Source: http://jpdonsberg.tumblr.com/

I remember being in high school in Lesotho, back when Channel0 was still airing for free at certain times on SABC1. I remember seeing Looptroop Rockers’ (then Loop Troop) “Fly Away” video. And I remember that round about the same time, they came to South Africa for a series of shows. I also remember thinking that Promoe was Tim Horwood; of course I discovered a tad later that I was wrong.

From then onwards, I’ve remained a firm follower of Looptroock Rockers, from making A4-sized full-coulour print-outs of the artwork which could be downloaded off of their looptroop.nu website (they’ve now switched to looptrooprockers.com); to almost paying good money to hear a copy of their then-newly-released “Fort Europa” album. There are much too many memories, so I thought to do a short post of their top ten videos, along with small nuggets on each one.

1. Fly Away

I remember being in awe of the animation style on this video. I remember getting the “Struggle continues” album and playing the songs on repeat, each time getting incrementally amazed by DJ Embee’s style of production. Round about that time, I became aware of his “Tellings from solitaria” album. But it would be two more years of waiting before I heard it.

Sample lyrics: “I’m sorry for all ‘I’m sorries’ that came too late/ I’m sorry for the times that I went away/ but yo, I’m still here/ ’cause my love came to stay/ remember that, even though the weather is gray today“

2. Fort Europa

This is the title track to “Fort Europa“, their 2006 effort for which I nearly paid money to someone who had an mp3 copy. The intro to that album remains among one of my favourites in hip hop – a ball drops during a round of table tennis; DJ Embee then chops the first few seconds of either side’s throws, creating sizable pieces on which to layer the melody. He then adds piano chords onto the loop, slaps a phat, moog-y bassline, then rounds up the thrill with padded strings. Then the intro segues into this very song, a tale about Europe’s struggles for self-preservation in the new world.

Sample lyrics: “..this way some people snuck in/ only to become second-class citizens/ not listed in the system, not existent in a sense/ ‘illegal immigrants’/…this world is cold and evil , I should’ve never went to Fort Europa“

3. Long Arm of the law

I used to go to a college with fairly good Internet access. During one of the classes held in a computer room, I’d have the Loop Troop website open, downloading videos to watch at home. They were in .wmv format, and this one in particular was about 15MB in size. I marvelled at it for its realism, it’s unassuming nature, and its raw hip hop aesthetic – dope beats, dope rhymes, dope visual imagery.

Sample lyrics: “When the long arm of the law/ is grabbing you/ backstabbing you/ police cars passing you/ on dark avenues, mad lights flashing you“

4. The building

This is a rebellious song; lyrics about burning stuff down. It has the feel of punk’s philosophy about it – the ‘get-down-in-the-moshpit’ neck-snapping danger, however impending it may be. I was listening to this song around the time when Promoe was solidifying his solo standing.

Sample lyrics: “..so my neighbour, the cop/ whom I suspect of beating his wife had to tell me to stop/  and I wish I had the guts to tell him ’bout the noise from his apartment/ but that’s their business that I don’t get involved with“

5. On repeat

I was doing campus radio when this one came out. They put up the link on their website. It was an important song released during a vital moment in Europe’s shift towards the right, attacking the Sverigedemokraterna party incident in particular. It is social commentary at its best – immediate, scathing, and in tune with the times. I remember being excited about hearing DJ Embee’s sound at that juncture. I find it amazing how he manages to upgrade the Looptroop Rockers’ sound with every album – trying out new things, envisioning tested tricks in a new dimension, and bringing some elements of familiarity for the sake of balance.

Sample lyrics: “Well it looks to me/ like our history’s/ running on repeat/ over and over again/“

6. Professional dreamers

Besides their work ethic, I admire Looptroop Rockers’ quest for travel. They are always playing in different places, and documenting some of those processes in their songs. Promoe, for instance, made a reference to their trip to South Africa in his song “Long distance runner“, off of his solo effort of the same name. This particular video was shot in Spain, and was released a few months before the album. They did a cool campaign on their website in the build-up to this; they profiled their heroes in different fields, friends of theirs who were achieving new heights daily in their chosen fields.

