stand around and admire, mud on their shorts.
As one of the obstacles on the New Frontiers 4×4 driver’s course near Haartebeespoort dam, this donga teaches four-wheel-drive owners to handle difficult driving conditions in their own cars and gives them a taste of what real off-road driving is all about.
The course is a little more difficult to navigate than the speed bumps in Sandton and by the end of it, there’s more than a sprinkling of designer mud on the doors.
There is even a number plate graveyard near one particularly difficult obstacle, where dozens of lost GP registrations are laid to rest.
“A little knowledge about these vehicles is enough to get you into trouble,” says instructor Hamish Melville, “but it’s getting out of trouble that requires an understanding of how these beasts operate.”
After a lecture on the gear systems of 4x4s, the class follows Chris Tinbale, a rugged instructor, down to the practice ground. Here they are shown how to use safety equipment. What to do if you’re stuck in the desert, on the beach, on top of a mountain, in mud, sand or any other rough territory that is the playground for 4×4 enthusiasts.
“This winch can take your head off, if you’re not savvy,” warns Tinbale.
“And this is how a little girl got her teeth knocked out by a jack,” he says, demonstrating the powerful kickback of a 1,7m jack. Everyone winces.
“Be creative, but be very careful. Don’t go for a beer in the middle of a recovery operation and always get the kids out of the way.”
While city dwellers have to dodge Sanis, Hiluxes, Landies, Rav4s, Isuzis and other 4x4s in the traffic each day, only one out of 10 of them actually goes off- road, says Melville.
“People buy 4x4s as estate cars. It offers a dominant driving position and an investment, but you get the real return when you use it for what it’s made for.”
Judging from the course, these cars were made to handle a lot more than a tarred road. The owners look nervous. “Rocks, mud and water in desperate amounts,” says a geologist on the course.
But all the drivers manage to get through the course and there is much patting of backs and euphoria after each obstacle. Somehow, the 4x4s pull through, engines screaming blue murder, wheels spinning dust and like enormous wild beasts, they grunt and charge up the hills.
“It’s a matter of trust, knowing that your vehicle is designed to do this,” says Tinbale. “We charge extra for every rock that you break,” he winks.
“When a person buys an M3 BMW, they are given a course on how to use it,” says Melville. “A four-wheel-drive is just another type of performance car, whose owners need similar training.”
The drivers are talking car-speak: cylinders, engines, bearings, dif locks, suspensions. But in between there are tales of glorious trips into lesser-known areas of the country.
“A good trail is made by the people who go on it,” says Melville. “A sense of humour and a love of adventure are important. The terrain can be raw and rugged, but it’s the people that make a trail.”
For many 4×4 owners, the enjoyment comes not only from the rough riding, but from getting to remote places so they can follow their outdoor pursuits like bird watching, horse riding, hiking, fly fishing.
“Four-by-fouring hasn’t become the competitive sport here it is in the [United] States,” says Tinbale. “Here most serious drivers use their cars as a means of escape from the rat race.”
As always, there are drivers who give 4x4s a bad name, tearing up nature trails and causing severe ecological damage. Tyre tracks from a 4×4 can still be seen years after trips into the desert and they contribute to massive soil erosion.
Sticking to a trail helps to lessen the damage and trails attract visitors that can help to support small towns across the country. Like Clarens in the Free State and Wakkerstroom in Mpumalanga, where New Frontiers has helped to develop various trails. They also run trips to Botswana, the Malutis and the Drakensberg.
Insurance companies also like to see that owners have been on a training course like New Frontiers’ and will reward them with a decrease in premiums.
“Within a year, the course has paid for itself in the savings of premiums alone,” says Tinbale.
“Glad I’ve got insurance,” said one driver when he looked at the obstacle he was about to attempt.
Holding her number plate by the tips of her fingers, Sheryl, the only woman on the course, picks her way back to her car in platform takkies. “Those give her extra acceleration,” jokes another driver pointing at her shoes.
But when she’s behind the wheel the jokes stop. She knows how to handle her machine.
It’s interesting to see how the men become perfect gentlemen when there’s a woman on the course. “Ladies first,” they all offer shyly. Then they sit back and watch her with envy.
Nothing kills chauvinism more quickly than a babe behind the wheel.
