Tag: Hillbrow

Mike Leather’s vintage biker’s boutique: A homage to Joburg’s vibrant 80s punk past

One of my favorite hidden gems in Joburg just so happens to also be a “tribute to South Africa’s punk and alternative scene” past! On Jan smuts, opposite the Goodman gallery lies an entrance surrounded by a leather garments display, and if you’re lucky you will see a black and chrome bike with dangling tassels outside the entrance. A “punk rock” machine on two wheels signals that the owner and founder of the store Add-Vintage, Mike Leather, is currently on site.

Born and raised in Joburg, Mike would become involved in leather works by honing his craft at Joburg’s Market Theatre, making his own clothes. “Back then I Started making styles for myself. Me and my Bro were punk’s back then.

“I used to have a Mohawk and arm bands with the studs.” He had (and from just looking at his amazing array of jackets in the store has kept) a grand collection of 80’s leather punk jackets. He knew the styles and made sure to keep up to date with the underground trends,

“It was the 80’s. Anything I had in those days that was different you could not buy. You had to make your own style”. Punk’s like Mike and his brother, Quiet, would frequent Yeoville and Hillbrow at that time. Their friends would hang around their crib to start the evening’s festivities and then they would make their way to the main jol. “We partied in ‘Subway’ downtown and at ‘Doors’ which was based in Carlton Centre. Everybody was there as there were few places within the scene you could go. People from overseas would come to South Africa to hang around Newtown. That was the place to hang around to find that style of people. The jols, the homies all stayed downtown”.

These were the places where their friends were every Saturday and Saturday. It was here that you would find the movement. The Joburg Punk movement was downtown near the market theatre. “That’s why when one said they wanted to ‘hang out’ you would find your homies, the parties, the clothes; everything you needed was there”.

I was blessed to have Mike give me a historical account of his own style. Where he came from it was all about creating things, your own style and from there he begun making his own leather shoes and clothes. Eventually I’m wearing the gear and people were like they want it! So I would make for myself and then people started ordering from me and that’s where it started.

He explains what the trends in the 80’s were like to me: “So many things are happening today. Back then, those days in the 80’s you didn’t see somebody different. Back then a black punk with white boys playing rock, jamming to punk music, it was something very different for people out there. People saying things like ‘they are drug addicts’. They didn’t know what to think about us. Also it wasn’t easy because being different at a time that was mostly formal.” His style was too spaced out for the crowd, a mainstream crowd deep within the cultural yolk of apartheid.

“Now my style and that of my bro was more English punk. We’d hang out in subways. This was something double different to see at the time. As both black men who were also enjoying the music with white people. It wasn’t easy to be different back then and also hang around with the white boys. It was very tough. The way people look at you and think of you. They thought punks are Satanists. There would be this thing where being dressed up in black would get goths and punks put together, stereotyped as being the same and being called ‘Satanist’. Those that were different were put into the same stereotype regardless of their race.

Mike explains how today it’s much easier to be “different”. For him the different styles can be seen on TV and you can easily get them at the stores. “Back then there was no TV. If you did your style you did it by yourself. The underground movement styles changed due to introduction of TV”. The cheapening of the devices created a new advent of access to the various styles within popular culture. But with TV also meant an increase in access to cheaper garments that reflected this popular style.

“My clientele understand me. Back then with punks and gothics you knew exactly how to move with the trends or your style. Punk was doc martin, studs, leather jackets. Those are the things you did. Now it’s not as distinct. TV dictates the styles. Today I have a variety of people coming into my store. When I young with bro we used to have a shop in Hillbrow called ‘Kingdom Leather’ that was front opposite the New Metro. I used to ride when I was young. I was a Punk, a rider, the same movement that I came from. These were the clientele that we served”. These are the clientele that he continues to serve today.

When one enters his ADD-vintage store on Jan Smuts you are entering a period in South Africa that’s not really talked about. “Not much has been different in my store from back then. I knew exactly who my clientele was, the punks, the rockers, the riders. You don’t see punks, goths like you did back then”.