Sample lyrics: “I’ve got memories for sale, autobiography/ everything that’s real now started as somebody’s dream/ a vision of the future/ notes on a wrinkled piece of paper like ‘my feet getting too big for these shoes, see you later!’“

7. Looptroop Rockers 20th Anniversary

Well, the video sums it all up. They have been through many set-backs; at one point, one of the members, Cosmic, left. Promoe rapped: “..that’s why I think of the Troop, I try not to think/ that we miss a friend and a member.” But alas, he returned on their “Professional dreamers” album. I’d dig to interview them about their journey thus far; to do a full-ass spread for some publication. Perhaps it’ll happen one day. Their new album is out; it is an all-Swedish affair, and I am yet to give it a listen.

**Thank you to Mikko Kapanen for contributing information and making suggestions for stuff to post. 

In addition to taking some pictures, I also shot and edited this video for JayTip. I had initially wanted to do one continuous shot of him, taken from his perspective, but thought the footage I had wasn’t interesting enough. So I did a freestyle thingie which I hope shall translate to the viewer. The scene where he buys sweets at a spaza shop is my favourite.

JayTip – Time Will Tell (#TWT) from Corporate Nemesis on Vimeo.

I’ve been assisting my homie JayTip with some visual elements for his instrumental project, “Time Will Tell”. It’s been a fun process, and I thought to share some of the outcome. Above is the actual project sleeve.

This picture was taken at a spaza shop where JayTip was buying some sweets.

Perfect opportunity to capture, with that sun providing natural glare in the background. I told the homie to consider modelling.

Overall, the album is a decent listen. Do head over here to download, and check out his other work on soundcloud.

“It sounds very ‘urban’” was the first thought I had when the song’s opening chords sounded; synth-laden lushes with hard-panned electro-stabs to boot. Quite a phenomenon, isn’t it, this obsession with pedestrian EDM sounds? Bar from my reservations about appropriation of fringe cultures by the mass market, it is a decent song. Kenya’s Camp Mulla, introduced to me over a year ago through the 25tolyf blog, collaborate with Ghana’s M.anifest on a song so water-tight it wouldn’t need to jostle its way onto commercial radio playlisting to be noticed. M.anifest’s ascent has been nothing short of inspiring; barely a year has elapsed since he moved back to Ghana from America, but his list of achievements – regular performances, countless collaborations, and award nominations – are testament to his focus and relentless work ethic.

Camp Mulla ft. M.anifest – “All In”

A name such as Looney TKR doesn’t not exactly inspire confidence when one hears it, so it’s left to the man himself to purge any doubts about his lyrical capability. Moving effortlessly between straight-ahead hip hop beats and Azonto-flavoured grooves, Too-Known-Rapper (that’s what the TKR stands for) has lyrics and flow as his strongest points. This song has no frills about it, and he makes it known from the on-set. Barely ten seconds into the song, the listener is treated to a tank-full of spit-fire delivery over a bare-bones beat structure reminiscent of b-boy breaks. The narrative is strong too; recalling The Last Emperor’s “Secret wars“, Looney pits some of Ghana’s top spitters against each other for a duel-to-the-death-type of battle. Look out for a flurry of name-dropping, from M3nsa vs Wanlov to Sarkodie vs Yaa Pono.

Quotable: “I’m ill, better stop breathing/ for what reason?/ my flow, dey mek u catch a cold in a hot season“

Looney T.K.R. – “Too Known Rapper”

I like rap music for its ability to transplant anyone from their environment and introduce them to a whole new lifestyle. This song does exactly that, pilfering from pop sensibilities of modern-day production to re-present an image of kasi portrayed in popular culture series such as Yizo-Yizo. The Gusheshe is somewhat of a status symbol in the hood – or at least used to be. It epitomised the notion of having ‘made it’; it was a pantsula’s wet dream. In 2013, Cassper Nyovest and Okmalumkoolkat borrow from that symbol and use it as a backdrop to weave narratives of their lives through the lens of Johannesburg, South Africa. The results are scintillating; the quotables stimulating; the music infectious. Bump this one really loud in your system.