For details about the rough riding courses contact New Frontiers Johannesburg on Tel: (011) 804-7226, Pretoria on Tel: (012)808- 5234 , Cape Town on Tel: (021)462-5885 or Port Elizabeth on Tel: (041) 583-2358
@ Doing the sites for senior service
Ros Taylor
Mention “older travellers” and the words Saga Holidays tend to spring to mind. The company undoubtedly leads the field for the over-50s, and its website, at www.saga.co.uk, is at pains to point out that there are virtually no single-room supplements. Saga organises a number of cruises and coach tours, but the range of destinations now includes Latin America, Africa and Borneo. Brochures can be ordered online.
Mature but energetic travellers who want to revive or practise their skiing could visit Classic Ski, www.classicski.co.uk. Most of the company’s clients are between the ages of 45 and 70, and tuition is in groups of six. There are four Alpine resorts to choose from and insurance is included in the price of the holiday.
The Walking Safari Company, to be found at www.walkeurope.com, organises short walks in the Sierras of Andalucia, Extremadura and the Lot valley, and its clientele tends to be aged between 40 and 80. Pack animals, such as mules and ponies, carry refreshments and bring up the rear of the walking party. The support vehicle transports weary walkers and luggage.
Incidentally, would-be walkers who feel they need to limber up before a holiday should visit the Walking Connection for tips and online instruction at www. walkingconnection.com. They are intended chiefly for serious and competitive walkers, but the advice is useful for anyone embarking on a journey on foot.
Lonely Planet’s Thorn Tree is a vast online bulletin board that includes a section for older travellers. Here you’ll find people interested in home exchanges, those looking for a travelling companion, and others recommending destinations and giving advice. Like any talkboard, it occasionally descends into trivia and hysteria, but the Tree is still well worth visiting at www. lonelyplanet.com/thorntree.
If you are travelling alone and concerned about personal safety, the somewhat conservative Worldwise guide, www. brookes.ac.uk/worldwise, supported by the Suzy Lamplugh Trust, has some blunt and generally pertinent advice.
A vast number of United States websites are devoted to “seniors” travel; a disturbing number are of poor quality or major in the attractions of Florida. You may, however, find Senior Search’s travel section – www. seniorsearch.com/stravel.html – useful.
@ The world’s biggest fancy dress party
Every year the city of Rio de Janeiro is taken over by flamboyant revellers for two days of carnival
Alex Bellos
The outfit was marvellously camp. It wasn’t just the tight red swimming trunks peeking out from behind the red patterned loin- cloth that made me feel particularly outrageous. Nor was it the bracelets with their dangling red streamers, the wooden shoulder frame from which draped fake white fur, the two feathered wings, nor even the Roman centurion’s hat made from plastic sea-shells. The extravagance was in the visual overload; the mix of the contemporary, the historical and the fantastical. Who was I supposed to be? An Amazonian Indian god, Genghis Khan’s gay younger brother or the flamboyant missing member of Village People?
In fact, I was a figure inspired by the life of Anita Garibaldi, a Brazilian version of Joan of Arc – a local girl who married and fought alongside the 19th- century Italian freedom-fighter Giuseppe Garibaldi when he was in South America. Anita Garibaldi was something of a tough cookie – some would say flat and speckled with raisins – spending her honeymoon in armed naval conflict.
Garibaldi has been mythologised as a warrior-heroine. As such, she is the perfect subject for mystical interpretation, hinting on wider themes such as religion, femininity and nationalism. When seen through the eyes of Joasinho Trinta, who designed the costumes, she could have been anything from a witch to a queen, a transvestite pop star or a jungle animal. Even though Garibaldi was the theme of Trinta’s parade in 1999, the costumes said more about him than her.
Trinta is also something of a myth in Brazilian culture. A tiny man, whose resemblence to a ventriloquist’s puppet is accentuated by a paralysed arm, he’s the one who many – himself especially – believe made the carnival parade the luxurious visual and cultural tour de force that it is today. Trinta is Brazil’s most famous carnavalesco , the name given to the creative directors of each of the samba schools whose parades light up the Sambadrome through the carnival’s steamy nights. Trinta was the first to camp up the performances, to make them a symbol of excess and extravagance. At first, commentators thought this an affront to the poverty of most of the people taking part, but it was the poor who adored it most of all.
Sitting on the pavement in full regalia at 2am, awaiting my turn to dance down the Sambadrome’s narrow arena, I pondered the irony that tourists like myself and rich Brazilians now paid high prices for appearing as lavishly attired as people who earn about 50 a month.
