1

Dominique Wooldridge and Sibusiso Nxumalo, ‘Shifting soundscapes and youth dance cultures’; in
Pieterse, E. and Meintjies, F. (eds); Voices of the Transition. The politics, poetics and practices of
social change in South Africa; Heinemann; Johannesburg; 2004; pp 206-214.

Shifting soundscapes and youth dance culture in Jo’burg

Dominique Wooldridge and S’busiso Nxumalo

Introduction: Jo’burg, late1980s/early 1990s

If you’re young, hip, black, and into dance culture - you’re probably hanging out at swanky clubs like
Razzmatazz in Hillbrow or at Countdown in town. Or maybe a tavern, one of the new up-market
shebeens springing up in Soweto. The venues are packed, the patrons are smartly dressed, the vibe
is rowdy, and alcohol is the drug of choice. The music of the day is “bubblegum disco-pop” from the
likes of Brenda Fassie, Yvonne Chaka Chaka and Chicco Twala – singing in a mixture of English,
Zulu, Sesotho and scamto (totsitaal).

If you’re young, hip, white, and into dance culture - you’re probably heading for seedy inner-city
venues like The Junction and Le Club. Almost everyone’s dressed in black and fashionably depressed
(or at least trying hard to look preoccupied with existential questions). The DJ is probably playing yet
another 12” prog rock remix –or if you’re lucky some alternative rock like Sonic Youth or the Pixies.
Despite the rumors that poppers are circulated through the air conditioning and that the glasses are
rinsed in meths, its likely that most clubbers are using nothing harder than alcohol and splif.

What white and black youth have in common is that they’re starting to get into British and American
house music. Frankie Knuckles, David Morales, Mr Fingers, JM Silk, Lil' Luis Vega and Masters at
Work are playing on home hi-fis in Soweto and Jo’burg’s northern suburbs. House would become the
basis of the two most dominant youth scenes in Jo’burg during the 1990s - kwaito and rave.

Looking back, it is easy to imagine a moment of anticipation- an expectation of an emerging popular

youth culture that crossed racial boundaries, a ‘new’ youth culture for a ‘new’ South Africa. But that
moment was never really there. There was certainly an expectation of something new, a feeling of
change, of movement – linked to both the national transition process and the influx of artists and
cultural artifacts from around the globe. Yet the possibility that house would form the basis of a youth
culture that crossed racial lines never really seemed imminent.

In the Jo’burg of the 1990s, both kwaito and rave developed along distinctly racial lines. The rave
scene was overwhelmingly white, while kwaito would came to be seen as music which ‘represents
South African township youth’ (Nhlanhla, lead singer of Mafikizolo, quoted in McCoy 2003)

Dolby (2001) makes the point that the demarcation of race is closely linked to popular culture. Her
research in a Durban highschool revealed that young South Africans tend to define racial identity in
terms of fashion and music preferences. Practices of cultural selection and appropriation play a critical
role in the production of racial identities. Popular artefacts (such as clothes and music) take on
specific, racialised meanings. Cultural artifacts which act as racial markers circulate both locally and
globally, so that the global intimately shapes young people’s interaction with the everyday lived
realities of race.

Jo’burg, early 1990s

There are many stories about the beginnings of kwaito. Our personal favourite goes like this: One
night the Razzmatazz DJ doesn’t pitch. The guy who sells boerewors rolls outside the club fills in for
him. He starts slowing down house trax to mid-tempo and mixing them with chanted lyrics from local
bubblegum pop. It goes down so well that he gets asked to play a regular session at Razzmatazz.

The boerewors vendor in this story is Oscar ‘Warrona’ Mdlongwa. Oscar, with Christos Katsaitis, Mdu
Masilela and Arthur Mafokate, is one of the pioneering DJs who invented kwaito – a kind of mid-tempo
house (around 100 to 120 bpm) with an African twist. Like house, kwaito is a genre with many

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variations, incorporating influences ranging from international house (Arthur, Mdu) to hip-hop
(Mandoza, TKZee), to R&B and South African jazz (Bongo Maffin, Mafikizolo).

