16 February 2007
Tiisetso Makube

Flames of passion burn out to leave cold ashes.

“Who once said about Miles Davis,” a friend decides to quiz me , “that whereas others may have played from the heart, Miles played as if he was having heart surgery?” Duh .

“OK, forget that,” he says, “‘Al Green is so good an artist, if only he had tits, even one tit, I would have married the mother******.’ Who said that?”

Again duh , though, really, I should have known.

On another occasion, my friend Zakzen suggests that we end our workday a bit early so we can buy a bottle of whisky and go to his house to watch some jazz DVDs he had just bought. Of course, he was just “shining”, but do you think I care?

One of those DVDs happened to be Blue Note’s celebration of some of the biggest stars in their stable over the years. And when Curtis Fuller and Freddie Hubbard run riot on Bobby Timmons’s Moanin’ – made famous by Art Blakey and his Jazz Messengers – Zakzen just laughs and tilts his head back, saying, “Do you see, mara, how these guys enjoyed themselves and really loved what they were doing?”

At which point my memory moved to another friend, Inch.

Seeing Inch dance, as if in a trance, to Panama Francis’s fantastic tune, Blues in Bea’s Flat, seeing him dance like that as if lost in a universe completely of his and Francis’s at that moment, is to recall a glorious era when music-making was a time- honoured craft for the truly blessed and gifted.

And the reason I am telling you all this? Just to demonstrate the kind of passion that these guys can stir up in some of us.

Everything these guys did musically, we consume the way fire greedily eats up dry veld. Passion. That is the word, the key.

Because, a lot of what we get here at home these days is sadly and depressingly jejune and ephemeral. Very little excites.

Very little, indeed, evokes nostalgia and passion.

The way they play, some of our guys, it is as if the likes of Dudu Pukwana, MacKay Davashe and Kippie Moeketsi never lived.

Where, for instance, is the artist who will compose a piece of music that will define and do for the now what Pat Matshikiza’a Tshona – with Moeketsi on the sax – did for the 1970s and beyond? Or Winston Mankunku’s Yakhal’Nkomo?

I mean, to listen to a guy like Sizwe Zako attempt to play anything at all is to experience a most excruciating torture to the senses.

Or is it that we have nothing lasting to add to the broader South African and indeed the global jazz lexicon?

Please, somebody tell me this is not true, that we are not entering a terrifying nightmare.

And, oh, the answers to the first and second questions are, the writer, Greg Tate, and Miles Davis, respectively. Like I said, I should have known, with the second question.

�?My dad, Felix Thamsanqa Yenana, had a huge collection of music, ranging from jazz to Motown — all the forms of urban black music. My brother also had discs, and I grew up listening to their records and singing along.¹

His father¹s memories, as well as his music, helped inspire Andile¹s career. Yenana senior had been a student at St Peters College in Rosettenville, a school with a strong church-music tradition, where fellow students had included trumpeter Hugh Masekela. (Andile, too, sang in a choir during his schooldays.) �?Already, around nine, my old man had opened my eyes to the world of the arts. Because of that heritage, there¹s no way I could be older in this genre of jazz.¹

When Andile began learning piano, it was with a mission. �?When I picked up that instrument in Zwelitsha Township, it was to play jazz.¹

Andile secured his teaching diploma from Fort Hare University before taking up B. Mus studies under Darius Brubeck at the University of Natal, Durban¹s pioneering School of Jazz and Popular Music. There, he discovered the professional music scene around Durban¹s clubs, and struck up a firm friendship with two other highly focused music students, saxophonist Zim Ngqawana and trumpeter Feya Faku. �?They paid attention to their varsity work, and I admired that.¹

As well as gigging with both his new friends, Andile also formed a jazz outfit band at UND called “Inside Out”. He used to play with Concord Nkabinde, Dumisane Shange, Mfana Mlabo, etc: �?Those were the happiest days, ¹ he remembers.

The friendship with Ngqawana turned into a (so far) 11-year gig, when Andile moved to Johannesburg and joined the reedman¹s quartet. Though the personnel around them has changed over the years, the tough teamwork between sax and piano has endured through all five of Ngqawana¹s albums, starting with San Song, recorded during an exchange visit to Norway in 1996.