Link: http://www1.datafilehost.com/d/b212ec58
Quotable: “Middle finger to my exes/ bring finger to my next chick“

I have, for a while now, been toying with the idea of writing about rap music that I’ve listened to and liked in that week. The concept stemmed from my realisation that I needed to keep in touch with what is happening with rap movements across the continent, from links which constantly stream on my twitter timeline; to random nuggets that I run into either while doing a quick check-in/check-out on facebook; receiving e-mails from newletters that I signed up to; or mining the infinite audio treasure that is soundcloud.

But there’s so much other good music; some of it mainstream, some of niche, but all of it brilliant and affecting, in equal parts. Hence the idea morphed into a new life-form. I shall endeavour to write (bi-)weekly about the good music I find while scrolling through the interwebs; welcome to part 1.

Dirty Parraffin – Pabap (Ox++ remix)

Rob Brink is known to Cape Town music circles for two things: as drummer for the band Beatenberg, a folksy, Beatles-meets-Dejohnette with a Mingus-esque smoothness; and electronic music producer of note, turning up the dancefloor with beats in the region of 130 while finding time to crank up footwork-inspired production for the likes of Dirty Paraffin. I remember the bare-bone beat structure as he showed it to me in Ableton; I inquired about the progress not so long ago. I love the results!

(P.S. Rob’s other hobby is painting; check out his blog)

Snoop Dogg – No guns (ft. Drake and Cory B)

Much has been said about Snoop’s recent artistic metamorphosis. I’ve missed most of it; I have found that, after a few listens, valid points just become noise, with life getting chocked out of them by the part-truth-mostly-fiction ‘reality’ of the media. I watched the video for his “Reincarnated” documentary the day it came out; I learnt about the people involved in the project (Major Lazer), and can remember that frame in the trailer where Bunny Wailer christens him Snoop Lion. It did come as a surprise when, a couple of months later, I saw news headlines of Wailer berating Snoop for apparently derailing from the tenents of Ras Tafari.

This song, then, came as a happy moment in mine and Snoop’s relationship. See, eversince getting his “Doggfather” CD close to fifteen years ago, we’ve had our on/off moments. Things have gone from thorny, to mild, to almost-there, to utter disappointment and right back. What I haven’t lost for Snoop, however, is respect for his innovative nature, his ability to stand firm in a fickle industry. That is why I like this song; it is Snoop Dogg disguised as a reggae messiah, perhaps to enlighten  perhaps for more sinister reasons. Whatever the case, and with America’s current problem with guns, not to mention Drake’s alluvial star, Snoop managed to grab my attention.

Zubz – Purpose (ft. Melvin “Melly Mel” Biza)

It’s that undulating piano riff, nothing else! It evokes a feeling, it makes one revel in wonderment. It invites you into its household, then orders you around; “sit down!”, it exclaims to your beholden self. This it does, this undulating piano riff, in ways unexplored; or perhaps those ways are so well-known, so entrenched in one’s conscience, that hearing them is guaranteed to bring a smile. Mine and Zubz’s relationship has taken a severe beating eversince his phenomenal 2009 album, “Cochlea: One last letter.” I have a feeling this song might go a long way in mending that relationship. I’ve bought every album that he has released; I got my first copy of “Listener’s digest“, his debut offering, from Lesotho-based rapper Skebza for R80. He [Zubz] signed the other two for me, “Headphone music in a parallel world” and the aforementioned “Cochlea…“. He has a new album on the way entitled “DragonLion_FullCircle.” Let’s wait and see how that shall fare.

***In writing-related news, I’ve been in pursuit of an interview with Sesotho music extraordinare Mants’a since the year started out. We were supposed to meet this weekend, but it has not occurred yet. Here’s to hoping something pans out.

Trailer: The Capacity of Capcity from Sara Chitambo on Vimeo.

For the past four weeks, plus/minus, I’ve been helping edit Sara Chitambo’s documentary on the Pretoria music scene. I’d been looking to get back into video editing this year, and that seemed like a really cool opportunity. I suggested that I’d like to do it; she hesitated a bit, but ended up letting me roll with it after the person she’d initially thought of turned out to not be progressing as swiftly as she would’ve liked. It’s been a trip; I’ve learnt a lot!

