'The Meaning of Zef' by Ross Truscott

In early February 2010, US-based website, Boing Boing, featured South African "zef rap-rave" group, Die Antwoord, on their site. Within days the group had over a million views of their music videos on YouTube, their Facebook fan-bases swelled, and their own website crashed with all the extra online traffic. There are now talks of big record deals and world tours. And comparisons with District 9. But far more interesting than their instant international fame was the fierce debate that ensued on countless internet forums over what Die Antwoord are about, over what - precisely - zef means.

It was entertaining stuff reading some of the imaginative and rather silly conclusions that some people reached, removed as they were from a South African context - one person asserted that the music was sung in Afrikaans, the same language the aliens spoke in District 9.

Although there is no clear definition, zef is generally associated with poor, or at least common, white Afrikaner culture, with a flair for white-trash antics (although it also implies at least a minimal display of ironic distancing from itself). Well, that seems pretty straight forward.

The name, as academic Albert Grundlingh has pointed out, comes from the Ford Zephyr, a model that preceded the Cortina and was popular in brandy-and-coke brandishing communities during apartheid. The website, Wat Kyk Jy, boasts a zef dictionary which, although it does not define zef, is in itself a kind of elaborate definition. Providing visitors with lists upon lists of cruder Afrikaans words and figures of speech for fighting, sex, masturbation, friends, and drinking, it offers up a vividly loose idea of zefness.

Amongst the debates that have raged over Die Antwoord, the most affectively charged have revolved around the real status of the group's racial and ethnic identity.

Are they actually white working-class Afrikaners? Are they English-speaking South Africans pretending to be Afrikaners pretending to be coloured from the Cape Flats? And so on.

While it is possible to establish a few basic facts on this score - for starters, that it is Waddy and Yolandi from Max Normal TV; that it is, without question, parody - the rest is open for interpretation.

Other commentators who concede the parodic status of the act have asked whether it is alright to make fun of a poor, under-educated, marginalised group, even if it is one that is typically racist and clings to old political ideals. I have some thoughts of my own here, which I will provide in an over-thought, and complicated psychoanalytic account of zef in my doctoral dissertation, but I'll keep these postulations to myself for a while longer.

In the meantime, google Die Antwoord. Their music videos are seriously seamless and, frankly, very funny, and their music is a fascinating patchwork of appropriations, including the 'Body Beat' theme tune for the chorus of the song, 'Zef Side'.

In any case, as Ninja says in an interview on YouTube, what zef means is "pretty self speaking."

For more on Die Antwoord and images of the group by Sean Meterlerkamp (as seen above), visit their Facebook profile. Also, for some more on 'zef cool' visit David Smith's debate in "Is Afrikaans cooler as Engels" for the M&G.

“Dude, BLK JKS are, like, super good” by Ross Truscott

Hailing from the East Rand and Soweto, BLK JKS - Lindani Buthelezi (vocals and guitar), Mpumi Mcata (guitar), Molefi Makananise (bass) and Tshepan Ramoba (drums) - were the musical sensation of 2009. Mail & Guardian writer, Lloyd Gedye usually has his finger on the pulse of South African music and, last year, he called the BLK JKS debut album, After Robots, "probably the most important SA album to have appeared in the past 20 years." That's a big call.
Turns out quite a few Big Name Music Magazines agree. So for anyone who had their head in the sand last year, BLK JKS are doing alright, crazy-international-fame-wise.

As it happens, they played in East London on Wednesday, the 17th of February 2010.

Anyway, it was "pretty much totally sick, dude."
Wow, guy, awesomeness.
"But then, like this reporter from The Daily Dispatch* totally wrote a shitty article about it the next day, and like so tore into the white ous that were there 'cos he reckoned they only came to check if black dudes can actually play rock."
Shees, what a hater, what a doosh. But do you think it might be true?
"Like, uh, ja of course it's true - the jorl was at Buccaneers. You know what Bucs is laak. Still, though, I wish the paper could of sent sent someone who actually had a set of ears; that band was bef*#ck, my bru."
So, what you're saying is that you also went to see if BLK JKS can make rock music and you reckon they can?
"Jussis, whatever, bru."
Sorry, man.
"Don't you also start with that kak now."

Admittedly, the crowd was a little on the pale side. But not that much. In fact, really not that much. Anyway, that completely misses the point, as the Dispatch reporter missed it. And unfortunately for him, while he was matching up skin shades with his Plascon colour-chart, he missed a show that was off the charts, so to speak.

Although the band has only recently gained the recognition and the record deal they deserve, they have been around fro some time, working hard (six years, according to Molefi Makananise). The hard work and the time they've had together shows, too. They may give the impression that they're free-wheeling and improvising through parts of their performance, but they're tight. Really tight. And they would need to pull together so many influences - blues, ska, dub, progressive rock, mbanqanga, psychedelic rock - to manage a sound so distinctive as theirs, so coherent; these influences are not hats worn during different songs, but threads that run through the fabric of their sound.

