#jozi unsigned

We’re currently in Norway alongside our partner venues and some valued friends. Among our activities shall be a meeting with Norwegian Live Music Association to talk about the Live Music Sector in Mzansi and Norway. Oh yes, we’ll also be attending the Oslo Jazz Festival, yay!

More images below, courtesy of Jozi Unsigned.

I AM HOME. I needed to rest, burn banana bread , stare into my husbands eyes and count my blessings. I was away for two weeks of meetings, interviews, an incredible show in Joburg, an inspiring exhibition in Cape Town, a video shoot – and I also snuck in some much-needed time to catch up with friends. 

I arrived in Johannesburg, and the first thing I did was heard to a rehearsal. Four musicians had been practising my music for the past two weeks or so, under the guidance of my friend DanielHutchinson who has been responsible for the orchestration element in theproject. We were going to play the very next day at the Bassline and this wouldbe our first rehearsal together. We had dinner together, took the fatigue of the day within our stride and had a beautiful rehearsal. I met the flautist, Ilke, for the first time. She struck me with her spirit of a dancing gazelle. I had met Sophie the harp player and Tsepo the cellist the last time I was in Johannesburg, and they were just as centred and relaxed as I remembered them, with this thick cloud of unspoken kindness hovering above them. Thembinkosi was there with his heavy double bass, making the atmosphere light and playful, and Daniel was holding it down and together on the keys. We were tired and the feeling of playing together was still new, but there was no doubt that we had something very special to give the next day.

 “Asanda, the audience just wants you to relax and do your thing. They are dying to catch you. You just need to give them permission. Tell them that you are falling off a cliff,” he said.  

This was the day after the gig. A musician that I highly respect and love had come to the show and made some time to meet me the next day. Between the critique and the encouragement and the sharing and the raw passion in his voice about this art form, I am sitting thinking, What I must have done to get face time with this genius who seems to speak my language? I snap out of it and take in more wisdom about the audience and life.  

I have always known that without the audience there is no show, although I have played to four people at a bar and had the time of my life. It seems that my most valuable lessons in this time away have been about the audience. The day before, we played to a full house at the Bassline. The room was warm, responsive and flexible. I am not a natural performer and I take a while to peer out of my cocoon, so it helped that this audience was the kind that meets one half way. I found myself in tears in the middle of ‘Blood, guns and revolutions’, a song about our country and events like Marikana; then we exchanged lines in a song about childhood games. I was safe to break and safe to play, what a gift. My favourite part is always the conversations afterwards. It makes me so aware of how much people have to give, and that sometimes my job is just to be silent and receive.  

Fast-forward to Cape Town a week after Joburg. I am with my friends, a duo called Umle. We are at an indie online radio station talking our heads off and teasing each others’ croaky afternoon voices. The question in my mind… Is anybody even out there? We could be talking to ourselves for all we know. Bloody fun, but what’s the point? I get back to the BnB, and before I head to soundcheck for that evening’s gig, I check my emails and my socials. Seven queries about my debut album and a request to order an EP comes traipsing in. I guess the lesson is that there are always people listening. Just like a bar with an audience of four. Take it seriously.

The last gig I played in Cape Town was by no stretch of the imagination amazing. It was tough, the sound was bad, poor Ella had a human mic stand for her violin, the wind was howling and we were playing outdoors to people on hay bales – and it wasn’t as cute as it sounds, because the people couldn’t hear us well. Long story short, the audience saved us. I had invited all the people in Cape Town who had pre-ordered the album to be on my guest list, most of them already have my EP.  They sang along to everything: the performance moved to the hay bales, and the song was in the people. The rest of the audience joined in.  They were better than any speakers I could ask for. 

There is a lot of reference to the Arts as the Golden economy. I read those kind of documents quite a lot. One might think that’s ironic, artist are usually poor, rely on grants to get their projects done and nope we are seldom treated like precious anything.  is a lot of reference to the Arts as the Golden economy. I read those kind of documents quite a lot. One might think that’s ironic: artists are usually poor, rely on grants to get their projects done - and nope, we are seldom treated like precious anything.

My thoughts about the audience have led me to believe in this idea of Gold. In one of my songs Harbouring Hope, I talk about the fear of thinking the gold that we have in our heart as artists is withering away because of the weight of the wait sometimes.  We have so many complexes as creatives, and the irony is that gold doesn’t just disappear. A really great audience sees that in an artist, and if given permission, they will mine that gold out and more often then not show it to other people. People cannot mine a closed heart. That is where the exchange begins. I dedicate this post to all the audiences I have had the golden privilege of playing for. Thank you for seeing and celebrating my treasure. Thank you for seeing my heart.

Camagu! Hope, love and light. Makwande njalo!