The 021 Lit collective enables its seedy basement dance floors to let loose with a host of hip-hop and trap
About a fortnight ago, I found myself at a live Mndsgn gig. A chilly breeze and typically late Cape Town sunset set the open-air scene while the Los Angeles beat-maker fidgeted with his dual MacBook Pro rig, which rested on a makeshift stage.
Tickets were R300 and the gig was sold out. Fans and friends-with-fomo assembled to catch one of the newer prodigies in the California-based Stones Throw Records’ legendary lineage on the sweeping lawns of a Constantia mansion.
But that’s not where I saw him perform. Instead, I watched the talk of the town the night after on a weathered rooftop in Maitland, at a hushed, free affair.
Rapidly orchestrated at the last minute by individuals steeped in the city’s nightlife culture, the secret party came together following a private complaint to Mndsgn’s camp. The impetus was provided by a sense of discomfort with the particular setting that local events promoter Yoh! had provided. A different venue for the get-together was locked down hours before he was due to play.
The faint whiff of rebellion added a touch of sex appeal to the soirée, which was already charged with an intimate energy right off the bat. Admittedly, an ultra-exclusive secret show is hardly an appropriate standpoint from which to criticise what was perceived by the complainants as an under-inclusive space. But this reactionary shindig is still objectively appreciable — regardless of one’s position on the position Yoh! (currently rebranding due to long-standing accusations of cultural appropriation) plays in Cape Town — specifically in the way that it speaks to the experience of disillusionment with the city’s centralised nightlife status quo.
From that perspective, the evening felt like a microcosmic depiction of a loose movement of kindred spirits, led by the inner-city club nights and collectives of Uppercut, 021 Lit, Rainbowtime and Prime, which are helping to bring the narratives of brown faces to the fore. Through a common ethos of inclusiveness, these culturally astute happenings are humbly contrasting an easily identifiable opponent: the pervasive whiteness of many night-time hotspots in the inner city.
Cape Town’s elitism is no big secret. The lamentable persistence of spatial apartheid in the Western Cape is almost matched by the dastardly censure spewed out by residents of loftier neighbourhoods in response to calls for increased low-cost housing in the city. And, in terms of nightlife, a likewise exclusionary climate prevails.
The social media campaign to shut down Claremont’s Tiger Tiger helped blow open years of intersectional obliviousness from that cesspool of racism, sexism, homophobia and other detestable “isms”. But many spots reside comfortably, and with impunity, in the same systemic structures that permitted Tiger to flourish for so many years, albeit with a more subtle disinclination towards transformation.
Whispers of biased door policies and limp-wristed responses to the racial slurs of their patronage sketch a much darker exclusionary facet of the city’s reputation for being cliquey.
Thankfully, amid this dearth of safe spaces, some truly exciting parties have popped up. The longest-running and most popular of the above-mentioned lot is Uppercut, which has been taking place at The Waiting Room on Long Street every Friday night.
The seasoned fixture has attracted a mixed bag of regular patrons and tourist walk-ins for more than half a decade.
Originally conceived as a platform for quality hip-hop, and still boasting that reputation, Uppercut’s sonic scope has expanded to the more experimental outputs of younger DJs. Some hip-hop can also be expected on The Waiting Room’s speakers at the less-regular Rainbowtime, primarily an R&B-focused event, which encourages patrons to “come through after work and hang with friends”. Locals have heeded the call, with the occasions reaping impressive turnouts in recent months.
That same venue hosts the incrementally popular Prime, which, like Rainbowtime, prefers to place relatively inexperienced DJs on its roster, thereby bringing an eclectic assortment of contemporary hip-hop, funk and more to the party’s disarmingly relaxed vibe. This serves as a spotlight, as casual as it may be, for forthcoming talent. The additional benefit is having the whole thing feel like a house party with friends spinning tunes.
Relatively unknown DJs seeking to showcase their skills are welcome on the line-ups of the sizeable 021 Lit family, but schedules are balanced out with more established cats on the Cape Town circuit. Deeming itself a musical movement, the collective enables its seedy basement dance floors to let loose with a host of hip-hop and trap, bass, grime, R&B, while reserving the right to venture into electronica.
Obviously all run by people of colour, the naked fact that these genuinely cool events are growing and flourishing in the inner city ought to be applauded. Those involved with the parties underpin the importance of inclusivity to their base conceptual modules.
The different organisers express this in different ways, which illustrates the varied routes taken to achieve the same praiseworthy ends. For example, Uppercut’s organisers did not originally intend to subvert whiteness but they are cognisant of this byproduct. In seeking to establish an identity and determinedly pave their own way over the past few years, Uppercut succeeded in creating a landmark safe space for the subculture it serves, and inspiration for those who wish to edify the nightlife culture.
For Rainbowtime, the goal of creating a safe space for people of colour, queer and nonbinary individuals was explicit. The hypothesised mise en scène was one where brown people could hang with other brown people and watch them playing their music in a city otherwise dominated by spaces owned by, and catering to, white folks.
The Waiting Room’s owners fall into that same demographic, but the spacious and welcoming aura — and the frustrating lack of other eligible spaces — have nevertheless made it a favourite in progressive circles. This made it a good fit for Prime’s friendly-to-all weekday-jam agenda. The Lit crew, though asserting they do not stand behind particular banners of “black” or “queer” in terms of catering to a particular niche in the scene, opt for previously unexplored venues such as the basement of House of H on Loop Street and Upstairs on Bree, emphasising that they choose only locations owned by people of colour and allies. They’re commensurately emphatic when explaining their combined identity as being one whose presence is fuelled exclusively by music of black origin, and seeks to connect with any people with a mutual aural affinity for those styles.
With a shared openness to endorsing youthful acts, these events are constantly broadening their horizons and attracting new crowds of like-minded people. Their cutting-edge assortments of music, new and old, commercial and left-field, speak to an audience with an eclectic palate.
And although there is a strong POC (people of colour) contingent in attendance, the respective organisers still feel their vehicles’ depth of diversity is hamstrung by class. Relatively low cover charges cannot comprehensively offset the geographical inaccessibility of parties in the inner city.
But credit where credit is due: they’re doing a better job than most. Following in the ancestry of OGs events in a homogenous mould — for example, the fondly remembered Cold Turkey and the still-heaving LoveAll — Uppercut, Rainbowtime, 021 Lit and Prime are at the forefront of a nascent collective consciousness that is desperately seeking to dispel the exclusionary legacy of the inner city’s elitism.
And, in the face of these promising goings-on, Mndsgn’s Twitter message at 12:10am on January 30 suggests he had a pretty good time, too: “south africa just made my top 5 illest places to be. maybe even top 3. no games. ill be right back yall”