"The Cure"

is it?

Black Music versus Jazz

The unfinished yet hush-hush battle between those who wish to do away with the term jazz and those who maintain that there is such a rich and multi-racial heritage inherent in it and has to be preserved rages on. Many music lovers may not see how the battle lines have been drawn and how this sentiment has been fomenting for the longest time, but ‘on’ it is and contrary to what the critics say, Nicholas Payton may very well be making a necessary revolutionary point when he asserts seriously:

“I am Nicholas Payton and I don’t play “the j word.” I play BAM. BAM is an acronym for Black American Music.”

But then again, the forceful and innovative musician might be swimming against the tide and perhaps fighting a battle that he and his supporters just can’t win. Some of the critics of this new term – BAM happen to be excellent writers and opinion makers and many are not entirely against the ‘new’ name per se, but the sentiment or the intention behind it. As jazz critic and self-confessed jazz evangelist Scott Fugate puts it in a rather long-drawn-out article on the very subject:

“Anything that can be called truly “American” must represent all the races, cultures, religions, ages & tastes that are part of this great Nation . . . and we are also free to accept or reject it.

True to form, Americans on the whole tend to reject & ignore jazz. Many have never really listened to it – except in the guise of annoying background music – and even fewer have seen it performed live.” ( JazzTimes, )

But herein lies the crucial contradiction, reminding me of Gil Scott Heron’s witty song-poem, Is That Jazz, where he characteristically demystifies many of the clichés related to what jazz is or is not. The point is that here is a sound, a style, a cultural institution invented and forged in the fires of the joys and sorrows of a formerly enslaved people, which after being noticed to possess extraordinary and marketable qualities was also taken up by talented individuals, Jews, former Europeans and other ethnicities; developed, reformed, deformed and repackaged it for a universal audience, yet still remained the peculiar expression of the original people – Blacks.

So what if this not so –all American- blues, rag, swing, bop, funky amalgamation of folk and Afro-Latin influences has also been copied to perfection by other races? The fact remains that it is an expression cultivated and informed by much of the black universal and specifically Negro-American experience. Another writer confirms:

“Take cool jazz, for example. The spate of subdued sounds that blew from the West Coast in the mid-‘50’s – elevating the careers of Chet Baker, Gerry Mulligan, Shorty Rogers and Dave Brubeck – seemed to the black community one more instance of white musicians profiting from black cultural invention, “I guess it was supposed to be some kind of alternative to bebop, or black music…but it was the same old story,” Miles Davis maintained in his biography, “black shit was being ripped off all over again.” – “Gerry Mulligan – active in both East and West Coast scenes of the day – later came to acknowledge the black perspective on the situation,, “I suppose it was later on that I realised that there was some reaction among the musicians themselves, some of whom resented the success of cool jazz in California, and that broke down into the white guys against the hard-blowing black guys in New York.” – (Ashley Kahn, Jazztimes.com/articles, September 2001)

I must add that this happens to be another white jazz critic, so one wonders whether the perspective is biased towards the non-racial or multi-ethnic aspects of jazz or not, one will have to read the entire article to make a qualified judgement, suffice to say that this recurring theme of the racial over and undertones in the public history of music have not been sufficiently dealt with. This is what has kept so many excellent ideas and cultural institutions from flourishing.

Today one can still find teenage black boys playing Kenny G or David Sanborn and dare to call it jazz. The media, music industry and concert promoters have also dealt jazz another death blow as they are the ones who insists on lumping everyone from Rhythm and Blues to Deep House DJ’s who happen to bring along a few instruments (possible out of work jazz musicians) into what they call Jazz Festivals. The Hazelmere concerts in the North Coast of Kwazulu Natal and the misnomered North Sea Jazz Festival, which happens to be in the South sea - are a case in point. Everyone from Kwaito ‘artists’ to atrociously repetitive and out of tune Gospel and Afro-Pop singers have graced that stage.The ignorant fans come back home elated that they have had a cultural experience at the jazz. This is pure blasphemy and an outrageous slap in the face for the plethora of musicians, promoters, writers and lovers of jazz who have spent countless hours ‘digging’ this dexterous sound and are likely to either die poor or become eulogized in many anonymous moments of silence. But silence is what they have been offered while they were present and itching to live in a world that appreciates good art.

Alas, this is a world that rewards sensationalist mendacity and allows progressive movement to beat against high whitewashed walls. But perhaps there is hope. Has BAM come to save the dwindling social status of jazz, wrench it from abysmal obscurity? Well, that is a very complicated matter and might take many years and more than a name change to bring about. But returning to the racial aspects of it, the concert promoters and opinion makers love to mention that music is one thing that manages to bring people together on an equal platform. How true is that exactly? Can so many generations of collaboration, as unequal and irreversible as they are be accounted for in a name change? the abandonment of something so strenuously toiled for, can it bear any stranger fruits, or is it as Payton’s critics suggest, a mere marketing gimmick instigated by a selfish young musician who does not appreciate the heritage of his forebears – both black and white? Perhaps the challenge here is not just an attitude problem or one man’s fixation, perhaps it is not just the names jazz or Black American Music that are at stake.