But right from the start, Andile¹s career has involved a range of projects and collaborations that have taken him far beyond the conventional jazz small group.

Since they met in Durban in 1991, he has collaborated with saxophonist Steve Dyer and other musicians on pan-African music projects under the title Mahube, with which he has performed across sub-Saharan Africa. He has acted as arranger for vocalists Sibongile Khumalo, Gloria Bosman and Suthukazi Arosi among others, and produced albums for other instrumentalists. Andile won a SAMA as Best Producer for his work with the legendary Winston Mankunku Ngozi on �?Abantwana be Afrika¹. He has also played in the Afro-pop band of guitarist Louis Mhlanga. In mid 2005, he opened for Dianne Reeves at the Johannesburg Joy of Jazz Festival. He has deliberately tried to work with anyone interesting who approaches him: �?It helps broaden my scope.¹

In 1996, Andile and Zim visited the US as part of Black History Month, the first of three visits to Chicago he has made. On the latest, in 2002, fellow musicians gave him the trademark skull-cap that now graces all his stage shows: �?It¹s special to me.¹

Andile also played with Zim in the UK as part of a well-reviewed 1997 collaboration project that performed at the Royal Albert Hall, and at the Nantes Fin de Siecle festival in France.

From the late 1990s, his other main project was the band Voice, a collaboration with Sydney Mnisi, Marcus Wyatt, Herbie Tsoaeli and drummers Lulu Gontsana and Morabo Morajele. They called themselves Voice, because �?we don¹t have to sing on stage to express ourselves: our instruments are our voice.¹

Voice has released two albums and toured Sweden, and Andile has also worked on other releases featuring Wyatt, Tsoaeli, and other artists of his current label, Sheer Sound. With Tsoaeli, he¹s part of Joburg¹s most in-demand rhythm section. That aspect of collaboration is important to him. �?Jazz is an act of collaboration and improvisation. That¹s why I love it so much I am creating with people.¹

But all this time, he was also patiently composing and developing the concept for his first album, We Used To Dance, released in 2003.

Like the Voice albums, We Used To Dance featured original music (from Yenana and Mnisi) alongside works from the canon created by the fathers of South African jazz, such as Johnny Dyani and Dudu Pukwana. It¹s title reflected the historic jazz culture Andile grew up in, where stylish jive steps contributed to the appreciation of the music, adding its own solos to the horns coming from the record-player. �?We need to preserve the legacy,¹ he says, �?and I see myself as contributing to that.¹

We Used to Dance was well-received, and still sells steadily today, and Andile has continued gigging, spreading the gospel of the music.

He has done other work, too, contributing to the score of the Aids documentary �?Shouting Silent¹, and even acting as music director for a TV game show Lilizela Mlilizeli. That¹s part of the mission too. �?I like the idea of having a live band playing instead of musicians miming on television. I¹m glad we can do that without patronising viewers.¹

Andile was selected as the 2005 Standard Bank Young Artist for Jazz, which posed fresh challenges: he had to build up a new outfit and repertoire for his three commissioned concerts at the 2005 National Arts Festival in Grahamstown, back in his native Eastern Cape.

But he embraced the opportunity to try something new, and break what he sees as the sometimes stereotyped mould of the current SA jazz scene. �?We lack a framework or even a societal point of view to express how to do things better. Many musicians just have these little schemes of doing it better for themselves. And from this old boys¹ club point of view, there¹s pressure to toe the line.

�?But musicians are at the forefront of the cultural revolution and deserve to be treated with dignity. We need to be assertive, revise the protocols and have a black agenda.¹

In December 2004, Andile, together with Zim Ngqawana and other South African players like Robbie Jansen, took a trip to the Havana Jazz Festival. On his return, it was straight into the studio to work on his latest album �?Who¹s Got The Map?¹

The new album is a much edgier affair, posing challenging questions about the future of our cultural identity. �?It¹s designed to evoke thoughts about places, spaces, treaties, borders and restrictions – what place does jazz have in the so-called post-modern society, ¹ says Andile.
As for his own future, he¹s working with colleagues from Voice on ways to introduce young players to South Africa¹s jazz heritage. �?I don¹t want a spaza shop (a little corner stall). I¹d like to see a supermarket run by musicians for musicians: a place where, before they go to university, young players can learn about South African jazz before they learn about jazz from overseas.¹

Were it not for what he sees as these duties to music, Andile would prefer to spend his time working on his music, alone.

