Tag: riky rick

Adriaan Louw: mirroring moods through film

“I love the world film creates without trying too hard”

This statement by photographer and filmmaker Adriaan Louw explains his expansion into film. Over the years he has documented different genres and artistic forms, from art to skateboarding to fashion, with youth culture being the thread that ties these various endeavours together. “Everything I’ve done […] I just want to make bigger and better… If that means in a commercial realm, that’s cool too. As long as it grows the culture.”

When asked about his relationship with analog productions, he mentioned watching skateboarding videos in school. “Back then everything was shot on tape and 8mm or 16mm film cameras. So to me that is the base of my aesthetic education. It feels like my default in a way.” With a desire to do more productions on film, he is hoping he can see and capture youth culture through the beautiful, grainy textured world that film engenders.

Expanding on his desire to make more projects in film and reflecting on the renaissance of film, Adriaan explains that, “In South Africa it’s really hard to try and make it happen on every project. You have to order the film to SA and ship it back half way around the world to get developed and scanned again, but so far it’s been successful. Film is making a big comeback in the world at the moment, especially motion film. I would like to be part of that global movement. Shooting on film creates a certain mood on set that I really enjoy.” Riky Rick was jointly able to see the aesthetic value of film, resulting in the recently released video for “Family” being shot on 8mm film. The use of film creates a nostalgic feeling, with the video visually mirroring old home videos, making a connection to the words in the track.

Photograph by Ross Maxwell

Thinking about his conversations with Ricky about the video, Adriaan explains that, “We wanted it to feel underground in a way. If you look at my work up until now in the Hip Hop scene it never has fancy cars, half naked woman and other things like that in it. I’d like to keep it that way. I think visually creating a mood for an artist is way cooler than trying to make them look rich. So with this video I decided to shoot most of it on film to create a timeless feel. If you look at some of the city shots of Johannesburg in the video you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was shot in the ’80s or 2017. It was so magical seeing the rushes when it got back home. It really felt like images you would Google search of past Johannesburg. The film also added a bit of grittiness to the video that I wanted to add to the song. I feel like the video has a rock n roll approach to it visually.”

Photography by Adriaan Louw

Adriaan has also recently joined the production company, Word. This speaks to larger shifts within South Africa’s film and TV commercial industry. “I think up until now I didn’t feel the need to do bigger productions and take on the TV commercials world. Til now I always thought of it being something I didn’t want to do in filmmaking, but these days people are really pushing boundaries with TVCs and I think perhaps my style is now suited for that world,” Adriaan explains. This change in the formula for filmmaking in advertising is encouraging for filmmakers like Adriaan. “I think there is a new generation of filmmakers who will bring this change and want to create content that is emotionally- and story-driven. The world of online content and traditional advertising media is starting to merge together.” Never forgetting his first love, documentary-style content, Adriaan is open to trying new things in filmmaking.

Photograph by Ross Maxwell

Check out the “Family” video below for a taste of Adriaan’s new direction.

Credits:

Director: Adriaan Louw
Production: The Swank Group
Second Camera: Ross Maxwell
DOP: Adriaan Louw
Editor: Adriaan Louw
Fixer: Tito Balata

10 July 2017
Everybody knows but nobody talks

“Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

Everybody knows that the war is over

Everybody knows the good guys lost

Everybody knows the fight was fixed

The poor stay poor, the rich get rich

That’s how it goes

Everybody knows.”

Everybody Knows – Leonard Cohen.

Last week Saturday, Riky Rick, in his acceptance speech for winning best single at The Metro FM Music Awards, gave a shout out to “all the kids who couldn’t get their songs on radio because they don’t have enough money, to all the kids who make music videos that never get their music videos on TV because they don’t have the money.” He then followed up by saying “There’s a lot of people who are struggling to put out music in this country and I feel like there are too many structures that are blocking people from putting out the dopest music. 90% of the shit I hear on radio is garbage. The stuff is living on the Internet, everything is living on the internet right now. So if you’re a kid, and you’re watching this right now, forget radio. If they don’t let you play on radio, you better go to the internet and make your songs pop on the internet.” It was at this point that Riky’s mic got cut off.