The elephant in the room is obviously consumerist-capitalism and the lure of easy profit, right? The scores of white musicians, club-owners and gangsters, who benefitted, profited from the exploitation of black invention may not be the real target or the root of the problem; they just happened to find a ready-made idiom and simply built their own wealth and legacy upon it, right? Surely, in America, in the land of the free, this couldn’t have been such as bad idea, especially when many white jazz musicians and others who took the blues and turned it into profitable pop-rock clearly admit that they were never responsible for its invention. I mean, this is part of the great big juicy and sliceable American pie. This type of attitude should have been able to rescue the dignity of Black American Music from the onslaught of popular consumerist culture and the advent of MTV, but it did not. But on the other hand, European classical music still maintains its allure of dignified pomp and its shimmer of ingenuity. Even though there have been many black luminaries even in that genre who rose from the ignominy of slavery to become forgotten supernovae like St Gorge. The fact of their blackness ensures that they remain forgotten or enshrouded in myth, even though even among the purists, they were known to have excelled their white contemporaries in brilliant musicianship.

But this is an anti-black world and the sooner we realise this fact, the clearer we will find our way around the problem of racism and thus we would become fully realised and human again. At the moment we appear as mere labourers and an inconvenient yet tolerated human resource. Our stolen lands are also far from free from the exploitation of white supremacy, yes; it exists even in the arts, even those who would like to claim as our own inventions. In a non-racial, multi-racially diverse world, one is discouraged to claim anything exclusively. Our attempts to become self-sufficient and self-defining are kept at bay by the gods of race denialism–the Mandela’s, the Tutu’s and the Oprah Winfrey’s. But just like in the jazz world there remain those blacks who refuse to be used and misinformed by Eurocentric standards of success.

The Black Consciousness radical thinkers called Blackwash state it aptly:

“Black poverty lies side by side with white wealth created from the exclusion and impoverishment of blacks. To escape we adopt a white attitude, we become half-white to continue sucking the blood of black people…To succeed is to sellout. We are not against comfort and success but we say look at how these are achieved. Meritocracy and hard work are lies to blind us from the truth of how exploitation and exclusion lies at the heart of success under the anti-black capitalist reality of our time.” – (The Blackwash dream: We fight for it now!, 2009)

What more can I say? All I know is that I love Black Music in general and what they call jazz in particular has a special part in my soul, but as a radical Black Consciousness adherent I will have to support Payton’s revolutionary stance, especially due to the fact that so many opposing voices like his music yet they see fit to deny him a chance to define in as he sees fit. I am also not surprise to see so much opposition coming from those critics of European descent who feel justified in denying a Black man his power of self-determination.

 In closing let me add just one more interesting example of this tendency of white people to take over the genius of black folks, in fact it seems as if many of them simply do it without noticing it, as if its just a natural thing to do. Take the story of the one I am listening to right now. This Django Reinhart & Stephane Grappelli album was a birthday gift from a nice old white lady I worked with. Out of all the millions of jazz albums I could get for my birthday, she had to ironically give me a rather serendipitous history lesson. Here’s a brief history note for you, as depicted in the album sleeve:

“Django Reinhardt was born in Liberchies, Belgium, in 1910, a gypsy brought up on Eastern European music. Grappelli, born in Paris two years earlier, was a fan of American violinist Eddie South.” – Now check this out: From Wikipedia:

“Eddie South was a classical violin prodigy who switched to jazz because of limited opportunities for African-American musicians, and started his career playing in vaudeville and jazz orchestras with Freddie Keppard, Jimmy Wade, Charles Elgar and Erkstine Tate in Chicago. He was influenced by Hungarian music and Roma music starting with a visit to Europe in the 1920s and adapted the music to jazz. On subsequent visits to Europe in the 1930s he performed and recorded with guitarist Django Reinhardt and violinist Stephane Grappelli.”

Now one would note that in those times. America was not at all a happy place to be black. And many artists and writers of colour were forced to go ply their trade in Europe. But keeping this in mind and the brief biography of Reihardt, lo and behold what the latest collection of Eddie South music is called: Black Gypsy. It is exactly as the Blackwash comrades stated, in order to succeed; blacks have to either adopt a white attitude, a white persona or completely sell-out. What many writers have called selling your soul to the devil.

It can be construed that in the survival game that is live, especially the creative artists fickle world, it is all about survival and many a times, artistic integrity has cost many people their livelihood. But surely there is an elephant in the room here, and it’s the proverbial white elephant indeed. The obviously gifted Reinhardt is said to be a gypsy but he did not find it difficult to become a legend and a wealthy musician at that, he and his partner in musical plagiarism are still remembered and selling till this very day, but even I did not know much about Eddie South. I have had to see South through Northern eyes, a sort of cruel case of northern-exposure – finding ourselves and even our ancestry through white eyes. According to the album sleeves it is said:

“Django’s influence had endured all the way through to Jimmy Hendrix, who is said to have named his group Band of Gypsies in Django’s honour, while an annual festival takes place in his honour in Liberchies, the village of his birth.” (Sleeve notes by Michael Heatley).

Very well then, we are grateful for the warmed up music, but what ever happened to Eddie South? Classical music couldn’t help him, but did jazz ever help him to survive?

The Intelligent Choice

By Menzi Maseko

“Jazz musicians in the ’80s continued the fight against electric rock-fusion, but their music and artistry is often dismissed and the response to these players is often racist. Screwed up in their shallow understanding of politics, jazz critics and musicians—who were equally inept in the arena of thinking—called the music neo-conservative, “republican jazz” and, worst of all, the music of “young black men in suits.” It never came clear to those writers that, since the commercial world at large wanted disorder, sloppiness and over-amplified clichés, it took more courage to come out swinging..”– (JazzTimes article by Essayist and Jazz Critic Stanley Crouch)

At first I was torn between calling this article, The Intellectuals Choice or Race Blues and Tenacity, but then I thought both these would seem rather snobbish or even audacious to a first time reader; after all we are strive to woo more readers and listeners towards the unconventional cultural experiences. The intelligent choice seemed more appropriate after reading the notoriously frank Stanley Crouch’s article, which was written 12 years ago. I could have also chosen to quote much more of his informative essays, but I thought the above was an apt and relevant to our purpose here.

