This was the decade in which South African jazz had to sell its soul to find a popular audience, and one that saw the rise and maturity of self-made kwaito moguls. It was also one in which we lost Moses Molelekwa and Brenda Fassie lived to be 40.
In a decade of flux South Africa made its mark on the international stage, partly owing to the world’s fascination with a newly liberated nation, along with its icon Nelson Mandela.
The career path of guitarist Jimmy Dludlu serves as an example of how the jazz revolution swept through the country in the early 1990s. Dludlu distinguished himself at a Guinness talent showcase concert that took place in 1989, and the rest is history. Dludlu shared a stage with Molelekwa, McCoy Mrubata among others and most, if not all, members of that band went on to define the youthful face of local jazz.
Dludlu often refers to a time when “we were young and we were free”, when musicians were allowed to experiment uninhibited by the pressures of commercial success. In the years to come Dludlu and his contemporaries built successful solo careers. But as these young lions took jazz to new audiences, alongside stalwarts like Sipho Gumede and returnees like Hugh Masekela and Jonas Gwangwa, audience demands meant they had to take their music outdoors. The first of these popular platforms was, and remains, Moretele Park outside Mamelodi near Pretoria.
In the now defunct Old Mutual Jazz magazine, journalist Ramotena Mabote made a conscious effort to distinguish traditional jazz concerts from sell-out, open-air gigs. He had a point.
For what has happened over the years is that jazz became conflated with adult contemporary and had to move towards being “easy listening”. The sound had to dumb down. This suited the demands of middle-aged, traditional male jazz fans out to impress girlfriends half their age with short attention spans.
To outsiders these outdoor jazz events are nothing more than line-ups of the usual suspects at events meant to raise Aids awareness, where old lovers meet and slip off into the bushes for unprotected sex. Even Dludlu has had to name his latest album Afrocentric — a title that is nothing more than what mainstream radio would play to take listeners up to the news when there is nothing to say. Somewhere, deep down, the robust, intense Dludlu must still lurk.
It would be interesting to see how Dludlu’s academic work influences his forthcoming projects, since he is a holder of a master’s degree in music from the University of Cape Town.
But one must not callously suggest that nothing good has come out of his move to be musically popular. The music has tapped into the “Africanness” in the black middle class, something that has contributed to the overdue recognition of artist such as Phillip Tabane, Hotep Idris Galeta and a generation that had sincerely paid its dues. Perhaps, because of this climate, these heroes may not die paupers. Others, however, such as the gifted pianist Andile Yenana and drummer Lulu Gontsana have had to play as a collective, in the quintet Voice, to survive and be heard.
These days, if you want your jazz to be spiritual you have to listen to the likes of Tabane, Madala Kunene and Pops Mohamed.
But there are others who have become nothing more than harmless noise. Musicians such as Don Laka and, say, Ernie Smith have proven that contemporary music can indeed perform a function — background for corporate gigs. Something pleasant one can talk over, dance to and which gets better with more booze.
Laka, nevertheless, can be considered a pioneer, having contributed to the birth of what we today know as kwaito. Together with Oscar Mdlongwa and Bruce Sebitlo, he formed the Kalawa Jazmee label that brought us the phenomenal Boom Shaka, Trompies, Bongo Maffin and, more recently, Brothers of Peace and Mafikizolo. But as Laka concentrated on his, ahem, jazz, his partners have taken the label beyond new heights.
Mdlongwa is part of a generation of DJs that has used platforms such as Yfm to push house music to the kwaito generation, with the genre having taken root with the likes of the late Ian Segola. Today South African DJs are a small but established presence in international circuits from Miami to, in a good year, Ibiza. Mdlongwa has also led the successful fusion of house with kwaito through Brothers of Peace and Tamara Dey, and later collaborated with maskanda artist Behkumuzi Luthuli.
Mdlongwa’s foundation for success is that he combines entrepreneurial acumen with aesthetic innovation. The same cannot be said for his peers Mdu Masilela and Arthur Mafokate.
Once kwaito was enhanced by its having to respond to competition from house music. Today it struggles to keep in touch with a new wave of hip-hoppers led by outfits like Skwatta Kamp, H20 and other kids popping up all over city pavements.
But the story of the decade would not be complete without acknowledging Brenda Fassie.
After a mandatory flirtation with hard drugs, the queen of sensation breathed life with a sales record breaker, Vulindlela, in 1998.
Now if someone can tell her peer and contemporary, Yvonne Chaka Chaka, that her time in the limelight is sustained by the public’s respect for her marital and business success. Someone should whisper: “We love you, you are perfect, now go.”
On the international stage, success has been mild and sporadic.
Only the likes of Dludlu and Vusi Mahlasela (who have had resources dedicated to establishing a presence for music lovers in the United States and Europe) have a chance to penetrate. Success for jazz musicians has been largely through live performances in places such as the original North Sea Jazz Festival and, for the kwaito kids, in dingy halls filled with expats in Leicester, United Kingdom.
Finally, we have to acknowledge the contribution made by foreigners to our music. Like French footballers and manager to the Arsenal football team and English football, they have been a vintage to toast.
Muzik Ye Afrika and Mahube are two regional experiments that should never be allowed to die.
Zimbabwe’s Louis Mhlanga and Oliver Mtukudzi, Malawian George Phiri and the late Gito Baloi, a Mozambican who was a quiet spirit driven by a sense of innovation, have woven themselves into the tapestry that is our music. They are, in life and in death, as in music, all South Africans now.