The analogy that is always used to describe how the carnival parade works is football. This is a doubly good explanation considering that football is about the only other thing most people know about Brazil. There are 14 main samba schools, and they function like football clubs – they have team colours, fanatical supporters and a home ground – the carnavalescos are the managers, and the carnival is like the league – an annual competition to see who is best. Every year, each school chooses a different theme and a different song to go with it.
But the football analogy fails to capture the dimensions, organisational complications and artistic resonances of the event. I’d say think of Cecil B DeMille shooting a ballet as a Biblical epic – seven times a night, once for each of the seven samba schools who parade during the two principal nights. Each school’s parade consists of around 4E000 people in about 40 different types of costume, with about seven enormous floats pushed along by teams (it’s hard not to think of Biblical slaves or Roman galleons), choreographed dancers and a rhythm section of about 500 drummers.
As well as the swelter of the humid climate, the atmosphere is prickled with the heat of excitement and competition. There is a constant pressure that everything is under scrutiny: the quality of the drumming, the way the carnavalesco has developed the theme, the tune of the samba being sung. The unregulated exuberance is, in fact, strictly regulated. If you dilly-dally down the Sambadrome, you are penalised. Everyone – even the foreigners who turn up – can lose the day for the team.
To really enjoy the experience, it’s best to come prepared. In my case, this was making sure my swimming trunks were bright red (to fit in with the rest of the costume) and learning the words to the samba (as you are expected to sing while you parade). I only knew I would be parading 24 hours before, so this meant getting a taped copy of the song and learning it by rote.
The Sambadrome is a kilometre-long stretch of walkway with stands on either side. It was designed by Oscar Niemayer, the architect who created the concrete minimalist city of Brasilia. Backstage, so to speak, is central Rio’s main avenue, where all the floats and the paraders wait for their turns. Here, it really does look like the set of an epic film. Tens of thousands of people in costume walking around, drinking beer, eating hotdogs as thousands of those who couldn’t get tickets for the Sambadrome mingle and look on.
I was to parade surrounded by about 40 other similarly attired people. As the zero hour approached, a member of the samba school who was in charge of our section came and gave us a pep talk. All we had to do was sing, dance and look happy. Easy. Well, not quite. At about 4am, the samba school I was with, Viradouro, moved into place at the beginning of the Sambadrome. We stood up, got in line and then heard our drummers kick off. As we started parading, Viradouro helpers lined the side of the avenue and, like the bike fans who giddy- up cyclists on the Tour de France, they yelled orders: “Smile! Smile! Be Happy.” I don’t think I’ve ever looked so terrified.
For about an hour, it was a total high. You can feel the sense of pride and happiness of both the paraders and the crowds by the looks on people’s faces, by the interaction between the audience and the spectacle. On the tops of the floats are Brazilian celebrities and models. It’s like a showcase of their own hopes and desires. Critics say that the carnival has sold out to tourists. I did not sense that at all. I felt it was an uncompromising celebration of Brazilianness.
This did not exclude me from the party. Like many other parts of Brazilian life, the carnival fosters a communal inclusivity you do not get in Europe. Brazil is not a country where people like to be different – perhaps because racially and socially, there is no country so diverse. People like to share, to be as one – and being a foreigner does not forbid you from feeling part of this.
The carnival experience is not over when you walk out of the Sambadrome, though. The climax is the judging a few days later, which is as drawn out and as melodramatic as the Eurovision Song Contest. Broadcast live on television from a stage on the Sambadrome – with cameras also positioned at every competing samba school, the city is glued to the screen.
For such a popular occasion, much of the judging is steadfastly highbrow (give or take a few kickbacks between the mafia bosses who bankroll many of the schools). Experts in music, dance and art, historians and journalists are among those who do the scoring. The Brazilian equivalent of Terry Wogan comperes and milks every last drop of tension. The result marks the end of carnival, and the closing images are of hundreds of people swarming to the winning samba school to celebrate.
Last year, unfortunately, the winner was not Viradouro, despite its being one of the favourites. However, I feel fairly confident that my novice parading skills played no part in our downfall. We wuz robbed.
@ Don’t just stand and watch
Alex Bellos
Carnival 2000 takes place from Saturday March 4 to Tuesday March 7. All the samba schools have chosen themes related to the 500th anniversary of the first Europeans landing in Brazil.
