Shangaan

Nwa Pfundla by Tshetsha Boys:

The Shangaan electro sound developed in isolated pockets of South Africa, specifically in areas surrounding Johanesburg and Mozambique. Supposedly, the whole movement can be put down to the work of one free thinking producer, 'Nozinja' AKA Richard Mthetwa, who has single-handedly developed the Shangaan empire.

English record label Honest Jon's has recently compiled a handful of Shangaan tracks recorded between 2006 and 2009 by Nozinja in his Soweto studio, each one more frenetic than the last. There is not a shred of bass to be found throughout the compilation, replaced instead by synthesized marimba and organ stabs And, underpinning all off this is the frenzied tempo that defines the Shangaan style, not dropping below around 180 bpm at any point.

Nozinja (Mthetwa) not only scouts talent to represent his Shangaan vision but he also records tracks, presses CDs, and drives to the far-flung parties of rural South Africa to make people dance "like they have no bones". So what is it about this simple, synthetic sound that has created such a stir? It seems important for the music in its original locale that the artists involved are not just the singers but they are the dancers too. They have developed the Shangaan aesthetic and dance style, which constitutes a significant aspect of the entire experience. Nozinja claims the dancers can keep up their hysterical movements for up to an hour - no doubt the catalyst for an incredible party. As such, you might consider that it is difficult to appreciate this music in isolation, without the incredible energy that the dancers must provide; can you really understand this music while listening through laptop speakers on the other side of the world? The music and the dance, the dirt, the costumes, the sweat, all combine at breakneck speed until the dancing inhabits your body. Its no surprise that the dancers in some of the videos that have surfaced online seem almost to be possessed.

It is interesting also that in many ways there are striking similarities between the Shangaan experience - lo-fi synthetic music created for the sole purpose of dancing - and the Juke music of contemporary Chicago, with its requisite footworking. It seems that these disparate communities have arrived at analogous end-points after taking simple technologies for creating dance music and putting them to use for the sole purpose of making limbs fly. In both situations the music goes hand in hand with the dance. Both Juke and Shangaan music are utilitarian exercises as much as they are artistic ones, and in both cases the dance cannot be removed from its location, be it rural South Africa or the urban enclaves of Chicago. It is no surprise that the Juke artists (like their Shangaan counterparts) are usually the dancers as well as the DJs of the scene. The parallels are evident throughout.

However, the tracks on Honest Jon's recent compilation and many from the Juke world have certainly transcended the basic requirement of moving quickly and making people shake, and this is perhaps what has led to both musical movements being taken up by underground communities around the world. The first Tshetsha Boys track above is somehow soulful as its whining synth line is juxtaposed with call-and-response chants. There is an innocence and a playfulness in the skittering rhythms, as well as an authenticity that comes only through a genuine engagement from the performers, that belies any accusation of being 'simple' music. Many Juke artists (DJ Nate, DJ Roc) have similarly managed to create music with much more feeling than most commercial dance songs. Much of this feeling is born from the connection that is evident between the artists and the music. This is reflected most clearly in the fluidity of the structure that defines the boundaries between artists, performers, and audience members.

Finally, we can only wait to see what comes next from South Africa, a nation that continues to to present itself as youthful and vibrant in its cultural and creative output. From DJ Mujava, to the recent Zef stylings of Die Antword, and now Shangaan, the future looks bright for the rainbow nation and its heady and fruitful clash of styles, sounds, technologies, and traditions.

Hat Fitz & Cara Robinson. Go Austraya.

I think it's appropriate to start with some wise words from one of Austraya's finest.

It was at the dark bar of the Old Fitzroy Hotel, lumped in the wildest corner of Wooloomoolloo - a pub seemingly blooming with blues and bottomless booze - that we had the rare opportunity to witness this beast and his beauty, the lovely (and Irish) Cara Robinson.

For weeks locals had been asking each other if they were there 'last time' Hat landed. Whether your answer was ye or nay, you would be meet by a shake of the head, swollen with silence and respect. So it was that we trooped on down to the perhaps eponymous Old Fitz, tripping over the cats and the rats, to see what Hat had to offer.

[I was even there early enough to see what they had for dinner. Hat enquired whether the fried rice was "chink food", or whether the kitchen served pub food, "pies an' sausage rolls 'n that?'. Eschewing the steak and schnitzel, he went for the fried rice. With chicken. Good call. Cara, on the other hand, needed only a simple cuppa tea, a request met with hesitation by a bar has never served anything weaker than light beer nor fancier than a gin and tonic. Milk and hot water? Some confused collaboration with the adjacent restaurant provided the boiled water, while the bargirl found a bag of Bushells in her handbag.]

Before long, the place was packed. People were leaning in from the outside windows to grab an ear and eyeful of the much anticipated duo. Hat was armed with the promised beard, and Cara laden with a metal bib (perhaps to compensate for or own lack of face-shrub). And they were off - not the rip-stompin', rib-tearin' charge I was expecting, but a restrained and delicate ballad dominated by Cara's Celtic warble.

I won't give you an entire run-down, both because I've already told you what they had for dinner, and because I started to get drunk. The pace gently increased to a beer-break; before exploding into the second half of the set with the grinding 'Freddie Spaghetti'.

Hat Fitz' growl seemed to crawl loud out of his big old chest and into your every orifice, worming through your arteries and straight into yer heart. Then yer heart starts pumpin, it hears the the banging and clanging of Cara's metalchest, it hears the racing thump of both of them stomping double-time; and then suddenly the crowd is no longer an obscuring, nodding silhouette but an open sea, churning and spilling and howling all over. His fingers blur riffs, flying up and down the neck like an itchy rash. Latecomers stand agog in the doorway, wondering what on earth they've stumbled into. 

In the end, it was a debaucherous, sweat-hoggled world-warp. Amongst all of Sydney's post-rock sincerity, indie-pop-electro faggery and apocalyptic nu-glitch; Hat Fitz stood tall as a dirty obelisk of talent in tame and tidy garden. He's fucking awesome, and it was easily agreed that it was the best show we'd all seen that year. And it was free, and hadn't been talked about on some scene blog with surreptitious hyperlinks.

So ironically, this is our first blog post. Check out the hyperlink - (if you can find it!!!!!)

PS Despite the image conveyed by the above video, Hat Fitz no longer touches a drop. So says Bretto, the similarly hairy manager at the pub. Has Beauty perhaps tamed the Beast? Given the nature of the show, I'm going to go with 'no'.

Also, their new album is called Beauty 'N The Beast. Hence the dumb lines. Get it here.

Woo! Go 'ave a slurrrp (just don't slit ya gill).

Jokes!

When is a door not a door?

When it's ajar.