He explains how today you find people who don’t know themselves and their style. I would even add that we are over exposed to mainstream trends. “Mostly, today you get stuff anywhere and so much of the style depends on the person. You can get the stuff Chinese made but not with quality”. For Mike it’s the quality that defines his brand and I would even say ‘the style’.

He describes how the people he sees nowadays are those with a very strong sense of style, the new punks, those who dress differently. “When they come into my store they say ‘WOW, I haven’t seen a shop like this for many years’, you know what I mean? This reminds them of stores like those found in London Camden market. The punks and stuff are still happening now but not like here”. Mike’s store presents the style as it was done back then. He explains how some people still want something specially made. “They want to go somewhere you know the stuff is quality. This is where the difference comes with my shop”.

“Others are afraid of the shop. They don’t know about the jackets, about the movement. So this is what is happening.” Today his clientele is not so well defined and so all sorts may enter his store. His store is a representation of a time of defiance. Those who know their punk, rock and style history will know of the importance of such to those who would wear their defiance! It’s overwhelming to enter this store as it also speaks to a very specific time in style history. If you look carefully you can even observe some leather bondage gear (of highest quality of course), a skull helmet and plenty of metal stud jewelry.

This style is experienced sensually within the store! One is greeted with the all-consuming scent of leather. Make no mistake this store is all about the leather, bottom to top, and its shelves brimming with fine leather vintage and biking goods. One wall houses a beautiful collection of white cow boy leather boots that would make any Dolly Parton fan flush with excitement. His store is one of quality, long lasting wear that will not only test the strength of time but test the wearer’s grit in being able to keep the movement alive!

The shop can be found on 144^th street on Jan Smuts Avenue
in Johannesburg (opposite the Goodman gallery). Operating hours are from 9am to 5 on weekdays. You can also contact Mike directly on
0837282274 and he will gladly assist you with your queries.

8 February 2017
Mma Tseleng- The Kwaito Monument

In the 1990s, South Africa experienced the subcultural supernova of Kwaito. Fuelled by post-1994 optimism, and inspired by international hip hop, dancehall and house, local artists created a thriving underground of music, dance and fashion, spread through cassette tapes and taxi sound systems. In almost no time at all, this became the mainstream with the youth captivated by the music’s style, fun and adventure. Kwaito was both populist in appeal and musically progressive. Songs like Alaska’s ‘Accuse’ and Fester’s ‘Jacknife’ still sound as fresh as ever. Although the genre has receded in visibility, its influence is still felt throughout contemporary music.

As a young person, Rangoato Hlasane (Mma Tseleng) was caught in this cultural shockwave. From a small village with no electricity, his first exposure to music was the 80s bubblegum and reggae blaring out of taxis. As 1994 came around, he was at a perfect age to have his mind blown by the pioneers of kwaito, as well as the US rap and R&B which flowed in as the country ended its cultural isolation. As a fan, Hlasane built up an extensive music collection, but it was only in 2009 that he found his true calling as a kwaito DJ and archivist. When a DJ failed to turn up at a Drill Hall party he stepped to the plate and has been playing live ever since.

Along with performing, he has also become a historian of the recent past. He started doing ‘boom box walks’ through Hillbrow, finding the spots where the early pioneers of Kwaito lived, played and dreamed. These trips were commemorated with a special map featured in the book Not No Place, by Dorothee Kreutzfeldt and Bettina Malcomess. The book itself is an excellent secret history of Jo’burg and Hlasane’s map is one of the highlights, showing the bars and nightclubs where some of the early sound was birthed. He also created the irreverent ‘limited edition cassette-sleeve publication that explored early industry beefs in Kwaito’.