�?But I love the surprise music can bring to the emotions and spirituality of listeners. And as long as I have the strength and the will-power, I will go on.¹
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WHAT THE CRITICS HAVE SAID:

“Who¹s Got The Map? is altogether an edgier affair. There are percussive passages where stride morphs into intricate, hop-step dance, lyrical moments that explore the beauty of discord as well as harmony, and minimalist melodies hypnotically varied and spun around. The legacy of Monk is clearly here but many of these musical characteristics are equally present in Xhosa tradition, and taking joy in exploring them is something Yenana shares with another Eastern Cape pianist, the late Chris McGregor.” — Gwen Ansell, Business Day

“Witness the Monkish clusters and irregular comping on the opening “Pedal Point,” which centers around a harmonized theme by the horns (saxophonist Sydney Mnisi and trumpeter Sydney Mavudla) until Yenana steps out on his own into a swirling, syncopated, swinging solo statement. The pianist is at his best when he experiments with time and dynamics, introducing a heavy dose of punchy angularity into otherwise straightforward music. The loping funk of “Mr. Harris,” which appears later on the album, has a similar effect.” – Nil Jacobson, All About Jazz

“While every piece on this album is excellent, several stand out. “South Central” and “Pillar to Post” are gorgeous solo piano outings in which Yenana showcases his singing melodic lines and his subtle, shifting harmonies, even exploring new timbres by strumming directly on the piano strings.” – Seton Hawkins, All About Jazz
“Andile Yenana – his lyrical style and fearless exploration of quintet tradition is simply world-class.” Willem Moller, Sunday Times Magazine

“This album, its sheer splendour, the breathtaking vistas to which it takes us, its lyricism, its capacity to awe and summon from the depths of our viscera such pure joyous laughter. Man this is the way” Tiisetso Makube, Sowetan

Nelson Mandela is a darling and icon of the world, and news of his death would make more headlines than Barack Obama’s inauguration as America’s first black president.

Which explains why some of us were livid to learn last week that Mandela’s visit to the Eastern Cape to attend an ANC rally was (dis)organised in a manner that could have placed his life in danger.

But the report itself — and subsequent reaction to it — made me ponder some critical questions about the mind-set of our body politic in relation to our politics in general, and the meaning of Mandela in particular. Oh, and the role of the media, as well.

Let me explain. It is an open secret that many in the newsrooms here and abroad did not like the outcome of Polokwane, where Jacob Zuma emerged victorious in his campaign against Thabo Mbeki.

So what we’ve had since Polokwane has been the sort of reportage and analysis which political commentator Xolela Mangcu fears is a herd mentality when it comes to the ANC.

The media treatment of the ANC since Zuma became its president has been of such a nature that one could rightly ask, as I did this week when I saw that article : where is this coming from?

Is this news for the sake of informing and encouraging debate, or is there another agenda behind all of this?

Quite understandably, Mandela is held in high regard by many of us. The man has literally become a saint.

So when he is seen in public with someone who others see as tainted, corrupt, uneducated, a polygamist (a swear word in some quarters), a thug and a “racketeering personage”, according to COPE’s Terror Lekota, those in the media who are repulsed by Zuma instinctively smell a big and revolting rat.

Because of the way that story was handled, one would be forgiven for having the image of Zuma plotting — and eventually carrying out — the abduction of Mandela!

As if the old man himself is a helpless, non-compos mentis imbecile.

And why would the ANC deliberately put Mandela’s life at risk?

All of this raises the inevitable question: if what happened two weeks ago — the travel arrangements that, reportedly and allegedly, were made posthaste and in a manner potentially carrying fatal consequences — could raise such a huge political storm, what would happen if the man were to die?

Put differently, who is Mandela, to which part of history does he belong and who has the rights to his legacy?

Imagine if the man were to suddenly die and, instead of us giving him a remarkable send-off for a man of his stature, we see squabbling among those who would all claim him and his legacy, and end up giving our towering hero a disgraceful bye-bye to the hereafter!

Perhaps, to belabour the point, we all need to remember what a colossus Mandela is.