On the two main nights, Sunday and Monday, 14 samba schools parade, each made up of about 4E000 people – which makes 56E000 dressed in ridiculous outfits, or the largest fancy dress party in the world. There is always space for some tourists.
Within each school’s parade, there are several different sections with separate costumes, each called an ala. Some will be just for members of the community where the school is based, but others will be open to anyone who is willing to pay. In fact, the latter subsidise the former by charging middle-class Brazilians and foreigners quite large fees for the costumes, whereas local people get theirs free.
You can pay anything from 50 for a simple costume from one of the less glamorous schools, to more than 100 for one from the top schools.
Travel agencies sometimes arrange a costume as part of a package. But once you are in Rio, you can do it yourself. Ask your hotel receptionist to call the alas who are selling outfits. Once you’ve got your costume, you learn the words to the school’s song and turn up in time on the day.
This year, the process has been made simpler thanks to the Internet, where some of the big schools have their own websites. The most detailed is by the Salgueiro samba school, which has a list of almost all the costumes from all 44 of its alas, www.salgueiro.com. br/alas/alas.htm. Previously, each school’s costumes were a closely guarded secret.
You can chose to be Napoleon, an Indian spice merchant, a botanical garden, or even “Beneficent England” – dressed in red stockings, with a Union Jack coming out your back and a globe on your head. Next to each picture is a contact number. Other good sites are Viradouro, www.viradouro.com, and Beija-Flor, www.beija-flor.com.br. The Independent League of Samba Schools also has useful links, www.liesa.com.br.
@ The mighty pen
Karen Rutter
NELSON MANDELA – A LIFE IN CARTOONS edited by Stephen Francis, Harry Dugmore and Rico. (David Philip)
Compiling a gaggle of cartoons on the most respected and charismatic political leader of the 20th century should be a stroll. There would hardly be a shortage of contributions, after all. Which was exactly the problem faced by editor Harry Dugmore when putting together Nelson Mandela – A Life in Cartoons; so much material, so little time. A year, in fact, in which to put together this accessible and animated tribute in celebration of the 10th anniversary of Madiba’s release from prison.
“We ended up with over 2 000 Mandela cartoons from around the world,” says Dugmore, co-creator of the celebrated Madam & Eve strip and author of all the text in Nelson Mandela – A Life in Cartoons. “And we eventually brought it down to around 170 for the final draft. By having such a wide choice it meant we could be picky – but it wasn’t at all easy. I believe that what we have here are truly the best works that fit into the framework of the text.”
That was the quest, of course – to feature a range of political cartoons that would pace the chronological path from Mandela’s earliest days through to his triumphant inauguration and on to his much-deserved “retirement” – as outlined in the book. Specifically, work was required that would provide both context and social analysis. “We wished to avoid providing a superficial backdrop based simply on race and racial discrimination,” explains Dugmore.
Which is why it was crucial for the narrative and visual material to form a cohesive and comprehensive unit. The book caters for a foreign and a youth audience – both of whom may not be aware of the subtleties of South African history. A detailed yet digestible script to accompany the images was necessary to do full justice to the cartoons – and the circumstances in which they were created.
It is to the credit of Dugmore, his research team, the publishers and of course the scores of contributing cartoonists that this homage to Madiba hangs together in aesthetic and intellectual harmony. The text never overpowers the art, the visuals never detract from the word. Each chapter, clearly defined – Free at Last, for example – begins with an explanatory overview and each cartoon is accompanied by a short background synopsis. It’s neat, accurate and tight. It succeeds, comfortably so.
And not just for international or young readers either – the book contains some fascinating images drawn from all over the world which many of us have not previously had the chance to see. Such as in the earlier chapters, when South Africa was beginning to be banished from the world stage in cultural, sporting and social arenas. Also during the extremely repressive Sixties and Eighties, when clampdowns on press freedom meant not much state criticism made it into the daily newspapers.
And, of course, some of the cartoons appeared in the international press, which wasn’t available here. Additionally – and poignantly – there was also a long period when nobody knew what Mandela looked like – and nobody was even allowed to draw a facsimile of his face.
Mandela and South Africa’s history, ever-entwined, are here depicted through the words of Dugmore and the South African pens of Derek Bauer, Jonathan Shapiro (Zapiro), Tony Grogan, Stacey Stent, Lou Henning and more; interpreted by the sympathetic sketches of Dani Aguila (Philippines), Jules Feiffer (Israel), Steve Bell (Britain), Jim Morin (United States) and many others; and summed up, ever-warmly, in the words of Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s foreword: “He [Mandela] is God’s gift to South Africa and he is our gift to the world.”