Many accounts of the emergence of kwaito link it directly to South Africa’s transition to democracy. For
example:

Kwaito was born when Nelson Mandela was released. (Mzekezeke’s speech at the South
African Music Awards, quoted in McCoy 2003).

If there is any symbol of the change that has taken place between the apartheid and post-
apartheid generations, it is this music. It emerged—and this is no accident—with the election
of Nelson Mandela in 1994 (Servant 2002).

While it is widely acknowledged that kwaito was played prior to the 1994, these accounts, which tend
to see kwaito as the ‘authentic’ music of black youth, attribute a symbolic significance to the link
between kwaito and democratization. For example:

For many South Africans, kwaito represents the reclamation of black cultural identity. In a
country where black culture and identity was always marginal despite a majority black
population, kwaito has come to represent black pride (Bosch 2001)

While kwaito would only become ‘big’ in the mid 1990s, its popularity spread rapidly in the early 1990s,
mainly through street bashes and clubs. It quickly influenced clubbing styles and expectations, and by
1992 or 93 it was the norm to have both a house DJ and a MC with a mic at a party. Then, following
the influx of black students into historically white universities, the kwaito scene moved onto campus.
The question of whether the end-of-year party would be a rave or bash became a heated discussion in
many university residences.

Despite its popularity, kwaito seldom made the playlists of local radio stations until the mid 1990s. A
few kwaito artists got some time on the airwaves, but most radio stations shunned the genre entirely.
Record labels were also slow to take an interest in kwaito. To get their music recorded, artists like Mdu
and Oscar started producing compilations of kwaito in tape format in bedroom studios. The tapes were
sold from car boots at the side of the road.

When we started making kwaito tapes around 1991 and 1992, the songs were popular but
radio and record labels though it was shit music... they said it was crap because it had a few
chanted lines... (Mdu, quoted in McCloy 2003)

Oscar teamed up with DJ Christos and Don Laka to form their own record company, Kalawa Jazmee.
Their first release was Boomshaka's ` It's about time'. This track, sold from the side of the road, was
what finally caught the attention of major labels.

The record companies just weren't interested, it was a new genre, new to the ear, so we
started distributing it ourselves, and the Boomshaka track became big. That's when it started
out. And then suddenly the record companies were all over us (Oscar, quoted in Douglas and
Harris, undated)

White dance clubs started to play house and techno in the early 1990s. At first house was mixed with
12” prog rock and high-energy. FourthWorld (Jeppe street), which opened in 1991, was probably the
first house and techno club in Jo’burg. It had an ‘underground’ aethestic and advertised mainly by
word of mouth. It was renowned for its experimental music and in-house smart-drink (‘psuper psonic
pcyber ptonic’). After the opening of FourthWorld, other clubs began to mix house and techno into
their play-lists. In 1994 the city’s first ‘mainstream’ rave club, ‘the Shelter’ opened in Randburg.

The rave scene in Jo’burg was a low-key affair in the early 1990s. Raves were advertised by word of
mouth and phone lists, and tickets were available from Bizarre Records, a second-hand music shop in
Yeoville. The first commercial rave (or first rave where patrons were charged an entrance fee) was
called ‘Evolution’ and took place in 1992 at the old Picadilly movie house. Later in the year raves were
held at Wembley Ice rink and the old Fort.

Merle Jacobs, ex-owner of Bizarre Records, recalls that there was there was no particular dress style
or ‘look’ associated with rave at this stage. LSD and cocaine were the most commonly used drugs,

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‘probably because ecstasy wasn’t easily available yet’. The use of LSD probably contributed to the
emphasis placed on the spiritual and psychedelic aspects of rave.