What I will explore however briefly here is how music, specifically jazz and other more sidelined forms of artistic expression reflect the mood of each generation. Even though Crouch was essentially writing to decry the tendency of certain people to misinterpret the trajectory of jazz and mainstream music to a susceptible public, my purpose is to show that this did not just happen to jazz. It is true that jazz is still one of the most misunderstood of all musical genres, next to Hip-Hop and Dub Reggae. With that said, it must be made clear that these misinterpretations, misunderstandings and hence misappropriations were by no means honest mistakes. There have been and indeed continue to be certain personalities within the mass media, the music industry and even artists themselves whose business it is to double-deal, misinform, derail and hinder the natural progression of quality music. They do this in various subtle and sometimes noticeable ways, well perhaps noticeable to the intelligent observer of trends and to lovers of justice.

Jazz and most recently Reggae have been regarded as musical genres most frequently chosen by people of above average intelligence; and by this I don’t mean to suggest that lovers of classical, rhythm and blues, metal and other forms of music possess less scruples, not at all. What I mean to highlight is the general perception that these genres are associated with, which is that the music requires a little more deeper engagement, and that it tends to be generally more thought-provoking. This contributes to the fluctuation and often disappointing popularity of its practitioners. Unless one crosses over by blending their jazz or reggae with some other fashionable sound, they usually languish in relative obscurity often till the end of their lives. Now for many serious musicians, crossing over is just another nice way to say selling out.

The serious jazz and reggae artists most of the time epitomizes the proverbial ‘struggling artist’, rebel stigmata. Of course there are always those who rise above these stereotypes and manage to succeed in the competitive world of music without even striving to compete.

Stars such as MosesMolelekwa, ZimNgqawana, Darius Brubeck, Abdullah Ibrahim, Lucky Dube,FeyaFaku and the megastar Hugh Masekela are just a few of them. Although Masekeladoes not sit comfortably in any musical category, as an instrumentalist and an international musician he is still regarded by many as a jazz musician. This is also not a label that some of these artists have been comfortable with; indeed many of them have rejected the term completely.

The late Molelekwa was acknowledged by the young and the elderly alike as a phenomenal jazz genius even though he ‘transitioned’ at the age of 28; having released 3 or 4 albums that set him firmly as one of the brightest stars on the jazz constellation. Soft-spoken and equally difficult to pigeon-hole, he was however able to swing and truly earn the complement of jazz sensation. But what made these few people mainstream favorites aside from their prodigious phraseology of a distinctively South Afrikan jazz, is that they managed to capture the attention of certain contemporary opinion makers. There arevirtually hundreds of other equally or more capable artists who could have easily captivated the audience if their music was given the proper channel and platform, but many factors and circumstances conspired to not make it so.

Call it fate or coincidence, or perhaps the limited size of an appreciative audience, but one thing is for sure – it takes much more than pure talent to rise to the top.Crouch mentioned above that the ‘commercial world at large wanted disorder-‘and upon this did I aim to set my essay, but just like jazz improvisation, the writing decided to take a direction of its own.

Regardless, there is an alchemical or even metaphysical saying that ‘out of chaos comes order’, and this may somehow explain how certain types of artistic expressions may emerge and capture peoples attention far more than others, but in a world that has been proven to prefer superficiality, sensationalism and indeed disorder over dexterity and deep beauty,  it is not surprising to find that a few intelligent people will fill an obscure jazz club to listen to pure and expansive expression, while thousands more prefer to fill stadiums listening to lusterless and unimaginative noise. The crowded stadium keeps a lot of people happy, paid and intoxicated with glee while the dark jazz or reggae spot nurtures the deeper intelligences.

This is the existential chaos with which we must content ourselves with or else we can occasionally experience a bit of both worlds. Just like what I am listening to now, a ‘Hip Hoposist’ , the skillful and gifted Soweto Kinch who plays amazing tenor-saxophone and is just as comfortable rapping through a fusion of jazz and Hip Hop. He even raps, “Nobody gets it, nobody understands my rap/I don’t even have bus-fare back to my flat…”And right after that chaotically Hip Hop track, he launches into a melancholy tune titled Adrian’s Ballad, a sweeping ‘true jazz’ ballad in the bluesy mode of Louis Armstrong’s St James Infirmary. What can one say, who is really the judge, who can really claim to be the supreme guru of musical purity?

Crouch is known to be one of the most forceful of jazz purists, even reported to have punched a few people during arguments over his criticism of jazz.

Note these closing statements from the same Jazztimes article:“Even though anything today can be called jazz or mainstream—however improperly—you can be sure that as long as you have musicians like Marsalis, Lovano, Roney, Roberts, Reed, Nash and Payton the music’s true sweep will be carried along and the true believers will not have to ask, “Is that jazz?””(S.C.)

Interestingly, the last musician on this list has also vehemently rejected the term jazz, opting for the more apt BAM: Black American Music. But is it really stilljust an American music, and isn’t it way past the Black and White definitions by now, and why not just call it Fresh Music?