He may not agree, but he has, by and large, outgrown the political, narrow confines of the ANC.

Yes, everybody can claim him, but that does not give any person — or formation, for that matter — the automatic claim to him, what he represents and his legacy.

It is, in fact, an insult to all of us when some publicly claim to represent what he stands for when they even trample upon one of his stated principles, which is respect for democratic practice.

Lest it be lost upon us, Zuma is here with us precisely because of a democratic process that saw him emerge as leader of the ANC in Polokwane.

And we will, in all likelihood, see him become president of this country.

We voted for this kind of democratic reality. Let us not change the rules because they favour those against whom we hold a serpent-like dislike.

Tiisetso Makube, Johannesburg

from http://africanewsonline.blogspot.com/

Chapter One

At  four o’clock on this rather wet Saturday morning, Hudson’s Corner in Rivonia was supposed, as required by law, to have closed two hours earlier. And in a technical sense  it was – to everybody else, that is, except the ten jovial people inside – including the proprietor and his trusted lieutenant, Greg –  who were all for one reason or the other, in a helluva celebratory temperament.

Assembled together in the cigar lounge and oblivious to everything else outside their present circumstance and the walls of Hudson’s, the group drank, smoked, laughed and intermittently broke into song. Oh yes, there was much to be happy about, and trying to decide on what was most special to celebrate would have been an exercise in futility. There was, for instance, Nathan Cole’s appointment, just hours before (in fact the day before!), as the CEO of the biggest advertising house in the country, BovNiN, which boasted an annual turnover of R650m. That was indeed worth celebrating! Then there was the wholly unexpected but warmly welcome announcement by Phila Radebe and Cassandra Wilson, that they had decided to get married after all their turbulent ups and downs and general nonsense, and had also agreed on a date – which was on the following Saturday! Added to this, Mzwandile Ndebele had bought five bottles of clean, dry, Moet & Chandon, to celebrate, in his own words, ‘the great escape from the tyranny of the institution of marriage’. His divorce from his temperamental and domineering wife – again Mzwandile’s own words -  had at last and mercifully, been finalized. So yes, there was much to celebrate; including the inauguration later that morning, of Jacob G. Zuma as South Africa’s third democratically elected president; his immediate predecessor, after all, had merely been a caretaker president appointed from Luthuli House. Everyone was merry, garrulous and effervescent. All in good cheer.
And then there was a lull, in which everyone, seemingly, was up to their own thoughts. It was Nathan’s wife, Michelle, who beautifully disturbed it: “You know who guys remind of?!” she asked with a twinkle in her voice, as she set her smiling eyes upon Phila and Cas. “Well, you know, there’s this book I’ve been reading right, eh, by the way what’s it called honey?”, she asked her man. “Which one? As Thousands Cheer?”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one. You see why I love you, dear. Anyway, Phila, the book is about this great – well, supposedly great – American musical composer who grew up poor and was a Russian Jew and whatever. The point is, he was such a talented fellow, hardworking – he is said to have composed over a thousand songs in his lifetime – but the thing is, and here’s the thing, he was such a lonely man, you know. No wife no kids no dogs and…”
“Aw come on and get to the point, Michelle,” drawled a thoroughly pissed Alf Kaufman, “Go ahead and insult us Jews if that’s going to be your punch line, for Christ-sake”. But Michelle, unperturbed, went on: “So, yeah. This guy was so, so lonely, until he found the woman of his dreams, and it’s sort of like, you know, he became a new man. Full of passion, you know, and you know, you guys saying you are getting married, finally, – and thank God for that – I am thinking, well, Phila, who knows, this might be the spark you needed for you to write again. Or what do you think guys?”  Unwittingly, Michelle had touched on a sensitive subject, and tension momentarily threw a blanket of ice over the lounge. But Phila took all of it in good humour, and then declared, “Well, I think I will have a joint to that, if honourable Mr Hudson here, allows.” Reluctantly, and at the quiet nudging and urging of Greg, Tate Hudson, acquiesced. “But only two rolls, hey, Phila! Only two, please. I am already in shit as it is. Don’t want to expose myself to further kak, my friend. But aag, go on and light up. I think I will also join in”.

- an exerpt from “The Hasty – A Novel”