South Africa is, in many respects, in a semi-permanent state of flux. In the early 90s, the country slouched from centuries’ long anti-black rule and decades of white supremacist Apartheid into democratic rule widely referred to as the “rainbow nation”. The term, coined by Archbishop Desmond Tutu after the first democratic election in 1994, was meant to capture the multiracialism and unity of the new regime. An intoxicating optimism swirled through the air.
While the “new South Africa” grew, new genre kwaito was born with it, amplifying the hopes and uncertainties of millions of young black people across the country. Kwaito – then known for its mid-tempo BPM, heavy basslines and similarity to house music – was the de facto soundtrack of a burgeoning democracy. In 1995 Arthur Mafokate, often referred to as “the king of kwaito”, released “Kaffir” – a song that lampooned white South Africa for its use of the racist slur (similar to the n-word). Three years later, kwaito outfit Boom Shaka released “Nkosi Sikelela,” which controversially subverted the country’s national anthem.
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Responding to the uproar at the time, Boom Shaka band member Junior said: “We’re not dissing anything, this is our own version… [a lot of kids] don’t know the lyrics to the song. The reaction to our version has been incredible, they love it.” The move, misunderstood and derided at the time, is probably one of the best examples of what kwaito would go on to do through the years: interrogate the sacredness of the rainbow nation project, call bullshit on it when needed and define freedom on its own terms.
Kwaito was there when the rainbow nation was born. It was there when the rainbow started falling apart in the early 2000s, but what does the genre look like today? In short, it’s complicated. It’s probably worth mentioning that, in 2018, no one simply calls it kwaito anymore. It’s morphed, creating cousins such as Durban kwaito in KwaZulu Natat, skhanda (a genre pioneered by local rapper KO that blends kwaito and hip-hop) in Johannesburg, kwai-hop in Soweto and new-age kwaito in the form of acts such as Okmalumkoolkat, Cassper Nyovest and Riky Rick.
In April, I saw two of kwaito’s new contingent rip shit up in Braamfontein, the Bushwick to Gauteng province’s Johannesburg. Kid X – a rapper who used to be on skhanda–churning label Cashtime – performed his kwaito-referencing music to a heaving crowd at club Republic of 94. He employed the genre’s use of call-and-response hooks, performing tracks such as “Aunty” and “Pass ne Special.” Both songs also draw on the genre’s raspy cadence and unhurried drum work.
A stone’s throw away, at a popular pub called Kitcheners, future kwaito duo Stiff Pap played. They’re based in Cape Town, where in Rondebosch and its adjacent suburb of Observatory duo Bougie Pantsula also reinterpret kwaito. On that night, Stiff Pap’s blend of everything from gqom and kwaito to drone and industrial music blared out at an audience. Both acts, whose members study at the University of Cape Town, have spoken of how they don’t intentionally set out to make kwaito – and wouldn’t strictly refer to their music as such – but draw their influence from it. This is probably the best template of the new kwaito. It draws from its 90s predecessor – borrowing visual palettes, slang and pop culture references – and reworking it for a generation that grew up on MTV and the internet. To understand where the genre is going, you’d have to see and hear from the acts breathing life into its scene.
Stiff Pap
Think of it this way: if you were to take kwaito’s bass and cadence, then blend it with drone music, gqom and house, you’d have a little bit of an idea of what the rapper-producer duo of Stiff Pap are all about. The band have often been referred to as a future kwaito group (a label they wear reluctantly) and their profile continues to grow year by year. Their producer Jakinda crafts the sound on songs such “Jaiva Pantsula,” “Amagroovist” and “Dlala,” from their debut EP. He’s also produced kwaito songs for other acts such Mx Blouse, a non-binary rapper based in Johannesburg.
“Both of us obviously listen to kwaito” says rapper Ayema. “TKZEE, Zola and more recently KO are some of my influences. But going into studio, I’d say the influence is subliminal.”
