One of the most memorable feats of South African youth in the first decade of democracy has been the creation of moguls from ghetto superstars — all thanks to the phenomenon known as kwaito.
But to suggest that kwaito is the sound of urban youth is flawed. Kwaito has its detractors, and they are not just the disciples of aesthetically rigorous genres like jazz. Upper-middle-class youth — those who have moved from Moletsane to Morningside — turn their noses up at kwaito.
The main criticism, in its early phase, was that the music was creatively shallow and characterised by repetitive lines. But what irks black kugels the most is that ghetto upstarts like Mandoza — reformed criminals speaking broken English — have managed to attain wealth and acclaim.
Yet what the critics cannot deny is that kwaito has given an important section of the country’s youth a voice and icons to celebrate.
Kwaito as a sound was born out of late Eighties pop. All of its earliest pioneers, producers and performers, were shaped by that period.
As such there was no underground culture to supply a vein of lyrically rich material. Instead it ”talked”, and probably still does, about the fleeting and the inconsequential — occasionally striking a socially conscious vein.
A recent documentary, Kwaito Generals, profiles three icons created by the movement, all of whom can be called kings of hype.
Arthur Mafokate, an icon by default, M’du Masilela, the ”God- father” of kwaito — now resident in the suburbs — and Oscar Mdlongwa, co-founder of Kalawa Jazmee Records, are trendsetters in the extreme, influencing millions among the youth.
Yet Kwaito has its unsung heroes. Ghetto Ruff founder Lance Stehr and producer Gabi le Roux have contributed in ways that cannot be overlooked. Stehr has produced influential acts like Skeem and Ishmael and, most recently, Mzekezeke. Le Roux, for his part, introduced a distinct element of creativity to the sound. In producing Chiskop’s Ghetto and Mandoza’s Zola South 9II5 in 2000, Le Roux used a synthesised rock guitar sound. The success of that experiment led to Mandoza finding a place in white adult contemporary listeners’ hearts and Highveld Stereo’s playlist. He remains one of its biggest icons.
The upward mobility of kwaito is best epitomised by Gauteng commercial youth station Yfm. Before the station’s advent, kwaito was mainly played on African language stations and, therefore, had scattered coverage. In print, the genre received intelligent analysis from a handful of journalists.
Yfm centralised coverage and, through its stablemate Y Mag, imbued kwaito coverage with glamour. The station’s move from derelict Bertrams in the east of Johannesburg to a posh premises in The Zone in Rosebank best captures how far the kids have come. The station has now produced a kwaito industry analysis brochure called Kwaito Nation. It estimates that nine million adults, or 31 % of the entire adult population, are members of the kwaito nation.
Over half of listeners are between 16 and 24 years of age. There are also 400 000 members over the age of 50, probably grandmothers who buy for their grandkids. According to the South African Music Association, over the past five years there have been 239 albums that have sold 25 000 units or more. Of these, kwaito accounts for 28% — the largest share of any genre — followed by gospel.
Yfm has also presented kwaito with challenges that have forced the makers of the music to reach new creative dimensions.
In the late 1990s Yfm sparked the revival of house music, which grew to become such a rage that there was talk of kwaito dying out.
Oscar Mdlongwa, ironically part of the house revival, and partner Bruce Sebitlo led kwaito’s response by producing songs like Thath’impahla, launching the career of Tamara Dey in the process.
Now every kid who does not want to be a kwaito artist wants to be a DJ. Yet Yfm has presented kwaito with a challenge for another decade. By sparking a commercially successful wave of hip- hop and possibly poetry, Kwaito now has to compete with styles that are fed by an underground culture. The best kwaito can do is respond by deepening lyrical content, as it did with the advent of TKZee, Zola, Mandoza and, more recently, Kabelo Mabalane as a soloist.
Kwaito has paid tribute to South African music history. Trompies in the early 1990s were based on the pantsula culture. Mafikizolo, the ”new big thing”, pays tribute to 1950s marabi — Sophiatown and all that.
Kwaito’s greatest achievement has been to create fertile ground for a South African vernacular idiom. From Vodacom’s ”Yebo Yes” advertising campaign through Castle Lager’s ”carwash” ad and MTN’s latest ”smsa fela” (just sms) campaign, all have been made possible by kwaito. Even the current hip-hop wave taps into the groundswell of township patois.
Groups like H20 and Skwatta Kamp are riding a wave first created by the likes of Amu, who has thankfully hung around to benefit from what looks like an even bigger and more successful wave.
As they rise, it would help to remember those before them. Amu was part of a 1996 experimental compilation called Muthaload. Listening to Skwatta Kamp vocalist Relo purr with her sensual voice on Umoya brings to mind Nomafusi Xinindlu, performing as Fusi on a song called Matters of the Heart. Brilliant as they were, they sadly came before kwaito’s time. Now the new kids on the block are ready to write a new chapter. Oh, how the kids have grown.