Open Writing

Against a backdrop of black, the array of instruments looked dramatic. There were lovely, light-wood marimbas, in front of which was propped a bright brass saxophone. A selection of traditional drums was set out on the right of the stage, two kalimbas were on a table at centre-front and five or six magnificent, twisting kudu horns dangled from wooden stands. A couple of instruments, leaning against the left wall, resembled bows and arrows, one with a large, orange calabash attached about two-thirds down. On various stools and tables were pipes, resembling primitive pan pipes, and lengths of irrigation tubing, decorated with red tape. From the rear of the stage, an electronic keyboard over-looked the other instruments. To its right was a set of modern jazz drums and at centre stage was a beautiful, red-wood ‘cello. Amongst this mixture of traditional and modern musical instruments were a few electric guitars, an acoustic guitar and a few calabashes, decorated with loose bead-work.

The director and conductor of the Mzantsi Traditional Orchestra strode on stage, beaming from ear to ear. “My name,” he said slowly, “is George Mxadna” phonetically ‘M-click-ahd-nah’ then running the sounds together, he repeated, “Mxadna.” He laughed as several of the white people in the audience attempted the difficult click. “It is a Xhosa surname,” he explained, pronouncing the ‘xh’ as a click. The Xhosa speaking people come from an area in South Africa known as the Eastern Cape.

George and his ‘orchestra’ of instrumentalists, who also danced, sang and acted, created magical sounds, fusing ancient, traditional, South African music with modern instruments, ‘both organic and electronic’. The ten members of the orchestra, dressed in black, trouped on the stage and the enchantment began. As two lovely young women, swaying, played gentle, clicking tunes on the kalimbas, another young woman quietly tapped a drum and the cello added a smooth and mellow bass. Gradually, the whole group joined in, singing and chanting. We were transported to another place and time, lulled into peace and well-being by music based on an ancient, ‘Bushman trance’. Several of the audience slipped into a deep sleep.

The musicians introduced us to several of the instruments.

The uhadi bow of the Xhosa people and the umakhweyana bow from Zululand, were modified from the bow and arrow of the Bushmen. On the smaller bow, the wooden part of the instrument was held to the player’s mouth, which he opened and closed to change the pitch and sound quality as the single string was set vibrating by a stick hitting or stroking it. The larger bow with the calabash attached to it was played in a similar fashion, but the sound changes were created by moving the opening of the calabash backward and forward against the player’s chest. These instruments gave a breathy, ‘wowing’ sound. Traditionally they were played by women to accompany love songs and lullabies.

There was a larger instrument, one string attached at the top to a flat and narrow plank, all coming together again at the bottom of the instrument inside an empty oil can. It looked like a primitive version of a cello. This gave a rather scratchy sound as the string was stroked with a small violin bow.

The kudu horns were, musically, just that, horns. The hole through which the musicians blew to obtain the sound was close to the narrow end. These beautiful, twisting instruments gave an eerie call over several notes.

The reed pipes sounded similar to pan pipes. We were told that, traditionally, there used to be only one pipe per player, they were not bound together as we saw them on stage. “In Africa,” joked Anthony Caplan, award-winning composer, musician and ethnomusicologist, and jazz drummer, “there was no such thing as ‘one man, one vote’ just ‘one man, one note!’”

Lengths of irrigation hose, about thirty centimetres long, replaced the original hollow reeds. These gave a breathy, quivering sound, played by blowing into the top opening while changing the vibrations in the tubes by fluttering the palm against the bottom end.

The penny-whistle, popular in folk music throughout the world, was used in the Kwêla medley, its shrill and joyous, rhythmic tones setting everyone’s feet tapping. Three of the girls on-stage danced to these rhythms, voluptuous, enticing and thrilling as penny-whistle and saxophone questioned and answered each other in a glorious duet. Penny-whistle virtuoso, Ross Johnson, explained that the Kwêla, as a form of music, began with the street musicians in the township known as Soweto, south west of Johannesburg, during the dreadful days of apartheid. “The word ‘kwêla’ means, ‘jump up!’ So, when police vans came to clear the streets and carry the musicians to prison, the people would scatter, shouting, ‘kwêla! kwela!’.

Marimbas and bead-decorated calabashes accompanied the operatic aria, ‘Libiamo’ from La Traviata, sung by George and the bass guitar player, whose name was ‘bigteddi’. The calabash players pretended to drink from their instruments, while creating rhythms by hitting the bowls, setting the beads rattling.

For over an hour our feet jigged up and down and we swayed in our seats. It was a wonder that people didn’t stand up and dance in the aisles. Jazz numbers, such as “My Baby just Cares for Me”, sung by the show’s director and company manager, Laurie Levine, accompanied by bigteddi on his bass guitar and the calabash players, rang with joyous abandon from the stage.

The passion which every musician felt, shone in their bright smiles, they made eye contact with the audience, and laughs sprang from them spontaneously, rhythm and melody flowed with perfect ease. The feeling of euphoria engendered by their music stayed with us for hours after we left the theatre.

The Mzantsi Traditional Orchestra, with their performance of Ancestral Grooves, are performers of whom every South African can be truly proud. They should be performing in all the big international venues, starting at Carnegie Hall.

Until next time, ‘here comes Treble!’

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by Isabel Bradley