Here’s what I think is a more intelligent choice of words:

“Much of this problem arises from our diversity – and the desire to define everything according to demographics. Like any product in our free market economy – jazz has been codified, classified, and narrowed down to fit a small spectrum of very specific consumers . . . even though the essence of jazz appeals to all demographics by its very nature.

Those that have claimed jazz as their own over the years have managed to extricate it from any cultural relevance, and remove all vestiges of it from popular music. Sadly, this is often done in the name of preservation.” – (By Scott Fugate, in article called Jazz vs. BAM . . . Bridges vs. walls, In defense of America's original, indigenous art form.)

Does it matter whether the two essayists I have quoted are Black or White, does their racial profile determine the objectivity and intelligence of their observations?  At the end of the day, you might find both of them at the same club or in the privacy of their homes, wholeheartedly enjoying the sounds of what most of us consider good music. Some of the tinges in the Fugate playlist may be infused with reggae undertones, while Crouches playlist might have some elements of Madlib’s Hip-Hop fused into it, which is to say that they both can’t still call it fresh, ingenious and enjoyable music.

Yet again, creative artists no longer have to rely on radio or filling stadiums in order to make a decent living, lo and behold, we now have the ultra-efficient and virtual world of the internet. On the net, you can call it what you want, be brilliant or truly shallow, but as long as you can solicit more hits than the intelligent purist, you’re a star and a self-made millionaire.

Menzi Maseko

Suns of Blackness

“Dude, you’re the Whitest Black man I’ve ever met.” by Khaya Maseko

What am I supposed to say to that? There’re about 5 Black people in the club that aren’t  staff. There’s some Death Metal playing in the background. The gig is awesome. It’s crowded with men and women in all kinds of edgy clothing. There are spikes, piercings, band T-shirts and leather everywhere. This being South Africa, it is not the usual to find a Black man who’s feeling right at home in this kind of environment.

But I do, sitting there in my Radiohead, Hail To the Thief T-shirt. My in-depth knowledge of Metal has obviously shown this person that I must be White inside. Words/names likeDecapitated, Six FeetUnder, Hate Eternal and The Haunted glide over my tongue as if I was raised listening to Death Metal. But  I am a product of autopoeisis, self-made and self-actualizing.

Where do we draw the line at personal personality and perceived personality? Who judges what the Black human is?

Throughout history, race has been a reflective phenomenon. One is Black because they are not White.  The opinion is thus built by attaching cultural norms to a people and marking the differences to one’s own. I have love for my Black fellow human. I am Black because the Black has faced what I have faced. I have lived and written down what I know to be the Black in me. But race is a temporary thing. The second this enlightenment came to me, I became aware that being Black was as important as being anything. If the person I made of my self was loving and productive, my Blackness would be a negligible fact. We do not live in that future, as yet. The Black human only survives because of its opposites, as light only survives because of the darkness it antagonizes. We cannot build a future like that. On this road to the future, we must note in bold type that race is only scaffolding for what the human eventually will be. It must come down, sooner or later.

One need not forget, that hundreds upon thousands have died and disappeared because they had thick lips and knotty hair. One must not forget ukubhala ngolimi lwakubo(to write in their own tongue). One, especially the Black one, must not forget hundreds of years of institutionalized hatred. One must not forget that there is a difference in people and the spaces that form and inform said people. One must be vigilant in studying their history so that they may purport the good and educate about the harms of evil-doing.Societies and cultures die because of forgetting. This is why the King Leopold burned records for almost 7 days before he finally left what was known as The Belgian Congo.  Records of any type inform and an informed ‘enemy’ is the most dangerous kind.  An informed slave populous will fight better than one with no intelligence on its oppressors. But being Black isn’t about being oppressed.

Making moves from the reactive position has more cons than pros. The Black human should only respond to the human, not the White human.

This Africa of ours is filed with Black human killing Black human. This is no Auschwitz. This is Congo, Rwanda, Somalia, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, South Africa and too many other places of bloodshed. The capabilities of self-punishment and self-torture are stupefying.These atrocities tend to come from the place of forgetting. The French are the least of the problem in Africa, now. Too many Francophone Blacks are killing each other for too many ridiculous reasons, which often points to lack of reason.

So, in fact, I should be proud that this man in front of me thinks I’m so White. Ah, forget his reasons, as long as he doesn’t link me to the gang-raping, drug-peddling, granny-mugging, starving, corrupt, belligerent people that I come from. Because what else do people have to remember about the Black?

History is written by winners, it is often said. Well what has the black won? Do we have claims to fame that will move Black supremacy to Reich heights? Do we even want to go there? The word ‘superpower’ hasn’t even sat next to ‘Africa’ on a train. The paradigm of the African Renaissance has been crawling on its belly for one too many decades.  If we do not make our selves, we will surely die. Surely. We have enough academic data, from Anthropology to Zoology to be proud of our selves as Africans, the diaspora firmly included. The Black will not be killed by a jaded White teenager in a Heavy Metal club. It will be killed by the self. The Black dies when he forgets. The Black lives when he remembers. The Black dies when he sees nothing to be proud of. The Black lives when he manufactures pride from the universe we all have. The powers of creation and creativity aren’t a racially exclusive thing. We have as much influence on personal image as the next human. But who is writing our history? Answer and act. Who is studying your language? Answer. Act.

We are not any better for having more White friends than Black ones. We are not any closer to ‘civilisation’ by studying German over Swahili. We are not any thing until this thing that is the Black human is self-actualizing and fulfilled by it. Be, have, do.