There are several different versions of what rave is. To some it is a hedonistic ‘rush culture’, a form of
entertainment based on drugs, avoidance, cheap thrills, display, and spectacle. For others rave is
essentially about the music and the experience of dancing, a sensual journey which effects the
individual’s relationship between mind and body, as well as relationships between people. Others see
rave as a profound spiritual experience, a way of accessing communal energy, a neo-psychedelic trip
which emphasises unity and the interconnectedness of all things. While all these definitions can be
applied to the rave scene in Jo’burg at different periods, it is the later which best describes the scene
in the early 1990s. ‘Damn New Thing’ (1992), a local fanzine, describes rave as ‘all about using
futurist technology to return to the ancient purpose of music; communal release through ritual ecstatic
dancing’.

Flyers for early raves tended to emphasise movement and a break with the past. For example, the
‘Evolution’ (1992) flyer advertises the rave as ‘A journey from your past… into your future!’ The front of
the ‘1 Nation’ (1993) flyer says ‘Unity’, while the back says ‘Keep constant in your thought that the
future is simply an invisible jigsaw for which you alone can supply the pieces to make up the full
picture, music is the language of the globe, the password to all culture.’

Jo’burg, mid 1990s

Until around 1994, the rave industry in Jo’burg was loosely organized. Most raves were organized by
individuals or small groups with a personal interest in the music or ideas associated with rave, and
held in warehouses or unused buildings. Merle Jacobs recalls that

No-one made much money. Often there wasn’t enough money to pay for equipment hire, or
pay people who had worked for the rave. Lots of organizers went into debt and lost money.

In the mid 1990s the scene started to scale up. One reason for this is the establishment of local
production houses, notably ICE (Incubated Cyber Energy), which improved the standards of the
facilities available at raves (particularly safe parking, toilets and free water).

Another reason is the influx of promoters with experience in the rave scene in other countries, mainly
Britain. This is largely as a result of the legislation of the draconian ‘Criminal Justice and Public Order
Bill’ (1994), which aimed to put an end to outdoor raves. The Bill defined a rave as anything over a
hundred people gathered to play amplified music ‘characterised by the emission of a succession of
repetitive beats’. It gave the police the power to close down raves, and to disperse a gathering of ten
(or more) people if there was a suspicion that they were setting up a rave. Ravers and party
organisers responded with several protest marches, and a ‘right to party’ movement was started.
However, the Bill effectively ended the British outdoor rave scene. As a result, several promoters
associated with the British rave scene arrived in Jo’burg.

Around the same time, ecstasy became easily available in Jo’burg. Leggett notes that the first arrests
for the possession and sale of ecstasy date back to 1994, and have increased exponentially since that
time (Leggett, 2001:67). While there are no reliable statistics on ecstasy use in Jo’burg, Leggett
(2001), drawing on surveys done in Durban and Jo’burg, estimates that 77% of people attending raves
use ecstasy.

The relationship between rave and ecstasy is a complex one. Reynolds (1998) argues that rave is
more than ‘music + drugs’. Rave music cannot be reduced to be a drug, and some of the major
producers of rave music are known for their complete abstinence. However, ‘rave culture as a whole is
barely conceivable without drugs, or at least without drug metaphors: by itself, the music drugs the
listener’.

As Sadie Plant puts it:

‘This was music as a matter of modifying states of mind, perceptions, bodies, brains; music
that became almost as immediate as drugs themselves; music that remembered the
techniques of dance and drumming, rhythm and trance, and anticipated the sense that music
has more to do with sound and frequency than melody and meaning…..

the drug was the music, and the music was a means of engineering and exploring its effects.’
(Plant, 1999:166)

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There is no doubt that the availability of ecstasy contributed to the growing popularity of rave in
Jo’burg. However, the key factor spurring the growth of the rave industry was probably the availability
of sponsorship. A number of companies wishing to penetrate the youth market in the ‘new’ South
Africa, particularly cigarette, alcohol and cell-phone companies, began sponsoring raves. Sponsors
saw raves as a way of increasing product visibility, and seldom demanded a financial return from the
rave. This reduced the risk to promoters, and resulted in raised production standards and an
increasing number of ever-larger raves.

