I fucking love Joburg but hell, the city is killing me! It’s a city at the epicenter of creative talent and cultural fusion screaming for recognition. It is here that Red bull music Academy (RBMA) decided to host one of its global music festivals at what for me is the heart of this amazing city of Gold.
The festival would last for 4 days with various interactions and shows held around and within the city Centre. Though such caused my mouth to water and my legs to shake, it would be the longest party session since my varsity years.
Day 1
I started my Thursday evening on a calm footing. The festivities would begin in Braamfontein. Parking turned out to be a nightmare as it was also First Thursday with galleries open and the food market in full swing. My car guard was especially chirpy that evening demanding that I first give him 20 Rands. He then negotiated down to 10 now and then 10 later once he saw that I wouldn’t budge. Business was booming that evening but he wouldn’t be getting any from me.
The Kalashnikov Gallery on Smit Street would be hosting the haunting urban landscapes of Elsa Bleda. Her exhibition entitled ‘Nightscapes’ features the side shots of Central Joburg buildings. The images of windows standing to attention in strict order with the walls under a silent evening glow. Washing lines drenched in laundry from lonely balconies. The warm light streaming from the night soaked windows seek to remind us of those quiet moments of solitude that happen in the urban sprawl.
Her photographs remind me of the quintessential Joburg buildings. On the outside effigies to a forgone history, that have lost their shine. But within the dense populous, individuals and intimate stories are at play. If we only just stopped and smelt the city fumes. These are ‘quiet moments’ I search for in the city.
Day 2
It’s Friday! I have clocked out from my day job and I’m desperate to officially start the weekend. I’m super armed. Loaded with my press pass and drink tickets, money would not be an issue.
It was back to the city for me and I had dived into it on the deep end. Braamfontein was even more packed than the night before. The streets were buzzing and Red bull signage showed who owned the streets for the night.
I ended up in Great Dane hoping to catch Felix Leband live. I could barely get in the venue, thank God for my media Golden ticket. Sucked into the soothing electronic vibes the venue was the epitome of “happening”. You could barely see the walls. Leband was the conductor orchestrating a sea of heads. At this point there was no space for dancing, only the swaying limbs moving in time to the technic beat.
Day 3
By the third night I am an absolute wreck. I was but a specter of my human self. The night before it was not I doing the drinking but rather the drinks that were consuming me. I had to move on because this had been the night everyone had been raving about and the highlight of my festival, Fat Freddy’s Drop, were in town. I had a responsibility to my readers to push through the hangover.
The event would be hosted in what used to be the sheds that housed the electrics and services for the trams in the early 1900s. This would be the life blood to a budding Johannesburg. Then a mining town at the precipice of colonial forced “modernity”. Today this space has been repurposed to suite Joburg’s new developmental phase of Hipster Gentrification and all the fun and contradiction that comes with it.
Whilst recovering from a major hang over, my new best friend was a can of Red bull classic, the pungent smell of the holly herb seeps through. Its strikes me as ironic that such would be consumed on such an unholy site. The Johannesburg police station was right next door in full view. For those who know this stations infamous history, they call it John Vorster Square. But hey, it was time to party and my favorite local artists were about to show us why ‘Local is just so lekker’.
For me the best part of this all experience was getting to see Moonchild Sanelly in the sexy flesh. She is for me the next Brenda Fassie. A black woman unafraid of her gorgeous body, sexuality is her weapon of choice. It’s not enough to just buy her album (seriously go buy her album on ITunes now!) her high energy performance is the music. Her pop electronic is punchy as a mutha fucka but it’s her music’s deep hard base that keep her music grounded. A mixture of synth pop and kwaito, she keeps it raw on stage, unafraid to show you where the juice is.
I experienced one of those ‘quiet’ city moments from the security guard at the front of the stage. He honestly had the best seats in the house being 1m from Moonchild Twerking bubble butt. He looked like some one’s dad sporting with the facial expression of having smelt something foul. Moonchild’s intensity, her exuberance seemed to be the cause of his offence. What a moment of silent disgust, while Moonchild did her thing and her fans screamed her lyrics in joyous delirium.
For the Academy’s finale that evening Fat Freddy’s drop would be the band to release us into the final throws of the night. Having never heard this band before I can honestly say that they are the craziest and funkiest course in modern music theory I have ever experienced. The band, 7 oaks from New Zealand, who started their session with some reggae. They then threw themselves into a mellow dance hall track and then flung the audience into what can best be described as an intergalactic Disco fusion. A sort of meditative calling to an alien Diana Ross in the heavens. I could not help but dance. My legs were pretty much adamant at this point that I do so.
The ‘quiet’ moment of this evening was watching Toby Chang (aka Toby Laing) on an explosive trumpet medley, changing from slick cut suit to a fabulous pair of white shorts, white top and silver cape. I was in utter awe of his performance. He was in constant motion, his moves Juggernauting through the bands playing, his trumpet was just keeping up with the player. Man, was it a performance that I will never forget.
The festival ended for me that night and would have to continue without me that following Sunday. At Soweto Zone 6 the festival would host its final day. The highlights would include Oskido, Vinny da Vinci and Black coffee. My soul was ready but body was weak and there was no way I could contend with the barrage festivities but somehow I survived and now live to tell the tale.
The RBMA Weekender in Johannesburg was a testament to the great entertainment the city has to offer and is a must see for anyone in the city. It is also a reminder of its possibilities. It is not just a space for commerce but a space for creativity and the ultimate hustle for survival. The city of Gold is not for everyone and many do not make it through its relentless streets. As a young professional failing at ‘adulting’, I’ll be damned if I don’t get my piece of this incredible city!
