Could it really be true, as Silwane and others have alluded to in the past, that music is a mind-altering substance and a direct cause of major changes of the course of history? I wonder, because it is entirely possible, isn’t it? I know what effect music has on me, the state of my soul and the course of action that I will take after listening to a specific piece of music when dealing with a certain situation.
I have not researched the subject of the effect of music on the brain. I guess I could, but that would mean that I would have actual facts, figures, studies and statistics and I guess my argument either way would be from a base of sound logic — but where would the fun be in that for me? This is why I have decided that I would much rather explore this subject from a seat somewhere deep within my vast soul, set somewhere comfy, like between the cholesterol and the large stockpile of trans fatty acids.
A good piece of music is important for any cause, but is mostly used to enrich the “artist”, the music studios and their holding companies by moving the public’s souls and feeding them subliminal messages that result in the said public becoming junkies to that music and subscribing to whatever cause the individual bellowing those lyrics intends to send out. Music mostly follows this set of ideas:
This simple formula that has worked for ages in moving communities and convincing them of a cause. Religious worship is largely based on music and has it as a firm foundation because music has a hypnotic effect on a person, and religion uses mostly repetition to get its charges to subscribe to a certain way of thinking and “connect” with their creator.
An example of a community and its representatives being moved and eternally connected in a brotherhood borne of the pursuit of a shared cause is each country’s national anthem. I would guess that these songs of solidarity were created in order to give the representatives of the nation a sense of unity and collective power. Therefore it is critically important that the said anthem is a damned good one, or it could quite possibly have the reverse effect on the people it is meant to hype.
South Africa has a very good national anthem. Nkooosie Seekeleli i ‘Frica is a hot track, no doubt about that; if it were written as a hit for the Billboard charts and Americans actually understood what music is meant to be, it would have hit number one and stayed there for weeks. The more observant and historically savvy of you will be wondering which version of the track I am talking about — the song adopted by the ANC as its anthem, the original score, or maybe the remix that was hooked up in a studio somewhere with a rainbow of languages.
Truth be told, both versions are dope, but there is nothing like the original score. Not to take anything away from the remix; it rocks, but I just wish everyone would learn every part of it and at least pretend to be patriotic and committed to the success of our country when they are called upon to perform it. I learned the anthem in primary school, all of it, Afrikaans and all — trust me, it is not that difficult. It would also be nice for everyone to learn what it means as well.
It always saddens me when I’m at the Shark Tank and suitably inebriated after the preliminary draughts in the stands, and the South African national anthem comes on and you are the only person in the stands singing the first half of it — the native language parts of it — but then when “Uit die blou van onse hemel …” starts, the whole stadium comes alive with the music, the songs reverberates throughout the stands and, I dare say, you can hear the second part of the anthem from Glenwood a few kilometres away.
It always saddens me, but no one will dictate to me where my national pride will lie. I sing the second half of the anthem louder and even more passionately then my European neighbours who would, as I often feel, rather not be sitting next to me in the stands — not only because I’m black, but probably mostly because I also take about a quarter of their seat in a obesity-based land-reform programme.
I can see how that can tick an oke off — especially after paying a premium on the seat, whereas I was handed free tickets from some black dude who got them from work in an attempt at a diversity initiative and gave them promptly to me because he could not fathom why labelungu (these white people) would think he would be interested in watching a bunch of massive men handling each other by the family jewels in a homosexual set piece disguised as a scrum.
But I digress. The power of music is in hyping up a crowd for a particular mission they have to perform, such as going to war with another nation, whether in a desert, wielding guns, or in a jungle, wielding spears and machetes; or on the cricket pitch, fiercely wielding willow and leather.
The reasons for singing remain the same: to spread a message of togetherness among the incumbents, to tell your enemy of yourself and of your past glory and superiority, and to convey a warming message of the impending klap (beat-down) that they shall receive because they stand between you and the glory that you want to keep or restore to your own nation.
I must put it out there that I think the West Indies have a crap anthem, and I say this with all due respect. I was watching the players very closely when the anthem was playing and no one was singing it. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t sing it either, and I wouldn’t have it on my friend’s iPod or in my CD collection if it weren’t restricted to use by the Great Nation of the West Indies.
It sound a lot like a Danny K-featuring-Mandoza special, doesn’t it? Well, this is if you have been unfortunate enough to be put on hold by our power supplier and had to listen to those tracks played into your ear, whether you like it or not. This is the reason that I think the Windies players always seem to be so lethargic at the beginning of a match. That track must be having quite an adverse effect on them; more than the effect the South African hit has on all our players — what with everyone being catered for and it seemingly being acceptable for anyone to sing any part of the track that they so choose. No one can claim to feel left out. Now that’s democracy; even the anthem is diversified for almost complete inclusivity.