Certainly the reverence with which Mandela is regarded, even by hard-bitten hack cartoonists, is extraordinary. There’s respect in the lines, even when gently poking fun; never the savage gashes accorded to PW Botha by Bauer, for example, or the crazed Margaret Thatcher so cruelly exposed by Bell.
These are works which honour the subject. Deservedly so, most would agree. Even in the chapter detailing Mandela’s dramatic relationship with Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, and their subsequent divorce, there is no gratuitous harm. “We had to include a section on Winnie and Nelson – theirs was one of the great loves of the century,” says Dugmore. “And one should never forget the extreme brutalisation which Winnie had to face for many, many years while her husband was in jail. That she succumbed to the violence around her and never took her place as the president’s wife is a tragedy, and I think much of the criticism levelled at Winnie reflects the nation’s disappointment in her, that she never made it.
“It was one of the most difficult sections to do, because Winnie is such an obvious and easy target,” he continues. But in the spirit of the book and the man who inspired it, a potentially bitchy scenario is avoided. Without ignoring the facts.
The release of Nelson Mandela – A Life in Cartoons coincides with a special exhibition of original cartoon art which was opened last week on Robben Island by Dugmore and Robben Island Musuem Council chairperson and former Robben Island political prisoner Ahmed Kathrada. Featuring works from the book as well as a few additional cartoons, the exhibition will run until the end of March and will move to other local and national venues thereafter.
And the big question – has Madiba seen the book, and what does he think? “He actually went out an bought a copy for himself – he was spotted at Exclusive Books in Hyde Park paying for it,” smiles Dugmore. “I hope he enjoys it for the tribute that it is.”
@ And Archer said to Grisham …
Robert McCrum
THE BRETHREN by John Grisham (Cen9tury)
The new John Grisham arrived on my desk under heavy embargo. But if there is a secret contained within these 360-odd pages that the publisher does not want the wider world to know about in advance, it must be how thin and uninteresting Grisham’s work has become, how lazy and utterly putdownable, every line marked with the unmistakable taint of “soon to be a major motion picture”.
A close reading of The Brethren does, however, clear up one mystery of interest to readers of bestsellers: Jeffrey Archer-watchers in the world of books, who have noted his absence from the ceaseless turmoil of literary endeavour, have been wondering what the disgraced peer has been up to these past several months.
Now, for the first time, and on the exclusive basis of this embargoed text, I can reveal that he has gone into creative partnership with his bestselling American cousin.
Just as nifty British multinationals make strategic alliances with world- beating Yankee competitors, so in the cut-throat arena of bestselling fiction, brand is well advised to make deals with rival brand. The Brethren demonstrates that Archer plc has made a stunning reverse takeover of Grisham Inc. Nothing but Lord Archer’s fabled command of narrative technique could explain the novel here issued under Grisham’s name.
At first, for devotees of The Firm and The Pelican Brief, all seems well. We open in familiar Grisham territory, in a low-security federal prison in the north Florida boondocks. Three disgraced former judges, styling themselves “The Brethren” in homage to the United States Supreme Court’s archaic moniker, are dispensing prison justice, and operating a simple mail-scam successfully designed to blackmail prominent (and wealthy) closet homosexuals. So far, so Grisham. It’s by no means the most gripping plot in the world, but it will serve, and with a bit of work it could have been made into a perfectly plausible legal yarn “by the author of”.
At this point (I imagine) the American courtroom bestseller king e-mailed some work-in-progress to his new British partner and got a distinctly dusty answer from Archerworld HQ. “These old jailbirds aren’t sexy!” cried Jeff. “Politics! You’ve gotta mix in some politics. It’s 2000. Give them an election-year cliffhanger!
“And dammit, John, give them” – his voice dropped an octave as he uttered the words that have made him millions in 15 languages – ‘give them the CIA!'”
And suddenly there it is: in chapter two, and on page 20 no less, before the Brethren have even had time to take a turn around the exercise yard, the narrative swerves up to Washington DC. We are introduced to the unknown congressman, scandal-free Aaron Lake, who has been chosen by the head of the CIA to be the intelligence agency’s home-grown candidate for the presidency, the man who will stand up to resurge