It’s about 3.30pm and the taxi driver is going at … well, the speedometer is not really working. He’s looking at the sidewalk, hooting in an attempt to lure passengers. Inside the taxi, Snaz D, Tyrone and X-Amount, all in their 20s, are dressed in baggy designer jeans, boots and caps. They seem anxious and irritated. Maybe it’s because they have just wrapped one of their Tuesday rehearsals at Orange Grove’s Beyond Africa Studios.
Perhaps it has something to do with this taxi. The fact is, this is the only way these hip-hoppers can get to Johannesburg’s Carlton Centre to perform at the Yizo Yizo III launch. The truth is, they deserve better.
If this was New York, they would be cruising in a silver, chromed-out Navigator, a navy-blue Cherokee Jeep or a black Mercedes Eveco. The make-up artist would be adding the finishing touches to Snaz D’s appearance, careful not to touch his platinum pyramid pendant sprinkled with ice.
Tyrone, the only white boy in the crew, would be on his new Nokia 3300 talking to one of his fans in Cape Town, where he spent most of his lunatic childhood, years before heading for Jo’burg to rehabilitate. Perhaps X-Amount would be listening to Taxi Wars from their most recent album African Raw Material, Volume I on his new iPod while munching a McDonald’s McGriddle sandwich.
After all, these guys aren’t just rappers — they are members of South Africa’s sought-after hip-hop clique, Cashless Society. “We represent the poorest of the poor. We speak on their behalf,” says Tyrone, whose heritage is Italian.
Cashless Society pioneered the struggle for hip-hop’s emergence in South Africa long before Pitch Black Afro bought an Afro. They saw Jimmy B’s rise and fall, were among the most revered MCs in Lee Club, and after Dr Mageu added the phrase: “Ha se mo States [We are not in the United States]!” in one of BOP’s songs, they still walked through the streets of Yeoville wearing baggy jeans, boots and doo-rags.
“We are not in a hurry for fame and fortune. We are getting closer to our vision. It’s a great vision, and great things take time to manifest”, whispers X-Amount, the group’s most influential rapper, who hails from Swaziland. The taxi passes through dirty Hillbrow, heading for the notorious Noord Street rank.
The taxi stops and we squeeze our way through the crowd, attempting to look “heavier” so that the Noord pick-pocketers don’t find us too vulnerable. Tyrone walks in the middle, surreptitiously looking over his shoulders — this is the wrong place to be white. “Draztik said we’ll meet them there,” says X-Amount. Dave Balsher aka Draztik is the group’s producer, and by “them” X-Amount is referring to Criminal, Gemini and Black Intellectual.
The group started in 1998 with six members; today they are seven. After hanging together for months, enjoying the same hip-hop, they realised they were sonically gifted and decided to form a group in Yeoville.
They began creating their own instrumentals, writing rhymes, and freestyling. I first heard them back in 2001 when I saw their video Blaze Tha Breaks on television. The video was nothing typically South African. You had to be a hip-hop fanatic to decipher it. “Our music is not your regular hip-hop, it’s street-hop. We don’t only represent hip-hop in this country, we represent the people at the bottom of the economical pyramid — they are part of our society and they are cashless,” X Amount says with vengeance.
In 2000 they became the first African hip-hop act to have their music distributed internationally on vinyl, when their single Blaze Tha Breaks was released under Fondle ‘Em Records. In order to have total control over their own music, in 1999 Unreleased Records was formed on a shoestring-budget. And even though today BMG handles the distribution aspect of their music, Cashless Society do everything for themselves. No wonder taxis are still their main source of transport.
Their music is rich, especially on African Raw Material, Volume I. The album features prominent guest appearances from Mischif and Tumi of Tumi and The Volume. And according to X-Amount, the album is a testimony to how much they have grown.
“We have learned a lot since Blaze Tha Breaks, our vision is now more refined. Back then we just wanted to make music with a subliminal message, but now we are more aware of the obstacles ahead of us and are more prepared than before.”
We get to Carlton Centre and find the rest of the crew members waiting: Draztik, Criminal, Gemini and Black Intellectual. “It’s not like we are really getting paid for this shit, we gave [the producers] a copy of African Raw Material and they chose the track 8-3-1 (I Love You),” X-Amount had told me earlier when I asked how he felt about being included on the Yizo Yizo III soundtrack.
“We are not just musicians, we are entrepreneurs. We have to be, the South African music industry is not established yet. All it has is the hype. It’s full of people who know nothing about music, and most of them are holding top positions. So we have no choice but to rely on ourselves,” says Draztik who, with X-Amount, manages Cashless Society. They sort out everything from food during studio rehearsals to marketing and production.
“Our music has explicit lyrics, not because we are negative individuals but simply because black people invented hip-hop as an angry response to all the negativity they went through — like slavery and racism,” adds Criminal aka Oppressor Man, Law Breaker and God’s Commandments Keeper. His family originates from Malawi.
It’s about 7pm. We are on the top floor of the Carlton Centre, there are posters of the Yizo Yizo III cast around us. Out of big windows, through the darkness, Jo’burg’s lights glimmer like the eyes of a corpse in an open casket.
At the podium, Yizo Yizo III‘s directors Angus Gibson and Teboho Mahlatsi, and internationally acclaimed guest director Andrew Dosunmu throw out a few words about their experiences during the shoot. Only about 60% of the audience is listening, the rest are chatting and drinking at the bar area. We are shown a few clips from the series and then the music starts.
The crowd is mesmerised by stupendous performances by Mandoza, Brenda Fassie [one of her last], Kabelo, Brown and Mzekezeke. Then Cashless Society take the stage. The melodic beats of 8-3-1 (I Love You) boom through the speakers. It’s time for some pure, unadulterated rhyme and reason. The song is about Jo’burg and how good it feels to be a Jo’burger. It’s one of those ghetto slow-jams you can’t actually dance to. You just have to raise your hands in the air and listen.
And then, without warning, as they are about to leave the stage, the boys from Yeoville decide to hold the stage hostage. Snaz orders the crowd to sing the chorus to Hottentot Hop. “Yo! Don’t turn my motherfucking mic off,” he says with mean eyes directed at the technician.
Within seconds Hottentot Hop is blaring. The crowd hovers around the stage like ants on a piece of meat. Snaz gets down on his knees. Criminal has a comb stuck in his Afro. We are no longer merely at the Yizo Yizo III launch — we are also on some street corner, somewhere in Yeoville.
Among the crowd, I finally understood why their song had to be included on the Yizo Yizo III soundtrack. I also understood why they haven’t been celebrated with conventional accolades — like the South African Music Awards, for example — even though they have held number-one spots on both SABC 1 and Channel O, the latter for weeks. Cashless Society holds a vision that extends far beyond the South African music industry. They are neither winners of Idols or Pop Stars, nor are they one-hit wonders.
They are social renegades and their survival is not in the hands of music industry moguls or popular radio-station DJs.