Riky then took twitter with “STOP PLAYING WITH THE PEOPLE… WE NOT STUPID” and quoted his own lyrics to the song that won best single ‘Sidlukotini’, “If niggaz can pay for these fucking awards then my nigga I don’t want them.” Black Coffee then backed him up and for a few days, musicians from around the country were singing Riky’s praises for exposing the unfairness of the awards and the industry as a whole. The irony of some of them being award-winning millionaires was lost.

Riky is right: The system is closed off to many artists. If you don’t have money or the right contacts, getting on radio can be hard. Getting an award? Even harder. Riky could have been referring to the SMS system of voting, which is just another way of taxing fans who want to see their favourite artists shine. The system is easily riggable by those with enough resources, and could be why Babes Wodumo and Kwesta left empty handed despite having 2 of the biggest songs of the year. Oddly enough, it was Riky’s Mabala Noise label mate Nasty C who took home the most awards.

Judging from the fallout though, it appears that what Riky was referring to is Payola. A corrupt system of getting airplay that has been hated by artists since as far back as 2007, but more recently was investigated in 2015 by ENCA and last year DJ Vukani Masinga was fired for accepting bribes to play music on Ukhozi FM. Basically, it’s when artists or their management giving DJs and playlisters money to play their songs. If you’ve ever thought to yourself “Wow, this song is kak. I wonder how much they paid to get it played.” You were probably on the right track.

Radio and TV will always be out of reach for many artists because of resources, but adding corruption to the mix only continues to make it harder for those deserving a break. After grinding to pay for studio time and getting songs mixed and mastered, now artists must line the pockets of professionals in the industry just to get heard? Fuck that noise.

While Riky is right that young artists should use the internet to it’s full potential, it’s not always enough to sustain a career. One radio hit can help launch a career and the exposure radio and TV give artists is immense. It’s not enough for artists to make vague references to the system but rather, them and their management, those who have experienced this corruption first hand, need to expose those behind the system. It’s easy enough to call out the system but without taking any actions, what will change?

9 March 2017
Beach in the City: the art of spatial play and summer nostalgia

On Saturday October 8, I tasted the first offerings of Summer 2016: sand between my toes, the smell of sunscreen in the breeze, a crowd of floral dresses interspersed with multi-coloured umbrellas, beach balls bobbing overhead, and in the periphery a group of friends dancing around a volleyball net. But rather than an ocean skyline, my horizon was capped with concrete high-rises and billboard advertising. This was an oasis transposed into Mary Fitzgerald square. The urban beach party had been conjured by event promoters, Until Until: expert illusionists who regularly transform inner-city spaces into sites of play pilgrimage. “Beach Party was very much in line with the kind of parties we throw already”, they told me. “It’s something experiential and a bit out of the norm.” This time, Until Until had teamed up with Virgin Mobile and Superbalist’s In the City to deliver seven hours of sonic summer heat.

Pouring sand onto Newtown concrete, the fantasy was brought to life. “It had to look like a beach. That was a very big point of what we were trying to achieve. In terms of social media, we ran the ‘wish you were here’ postcard campaign”: the resonance of holiday souvenirs sent back to friends and family. Until Until hoped to transport its audience to a place of paradoxical juxtaposition — the feeling of being away whilst at home; of being able to step into another world, made sweeter by the ability to glance back at the old one. “We played on the contrast of being in the city versus being on the beach. So if you saw some of the marketing visuals, you had drone images of girls laying on the beach in their bikinis, and as the drone pans away you realise you’re in the middle of Johannesburg”.

For all the seaside-surrealism of that Saturday, there remained a tangible familiarity. Weaving through the sand were threads of a well-known practice: journeying to the beach to signal the year drawing to a close. So, in addition to offering an uncanny spatial illusion, Beach Party also served as an elusion to other times and places, within our collective and personal stories. Indeed, beaches carry weighty significance in the history of South African play politics. There was a time, in our not so distant past, that beaches were racially segregated. Fierce attachments to beaches have catalyzed racist hate-speech and defiant rebellion. While the beach-going, even in ‘post-apartheid’ South Africa, has all-too-often remained a white phenomenon, the closing of each year is defined by the annual ritual of thousands of black families travelling to spend their day in the salt and sun. This is summer’s definitive act of socio-spatial transgression.