Still: Supa in the documentary The Capacity of Capcity

I’ve learnt about the importance of scenes (PTA’s rap scene was something of a marvel); my resolve for writing strong hip hop pieces has been rekindled; I’ve delved into the unknown and come out breathing. But now comes the worries of how it’s going to get received. It should be interesting to experience. For now, however, I’m bumping some Becomingphill beats while scheming to finish up on some edits. Trompie has released instrumentals to his “1990 EP” by the way; head over here to get a hold of them.

I’m editing Sara Chitambo’s documentary entitled “The Capacity Of Capcity.” It is an outsider’s look into the bust that followed Pretoria’s hip hop boom between 2004 and 2007/8. She was residing in Cape Town at that time, and became curious as to why there weren’t any of the shows she’d been hearing about during that period.

The documentary aims to offer expert analyses and insider perspectives on issues ranging from ‘the early days of Pretoria hip hop‘ through to ‘the demise of the State Theatre gigs.‘ In-between, informed narratives forge a tight-knit story – so tight-knit, I suspect, that a huge chunk may have been left on the editing floor due to time constraints – story well-worth engaging with.

It’s currently at just under fourty minutes long. There’s an awesome list of amazing people to look forward to, among them Nombongo, Mizi, Simone, Damola, and Mycbeth (who now goes by the name Mad Max). The nerves are building up and doubt’s beginning to kick in…

This should ideally be done by the 27th April, where the plan is to debut it at Back To The City 2013.

On the writing front, I landed a cool gig through Mahala to cover a dance competition knock-out – Redbull’s Beat Battle Pretoria and Jozi editions. It sparked a curiousness in me to write on Pantsula culture, which I grew up around, but could never proclaim to have understood. Here’s to hoping it happens.

Last night I found myself – as one does on a rainy evening – going through my twitter feed when I came across a remix of Ice Prince’s hit song “Aboki“. The version features a cross-continental flux of mainstream rappers, from Ghana’s Sarkodie to South Africa’s Khuli Chana. Then it struck me: there is an increasing amount of these types of collaborations happening across the continent, but they only seem, to me at least, to be a mainstay of mainstream rappers.

Then I thought: what if we could form an underground rail-road that would enable us to freely share and contribute to each others’ projects in a meaningful way? It doesn’t only have to be confined to the hip hop space, but since hip hop is my forte, that’s what I am most interested in. Think about it: blogs, publicists, artists, videographers, etc., all underground, all pushing towards building a unified movement with a singular vision. In that way, we can by-pass all mainstream media and form our own network.

I am planning to try out writing full-time this year. So I thought ‘what better space than on-line to display my skillset and test ideas, to finally harness the potential of the language that is new media. Isn’t that what writing is for any anyway, to engage with people? A writer writes for their work to be read; whether (s)he is willing to admit that to themselves or not warrants another discussion altogether.

I’ve written stuff for many people, and for every single one of them I’ve wondered, whether consciously or unconsciously, whether people are reading my thoughts, and whether there are any comments on those thoughts that I have written down. My American accents piece, which is an idea that Andy had pitched to someone else before passing it onto me, took me about four months to complete. That was my longest story at that point, time-wise (well, not really; Mr Sakitumi’s profile took a while, as did a couple others). But it was my most viewed article on Mahala. BBC’s Africa Have Your Say picked up on it and retweeted it. I believe it generated some traffic (or maybe it did not, but at least Andy included it in the Best of 2012 list).

My review of Zakes Mda’s memoirs generated a tweet from him, and this after I had tweeted six days prior asking whether I could meet him for an interview. He still has not got back to me; nor has Sibongile Khumalo‘s publicist; neither has Bokani Dyer, who supplied me with his personal e-mail address so that I could contact him. I want to reach out to people, but sometimes people don’t want to be reached. I could bitch about it on twitter, complain about how rappers aren’t taking themselves too seriously in terms of social media skills and replying to e-mails.