I had been digging After Robots for a few weeks before the show, so the live, expanded versions of some of their tracks were mind-blowing. 'Lakeside', for instance, even on the album, rides some other kind of rhythm section, one from an other-worldly beyond that the band restrains through the start of the song, with chilling vocals from Lindani Buthelezi - who, incidentally, seems to have a bit of a David Byrne-inspired stage presence going on - and then, once they have a firm enough grip on it, lean into the song and take it downhill, through some mesmerizing turns.
To see and hear this performed live, to witness its musical ascension, was pretty special. And the interaction between Makananise and Ramoba, on bass and drums respectively, is something to behold - particularly on some of the songs where they were less faithful to the album version.

'Molalatladi', the title of one of their songs, means 'rainbow'. Quite a bit has been made of this, both by the media and the band. But far from easy 'rainbowism', the band and their music are challenging. The backside of the album cover, for instance, has a photograph of an animal with a slit throat.
I asked Molefi about the photography, which seems an odd choice of image with which to market a sound.
"That's how life is. For a lot of people, that's as harsh as it is, man. Some people said we shouldn't use it, that it wouldn't help sales, but no, man, that's how it is."
As a friend said as their third song reached about the one-minute mark, "That's some seriously syncopated shit." But this is the beauty of their live performance, something that comes across less strongly on the album: their ability to begin with what seems like chaos, or at least a relatively formless mass of sound, with which they begin to sculpt their songs. And before you know it, there is the song you recognise from the album, alive, that chorus, that great hook. And then, once again, it's changing shape, shifting tempo.

They hardly need more praise, but if you haven't got the album or seen them live, you could do yourself a serious favour.
"BLK JKS are, like, kak good, my bru."

Many thanks to Cheryl and Themy from Nahoon Reef Productions for bringing BLK JKS to East London.

*If anyone is interested, the Dispatch article was by Lindile Sifile and can be accessed here.

Lyrics, Love and a Box of Crayons

Those primary school kids have the idea; you know, fold a piece of paper in half, pull out that box of crayons and take care of Valentine’s Day in a jiffy. Yes, the heart on the front is out of proportion, and colouring inside the lines is out of the question, but they nailed the sentiment in the purest way: I like you, do you like me too? The industrious kids might even pluck a couple of petunias from mum’s flower bed (unless that’s the sort of thing that gets you beat up at school these days).
The cynics will tell you it’s a sham, and that you can’t turn love into a commodity, but for those amongst us that aren’t that jaded yet, Valentine’s Day grants free reign for those confessions of tender intentions.

This said, by now we are all too aware that roses are red and violets are, well, violet (yeah, they got me with that fib too), so let’s sidestep the poetry path and move over to that expression of love that has trumped since time immemorial: music. Hopefully, this musical exploration of the love’s due courses might sway even the most cynical of you, as I do my damnedest to offer a platter of songs suited to Valentine’s Day ranging from light finger food to the spare-ribs sans a napkin kind of deal. So, whether you have a significant other or you’re navigating the day solo, you can feel you’ve eaten your full.


The Postal Service – Such Great Heights
A sweet number delivered with distinct certainty. It’s the certainty of feelings against the odds of distance. With the plague of indifference running rampant in society, it’s refreshing to hear declarations that are so sure-handed. The intro builds anticipation with bursting bubbles of synths leaping from speaker to speaker before Ben Gibbard delivers the opening line: “I am thinking it’s a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images, and when we kiss they’re perfectly aligned. I have to speculate that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes”. We are richer for Gibbard’s fondness for the Casio keyboards jettisoned at the bottom of a box in your garage marked ‘toys’.

Rilo Kiley – Portions for Foxes
You’ve been warned, and told to steer clear, but temptation from a talking snake moonlighting as a produce salesman is just too hard to deny. The consequences are secondary – that’s hedonism for you – but oh what fun, we’ll clean up in the morning. Easily the band’s most accessible track, ‘Portions for Foxes’ is an ultra-catchy ode to indulgence of the carnal kind. The song alludes to an acceptance of self-depreciation on the dominant moral scale of society, but it’s more of a sneer in light of that scale having ridiculously high standards. Forbidden fruits are the best kind.

Something Corporate – Konstantine
This track is the epitome of high-school sentiment, but it’s comforting to know it was written by someone of that age, and not a forty year-old pandering to teenagers. From the piano crescendo to the overly earnest vocal delivery, the song captures the idealism of youth, big dreams and all. The songwriter Andrew McMahon now fronts a more mature outfit, but there are rumours of reunion concerts planned which speaks to the idea that although you may be far-removed from such romanticizing, there is significance in remembering you once felt like that, and that it was enough.

Queens of the Stone Age – Make it Wit Chu
On first impression, it seems odd that a band that is primarily known for heavier rock could pull this off. However they have always had a knack for killer guitar licks, and in this case Queens of the Stone Age have put that to use in creating this bluesy, suave (although not-so-subtle) number about sex. If the piano doesn’t already have you itching to disrobe, the guitar on this track could wrest that belt from your pantloops all by itself.