For some, the beach is that precious family treat afforded by a Christmas bonus. For others, it is a celebration welcoming loved-one’s home from a long time away. And for others still, it is a site of religious and mystical power. The beach is not only a place in which the socio-economically marginalized occasionally claim access to sites of play, it is also a source of reprieve for many who spend their year grinding in urban offices. For people across demographics then, the simple act of a day on the beach is charged with history and meaning. For many, it is a source of nostalgia and childlike escapism. That’s why, when Shekhinah ascended Until Until’s Beach Party stage, her lyrics resonated:

‘Let’s take it back to the beach

Where we were young and carefree

This is how it should be

Said the city don’t feel me’

Also on the line-up were DJ’s Capital, PH and Tira, as well as Atjazz, Julian Gomez, Melo B Jones, Stilo Magolide and AKA. Ricky Rick’s performance culminated in a spectacular stage dive, which saw the artist plunge into a crowd of drenched fans. It was the best of South Africa’s house, hip-hop and urban repertoire — drawing the crowd-tide in.

At about 7pm, the rain descended unabated from the sky. Water was added to sand and sweat, engulfing the crowd in all the associations of ‘the beach’. Some took short breaks, huddled under tents and umbrellas, encountering strangers. The Until Until crew, many dressed as lifeguards, moved to rescue the hype when the crowd were drowning. But for the most part, partygoers relished their rain dance, finding solidarity in the drenched dancefloor and their muddy shoes. “I think it’s the first time maybe in the history of parties when you’re getting reviews like ‘the rain made it better’. You could see it in their faces: the energy’s there, they’ve been there a few hours now, they’re still waiting for their favourite song, [they aren’t going anywhere] …”

A testament to any good music festival is the willingness of the audience to brave the elements together — to give it all to the groove. Beach Partygoers burned through the rain because they were committed to this newly-created place; to the spectacle of sound, sand, and pouring water; and to commemorating a long-standing summer ritual.

24 October 2016
That Dusty Love: stories from the Unsea

I’ve cried over Milo milkshake at a Northam strip mall; coughed up ten rounds of mud-dust; dug the dirt from my nails; slept for fifteen hours straight; shaken the twiggy debris from my tent; plunged into nostalgia every time Wololo airs on radio; and added five new artists to my playlist. All in the aftermath of the 22^nd Oppikoppi and four days in a Limpopo dust bowl.

Oppi is the largest music festival in the country, hosting over 150 acts on seven stages. It began as a small rock festival for a congregation of predominantly white, Afrikaans devotees. While these origins remain palpable in its demography, the festival’s line-up and audience has undergone kaleidoscopic diversification. Oppi’s 2016 party pastiche reflected an assortment of musical tastes, including rock, drum-and-bass, hip-hop, house, Indie, metal, and alt-RnB, with the aim of awakening audiences to new people, new ideas, and new genres.

Ours was a creative commune of clustered braai stands and deck chairs. Huddled under umbrella shade were MC’s, DJs, photographers, models, social media professionals, and entertainment entrepreneurs, all flipping meat and dispensing wet-wipes. It was a camp as committed to a shared lamb potjie and a rotating AUX cable, as it was to supporting one another’s hustle and artistry.

There were those cutting-cold nights when we were kept awake by our feet. All three pairs of socks and still our toes were never quite warm enough to go unnoticed. Those nights when an encompassing blue-pink sunset drew in a bespeckled black sky and the stars forced their way into conversation. “How did these extinguished fires, so far away, seem close enough to be plucked from their black canvas?” Those nights we crawled into our tents at 5am, encased in meat-scented smoke, clutching to any available warmth, only to be cooked out of our beds at sunrise.