I could also write about how Lira‘s agent tried to use me to get through to a brand I was commissioned to write something on her for, but that would be lazy. I prefer to think my stories through. Yes, some ideas might have sucked, while some more are still going to suck. But the entire truth is that the stories were thought through – whether in a bright moment analyzed in a period of darkness, or a hazy occurrence given light while one’s mind is having lucid dreams.

I am not a loud person. I am not talkative, unless I am nervous (and I deny this a lot – being nervous), or we are acquainted. So perhaps writing is my silent way of shouting, of screaming, of re-enacting, in my own words and in my own tone, the story of a village’s noise when it rescued from the belly of the beast by Mohlankan’a Sankatana.

PS. Results are going to vary. Sometimes I may come off as quite cocky and self-assured, but at least I am willing to put all of that ‘out there’.

Image by Ference Isaacs

At 21 years old, Kyle Shepherd burst into the South African jazz conscience without prior warning. Following in the footsteps of heavyweights such as Marcus Wyatt, Andile Yenana, and Zim Ngqawana (whom he would collaborate with in future), Shepherd demonstrably proved that he is a presence worthy of reckoning. A couple of years down the line, coupled with culturally-fulfilling work and collaborative social exploits with the likes of filmmaker Dylan Valley (Afrikaaps), as well as Aryan Kaganof and the late Zim Ngqawana on “Exhibition of Vandalism”, we sat down to discuss identity, journeying through sound, culture, and survival in contemporary South African society.

What is the significance, time-wise, of your new project “South African History !X”?

I’ve for a long time been interested in the history of South Africa, and the history of my ancestry and lineage, and trying to understand it. And also trying to uncover the truth behind it because, as you know, a large part of our history – especially the history of people of colour in this country – has been supressed and buried alive in many ways. So I’ve been trying to uncover it in an attempt to just know myself and understand myself, and understand our country as a whole. And I’m still on that mission; it’s proving to be quite difficult because these things are pushed so deep. I wanted to create an album because it is a document that sort of throws it in time forever; I wanted to create an album that is dedicated to that history and uncovering that history

It definitely is not an easy thing, but do you feel that with this album you have begun the journey to re-discover the history of the First People of the land?

Well, I don’t think one album of music can do the history of the First Nation people or the ‘indigenous people’ any justice, but it’s my humble attempt at acknowledging the respect I have for the history.  There’s only so much you can do in an album because it’s also still a musical statement, with some non-musical meaning attached to it. So it’s really just my humble attempt at bringing to light these historical things and paying my respect to the traditions.

So how do you decide on the balance between making a socio-political and cultural statement, and going all-out as a composer?

Well, each album is a world unto its own, so this album is kind of like a concept album, but it isn’t, the reason being that I never really set out to compose music according to this concept. I compose all the time, so I’m never composing with an album in mind. But once the compositions are there, and once I come up with an idea for the album, I choose compositions that suit the idea. With this album the concept really came later. I have this fantasy that there are certain messages, and with this album it’s this historical interest. The hope is that people who are attracted to the music might pick the album up, enjoy it, be moved by the music, and then also take time to think about the title. So the music serves a greater purpose.

You have the likes of Zim Ngqawana and Buddy Wells on the album. Being that you are part of the more ‘current’ generation of jazz cats, how important was it to bring that side of the lineage – the not-so-old, but not-really-new either – into the fold?

For me, it was a great honour to have a great master on one of my albums. Not long after he recorded with me, he unfortunately passed away. He only plays on one track, but the importance of that to me is indescribable. I’ve spent a lot of time with him, travelled and played with him, and learnt so much from him. I can’t think of a better way to honour my relationship with him than to have him play on the album.  It’s one thing to play live; it’s great, and that’s that moment. But the beauty of an album is that it’s a certain moment that will be frozen in time forever. I’m so deeply honoured to have Zim on this work, for my own relationship with him, but also for music in this country in general. As for Buddy Wells, I have specific reasons why I  play with the musicians I play with, and Buddy’s somebody I’ve played  with on my first album, and it’s been years now that we’ve been  playing together. I love his playing style and his sensitivity and musicality. I think I’ll play with him for a long time. You find certain musicians that you connect with; I don’t really like to chop and change musicians. I like to play with the people I play with for very specific reasons. They give me what I want, but they also inspire me in many ways, and I really dig their musicality.