Of the various new production houses established in the mid-1990s, Mother Productions (established
in 1996) would have the most significant impact on the Jo’burg rave scene. The first ‘Mother’ rave
(1996) is usually cited as the moment when rave in Jo’burg became mainstream. Peter White, founder
of ‘Mother Productions’, acknowledges that he ‘pioneered the commercialisation of the dance industry
in South Africa, from a grungy, underground scene to a proper, mainstream trend’ (Sunday Times, 13
June 1999). Mother Productions put money into marketing and décor, and offered state of the art
sound and lighting systems. They exposed local audiences to international DJs, such as Tony De Wit,
Mrs Wood, Carl Cox and Frankie Knuckles.

‘Mother Productions’ set the standard for future parties, and small promoters who were unable to offer
the same kind of facilities and features offered at ‘Mother’ raves were squeezed out of the market. In
1996, for the first time, raves started attracting over 10 000 people. The crowd attending raves
became younger, and more mainstream. The success of commercial raves continued for several
years, in what Merle Jacobs describes as the ‘golden years of rave in Jo’burg’.

However, while the rave industry flourished, many prominent figures associated with the scene in the
early 1990s were alienated by the new order, and felt that the core philosophy behind rave had been
compromised in pursuit of profit.

Many ravers agreed with this assessment. It became quite fashionable to denigrate the commercial
rave scene as a waste of perfectly good serotonin. Some people stopped attending raves altogether
and dissociated themselves from the scene. Others continued to attend raves, but distanced
themselves from the crowds of young ‘rave-bunnies’ through adopting new dress styles, consumption
patterns and behavior:
When all the old stuff like bright clothes and whistles became mainstream fashion and
everyone was wearing it, we just started going to raves dressed all in black

I’d rather die of thirst then carry a water bottle around. It’s so Foshini

The only way to deal with the crowds is to stay straight. I don’t think I’d cope if I was tripping
(Personal interviews, 2003)

Some people became very selective about which raves they would attend. Within this group, events
organized by small promoters were usually preferred over those organized by large production
houses; ‘funky’ house was preferred over ‘happy’ house; and venues in the inner city were preferred
over those on the peripheries.

The kwaito industry was booming at the same time as the rave industry. By the mid 1990s major
labels had woken up to the commercial potential of kwaito. However, a lasting consequence of the
their initial apathy towards kwaito is that several kwaito artists and producers (including Mdu, Oscar
and Christos) now own their own record labels. These independent labels have been able to negotiate
distributing and marketing deals with major record companies like EMI/CCP, Sony and BMG. As a
result the music is widely distributed, but remains owned and controlled by local artists and producers.
Major labels have also signed kwaito artists such as Mandoza and TKZee. This has not only increased
kwaito’s media coverage, but has also massively improved production standards.

The release of Bongo Maffin 1997 hit single, ‘Makeba’, is something of a watershed for kwaito. Until
around ’93 or ’94, township culture wasn’t very ‘hip’ in the townships. One of the most prominent social
divides in the townships was between the English-speaking ‘yuppies’ and scamto-speaking
1
‘pantsulas ‘. Because of its use of scamto, kwaito was widely regarded as pantsula music, and looked
down on in much the same way as pantsula culture.

1
Pantsula is a sub-culture originating in Alexandra and Soweto in the 1970s. It is associated with a particular
style of dance and fashion aethestic (colourful high-waisted trousers, All Star takkies, Dobbs hats). Some

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In the early 1990s Brenda Fassie began erode this social divide by using scamto in the lyrics of
popular songs. Scamto moved from the streets onto radio and TV, becoming more respectable on the
way. Bongo Muffin’s remix of Miriam Makeba’s ‘Pata Pata’ explicitly linked kwaito to South Africa’s
mainstream musical legacy. The stigma attached to kwaito began to erode.

Another important moment for kwaito takes place in October 1997, when Yfm went on air. Y, a station
aimed at township youth, played a key role in moving kwaito from the underground to the mainstream.
When government launched a national initiative to restructure radio broadcasting, a group of
entrepreneurs, mostly ex-SABC employees, put an application for a regional license together. The
application was overtly political, and sponsored by SASPU, SASCO and various youth clubs, who
2
were collectively listed as 50% shareholders in the station . In the rhetoric of the day kwaito was the
‘authentic’ voice of urban black youth, the ‘real’ sound of the townships. Thus the link between Y and
kwaito was established before the station even went on air.