Dawn was ushered in by human wolf-cries, echoing across the steaming valley. Heat poured over the skin, with an after-sting of grit and acacia thorns. We learned to cherish simple pleasures: a sip of cold water, a friend’s finger coated in lip-balm, a dust mask, a slice of flat ground. Each day we navigated from basecamp to ‘the belly’: over the danger tape; past the gazebo emanating kwaito; turn at the row of green toilets; pit stop at the Red Frog tent, where water, coffee and pancakes were offered to wayward travellers; and finally dive into the current of festival-goers, decked in ripped denim, Basotho hats, dusty moon bags and bandanas. Each group yelling ‘Oppiiii!!’ as they passed: part-greeting, part-salute, part-chant. In the heat and grime and crowd-sway, everyone looked paradoxically more beautiful. “It’s that dusty love”, I was told. The lovely young, effervescent in bush-wear couture. Oppi was a simmering incubator — of sound, and creativity, and disparate bodies colliding.

Where the day was about scarcity and longing for a flush toilet, the night erupted in excess. The most sophisticated technologies of sound and light extended laser beams and synthesisers from the peak of the ‘koppie’ over the 20, 000 campers below. At the festival’s pinnacle, pegged atop the hill, was the Red Bull stage, where green light darted up the trees like florescent lizards. The three neon triangles above the DJ decks reverberated bass over the natural amphitheatre and into the bellies of the audience. Here, the dance floor was a slope of sand and rock. We clutched onto strangers’ bodies for support and offered hands to pull others out the pit.

Over the course of the weekend, some of the country’s best DJs shook Red Bull ground, kicking up dust from the decks. Newcomer Buli spun melody and groove into a perfectly ambient set, lifting his audience from their rocky footholds into a cool sway. Duhn Kidda’s genre contortionism had us dipping from Ja Rule, into new house, and back to the Noughties. Then there was the moment Diloxclusiv dropped Gqom on an Oppi stage. Unapologetic and dripping ostentatiousness, he spliced Durban dance music with struggle songs, while the crowd spewed whistles and ‘woza!’ An impromptu performance by DJ PH had us fast forgetting about Nasty C’s last-minute cancellation. You know that stomach-shaking ecstasy you feel when your song is about to drop? Now imagine it every twenty seconds, your arms stretched out for more. He’s the DJ who plays “37 songs in one”. We pulled him back for an encore set.

Magic mixology was interspersed with fire-spitting live acts. Saturday night belonged to 21-year-old North-London lyricists, Little Simz, who entranced her audience with grime-stained confessionals, carried by bass-heavy production. While hip-hop, RnB and dance music have often been synonymous the Red Bull stage, there have been increasing attempts to diversify stage acts and prompt eclectic discovery. MC’s Riky Rick and Khuli Chana performed on Main and Skelm stages respectively. Petit Noir’s enrapturing Main Stage performance rippled into evening conversation. We celebrated his sound while stoking hot coals and climbing into our night jackets. On Sunday, DJ Ready D took to Main Stage to receive the festival’s Heavyweight Champion Award. His banging tribute performance set the crowd and Twitter alight, featuring guest artists ‘direk van die Kaap af’: Prophets of the City (POC) inserting (P)eople (O)f (C)olour into the festival’s Afrikaans cultural production. “Sit jou hande op, terwyl die beat klop”. Also on Sunday, 2Lee Stark, backed by Boombapbase, shut down a sweltering Skelm Stage. His perfectly tailored set and electric stage presence had me feeling like this was an artist, pre-detonation, about to explode on the local hip-hop scene.

It’s days since I returned from the Oppi dustbowl. I’ve submerged myself in sanitising bathtubs and sunk into the nostalgia of the Unsea. Some of my clothes still smell of a dusty Northam farm, where we surrendered to “the cusp of this here whatever time” and “prayed in a language that would outlive us” — music.