A Black people must be their Blackness without the White man, and they must not forget that being Black is not a race. In fact, I propose the dissolution of all racial lines, but this is a dream and the pipe is long. I my self, have never ever felt anything other than Black. The future of my family and offspring is loaded with Memories of our past Black people. How they helped shape the polity of our South Africa and the world. How they made music from the brightest pit of their Blackness

Becoming The Maker

Essays and stories about creative processes, finding ones purpose, effecting positive change and just being oneself.

When it comes to making, writing and talking about Art, it is impossible to not become sentimental or even emotional. There is just something about most Art that requires the kind of passionate out-pouring that is often commensurate to genius. This is not to say that all emotional, sentimental and passionate writers, artists and writers are geniuses, yet there must be so much zeal in the expression that it must be tempered by creative articulation and above all practiced skill.

These stories are about various experiences, performances, trials, tribulations and triumphs within the glorious and perilous world of the have given myself, in order to document the life and lives of people involved in the Arts. The feeling to do this arose when I would watch and come into often intimate contact with individuals and groups who were mostly involved in making music. Most of these people would be striving to make a living from performing, organizing events and basically being involved in all that has to do with music.

I have decided to include other forms of Artistic expression because as a Poet and lover of all things aesthetical I feel that all types of known Art are compatible, it all depends on the creative imagination of those involved, who for the purposes of this book we shall call The Makers.

Of course for those who can understand the languages of the Nguni people, it will be clear that this choice also has a lot to do with my name, which also happens to be one of the names of God. So without rubbing it in, it is a play on the concept of the Artist as a god, a divine being, a creator of the possible and even an inventor of the impossible despite any given circumstances.

Also note that some of these stories will be subjective, meaning that they are mostly personal accounts, journal entries and even direct quotations from interviews, recollections and even notes from specific reviews.

To begin with, we shall delve into the spiritual lives, the mystical or cosmological significations that often go parallel to Artistic expressions. This does not mean that all Artists are spiritually inclined. There is often a sense that Jazz Artists in particular are working with something beneath the surface of what we laymen know, that they are both engaged in entertainment while expressing the deepest part of being human. Here I am mostly talking about practitioners of Free Jazz, what others call Jazz improvisation, not the regular Standards which consists mostly of repetitions of traditional and popular tunes.

Since I shall be dealing mostly unknown, underground and also little known personalities here, it will become clear that the Artistic expression will not be limited to Jazz, we shall touch upon Reggae, Hip Hop and as already mentioned, other related forms of expression. I certainly hope that these stories will inspire, inform and ultimately create an appreciation for what The Makers, and not just the movers and the shakers do. After-all life is filled with many hidden treasures, the often overlooked lives that ultimately find pleasure, livelihood and joy in Art.

Chapter 1: Becoming The Maker

“Emotions play such a major part in peoples lives – more negative than positive – that you would thing that the powers that be in the world would institute educational programs to teach the populace to properly understand and handle them. The ancient Egyptians (the Kamau) answered this question over five thousand years ago or more. Since man’s evolutionary goal is to become a God man/woman on Earth, who is a liberated being, then man must make an all out emotional commitment to the realization of this goal. It is a 100% emotional commitment to becoming a being that is free of emotional compulsions, a being that is able to be at peace in the face of the greatest imaginable challenges. In Kemet (Ancient Egypt) it is portrayed as Auset’s (Isis) devotion to resurrect Ausar (Osiris) the divine Self in man that was murdered by Set (the Archetype of Satan).”- Ma’at: The 11 Laws of God by Ra Un Nefer Amen

I have a curious name, it is not an unusual name or one that is uncommon among Nguni language speakers, in fact during my brief travels into various parts of the united kingdom, I have discovered that there are ‘English’ variations to it, albeit with an –es in the end. When I saw trucks and containers in some airports, especially in and around Northern Ireland with the word Menzies, I was compelled to joke to someone I was walking with by saying ‘you see my name is international’.

To my knowledge, Menzi is just a word in the IsiZulu, IsiXhosa and IsiSwati which means either Maker, Doer or even the Creator. When I quizzed my parents about why they’d named me as such, they said it was my maternal grandmother’s idea. When I was born, she sang the traditional gospel song “Menzi wezinto zonke, namazulu onke…” – which translates as “Maker of everything and all of the heavens…”, and so the name stuck. Apparently my father had the name Siabonga, which means ‘we thank you’ in mind. So in retrospect I should say, thank you Granny.

I raise this matter of the name because as a Poet, I am uncannily fascinated with words, their meanings and their denotations. Yet this name has steered my life in a direction that I don’t think I would have taken if I had been stuck with Siyabonga (no offence to all the Siya’s ). To me, this is among the most creative names in the Nguni language and I know there are more interesting and Poetic ones out there, but this one also happens to be the Name given to God Itself. Thus I have striven to be such a seeker of wisdom, a ‘deep’ person as some people like to point out. This deep-thinking, searching and quest to reclaim the purpose in my name, both from the emotive perspective of my parents and also from the folk metaphysical connotations of my immediate environment has led me down the proverbial rabbit hole of experiences.

Being a naturally amiable personality, I try not to take everything too seriously, but I often find that I fail at that task. Yes, I am can be playful, happy go lucky and even naughty (to a fault), but I cannot help but think beyond the shallow, the surface of this visible world. When I saw a film like The Matrix, especially the animated prequel The Animatrix, I could not stop thinking that I am so much part of the story line, that I had actually dreamed all of it before and I had even written about some of the philosophical questions it dealt with. I did not so much think I was Neo, but more like a hybrid of Morpheus and the Oracle and even Trinity.