The wrong song can mean the demise of a political career in some cases; just ask the delegates of the Polokwane conference. On a more serious note, music has been used by political movements in Africa to mobilise their members, tell stories and keep the membership focused on the common goal. It is a magical experience when you form part of a movement of thousands and you are sharing ideas and connecting with your fellow humans through music.
I had many such experiences as a youth in Kwa-Mashu in the Eighties, but the one that stuck in my mind the most was one rather warm and hazy Saturday afternoon in the hall at John Langalibalele Dube High School in D Section where an ANC meeting was being held, disguised as a mapantsula competition. That day I heard, for the first time, a struggle song that would become my late brother’s favourite and one which I remember him by to this day, because his struggle with a debilitating chronic lung disease all his life had many similarities to the ANC’s struggle for freedom and equality.
I’m afraid if I quoted the lyrics to the song and translated them into English my poor effort would diminish the impact of the song and the gravity of the message it carries — a message of hope and longing and belief in a higher power freeing the African child from the shackles imposed on him by his brothers from up north, the benevolent colonisers. I never even got the title of the song, but it spoke of “Ikhubalo lakh’ we Mngoma …” It was sung at a slow, deliberate pace, led by a single voice and accompanied by a chorus of deep African voices in perfect unison. It still brings a tear to my eye today when it plays in my head during those moments when I am lost within my own soul.
I was about eight years old when I had that experience, but it has never left me. I was not allowed to be at the school hall that day because of my age, but I had followed my brothers there — hiding behind the door and listening in on the meeting. I knew that day that if I ever were called upon by my people to act in any capacity in the structures of the struggle, I would gladly answer and honour my duty, even if it was just to lead the freedom songs that would mobilise the masses into action against the oppressors.
But, back to the Windies. They have lost the Test and the one-day series by a landslide margin. I attribute this entirely to an unlucky string of injuries and a whack anthem that fails to move their souls significantly enough for them to be willing to fight to the death in order to bring glory to their nation. Hype is important and the world seems to know this, bar the Windies.
Shaun Pollock said farewell to the fair mistress, international cricket, and gracefully stepped off the stage while many were still calling for an encore. Gibbs, the reckless icon that he is, made sure he got to his century quickly and promptly lobbed one in the air in order for South Africa’s favourite son of cricket to make his way on to the pitch for the last time in his beloved international colours so he could make the winning runs, which he did in his true form. You wouldn’t have expected anything less from Mr Reliable.
It is no surprise, then, that when you look at what has made the man a success, you will find some very interesting facts. He practised hard, had a pedigree in the sport, was a perfectionist and demanded 120% of himself at all times. He led from the front, with valour, and was always committed to his country. More important to his success, though, was that he was assigned a theme song.
Mandoza’s Nkalakatha in my book no longer belongs to Mandoza; it is now a Shaun Pollock classic. It is his theme song and I’m sure he does everything to this song. Imagine him out on the golf course enjoying his retirement and bopping his head to the intoxicating string beat and hypnotic lyrics of that timeless piece of music on the back nine, or even mowing the lawn or fulfilling his matrimonial duties.
Move over, Chuck; let the big dog Polly take over, Rover!
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, music shapes and influences us in ways that we are not even aware of or are reluctant to acknowledge. This country has already had a change in national anthem and I wonder if it would be on the cards to change the current hit-single remix for, say something along the lines of “Mshini wam’, mshini wam’ …” It would be dope because those perpetual chokers, the Kiwis, would now have nothing to hold on to since they seem to fear the William Webb Ellis trophy so much. They bring on the haka; we crouch down and take aim with our imaginary Kalashnikovs while bellowing out the timeless, spine-chilling lyrics.
That would be dope!
People like Polly who have been such exceptional ambassadors for South Africa give me hope for our beloved country, even in the darkness that is load-shedding. It is gentlemen like him that put my heart at peace in the knowledge that this great nation and its great anthem shall overcome, whatever the obstacle, and prosper against all adversity. Let us live and strive for freedom, in South Africa (all) our land.
I rest
The Sumo
A prince with dignity and determination
Prince Ngarambe’s goals are to become Rwanda’s first transgender model and to uplift the country’s youth
The EFF’s principles are unshakeable
Unlike the ANC, the core values of the freedom fighters do not change with each leader it elects
