My first sit down with Pro Kid, South Africa’s irrepressible MC, starts out on a bad note. I am late. ‘Mad” late in ebonic speak. So while his management berates me and force-feeds me humble pie via the phone, I am, however, taken aback by the nonchalant, warm Pro Kid who meets me in the Gallo Records foyer. I apologise. He reassures me with his come-what-may attitude: ‘Ayi yinto zakhona sbari [All in a day’s work, mate].”
Needless to say, I’m impressed by the manners. As our conversation picks up and his world view unfolds, I notice him to be a learned scholar of the grind — a quintessential hustler. His career, built on a portfolio of cannibalistic street ciphers, radio shows and relentless freestyle sessions, is a testament not only to his exemplary work ethic but also his considerable charisma.
He respects hard work and the sweet dividends it brings. Thus, the masses can identify with his rags-to-riches persona. ‘I didn’t have the connects with organisers, promoters or DJs. It was the people on the ground who had my back from scratch,” he says solemnly. ‘I had no demo, no auditions, but I managed to avoid being desperate by staying passionate.”
Pro Kid, born Linda Mkhize 24 years ago, exudes an aura of humility, giving him the glow of someone who recognises the spotlight as a blessing of sorts, a calling. He likens his burgeoning rap career to ukuthwasa, a sangoma’s initiation rite. ‘Being a sangoma, you’re not forced, but there are things that haunt you and follow you. You might be playing sport, but there’s a song at the back of your head,” he states, telling me that at one point he almost gave up the microphone.
It’s hardly surprising that he uses such lofty metaphors to describe his work. His prodigious talents are, after all, detectable throughout his debut album Head and Tales, released last May by Gallo Records, which, over the past few years, has clamoured for its stake in hip-hop’s market share. Pro’s brand of hip-hop is an obligation to his people — ‘keep-your-head-up” rap told through the eyes of a young man who’s seen it all, but chooses words to redeem himself. It is by no means a new story, only this time the teller dispenses his tales with just the right amounts of populism and flair. And so he squeezes the remaining ounces of life out of it.
He has other things going for him as well. He is regarded by some of his peers as the antithesis of your run-of-the-mill, ‘model C”, dictionary MC. Yet, the ‘kasie” references, more commonplace with kwaito musicians, still proliferate his music ad nauseum, as if he has a point to prove. ‘The kasie is all I have,” counters Pro Kid, informing me that he still lives in Klipspruit. ‘I wish I could fake the walk, fake the talk but I won’t twang my way to the top. I can make a guzu or a pantsula appreciate rap.”
Armed with a dazzling, multi-syllabic delivery that easily switches from ebonics to s’camtho, this MC’s ghetto citizenship remains valid, even though Fourways beckons. His wide spectrum of acceptance is, however, not solely the product of skills but also that of a changing cultural landscape. ‘We grew up being mocked,” he recalls of his first forays into hip-hop. ‘We were called punks, but now these are the same people showing us love. We must have touched a nerve. The market is much bigger now, not just for the guys with the baggy jeans.”
Given his reputation as being street savvy, I ask him about the potential pitfalls and contradictions of being signed to a major record label, a corporate species that hip-hop eccentric Waddy Jones pronounced obsolete half a decade ago. Gallo, after all, is accused in some quarters as having turned Skwatta Kamp into a boy band. ‘Only you can change yourself,” he defends. ‘There are a lot of clichés in hip-hop like ‘keeping it real’ and being ‘conscious’. For me, being conscious is seeing that it’s cold and putting on a jersey. It’s deciding that, because I got money, I can bling. It would be funny for someone to question my position. But there’s a lot you can pull from the negative energy.”
Ubiquitous ‘haters” aside, it is still too early to speculate about what Pro Kid’s legacy will be in hip-hop. MCs are crawling out every hole in the slums, as Nas once flawlessly put it. To usurp the throne and exert some longevity, he is going to have to outdo his debut album, whose production, at times, lags behind his well-crafted lyrics.
There are standouts, such as Amu’s They Fell, Omen’s Wozobona and Soweto, the Dome-crafted Let’s Celebrate and, of course, Nyambz’s Let’s Wait a While. Two songs are salvaged by female vocalists. The rest seem to hover on middle ground, neither pushing the envelope nor aptly complementing the protagonist. Perhaps, with time, we will learn to choose better beats.
On stage, though, Pro transforms the microphone into a magic wand, and casts unrelenting spells on all and sundry. Knowing that he is opening for Busta Rhymes, a feat whose magnitude he admittedly hasn’t quite grasped yet, it should amount to one of his most explosive shows yet.
Pro Kid opens for Busta Rhymes at the Jo’burg Stadium as part of the Arts Alive Festival on September 3