14 August 2016
Party[ing] Politics: East-Side Youth Pre-Gaming the Election

Dusk falls in Katlehong. A line of cars extends down the Nota street pavement, connecting the provisional barricades to the Hurricanes entrance. It’s an East Rand block party, wedged between residents’ yard fences. The sun-warmed air is infused with house music and smoke: simmering Rizla, hookah-pipe tobacco, and meat on the grill. A young man leans over, laughing, and says: “Welcome to Hell”. Hurricane Sundays, he tells me, will keep you from church. Behind us, young people cluster around beer-stacked cooler boxes, intermittently setting their sneakers to dance.

Today, Hurricanes plays host to the ‘March To Victory’ party, a pre-election day celebration in support of the ANC’s mayoral candidate for Ekurhuleni: Mzwandile Masina, dubbed ‘The People’s Mayor’. Ekurhuleni’s current mayor, Mondi Gungubele offered public support for Masina’s candidacy, following violent protests in neighbouring Tshwane over the nomination of new candidate, Thoko Didiza.

As night edges closer, a constant stream of partygoers pours through Hurricane’s palisade fencing. The venue is interspersed with ‘party’ regalia: yellow, green and black dotted amidst army jackets, headscarves, sneakers and Timberlands. Styled ‘campaign cool’, partygoers are clad in cutting-edge street-wear and military-chic, with clusters of ANC insignia. A group gathers for a photograph alongside a makeshift tuck-shop: their heads tucked into their elbows, a line of arms outstretched in the signature ‘dab’. An ANC flag flies above those queuing for the bar. It’s the blowout before the ballot box.

By seven, the venue is throbbing with some of the country’s biggest tunes. On the line-up for this evening’s ‘Victory March’ are DJs Sbu and Shimza, as well as hip-hop sensation Riky Rick, who took to the stage in a Madiba-emblazoned ANC shirt. The night also includes a surprise performance from 19-year old emcee, Nasty C, the young voice of hip-hop anthems Hell Naw and Juice Back.

It’s the soundtrack of our dancefloors, but this time, descending from the decks is the regular chant, Viva ANC, Viva! It’s entertainment electioneering, steered by the local ANC youth league and aimed at Ekurhuleni youth. When the campaign struggle song, Asinavalo [We are not scared] drops with ‘Nqonqo’, the audience erupts, receiving the song like any club banger. Fists raised, the crowd chants the lyrics: Sisebenza Kanzima [We work hard]. The apparent implication in this case is: “we work hard, so why not enjoy it? This is our victory dance”. Elections rendered as celebration above contest. It’s the politics of partying, and of the Party, in audacious collision.

4 August 2016
Hypeology [The terminology of the turn-up]
List the components of a flawless party night and it will probably read something like this: floor-shaking sound, a stellar line-up on the decks, the perfect venue, big sponsors. On to aesthetics and atmospherics and we might add: the crowd; the colours; the threads; the kicks; the lexicon of intoxications we inhale, imbibe and ingest; the moves we make with and towards others. What is very unlikely to make the list is all the talk that circulates around parties.

We often forget that a significant part of our nightclub cultures come from how we speak about them. We utter the hype into existence as talk takes on the role of festive foreplay. It’s our dancefloor dialect; our pre-game parlance; our jive jargon; our night-time nomenclature. All these speech acts are a significant site for young people’s creative production. Through talk/type/emoji we inject the words of our music into real times and places. We engage in local-global exchanges. We manufacture a mood — sculpting the ways that parties are lived, remembered and imagined. To testify to the terminology of the turn up, and document the dialect of our night times and spaces, we’ve put together this small catalogue of party phraseology.
1. Turn Up/ Turnt
First appears in Urban Dictionary in May 2013.

Tonight we’re gonna turn up; It’s time to turn up! (verb)

Meaning: It’s time to get loose, go wild, have fun, get hyped, party.

May also connote getting drunk/high.

Last night was turnt (adjective) To describe the state of a person/party as having been crazy/wild/next level.

That party was a turn up (noun) The ‘turn up’ in its noun form is yet to be acknowledged by Urban Dictionary, but is fully a thing (as evidenced in its twitter usage).