Explosions in the Sky – Your Hand in Mine
An instrumental track that manages to be incredibly affecting over its eight minute length. If your dreams had a resident electric orchestra, this is sort of music you would want your nightly adventures conducted to. The song is wide-eyed and graceful in its intricacy, and momentous and weighty at its crests, but poignant throughout, offering the overriding sensation of hope. The best part, though? You get to fill in the words.

Bloc Party – This Modern Love
This track was tucked away on the band’s sublime debut. It’s a lo-fi contemplation of modern relationships, but focused in the personal sense on the selfishness that marks one’s incongruity with them. There is a tangible impression of claustrophobia here from both the hushed vocals and spare instrumentation. The questions the song poses are those you would have visited in the throngs of hesitation already, but once more, “What are you holding out for, what’s always in the way?”

Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Maps
On ‘Maps’, listeners got their first taste of the tender side of Karen O, who up until this point had seemed simply beyond restraint. The song is best experienced with its superb music video counterpart, so as to witness the utter vulnerability in the lead lady’s eyes on stage in front of a small, scrutinizing audience. The microphone howls we became so accustomed to are, here, replaced with a desperate plea to a lover in the most important and certainly the most delicate song the band have produced.

Why? – Simeon’s Dilemma
A song for the stalker in you. Come on, we’ve all taken an indirect route that just happens to pass a certain somebody’s house. This isn’t even a case of unrequited love, so much as it being flat-out unnoticed. Thankfully the topic is in the hands of a gifted wordsmith, Yoni Wolf, who never shies away from excruciating honesty. He claims “You’re the only proper noun I need” over the rising chimes of the piano, and later “Are you a female young messiah for stowaways… are you what church folk mean by the good news?”. Looking to be saved has taken a wicked context in our hyper-aware state of living; the result is a lot of lonely, disconnected people… and things called restraining orders.

Say Anything – Alive With the Glory of Love
The nervous tapping that you mistake for a foot spasm which is actually your body begging you to act on something; that is the place this song occurs. The fact that it details two lovers’ escape from a prison work-camp validates the song’s request for revolt. Charismatic front man,
Max Bemis, is at his most vigorous here, and it’s positively infectious if not for the raspy guitars behind him. If you ever wanted to elope and needed a love-crazed soundtrack for the getaway, here it is.

Stars – One More Night
The band has always had a flair for pretty pop music, emphasized mainly by the interplay between the male and female leads. In this song that interplay resembles a conversation between lovers in celebration of their concluding relationship. There is clarity in their dissolution, an awareness of things becoming unhinged, but also a reclamation of the good things discovered along the way. Hints of this duality are found in lines like: “The bed is unmade, like everything is. Dark little heaven at the top of the stairs.” The violins and brittle piano notes back up lyrics that betray knowledge that can only be learned through intimacy.

The Format – Inches and Falling
Exuding the same contagious joy found in his new project, Fun, Nate Ruess urges us to forget the pitfalls of romance and simply affirm love for the capital L’s own sake. The track doesn’t have an object of affection, instead, serving only as a reminder of the righteousness that spews forth as a by-product of meeting love’s embrace. The uplifting ditty is made complete via enthused horn sections and parade-like delights. Think of it as a nursery rhyme for adults.

Ryan Adams – Come Pick Me Up
Backtracking to Ryan Adams’ first solo record is a double-edged sword, because for all the splendour of its country styling, it casts a long shadow he hasn’t yet been able to surpass. The lack of self-editing in the current state of his career is a bane, where he seems to suffer from musical verbosity. But returning to that other edge of the blade, on ‘Come Pick Me Up’ the harmonica and steel guitars accompany what is essentially a song brimming with the reckless abandon of love. The unforgettable chorus is delivered with Adams’ characteristic southern tone in a lingering appeal for emotional violence.

Mazzy Star – Fade Into You
A sweeping lullaby from the 90’s, ‘Fade Into You’ is the song missing from every wedding playlist. Granted, in the pre-internet age it didn’t even appear as a blip on the music landscape radar. Singer, Hope Sandoval, has an unmistakeable seductive voice that manages to soothe and entice simultaneously. Regardless of how many feet you would step on in the process, this song deserves to be slow-danced to.

Bon Iver – Skinny Love
The story goes like this: a relationship dissolves, sending boy retreating into a cabin in the woods to exorcise the demons in the afterglow. The outcome is stripped down, devoid of resentment and anger, instead electing to radiate with the embers of resignation. You would be hard-pressed to find somebody sounding so exposed in such an insightful way. It’s a counter intuitive move; where most of us would choose to keep our cards pressed firmly to our chests in an attempt to salvage what remains of our pride, Justin Vernon lays his hand down in plain sight. The song is completely defenceless, and so much prettier for it.

So, after all the lyrics are said and done, I’ll add to them in this peace-offering that, whatever you make of Valentine’s Day, even if you aren’t singing along, at least try hum the melody.