True. And everytime we see you, it’s always the core set-up of Jono Sweetman on drums and Shane Cooper on bass…

I really believe in honest connections. The truth is we don’t connect with everyone. If there are ten bass players in Cape Town, you may connect with only one. And I have connected with them, we work well together, and I really appreciate what they do with me, and what they do outside.

Can you just explore the concept of music as a process of healing, especially after being involved in bra Zim Ngqawana’s “Exhibition of Vandalism” project? What did you learn from that experience?

Zim was – it sounds like a paradox – but he was a warrior of healing.  Everything he did was in line with that. A jazz musician who is dedicated to true creativity and to depth in music, and to spirituality in music, finds it very hard to function in this world of ours. So whenever we play, it is an attempt at healing, for ourselves firstly. If that is achieved in the self, then for the people listening as well. So the “Exhibition of Vandalism”, although it was a very painful experience…I mean, I spent some months at this Institute of Zimology that they vandalised, and it was so painful to see the place in tatters. I credit it to Zim’s creative genius that he came up with the performance art piece that we did, and used what happened to create something. He could have sat back and did quite a few interviews on TV; he could have spoken about the problems in South Africa, complained, and attacked people. But instead he understood the process, and he created something.

So out of the pain…

…comes creation, yes. And it shows you what his dedication was, his dedication was to creativity.

Now, take us through the experiences you had working with Dylan Valley on the Afrikaaps project. What types of experiences did you have, and how was it touring with that outfit? Did you feel that people ‘got it’?

I think in Cape Town people definitely got it, and I got to see how people were moved by it, and also how people were liberated by that information. Because here in Cape Town you have this group of people who speak Afrikaans, but for such a long time were made to think that they were instrumental in Apartheid because they speak Afrikaans. And that was the misconception of Afrikaans, that it was a tool of Apartheid – and it eventually was because the National Party used it.  But in Afrikaaps we trace the history and we realise that it’s actually a language of the people. I know in the rest of the country there’s still this negative outlook on the language, but I found that Cape Townians who speak the language and watched the show were incredibly liberated. Because here we were saying ‘listen, it’s okay’, and we backed it up with historical accounts and with facts, and you can’t argue with facts. And for me too, it was a spiritual liberation also; we are a valid people, we are fine, and what we do is valid. And the reason why I participated in Afrikaaps was solely because of the message, solely. I think the message now lives on beyond the show, the show’s maybe twenty percent of the bigger picture.

The Goema/ Cape Malay beat informs some of the songs on your previous albums, but we feel it has been employed extensively on these projects.  Why?

Well, why not? It’s a thing that I grew up with culturally. I saw those things in the communities that I lived in. It’s strange when you enter into jazz and you go to University, and I left University for this reason, because it’s not celebrated among jazz musicians. And it’s a strange thing, because it’s such a valid music. And also, besides it being a Capetonian thing, it’s our link to the rest of Africa and the East. Because if you go around the coast of Africa, East and West, it’s the same beat. And if you even go to South America, it’s the same beat, of course evolved in different ways. You go up to parts of Nothern Africa, it’s the same thing. For me, it’s probably the most universal rhythm, and we of course have our own way of articulating it. And so it’s our link to everything.

A ‘universal beat’ type of thing

Ja, exactly! And it’s very elemental. Have you ever noticed, when every child starts to hit around, they’re playing that beat, just check it out. It’s probably the most natural thing.

Don’t you worry that by embracing the Cape beat and Cape tradition, that you are being myopic in a way, in much the same manner that people from elsewhere in South Africa view the ‘coloured’ community in Cape Town?

That’s why I never go out and say ‘I only play Cape music’. It’s one aspect to my music-making, and an important aspect. And in many ways it’s also important for me to break that ‘coloured’ stereotype. If you  think of someone like Biko who embodies an African man with great  intelligence, then I think it’s very important as well for Capetonians  to present themselves in that way. It’s unfortunate that in every other artistic sector, whether it be dance, drama, or comedy, Coloureds are always portrayed in that (demeaning) way. I’m tired of that, because there’s so much more, so much nuance to the people. It’s so sad that people limit us in that way, in the same way that anyone would limit a black man or a white man. Stereotypes are unfortunately around, but we have to break through that.