To turn up/ be ‘turnt’ operates implicitly as a prefix. It’s a call and a solicitation, gesturing towards multiple possibilities for what might need to ‘turn up’: Turn up the volume, turn up the heat, turn on, to be turned on. It implies the activation of a different register — that one enters a higher frequency. To ‘turn up’ suggests that we switch on, implying that we take on a particular mode of performance that is enhanced, flamboyant, confident.

But what is wonderfully complex about the term ‘turn up’ is that it simultaneously evokes performance and genuineness. Consider this: In its flattened, traditional usage, to ‘turn up’ simply means to arrive, to show face, usually in the most casual terms. Embedded, then, in the re-imagining of the word ‘turn up’ is a provocation: ‘Why turn up if you aren’t going to turn all the way up?’ ‘If you came, but didn’t TURN UP, were you ever really here?’ By inviting someone to ‘turn up’, we ask them to be fully present, to give their all, to show themselves as they truly are.

In a beautiful and powerful paragraph, the Crunk Feminist Collective captures the multiple connotations of ‘turn up’ as follows:

“Turn up is both a moment and a call, both a verb and a noun. It is both anticipatory and complete. It is thricely incantation, invitation, and inculcation. To Live. To Move. To Have –as in to possess– one’s being. The turn up is process, posture, and performance — as in when 2Chainz says “I walk in, then I turn up” or Soulja Boy says, “Hop up in the morning, turn my swag on.” Yet it holds within it the potential for authenticity beyond the merely performative. It points to an alternative register of expression, that turns up to be the most authentic register, because it is who we be, when we are being for ourselves and for us, and not for nobody else, especially them”.

With this in mind, Lil John and DJ Snake’s club banger ‘Turn Down For What?’ is charged with existential meaning. Everyday life is so often infused with an imperative to turn down, self-regulate and self-censor — particularly if we are young, or women or black (or a potent combination). As Crunk Feminists suggest, ‘Turn Down For What?’ asks ‘Why?’ ‘For whom?’ ‘To what effect?’ More so, it pummels this question through our chests on the dancefloors of our every-night lives, imploring us to explode our full expressive selves.

The relationship between ‘turning up’ and being 100 percent authentic may explain why the ‘100’ emoticon regularly accompanies our type-hype online.

[Speak]er Box

Lupe Fiasco — Turnt up (2009)

Soulja Boy– All The Way Turnt Up (2010)

Beyonce/ Dream/ 2Chainz — ‘Turnt’ (2013)

Lecrae — ‘I’m Turnt’ (2013)

Ciara — Super Turnt Up (2013)

DJ Snake & Lil John — ‘Turn Down for What?’ (2014)

Cassper Nyovest — Turn Up Gang (2015)

2: Lit

First appears in Urban Dictionary in May 2015.

This party is lit (adjective). Meaning: The party is live, amazing, hyped.

The lituation (noun) Equivalent of ‘the party’/ ‘the turn up’

Regularly accompanied or supplemented by the flame emoji.

‘Lit’ is a derivative of much of the fire terminology that surrounds parties. ‘That party was fire’; ‘The DJ brought flames last night’; ‘We gonna burn up the dancefloor’. To be ‘lit’ connotes being alight or ignited. It’s no wonder that fire imagery is so often projected into nightclub cultures, given its symbolic potency as a place for ritual gathering, trance, music and dance. We associate fire with passion, sexuality, action, and the untamed. Heat and flame ignite much of our party phraseology, with terms like ‘Siyasha’, ‘Siyashisa’, or ‘DJ brought the heat’ frequently captioning our online club catalogues.

[Speak]er Box

ASAP Rocky — Get Lit (2011)

Young Futura — We get Lit (2015)

Ludacris — Get Lit (2015)

BenchMarq ft Tweezy (2015)

K2 ‘Lit’ (2015). Includes the lyrics: ‘My Situation is a Lituation’

3: H.A.M.

First appears in Urban Dictionary in April 2008

Tonight we’re going h.a.m. (adverb, pronounced ham) Accronym for hard as a motherfucker.

Meaning: To go balistic, wild, or be super hyped.

