The politics of South African sound

From kwaito to amapiano, South African music is a bridge between past and present, where cultural memory, resistance, and reinvention collide on the dancefloor.

Still from "Yebo Lapho (Gogo)" © 2024.

When the Black youth of Soweto fomented a movement through laid-back yet infectious grooves, they did so on the heels of their predecessors’ bubblegum sound that had invigorated and roused many. Ditching its polished aspirational aesthetic for a bold streetwise edge, they fused South African bubblegum with rap, R&B, and house music, giving rise to the distinct sound of kwaito. Drawing on these multicultural influences, the kwaito generation ignited a movement that transcended music.

With a sonic imperative to capture the post-apartheid atmosphere of abandon and release, kwaito became a cultural statement—a radical declaration of agency and self-determination. Born of varied influences, the kwaito youth sought to carve a unique identity. Though seeking to dissociate themselves from the agony and struggle that marked the previous generation’s music, they did not shy away from revitalizing past milestones. Through sampling and interpolation, they wove past and present into a sonic and visual tapestry, breathing new life into aesthetics while preserving their timeless essence.

As the fulcrum bridging past and present, kwaito has remained a steadfast cultural influence on South Africa’s musical landscape. With shared township origins, the smooth mid-tempo sound of amapiano traces its roots to that culture, with its own fusion of jazz, deep house, and kwaito. Through the alchemy of sound and story, contemporary artists act as cultural archivists in motion. Like their predecessors, they blend amapiano with historical cultural symbols, creating a hybrid that pays homage to the past while pushing the culture forward.

Part of a broad movement, contemporary artists reclaim and reimagine historic storytelling motifs to fit their own narratives. Artists like Focalistic, embodying a full-throated reclamation of street culture reimagined through a modern lens, carry the legacy of township culture into new musical frontiers. His tagline, “Ase trap tse ke pina tsa ko kasi” (This is not trap, these are songs from the township), firmly anchors his artistry in its local roots even while it resonates globally. In remixing his groundbreaking hit “Ke Star” with Nigerian musician Davido, he pushed creative limits while remaining faithful to the song’s origins through blending township dance rhythms with the expressive power of Sepitori. Figures like DBN Gogo capture the past by weaving retro aesthetics into their creative identity, evoking a powerful sense of nostalgia. In striking contrast to her collaborators, in music videos like “Balimele,” she curates a space for retro reinvention, not only recalling the golden eras of South African pop but also creating a poetic contrast with the contemporary streetwear culture. Past and present come together effortlessly in a single frame. Similarly, Felo Le Tee masterfully honors this tradition of archival referencing with a compelling visual narrative on “Yebo Lapho (Gogo).”

“Yebo Lapho (Gogo)” intricately weaves a visual tapestry of South African musical culture. Using clothing as an aesthetic device, the video reveals inspired styling that seamlessly transports us through history. In a dynamic interplay of past and present, loose-fitting shirts and pants adorned with vibrant colors and patterns emerge from the bustling energy of a taxi rank—a thread intertwining a unique experience of Black life with the bold streetwear style of the 1980s. As Scotts Maphuma waxes lyrical to entice “eye candy” with the lure of big bucks, the bold signature patterns of a Dice shirt are reimagined, reviving its legacy and restoring its timeless cool. The camera lingers on a Carvela shoe, reinforcing its cultural significance. Through the youthful movement of Izikhothane, its resonance in pop culture was renewed as a statement of identity, rebellion, and self-expression. Neatly tying up the theme, syncopated shots capture amapantsula, decked in their usual vibrant pants, Converse All-Stars, and signature bucket hats, give way to contemporary dancers who redefine cool with amapiano moves.

Still from “Yebo Lapho (Gogo)” © 2024.

In another scene, the entourage revives Sophiatown sophistication, donning tailored coats paired with the trademark flat cap. Rooted in the 1950s tradition of cultural resistance that reimagined the Victorian aesthetic with township flair, here Scotts delivers a defiant speech. Flanked by protesters, the scene largely unfolds before a colonial-style building. Serving as broader commentary, this makes a powerful metaphorical statement. The scene’s protest elements seamlessly merge the essence of the style—expression, resistance, defiance—to the era from which it emerged. Beyond its historically inspired styling, it reclaims the very narrative that shaped this mode of dress. Here are Black men, blending creativity, ambition, and rebellion in their quest for recognition, standing on the other side of the defiance that challenged the oppressive conditions.

Layering the visual narrative with added texture and context, the music video cleverly incorporates scenes that resemble a live television broadcast. Styled with a logo that echoes the familiar branding of the national broadcaster SABC 1, Felo Le Tee curates his own channel—Felo TV, evoking a sense of nostalgia. SABC 1, a crucial cultural force driven by a mission to reshape narratives on Blackness, popularized kwaito music and township-based storytelling. It portrayed Black people in upwardly mobile and empowering roles. Reflecting kwaito’s aspirational impulse, the channel gave a glimpse into the possibilities of an imagined future—gradually unfolding, within grasp. Much like De Mthuda’s sonic and visual tribute to the iconic 1980s sitcom Sgudi Snaysi, Felo Le Tee’s invocation serves as a cultural capsule, a vessel of memory and identity. It is a poetic reclamation that places Felo Le Tee at the helm of his own channel, envisioning a history yet be written.

Conversely, this historical rewrite serves as a subversive reimagining of the channel’s legacy from a bygone era, when curated cultural experiences like Live and Yo TV were communal rituals—shaping taste, style, and identity—and Black music, leading the charge, was championed with institutional support and visibility. It is a nostalgic return to the golden years. But the conclusion offers a sobering contrast, pulling us back to the present, where a carefully stitched montage of the song’s viral dance floods social media, and what was once shared intimacy is now splintered into algorithmic solitude.

Reviving, reshaping, and propelling the culture forward, contemporary artists do the vital work of preserving the aesthetics and heritage of a past that, though it lies beyond our current moment, thrums beneath the surface of contemporary culture. Through their invocations, the past is honored, kept vividly alive and endlessly resonant. At its most sincere, the work of reclaiming old art bridges time and memory, reconciling identity and belonging. As a progenitor of amapiano, kwaito continues to hold relevance in the cultural zeitgeist. Its essence reverberates across various subcultures, its legacy revived and restored. Yet its powerful resonance in the mainstream, often fueling bursts of collective nostalgia, sees a steady stream of generic remakes. Stripped of context and emptied of meaning, artists draw from rich cultural symbols not as homage but as aesthetic shortcuts aimed at mass appeal. Still, the presence of custodians like Thebe, DJ Mahoota, and Thandiswa Mazwai in the mainstream anchors kwaito in its cultural roots, even as it evolves within new musical landscapes. Coming full circle in poetic fashion, the past is once more woven seamlessly into the present.

Further Reading

An allegiance to abusers

This weekend, Chris Brown will perform two sold-out concerts in South Africa. His relationship to the country reveals the twisted dynamic between a black American artist with a track record of violence and a country happy to receive him.

False progress

From 2024, the Grammys will feature an award for Best African Music Performance. Is the category a positive step embracing the global popularity of African music, or another homogenizing exotification?