How are you breaking down those stereotypes? Are you maybe involved in projects or workshops to combat that mentality?

Not in that form, but I really do feel that my job as a musician is to keep playing music on a certain level, and keep making albums. That’s my way of saying things. The best way of saying things for me is  unfortunately not in a workshop situation; for me the best way is to  play, because in that way then people can make up their own minds,  interpret, and be fulfilled or not.

Image by Ference Isaacs

What was the thinking behind signing with Sheer Music?

For the first two albums, I opened my own record label to release my music. Being independent as a record label is just a lot of work and a lot of resources, and I got myself to a point that I couldn’t go further, the scarcity of resources being the main reason. Sheer has always been a label that has supported South African jazz, and they have great artists on their catalogue. For me to be on that stable is a great honour, and also a natural next step.

You left varsity due to the lack of acknowledgement that you saw for South African jazz as a whole; there’s no emphasis on learning South African jazz standards, for example. Do you think there is a chance, especially with the cats coming up now who are becoming teachers, to break that mould?

It’s unfortunate that the cats taking on those roles are already bred by the University. So I’m not seeing a drastic change; perhaps the change is slow, but I’m not seeing it. And it’s unfortunate because there are generations of young people who come out of high school and into University, and they go through the same thing. And the sadness is that they don’t know themselves, the emphasis is not on self- discovery. For me, if your roots are European-African, and you  discover yourself as someone that’s meant to play Western classical  music, then for me that’s honest. At least you went through the process of self-discovery. At University, there isn’t an encouragement for that. The modules are already set, you are forced into a traditional way – which is great – but I think as a lecturer, the responsibility is to open the mind of the student, and let the student decide. Maybe you’re a free jazz pianist, or maybe you’re a traditional pianist in the style of Budd Powell or whatever; you should be allowed to study that, but that’s not the case.

Would you at some point take it upon yourself to rectify that?

Up till this point, I think that my stand against it is my work and me leaving, and me also openly speaking about my feelings about the Institution as a whole – and I do speak about it quite often. I’m not  sure what more I can do right now, but I think in the future, I would  like to teach a few students and impart the knowledge that I have  gained from other great masters; people like Zim, people like  Abdullah.

Looking at the history of great musicians, they were so ‘into’ their work that it ended up consuming them; the likes of Charles Mingus and Thelonius Monk for instance. How are you guarding yourself against the ideals that consumed so many others before you?

For instance, in the case of Monk, or even our South African people, people like Bra Hugh, Abdullah and Miriam Makeba that had to go into exile, their work kept them alive spiritually. They kept strong in the face of persecution. In our context, with the changing world and a globalised vision, you almost have to be going through life with blinkers, but with some holes in those blinkers so that you are also aware of your direction. I like to do what I’m doing, but I’m very aware of what’s going on around me, I know what people are doing. And I also know what contemporary guys are doing in new movements in hip- hop, new movements in jazz.

Jazz is big in South Africa, and one only needs to go to the townships in order to fully grasp that. But it is not very easy to sustain one’s livelihood purely from shows. How do you find your way around that?

This is the thing, whenever I travel to Europe or Japan, I get a sense that the people over there have hundreds of years head-start in terms of concert-going. In African traditions, the function of music was different. It was never the performer there, the audience here; it was integrated, and everybody took part. And also dance, music, and poetry were never separated, they were a communal thing. That’s why we haven’t gotten to where Europe is in terms of concert-going. If you think of classical music, it’s already so deeply engrained in the public’s mind that they will pay to go and see somebody perform. We are slowly getting there now. But I also think it’s a beautiful thing that we have, because I think the moment you separate the audience from the performer, it then becomes like a group of people watching a race- horse, and seeing how fast it can run. I think true music-making is beyond concertizing – that’s only one part of it. True music-making is beyond that, it’s personal.

Website: http://www.kyleshepherd.co.za

(This post originally appears on Mahala)