With Malose Kadromatt Malahlela, they have curated a live memory project called Thath’i Cover Okestra, an evolving pan-African Okestra that investigates the meaning and importance of Kwaito music’s legacy for a new generation. Its premise – a speculation into the direction that Kwaito could have taken post-2004 positions the project as both nostalgic and futuristic, thus appealing to a wide audience that cuts across age, race and geography. Through this collaborative exploration, what emerges is a new super nostalgic African futuristic spiritual chant non-genre. The story of Thath’i Cover has thus far been featured in Tsitsi Ella Jaji’s magnificent Africa In Stereo: Mordenism, Music and Pan-African Solidarity (2014, Oxford University Press) and the recently published The Art of Public Space. Curating and Re-Imagining the Ephemeral City (2015, Palgrave) by Kim Gurney. Such interventions memorialise the living legacy of the genre and help deepen its impact on the present.

Mma Tseleng loves the late Lebo Mathosa, he made a song for her:

Thath’i Cover Okestra

27 June 2016
City on Faya: Johannesburg’s Nocturnal Afropolis As Told Through 5 Reggae/Dancehall Hotspots

A pool of blue light, ebb-flow bodies and scented smoke: It’s difficult not to close my eyes as I sink in. Little specks of orange rise to form shining patterns above our heads as we respond to the call ‘lighters up!’ Throats lifted to the stage lights, the crowd echoes Lucky Dube then plunges their hips into a Vybz Kartel grind. Every hour or so, Dancehall Queens ignite the stage with ululating hips and acrobatics, enthralling the audience with flips, splits and headstands.

It’s Thursday night at the Bassline — a long-standing institution on the Johannesburg reggae scene. DJs Admiral and Jah Seed have been holding down the decks in Newtown for fifteen years: first passing through Horror Café and Carfax to finally settle at the Bassline. Each week, streams of partygoers are drawn under the highway on Henry Nxumalo, through a corridor of rasta-themed street sellers and into the expansive dance hall.

‘Is Soweto here?’ a voice echoes from the pulpit, attracting a few muffled responses. He tries again. ‘Is Nigeria here?’ A choir rises in response. Finally: ‘Is Zimbabwe here?’ and a chorus reverberates throughout the room.

Bob Marley’s 1980 performance at the Zimbabwean Independence Celebrations has knotted reggae into the country’s cultural fabric. ‘Natty Dread it in-a Zimbabwe; Set it up in Zimbabwe; Mash it up-a in-a Zimbabwe; Africans a Liberate Zimbabwe’. A reggae soundtrack for an anti-colonial, Pan-Afrikan politics. Recycled, reconfigured and re-imagined, reggae has become enmeshed in the continent’s musical catalogues, along with its offshoot genres, dub, ska and dancehall. In each case, the continent has imprinted itself stylistically — an African reggae palimpsest.

In my meandering from one reggae nightclub to the next, I was also mapping the cartography of Johannesburg’s Afropolitan city. At its centre — Yeoville — often described as the United Nations of Africa. This year, Yeoville has been a nucleus for the city’s Africa Day celebrations, hosting parades, symposiums, and live performances.

My nocturnal meander pulled me down Rockey Street, where flashing lights spill bodies out onto the pavement. Pulsating bass lines reverberate back and forth between the building facades, many of them with club venues at their base. Long before you glimpse its signage, you can hear House of Tandoor: Reggae dancehall cascading from its balcony, overflowing with red, green and yellow. This was where Jah Seed and Admiral originally got their break. In contrast to the hefty R100 entrance fee at Thursday Bassline, Tandoor remains free. Above our heads, an arched tribute to Great African Leaders: Patrice Lumumba, Chris Hani, Julius Nyerere, Elijah Muhammed, Walter Sisulu. A dark, narrow entrance and two flights of metal stairs lead up to Tandoor’s rooftop. Plastic garden chairs splayed across the tiled floor, filled with mostly men (but some women) — a congregation of beer and bobbing heads. Another crowd alongside the bar, gathered around the two pool tables. The DJ booth, illuminated by wall art, attracts a crowd swaying and skankin’. It’s a hypnotic swirl of dreadlocks and headscarves, hoodies and low-slung jeans, denim and Timberlands.