Y soon became the most trendy youth station in town, and was lauded as the voice of the post-
apartheid urban black youth. Kwaito’s popularity grew along with Y’s. In 1998 TKZee released a single
(‘Shibobo’)- a month later it had sold over 100 000 copies, making it the fastest and biggest selling CD
single by any South African recording artist to date. Kwaito had made the big time.

Kwaito’s popularity began to attract significant sponsorship for kwaito bashes, mainly from alcohol
manufacturers and fashion labels. Several companies which previously sponsored raves began
sponsoring kwaito bashes. Rave promoters recall that sponsorship became increasingly difficult to
secure from around 1998.

Potential sponsors would say that the white youth market was saturated, and they needed to
penetrate the more affluent sector of the black youth market. (Merle Jacobs, personal
interview)

The availability of sponsorship, and kwaito’s rising media profile, contributed to kwaito bashes
becoming more up-market, with a very ‘global label’ look. (Some of the more popular fashion labels
were Fubu, Kangol, Converse and Levi). While alcohol remained the most common drug used at
kwaito bashes, ecstasy use slowly began to increase.

Joburg- late 1990s/early 200s

As sponsorship became more readily available for kwaito bashes, it became more difficult for rave
promoters to access. The situation was exacerbated when, in 1998, a bill, which would become the
Tobacco Products Control Amendment Act (1999), was introduced in parliament. The bill aimed to
prohibit the advertising and promotion of tobacco products, and specifically prohibited promotion
through the sponsorship of events. Because cigarette companies were one of the largest sponsors of
raves, the bill was bad news for rave promoters.

First there was the ban on cigarette advertising. It was talked about for a long time before it
happened, and was hanging over our heads. You can’t organize a party knowing that
sponsorship could suddenly be pulled out from under you. I think the last Camel rave was just
a month before the ban- and the organizers really sweated. (Merle Jacobs, personal interview)

In an attempt to remain financially viable, several rave production houses tried to move into the black
youth market. ‘Mother Productions’ established a wing, ‘Mama’, aimed at black youth. Other promoters
tried to bring the kwaito and house crowds together, usually by offering an event with several dance-
floors catering to different music genres. Some events explicitly juxtaposed the two scenes, like the
‘Kwaito vs. House’ party held at the Electric Workshop (Newtown) in 1999.

While some ‘crossover’ events were commercially successful, most were not. At the time, a few dance
clubs were attracting a mixed, although still predominantly white, crowd. These clubs, such as Carfax
in Newtown and 206 in Orange Grove, provided an alternative to the rave scene, which remained
overwhelmingly white.

township youth claiming to be pantsulas were associated with crime in the mid 1980s- as a result of which
pantsula style is still associated with danger and the underworld.
2
The way the deal panned out, SASPU, SASCO etc end up with only 5% of shares in Yfm

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It became increasingly difficult to organize capital to finance a rave. In 1999, Peter White (owner of
Mother Productions) said that banks had become ‘so horrified’ by the risks associated with the rave
industry, that they no longer gave loans to promoters. (Sunday Times, 13 June 1999).

The potential profits from the industry were huge. For example, a 1998 rave, organized by Camel and
staged at Gallagher Estate, grossed over R2 million. But the industry was also volatile and high-risk.
Peter White lost more than R1.2 million on a single event, a New Year’s Eve party featuring Gloria
Gaynor. He said:

I've gone from rags to riches and back - many times. It is a cutthroat business - you really
don't know who your friends are, even after you've been stabbed in the back. It can go wrong
so quickly. Most businesses bigger than mine will invest R500 000 for a year-long project - I
have to do that in a single night. (Peter White, quoted in The Sunday Times, 13 June 1999)

Merle Jacobs explains that the potential for making ‘R100 000 profit in one night’ had attracted
‘gamblers’ into the industry in the boom years (1996-1998). Many of these promoters had no long-term
commitment to the industry, and disappeared without settling their debts. As a result:

There was too much bad feeling. People had not been paid - for equipment they rented out, or
printing flyers, or DJing. Small companies were going under. The industry was buckling (MJ,
personal interview).