After watching the trilogy, I thought that all I had to do is strive to master my emotions, gain mental and physical stamina so that I could achieve some miracles in life. Without the help of religious jargon, the plethora of self-help or self realization manuals that litter the bookstores. In my mind, and perhaps even beyond my brain capacity, I know that I can and that all these tomes are mere signs, stepping stones confirming what I already know.

Beyond wishful thinking or stretching of the imagination, as Menzi, I should be able to achieve ordinary and extraordinary miracles simply by being myself, thinking the right thoughts and being at the right places at the right time, All the time. In fact the concept of time and space meant very little to me after that. So I could say that re-seeing the Matrix was an epiphany in my mind. So what has happened to the miracles, and why have I not become the miracle worker that I expect myself to be? It has been about 9 to 10 years since the last Matrix film and I am still very much an ordinary person, experiencing the struggles, aberrations and temptations that everyone goes through. I am still not motivated by money, speculations or even the stuff that religions promise to every believer. Yet I believe that before I pass over, there is at least One ‘miracle’ or paradigm shifting feat that I will be remembered for.

So I guest, there’s more to Self realization and Self actualization than simply knowing about it. To say I think and know I can, is not the same as actually Being that which we can be, can do or can make. Theologians and experts in human potential and behavior say that there is nothing that one does that makes them extra-special in the Universe or in God’s eyes. It is neither goodness nor righteousness that guarantees one an entrance into the heavenly abode, but there is still something to be said of Free Will. So this means that somehow, I still have each moment of my life to realize, act and practice being the Maker, to realize the true meaning of my life, aside from minor achievements, or minor or major failures. This is not only true for people with loaded names such as mines, but for all human beings who strive to become someone in life. But there is this ‘belief’ that everyone needs someone else in order to fully realize their purpose, the old adage that’ no man is an island’ holds true.

In order to become the Maker that I already know I am, I need to congregate, to commune and to give in to or submit to another being, another force. Even biblically, Jesus/Yehoshua the Christ submitted to the council of his Father – God and required the acquiescence of certain disciples in order to fulfill his mission, a mission which he appears to have dreaded, yet due to its purpose, had to be fulfilled: “He took Peter and Zebedee’s two sons, James and John, and he became anguished and distressed. He told them, ‘my soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” He went further and bowed with his face on the ground, praying. “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” – (Matthew 26:36 – 39)

If even the gods of this world ( some would say the God) require collaborators and even additional strength and the Will of the Higher powers to fulfill their destiny, then it proves that even mere mortals or lesser divinities such as myself need communion in order to become the Maker. So does this mean that one cannot fulfill their purpose and still live to tell the story?

How about many of those over-achievers who not only gain material wealth and fame, write books about it and their stories are told to posterity, how did they manage to be masters of their own destiny?

It is clear that there is no simple answer to such a question; it is after all the very subject of many books, films and legends. We are inspired by the stories of Jesus, the Buddha, Tarhaqah, Osiris/Ausar, Haile Selassie I, Queen Nzinga, Mother Teresa, Queen Mkabayi  and many others who made a lasting impression on the psychology of mankind. The issue of whether their stories were real, embellished or totally metaphorical is not the subject here, what matters is that they managed or their stories were able to change the way we see and live in the world.

There are no accidental makers, accidental names or accidental miracles. Everything, including the improvised notes of a Jazz musician, the free-style poetics of the Rap emcee are well placed, meant moves that contain within them the Universal blueprint of causality. We can even say that one depends on both free will and fate, the well placed syncopation of tones, notes and anecdotes to arrive at the destined place. One can say that all of reality, the fatal incident and the happy coincident are all part of One continuum, both pre-determined and willed by some One, somewhere at a certain time. The Matrix is instructive:

“Tonight is not an accident. There are no accidents. You did not come here by chance. I do not believe in chance. When I see three objectives, three captains, three ships; I do not see coincidence, I see providence. I see promise. I believe it is our fate to be here. It is our destiny. I believe this night holds, for each and every one of us, the VERY MEANING OF OUR LIVES.”  - (Morpheus’s speech from Reloaded)

Matt Lawrence, the author of the book Like A Splinter In Your Mind: The Philosophy Behind The Matrix Trilogy adds:

“- He suggests that events in the world are all coalescing around a higher aim or purpose. And yet, despite this inevitability, he still believes in REAL CHOICES – as only partial fatalism allows. He makes this clear in his conversation with the Merovingian:

Merovingian:   You see there is only one constant, one universal; it is the only real truth – causality. Action, reaction; cause and effect.

Morpheus:       Everything begins with choice.””

The stories I have used here are only illustration of a Truth that we all should know. They can all  be seen as parables reminding us that we are all Makers and breakers of our own destinies. Much of what we choose to do determine what we become and what becomes of us even after our bodies have decayed in the soil or evaporated with the fires of existence. Master musicians do not gain their greatness by playing alone to the audience, but it is the many hours spent practicing their craft, both in solitude and within a group that their true worth is accentuated.

With this I reassure myself and you that we are liberated beings who are our own makers and un-makers. We do not have to believe in each others God to do this, we can just do it.