Bougie Pantsula
“It’s actually funny how we got our name,” says Matt Ryan, producer of kwaito duo Bougie Pantsula, speaking of his work with bandmate and rapper Just Jabba. “We’re both from ekasi (the hood) but went to Model C schools and we wanted a name that spoke to that. Bougie Pantsula stands for that. Bougie speaks to us to the world we found ourselves in as black kids in predominantly white private schools and Pantsula refers to us growing up in the hood.”
Pantsula was initialy a dance form born in the early 50s in South Africa’s racially segregated, majority-black townships. It developed into a form of expression that birthed a particular vernacular and fashion style still present in kwaito. The bucket hats, tsotsi-taal (slang) and the genre’s political persuasions are, in some part, owed to pantsula.
In April, the duo released their titular debut EP on Soundcloud. There are traces of hip-hop and house throughout but the soul of the songs remains distinctly kwaito. “Ungajumpisi” sees Just Jabba rapping about hooking up with a girl at a party in a combination of isiZulu and English over syrupy synths, heavy kicks and mellow chords. The second part of the song switches into a sparse hip-hop song replete with the modern rap staples of overcoming fear and haters. It’s a distinctly kwaito song moonlighting as hip-hop.
Batuk Music
Township tech extraordinaire Spoek Mathambo, and vocalist Carla Fonseca fuse kwaito and house on their Batuk Music project. Their music straddles the line between kwaito, house and electronic music but their Move! EP was the most distinctly kwaito, “much more than the rest of our catalogue,” Fonseca says. “It was our tribute to 90s kwaito in a sense, particularly with ‘Dala What You Must,’ ‘Niks Mapha’ and ‘Move.’ As South Africans who grew up in the 90s, kwaito as a music genre and cultural movement has obviously been a massive influence on us both. It extends beyond just sound: it’s about style and attitude, language and pride in coming from ekasi.”
Darkie Fiction
Like Bougie Pantsula, the performance art and kwaito duo makes music that functions like a collusion of identities. “It’s a merger of my upbringing in the rural Eastern Cape while Yoza had more of a suburban upbringing in East London,” explains rapper Katt Daddy. For non-South Africans, what he means is that both members draw from their experiences in what you’d imagine to be places at opposite ends each other – a rural town and a sprawling city. The end result is music that celebrates their similarities.
Katt, who used to be a rapper, delivers terse, unhurried verses to their material while Yoza, sings their hooks and verses in a syrupy soul register. Visually and musically, they function as new-age kwaito Bonnie and Clyde tackling the mainstream’s insularity.
“Do you remember how easy and laidback everything was back in the day?” asks Yoza. “That’s the nostalgia our music taps into. Our debut single, ‘Selula’ is a play on words. Selula refers to a cellphone but in isiXhosa it also roughly translates to ‘when it was easy.’ So, the song’s about how cellphones have messed up everything but we’re also talking about the nostalgia of the past – how easy things were when we were kids and had nothing to worry about.”
They’ve since followed “Selula” with single “Bhoza.” With a marching drumline and smooth pads, the duo rap about overcoming your obstacles. The song will feature on their debut EP, Sobabini (the two of us), which drops next month.
Riky Rick
A lot of people may refer to Riky Rick as a rapper, but he’s always seen himself as more kwaito than anything. The Johannesburg hitmaker has always drawn his slang and some of his sartorial choices from the genre. The leather jackets, bucket hat and gold rings are as much a nod to kwaito as they are to Slick Rick.
His music is also peppered with the rubbery basslines, racing hi-hats and kicks reminiscent of the genre. Last year, he told Pause Magazine that although people consider him a rapper, he’s kwaito through and through. “I’m like a kwaito artist. Kwaito is my main genre,” he explained. Songs such as “Boss Zonke,” “Amantombazane” and “Stay Shining” – the video of which is inspired by legendary kwaito group TKZEE’s “Dlala Mapantsula” – bear testament to that fact. On “Stay Shining” he raps one of his verses in a boxing ring, just as TKZEE did in their classic video and the opening shot that features him and his family in front of a house before heading over to watch TV is reminiscent of “We Love This Place” (another TKZEE classic).