Journey a little deeper into the city’s Reggae Dancehall scene. Pass through the tunnel of rumbling neon that ignites Rockey and Raleigh Streets, where pavement iconographies display the Lion of Judah interspersed with the continent’s technicolour flags. Soon enough you’ll find yourself in Hillbrow, at the unassuming Safari International Hotel.

Posted in a dark corner on the precipice of Banket and Yettah Streets, it’s easy to miss. Entering has a sense of theatre, stained with a Baz Luhrmann surrealism. Your ushers: a security guard in full military attire and a bulletproof vest, who peels back the creaking metal gates, locking them fastidiously behind each visitor. Alongside him, a butler in a red bowtie greets ‘good evening’ with grand gestures towards an extended foyer. The walls are draped in taxidermy and wooden carvings, and the furniture in plastic. It’s the cliff-edge of Afro-kitsch, but a gateway to an unexpected dancehall furnace.

Safari International hosts a weekly ragga/dancehall event, dubbed ‘Weddy Weddy Nights’. The ‘Weddy Weddy’ concept has teleported from the clubs of Kingston Jamaica into what feels like the most obscure recesses of Hillbrow, and many other night-time revelries across the globe.

‘Safari International Hotel’, my cab driver repeated as we passed through the city centre the following night. ‘I know it!’ he chimed, with a broad smile. Equally astounded at our shared knowledge, we took a moment to bask in the mutual recognition. The cab driver was Zimbabwean — a reggae dancehall enthusiast, living in Hillbrow. ‘Do you know African Vibez in Rosettenville?’ I asked. Another little-known reggae/dancehall venue, whose patrons, I was told, also celebrated Weddy Weddy. His smile told me yes.

African Vibez is another illuminated corner pinned at the hem of a dark-street-nowhere. A group of young men at the door present a pavement bouquet of some of the world’s most sought-after sneakers. Air Force 1s, Jordan’s, Nikes. The poster plastered alongside the door bears both the Zimbabwean and the South African flags. Once inside, familiar dancehall rhythms vibrate under our soles, this time crying out in Shona. The music is by far the best dancehall I’ve heard all week. Selektahs, hype men and young ragga performers have honed their craft. They deserve more than the stiff anticipation of a 9pm crowd, still too aloof to dance, still too aware of where to put their glistening feet and who might notice.

I travel almost twenty minutes back to the city centre. Cold, empty streets are dotted with night fires as people gather for warmth. My head spins with the enflamed imagery of a reggae-city after dark. ‘More Faya! More Faya! Burn it Up’ The ABSA building flashes a continental collage of Africa Day imagery. I smile, thinking about a simmering nocturnal culture, where reggae/dancehall/dub provides an under-acknowledged conduit for African cultural exchange. But it hasn’t all been ‘Iry’. Amid the crowd-calls for ‘One Love’, the affectionate embraces, the knowing smiles, and the resolute Afrocentrism, is another bar brawl, another man aggressively dragging his girlfriend from the room, another patron blacked-out on the dancefloor. I’m told that attendance at the Bassline dipped at the height of Xenophobic violence. As is the case with many nightclub cultures, Johannesburg’s Afropolitan reggae scene is a potent cocktail of fear and desire, rage and euphoria, the lone dancer and the collective.

Back to Braam for Rootz Rock Reggae, an outdoor reggae party where the audience gathers around barrel fires. South African, Zimbabwean and Mozambiquan artists take to the Kospotong stage at the end of Smit Street. Escaping through the metal barricades, the reggae rhythms of H20’s ‘African’: ‘I’m an African, no doubt that’s what I’m about’. Head tilted towards the sky, I basked under an imagined urban constellation, of all the reggae/dancehall parties I had discovered that week, each a night-fire of its own — Newtown, Yeoville, Hillbrow, Rosettenville, Braam. I hoped that others would connect the dots, explode our South African insularity, and take on the turbulence of an Afro-metropolis on faya.

30 May 2016