Njeza’s Dlamini’s Story In Short

One of the most amazing human beings I have ever met is a Durban based guitarist by the name of Njeza. When I was finding my feet as a young Poet in and around the BAT Centre – an Arts Centre (which we shall tell more about later), I encountered an elderly yet quite jovial and eccentric gentleman who I never had the opportunity to see sober. King Njazz as I affectionately call him had a love for as much passion for his guitar as he had for a certain beverage called Black Label. Needless to say that after a couple of Black labels at the BAT Centre’s ever changing (perpetually under new management) Bar, this always well dressed and lanky man would take to the stage and improvise on his own versions of some of the traditional Afro-Jazz, Mbhaqanga and even some Rhythm and Blues tunes.

Njeza would never wait for an audience to fill the seats or ask for any permission from the Restaurant/Bar owners; he would simply take to the stage and star riffing. He could sometimes play for hours without taking a break, aside maybe from fetching or calling for another Black Label, casually taking a slow swig and then resume playing what seemed like an beginning-less, lawless and endless strumming in and out of countless recognizable and sometimes obscure melodies. The music defied any categorization and it seemed to be pouring out of the man rather than the instrument itself, once sounding like Philip Tabane, Jimmy Hendricks and George Benson all at the same time.

Once after one of those rebellious solo sessions, a few of which I would join him with my amateur drumming or with my impromptu Slam Poetry or singing, we ended up talking and the subject turned to politics and the way in which a lot of people undervalue live music. I got home and began to write about our conversation with a hope that I would actually make some time to interview this enigmatic, struggling artist who exuded so much positive energy and was so well spoken. Looking at his face though one could not help noticing that underneath all that passion and beautiful music, there was some hidden pain. But perhaps a closer listen to the music would reveal that the pain was not so well hidden at all.

I will transcribe what I wrote then, directly onto these pages, so that the feeling I had at first is not lost:

Feeling For The Beyond:

Liberating Mculo: Will I Am John, John Coltrane!

If I had to speak in the language of the Buddhists or the Vedic sages, I would say that John Coltrane the tenor saxophone supreme wizard managed to free himself from Samsara.

It is also possible that he gave himself what the Japenese siren Miho Hatori called “Sweet Samsara”. Wikipedia gives various interesting translations of what Samsara means – Continuous Movement, and its found in several Far Eastern languages including:

Pali, Sanskrit, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Mongolian, Tibetan, Thai, Vietnamese.

Essentially, “it is a Pali term which translates as Continuous Movement or continuous flowing and in Buddhism, refers to the concept of a cycle of birth and consequent decay and death. It can only be escaped through enlightenment. Samsara is continuous suffering and or (dukkha) and is generally considered the antithesis of Nirvana which literally translates as extinguishing or unbinding. According to the Buddha, the beginning point of Samsara is not evident, just as there is no beginning point to a circle….”

This may all sound strange to a novice, since I begun by saying the Jazz artist freed himself while also saying that he also gained himself ( giving himself sweet samsara), but this is exactly the nature and complex simplicity of Brother John Coltrane, who is dead but never really dead. But then again, someone might claim that artists, writers and other creative geniuses never really die since they leave a long lasting legacy and an inheritance to be followed by many generations to come.

Yet this is different, when we say that the Trane is still moving, we mean it quite literally, we are talking about something much more than a recording artist, someone who exuded and produced a music so profound that life and death were both compounded and subdued in the sound. Please follow me as I re-type some telling passages from the liner-notes of the album Giant Steps:

“All musicians worth hearing during and beyond their time keep growing as their music deepens its hold on the listener. But John Coltrane committed his very existence to continually searching for more possibilities in his music – and therefore, in himself.

After all, he once told me, “the music is the whole question of life itself.”

At home, John Coltrane would practice for hours, sometimes silently – just running his fingers over the keys. He’s pick up new instruments and meditate and listen to recordings of Indian music and the sounds and rhythms of South African pygmies (Khoi San).

At one point, he decided to have two drummers in his group. He went on to add two bass players for a recording. I asked him why, “Because,” he said, “I want more of the sense of the expansion of time.”

A quiet man, excerpt when he played, he would talk softly about his reason for being.“I’m not sure of what I ‘m looking for,” he said to me, “excerpt that it’ll be something that hasn’t been played before. I don’t know what it is,I know I’ll have that feeling when I get it.”

And when he got it, audiences would sometimes shout because of the release of feelings in themselves.”

This is how Nat Hentoff, Co-Editor of The Jazz Review attempted to sum up the work of the Jazz giant at that particular time. It was all about the perfectibility of a feeling, an effortlessness that demanded thorough practice and dexterous composition yet at the same time so deeply spiritual that audiences were both disturbed, moved and emotionally challenged by Coltrane.

The music seemed to come from the man and not just the instrument and this cry was the cry of a man who was seeking the ultimate expression of Self Realization through umculo/music/ngoma.

It is no wonder that he kept a close ear to the rhythms and spiritual elements of India and even he neglected sounds of the South African indigenous peoples, the search was for something beyond the pale, a music which was once was lost to the crowd and could now be found in the freest expression that ever was, Jazz. Yeah, Jazz, listen to it at your own risk!!!

Music Without Fear:

This is a story, well it really is just an introduction for a couple of album reviews that I found interesting. Sometimes I enjoy reading album reviews before or after listening, yet there are times when I do not get to hear the music at all, just enjoy reveling in the Poetic nuances of the words and images.