In the late 1990s the cost of hiring venues and equipment soared, possibly in response to media
reports that rave promoters were making outrageous amounts of money. At the same time the industry
was troubled by a weak Rand, which made it expensive to feature international DJs.

Violence and intimidation also posed a problem. There were sporadic outbursts of violence between
different groups of bouncers and security companies, which the media dubbed the ‘bouncer wars’.
Some rave promoters used threats of violence to ensure that other promoters did not stage events on
the same nights that they planned to. As stories and rumours about violence, intimidation, and
opportunism circulated, the rave scene came to be seen as the antithesis of the values it was
associated with in the early 1990s. By the end of the 1990s, the boom years were over for Jo’burg’s
rave industry. Rave had lost its lustre, and was seen as a bland and commercial scene catering to
teenagers.

While the popularity of rave declined, kwaito went from strength to strength. By the late 1990s kwaito
was no longer just a music genre, but a style and an attitude;

‘Pantsula jive and mapantsula schick. Floppy hats, inner-city loose, hip hop freeflow and sexy
girls in tow, bare midriffs and steaming hot pants - kwaito has created a unique and crazy
style. It is the voice of black urban South African culture, delightedly styling a personality that
struts and frets the tightrope between arrogance and confidence.’ (Douglas and Harris,
undated)

a signifier of black pride;

‘Kwaito is South Africa's cultural and dance music revolution. By the black youth, about the
black youth and for the black youth, in a spontaneous reflection of black identity and mobility
in the country.’ (ibid)

and the cornerstone of a new urban black youth culture:

‘[comprising] young black owned record labels, youth radio stations and fashion labels rooted
in SA history and urban style – it’s still the youth that are leading the way, just as they did in
the anti-Apartheid struggle. Young South Africans are creating a brand new, funky, urban,
globalised yet proudly South African cultural landscape. And this new urban culture started
with kwaito.’ (McCloy 2003)

Kwaito’s success paved the way for the launch of a number of other initiatives. Perhaps the most
prominent is fashion label Loxion Kulca, which was established in 1999. Like the first kwaito tapes, the
first Loxion Kulca designs were sold from a car boot. Wandi Ndzimande, one of Loxion Kulca’s
founders, recalls that it was difficult to convince local retailers to stock their designs.

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We had people asking us to remove the label, people saying they like the hat but they don't
like the local vibe and that's a problem. (quoted in McCloy 2001)

Despite these initial difficulties, Loxion Kulca became a commercial success, and now dresses many
of South Africa’s top kwaito and hip-hop artists. Interestingly, Loxion Kulca has been able to retain
their ‘alternative’ status despite this commercial success. This is very different to the rave scene,
which lost its allure for many people when it became a commercial industry. However, many key
figures in the kwaito scene see no tension between commercial success and artistic integrity.

It' s [kwaito’s] employed producers, sound engineers, lawyers, secretaries, producers, people
who put on shows, it' s us kwaito boys who employ them. It gives dignity to an average black
family if their kid makes it as a star and it means as a man he can walk into a world that
accepts him as he is, and kwaito also gives him financial independence (Zola, quoted in
McCloy 2003).

Black Empowerment has not benefited us! … Kwaito, for the first time, has allowed the young
people in the ghetto to create their first real black business. We now have labels, studios, and
stars who sell over 150,000 records. Today, it has even become a [commercial] culture,
[expressed through] its own brands, like Loxion Kulca or Woola Seven (Oscar, quoted in
Servant 2002).