[Speak]er Box

Gucci Mane- Go Ham on Em (2008)

Kanye and JZ – H.A.M (2011)

4: The Jump

Last night was a jump/ That place is The Jump (noun)

This party ‘bout to jump (verb)

Describing a party as ‘jumpin’ or ‘a jump’ dates back to the nineties, perhaps speaking to a burgeoning nineties nostalgia in contemporary youth culture. Contributing to the term’s current popularity among Jozi youth is the Yfm show #TheJump. ‘iJumpile Boy!’

[Speak]er Box

Kriss Kross — Jump (1992)

Destiny’s Child — Jumpin’ Jumpin’ (1999)

Busta Rhymes — Pass the Courvousier Part 2 (2001)

Anatii and Cassper Nyovest — Jump (2016)

5: Going in

First appears in Urban Dictionary in September 2008.

Tonight, we’re going in/ That party went in/ I went in on the dancefloor last night (verb).

Meaning: to enter an activity with maximum enthusiasm, hype or energy.

Related in the lexicon to phrases like #S[i]yabangena, loosely translated as ‘We’re going in’/ ‘It’s going down’/’I’m ready’.

6. Make a Movie

Appears in Urban Dictionary December 2011.

Tonight’s gonna be a movie (noun).

Tonight we ’bout to make a movie (verb)

Meaning: It’s going to be/we’re going to make it a big night. This usually involves drawing attention to oneself (whether positive or negative), particularly in a nightclub context.

Genealogy most likely related to phrases like ‘tonight is gonna be epic’. If tonight can be ‘epic’, then it can surely be on the scale of a cinema epic. ‘Sishaya ama movie!’

[Speak]er Box

Neyo — Makin’ a Movie (2010)

Riky Rick ft. Okmalumkoolkat — Amantombazane (2013), includes the lyric ‘Sishaya ama movie’

7: #Habashwe

Directly translates to ‘let them die’/ ‘let them be defeated’. Chimes with DJ SPEEDSTA’s repeated refrain: ‘You’re killin’ em son!’

Yfm listeners (2014) translate #Habashwe as ‘time to rock’, ‘let the good times roll’, ‘lets do this’, ‘let’s get it’.

Whereas much of our turn-up terminology is a derivative of American hip-hop, ‘habashwe’ is most often associated with the South African house and kwaito scenes. Radio shows undoubtedly deserve a shout-out for the role they have played in shaping our music/dance/party lexicon. S/O to Yfm, Metrofm and TransAfricaRadio in particular.

[Speak]er Chronology

Flipside – Habashwe (2012)

Ntukza ft Red Button – Habashwe (2016)
13 June 2016
For the love of Hip Hop; recapping 2016’s Back to the City Festival

Back to the city is a Johannesburg institution, a hip hop festival celebrating urban music and street culture in one of the world’s most notorious cities. The humble beginnings of back to the city, run parallel to the story of hip hop in SA, and intersect with the revival of the inner city. The festival began as an educational summit for artists offering knowledge exchange and workshops from established artists within the industry. The first year had approximately 3500 attendees.

This Freedom Day, Back To the City saw some 25000 attendees and celebrated a decade in the game of pioneering inner city festivals and putting hip hop at centre stage regardless of the reservations or obstacles experienced. This year saw AKA and Riky Rick drop out of the show and there were instances where the sound on the main stage was plagued by problems with microphones and such but the show went on and the crowd was in the presence of the nation’s most loved lyricists including Kwesta whose Ngud’ had thousands and thousands of people with their hands up and bodies gyrating. While Reason’s Yipikayay remix was a stellar collaboration with a gang of rappers going in on PH’s bombastic, playful beat and Reason himself reflecting on his own journey with Back to the City, having performed at the festival each year since it’s inception.

The main stage was surprised by a performance from Nasty C. The teenager has the game in frenzy, and his performance was composed and crisp highlighting his wordplay and execution, revealing a talent beyond his 19 years. The festival itself offered so much entertainment for hip hop fans and likers of music; the Sprite stage and the Powerplay stage hosted band and dance battles respectively, with performers competing for cash prizes of up 30 stacks. It is beautiful to see the urban performing arts appreciated and rewarded, a sure sign of a growing entertainment industry.