Fortunately, for those interested in delving deeper into the ‘real’ music, and other parts of the creative process, I have added some links and recommendations:

The following is ‘lifted’ from the Brainfeeder collection of label-mates,.* (add links and pics)

1)

“RYAT
TOTEM
BF029

1. Windcurve
2. Owl
3. Howl
4. Seahorse
5. Hummingbird
6. Footless
7. Invisibly Ours
8. Object Mob
9. Invisibility Cage
10. Raiz
11. Totem

Brainfeeder presents the album Totem by new signee RYAT, a vocalist, multi-instrumentalist, producer and composer of avant-garde electronic music. A serious oeuvre, Totem blends classical elements and cinematic sounds with big beat influences and experimental time changes. Twisting through the gritty, disheveled beats like an elegant ribbon, RYAT’s gracefully processed vocals merge with electronic surprises to create a work of intense abstract art.

Trading the urban jungle of Philadelphia for the concrete badlands of Los Angeles, RYAT’s transformation was juxtapositioned with a new awareness of her natural surroundings and unexpected visits from animals, whose dream partners give the album its name. Every track of Totem represents a different spirit animal, each with a message translated through RYAT’s experimentation with unusual sound signatures.

Lead single “Howl” moves from a thatched start right into a swollen groove, with beats collected into random tide pools, full of unforeseen sounds. Footless” builds tension into a celestial knock with an off-kilter gallop that flies skyward, while the loose drums of jazz-influenced “Object Mob” generate an unexpected emotion of freedom.

Giving us just a glimpse of her journey through fire-filled vocals and captivating sonic twists, poetess RYAT lays an emotional path into a dream where animals speak in music and the beats have come alive.” - Brainfeeder

Add Pictures and other related stats:

2)

“You know that old saying, it’s not the destination but the journey that matters most? The same can be said about the creative process. Some of the most revealing aspects of any project occur during the act of making it. So we say, forget your final version—we want to get into the nitty gritty of your piece in its rawest form. We want to get to know the Work In Progress.

Throughout his career, Strangeloop has progressed his audio and visual endeavors simultaneously. As a member of Flying Lotus’ Brainfeeder crew, he’s released his own productions, as well as created videos for the likes of Daedelus, Jonwayne, Mono/Poly, Lorn, and Austin Peralta, and he’s performed live visuals for an even more impressive roster:Amon Tobin, Kid Koala, Flying Lotus, Kode 9, Hudson Mohawke, Gaslamp Killer, Mary Anne Hobbs, Dorian Concept,Nosaj Thing, Araabmuzik… the list goes on and on.

Distinct as his style is, filled with alien landscapes, unidentifiable imaginary organs, and fractal patterns, his visuals are tailored to the sound of each musician. Lorn gets a looming army of menacing black dominoes, Gaslamp Killer amystic Middle Eastern tapestry, and Daedelus a Victorian stroll on acid.

CONTINUE READING ARTICLE AT: ANAMNESIA / THE CREATORS PROJECT .” – Brainfeeder*

The Science Of Black Noise

This deals with the notion that different people love and hate or are completely oblivious to other forms of music. Once certain people are exposed and get to dig a certain sound, be it popular or avant garde, there seems to be very little that can convince them otherwise. Not everybody is eclectic and not everyone is solely into the mainstream scene.

With these story we shall once again delve a little deeper into the his/her-story of popular music and try and ascertain just what makes certain noises more acceptable than others. We shall start with a brief history of Black Popular music.

It is said that, “ A San Francisco bandleader, Art Hickman, and his pianist-arranger Ferde Grofe’ are generally given credit for inventing the type of dance band which dominated popular music for half a century. Around the time of the First World War they were among the first to write separate music for the reed and the brass sections, combing the higher & lower instruments in each section into choirs, but for dancing rather than listening, as in John Phillip Sousa’s concert band. Hickman seems to have been the first to hire three saxophones, enabling him to write richer harmonies. He also wrote songs, among them ‘Rose Room’, published in 1917. It is surely no coincidence that ‘Rose Room’ is the sort of tune that lends itself to an interesting arrangement, and was recorded by Benny Goodman’s sextet nearly 25 years later or that Duke Ellington’s ‘In a Mello tone’ (1940) is a counter melody to it.” –

Tommy Johnson’s classic ‘Cool Drink of Water Blues’ begins with the famous line ‘I asked her for water/ She gave me gasoline”, and his ‘Canned Heat Blues’ gave the white blues band of the 1960’s its name( Canned Heat ), canned heat was used in cooking stoves; the best known  - It could be dissolved and used as a poisonous beverage by alcoholics.

Bracey was Johnson’s sidekick and recorded a water and gasoline lyric the day after Tommy did. Johnson made a few recordings, but through his unique guitar playing he was one of the most influential of all, along with Robert Johnson. Tommy’s brother Ledell who taught him some guitar, said that Tommy had acquired his final polish by selling his soul to the devil. Son House said the same thing about Robert Johnson, who was not at first thought to be a good player, but disappeared for a while and then turned up much improved.

In the hands of the greatest masters, the blues guitar sang with intensity, and Robert Johnson was a complete master. ‘Hellhound on my Train’ and ‘Me and the Devil Blues’ are perhaps his most apposite titles.

Johnsons death was violent and said to involve a woman; his acolyte Johnny Shines had heard that it was something to do with the black arts. It is now suggested that Robert Johnson was a far more ‘sophisticated’ performer than was hitherto thought, which makes his legacy all the mire interesting. John Hammond tried to find Johnson for his 1938 ‘From Spirituals To Swing’ concerts he produced in 1938 – 9 represented a turning point in American popular culture.” – The History of Popular Music*