Conclusion – Now (2003)

There have been some interesting attempts to reinvigorate the rave scene in recent years. For
example, Lucky Strike sponsored a rave held at ‘The Dome’ in early 2002. To stay within the
provisions of the Tobacco Products Control Amendment Act (1999), they advertised the event by
distributing codes and a website address at selected clubs. People who had a code would then log
onto the website, register, and receive an invitation to a free event. The event was not open to anyone
who did not have an access code.

The website requested that people bring ID books with them to the rave. At the entrance to the venue
people passed through a room where their personal details were computerized and their fingerprints
scanned. The main hall consisted of a familiar rave setting (a large dance floor, chill rooms inside
tents, and a ‘beach’ area). What was unusual were the computer terminals scattered around the room,
mounted on walls and encased in sleek silver pods. The idea was to turn the rave into a hi-tech game.
People moved from terminal to terminal, in no particular order. Each terminal had a touchpad, which
was able to identify people through scanning their thumbprints. At each terminal people answered a
series of questions, and were given a task. For example, one of the tasks was to go to a gallery in
another part of the venue, view three paintings, and decide which one was a fake. The system tracked
which tasks and questions individuals had already completed, and kept score. While the content of the
game wasn’t very creative, it grabbed the imagination of many people at the event. Throughout the
night small groups of people crisscrossed the room intent on their assigned tasks. The game provided
an alternative for people who didn’t want to be on the dance-floor, but wanted a more active distraction
than those on offer in the chillrooms.

This is not the only event which has attempted to use technology to mutate rave into something new.
However, most raves remain tied to the tried-and-tested formula. As a style and a dance-format, the
genre seems fated to fade away.

Kwaito is unlikely to fade away. But the question of what it will become is very open. Kwaito is seldom
released in LP format, which means that it doesn’t receive much playtime in house clubs. Live
performance is therefore a critical factor that will impact on kwaito’s future. At the moment many artists
rely on DATs (Digital Audio Tapes) for live performance, which tends to result in the same gig being
played again and again.

There are no kwaito clubs as such, in Jo’burg, although there are clubs which play a lot of kwaito. The
hip black youth clubs of the early 2000s are mainly located in yuppies areas, such as ‘The Saints’ in
Rivonia. Given kwaito’s township associations, this is slightly incongruous. But then again Yfm has
moved from Bertrams to ‘The Zone’ (Rosebank), so there is no doubt that kwaito is moving up-market.

A positive spin-off of the way kwaito developed is that the industry is locally owned. But the flipside of
this is that there is no kwaito underground. A few producers, many of whom are also artists, control
the industry. There is no innovative fringe, and there is a danger that kwaito will become formulaic.

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The happy marriage between commercial success and artistic integrity may be heading for divorce, or
at least a few loud domestic squabbles.

The experimental edge of Jo’burg’s youth culture is now located in a few inner-city clubs. There are
relatively few dance clubs which are attracting a multi-racial audience and playing experimental forms
of electronic music. The first of these new clubs was probably C3 (which closed last year). Although
C3 did not last long, it provided a glimpse of what the new Jo’burg scene may look like. It’s
successors, like ‘115’ in Anderson street, are the incubators of Jo’burg’s new jorls.

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References

Bosch, T.E (2001). ‘A Critical Perspective on Kwaito: A New Music For a New South Africa?’
Unpublished paper, available online at http://oak.cats.ohiou.edu/~tb441693/kwaito.html

Collin, M. (1997); Altered State; Serpent’s Tale; London.

Dei.D and Stagg.J (2002). ‘No easy rave to freedom - The South African Youth Revolution’, in
Hyperreal Rave Archives, available online at
http://www.hyperreal.org/raves/spirit/politics/South_African_Revolution.html

Dolby, N. (2001). Constructing Race: Youth, Identity and Popular Culture in South Africa. Albany, NY:
State University of New York Press.

Douglas, S. and Harris, I. (undated); ‘Kwaito - the hot and kicking urban explosion’, available online at
http://home.worldonline.co.za/~afribeat/beatroutes_kwaito1.html.

Leggett, T. (2001); Rainbow Vice. The drugs and sex industries in the new South Africa; David Philip;
Cape Town.

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