I saw some amazing things at Back To the City, from stumbling upon beautiful vocals and instrumentals from Melo B Jones’ band Regina, to young dancers sharing their talent and passion with youthful vigour and confidence. Not forgetting the wonderful energy backstage; the competitive nature of hip hop sometimes overshadows that the industry is a community of creatives, and in terms of urban music and culture they all descended on Mary Fitzgerald Square to perform on hip hop’s biggest stage and enjoy the 10 years of the continent’s biggest hip hop festival. A momentous and enriching occasion.

Checkout some street style snaps from the event below.

3 May 2016
Best SA Hip Hop tracks released in March

Paradoxically, keeping track of musical genres is both easier and harder than it’s ever been. The furthest, most extremes shores of recorded sound are available at the scroll of a mouse, but the proliferation of new music being released all the time can be disorientating. One way of keeping afloat is to identify key releases on a monthly basis, which Bubblegum Club is premiering with this new column

Duncan Skuvax feat. WTF and Ngani – Sengilhleli

This ultra-menacing collab from Durban has a gothic sound, complete with a loop of what sounds like a Satanic choir. The intricate production and diverse vocals make this an absolute banger, which suggests a South African version of early Three Six Mafia or Flatbush Zombies.

Riky Rick – Sidlukotini

A bass heavy tribute to his own success, Riky Rick sends this song over the top with a half-shouted chorus. There is also a particularly awesome part where he kindly offers to loan money to the listener.

iFani feat Chad – Stay

Port Elizabeth artist iFani first gained fame as a trickster sort, so this mournful, epic track is a interesting change of direction. It’s convincingly sombre all the way through, as it uses autotune to etch out the dark corners of a dying romance.

Rāms- EST (produced by Espacio)

Staring out as an ambient croak, the song explodes into a huge chorus. hazy and disorientating in the best ways.

YoungstaCPT feat. Stilo Magolide- Sleep is for the rich

Eerie and bass-heavy. As the title suggests, the song conveys a sense of social dysfunction and brutal choices, emphasised by the disturbing cover art work. Along with the Duncan Skuvax track, it suggests that SA hip hop in 2016 is going to be characterised by a grim, dystopian feel.

TSA – Me & My Crew

After all the heaviness above, TSA returns to the simpler things in life. Namely, rapping, smoking and drinking.

2 April 2016
Introducing Lasta, a Zulu punk songbird finally flying solo

The dulcet tones that helped make ‘Boss Zonke’ a national phenomenon, that feature on Maraza’s Igesi belong to Lasta; A Zulu, neo-electronic, punk singer.

In her EPK, Lasta reveals her artistic journey and she details how she’s sung on many hooks, for many artists. And while paying dues is a part of becoming established in the industry, it is problematic that Lasta is only coming to the public eye through her solo efforts. Patriarchy is so pervasive in our society, no industry or culture is exempt, and the sustained invisibility of the women who are contributors and creators of the sounds and sights we enjoy is a symptom of male supremacy within the creative industries. In happier news, Lasta is set her drop her solo debut soon, and the first single, Alive, is sultry and sweet, a welcome refresher on romance.

Lasta’s identification and pride in being Zulu represents an important movement on the continent; with Africans claiming their culture for creative purposes while offering a representation for blackness, and Africa that is modern and multi-faceted. An important contribution to people of colour as well as Zulu people world wide.

Lasta’s EPK is featured below, enjoy getting to know her and putting a face to a beautiful voice you’ve definitely heard before.

30 March 2016
Riky Rick releases Exodus, the final piece of his Family Matters project

Riky Rick’s Exodus is out online; the short film dropped on the rapper’s website today. It provides the finale for Family Values, visually exploring a story of struggle and redemption with intricate production and a stirring score. The film is 9 minutes, and takes the viewer on an emotional journey through reflecting historic rap themes of loss and rebellion, Tupac and the oft treacherous path into young manhood.

The film was directed by Kyle Lewis, watch it below.

18 February 2016