Notes from the South Peter Machen PUBLISHER From South African arts writer Peter Machen, Notes from the South is a collection of conversations wuth key counter-cultural voices in the first two decades of the 21st Century. From South African superstar Brenda Fassie to American independent filmmaker Larry Clark to punk icon Patti Smith, Machen’s inti- mate interview style allows his subjects to reveal parts of themselves that are rarely expresssed in public. While the subjects of these Notes from the South are remarkably diverse, they share an alternative perspec- tive on the world, regardless of their physical prox- imity to the global South. In this context, Australian political writer John Pilger sits comfortably next to South African acadamic Njabulo Ndebele, Brazilian filmmaker Fernando Meirelles and Senegalese musi- cian Baaba Maal, all of whom, in their own ways, are striving for a better, more humanist world. Collectively, this polyphony of voices, as chan- neled through Machen’s transcripts and recollections, presents a cultural and political snapshot of life in the first two decades of this still new century, one that is given additional texture by several of Machen’s col- umns and travel pieces which are interspersed with the interviews. Notes from the South Copyright © 2017 Peter Machen All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. “We cannot be impartial, only intellectually honest. Impartiality is a dream, honesty a duty.” - Italian philosopher Gaetano Salvemini I have been interviewing, artists, mu- sicians, filmmakers and writers for the last 20 years. Notes From the South is an archive of these interviews, combined with several first-person accounts of life on the southern tip of Africa. While the subjects of the interviews are remarkably diverse, what they have in common is an alternative perspec- tive on the world, regardless of their physical proximity to the global South. Contents Contents Brenda Fassie 15 Guy Tillim 32 Hugh Masekela 40 Matthew Herbert 46 Baaba Maal 53 Vusi Mahlasela 58 Till the Morning Light 67 John Matshikiza 69 Justin Nurse 77 Jesus Saves 82 Till the Morning Light 87 Memories are Forgotten Roads 88 Mira Nair 93 Larry Clark 101 Todd Solondz 109 Mike Figgis 116 Fernando Meirelles 123 An Afrikaans Heart 130 Pieter-Dirk Uys 136 Andrew Verster 142 And Everything Turned Itself Inside Out 148 William Kentridge 153 Till the Morning Light 167 John Pilger 168 Raj Patel 177 Ishtiyaq Shukri 185 Arundhati Roy 193 Tom McCarthy 199 Njabulo Ndebele 207 Till the Morning Light 215 Guy Tillim 216 Pieter Hugo 224 Roger Ballen 232 Nontsikelelo Veleko 239 Santu Mofokeng 245 Peter Magubane 254 Till the Morning Light 271 The Broken Beauty of Maputo 282 Elise Durant 291 Will Oldham 301 Madala Kunene 318 Jennifer Fergusson 324 Michelle Shocked 329 Till the Morning Light 345 Benh Zeitlin 346 Oliver Schmitz 353 Khalo Matabane 359 Till the Morning Light 369 Listening to Michael Stipe 384 Patti Smith 388 Brenda Fassie 402 Notes from the South 14 Brenda Fassie All She Surveys (2003) In 2004, South Africa’s biggest musical star, Brenda Fassie, died, uniting the nations for a few brief weeks. I was fortunate to meet – and fall in love with Brenda – nine months before her death. I am staying in room 260 of the Katherine Street City Lodge in Sandton, Johannesburg. I mention to the cleaning staff that I am going to interview Brenda Fassie. “Oh Brenda,” they respond, with what I can only describe as serendipitous giggles. “She stayed in your room for six months. She was very naughty.” As I start my pilgrimage to Brenda’s rehearsal room, the im- age of the scared, unfriendly Jo’burg driver is quickly dispelled – or possibly updated. Brenda’s manager, Peter Snyman, doesn’t really have a clue how to get from Sandton to the backroom in Denver in which she is rehearsing, and he gives me only two street names. I find it, but not without help from a score of drivers who, without exception, roll down their windows and head me in the direction of Jules Street. Jules Street runs through the heart of Denver, one of the 15 Notes from the South oldest, most beautiful and most dilapidated parts of Jo’burg, but something shines through the decay, and it is still full of life. It is an apt place to find Brenda Fassie. Denver wears its fractured beauty proudly and matter-of-fact- ly. It looks like some cast-off street from war-torn Maputo, not quite stylish enough to inhabit the Mozambican capital but beautiful nonetheless. It is, quite obviously, a place for urban survivors, a place for those who have not been subsumed by the power of Jozi but remain on its periphery. And here I find Ma Brrr, Ms Fassie, riot grrrl supreme. Self-confessed drug user. Prima donna. Diva to a T. And the owner of one of the most powerful voices on the planet. Tinged with the pop immediacy of Madonna at her 1980s finest, and with a depth of range and meaning to rival Nina Simone, those who have not experienced her vocal glory – because she is black and sings only occasionally in English – don’t know what they’re missing. When Brenda sings, time stands still. Over the last two decades, she has used that voice to powerful effect, establishing herself as one of Africa’s biggest recording stars, and creating a catalogue of astounding afro-pop albums. And also, it must be said, attracting ever so slightly more than her fair share of trouble – through her fondness for substances legal and illegal, her unconventional sexuality and her resolute determination to do things her way and on her terms. To put it bluntly, Brenda Fassie really doesn’t give a fuck. To put it more proverbially, she couldn’t care two hoots what peo- ple think about her. But I’ll stick with the former phrase because there is no other expression in the English language for the at- titude that she constantly exudes and exacts on both herself and everyone around her. This is Brenda pure and simple. She refuses to put on an act. And she never stops performing. 16 Brenda Fassie And that is, in a way, the entire point. It is also completely glorious. Because she is so sweet, so vi- cious, so venomously loving, so unapologetically human. In the most sensational way possible, she plays the media game by sim- ply not playing the media game. Brenda always knew she would be famous. There was no oth- er possible path. When, in 1979, record producer Koloi Lobona made the very first pilgrimage to Brenda – to the Cape township of Langa where she was then living – because he’d heard about this amaz- ing voice, Brenda sang for him. And when she had finished sing- ing, the 16-year-old siren turned to him and said: “So when are we going to Jo’burg?” I walk into the rehearsal room with Brenda’s manager. Peter permanently wears a look on his face that suggests he’s seen it all, and my guess is that he has. Certainly, hanging with Brenda would increase the odds. In the rehearsal room it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. The band is going off to the rousing pop anthem Thola Madlozi. Brenda is swirling around the room like a dervish, her impish face listening carefully to each note, each sound emerging from the musicians. Her body flails in an involuntary dance as she moves from musician to musician, a micro-conductor intent on perfection. She looks as if she is having the time of her life. The band breaks and Peter introduces me to Brenda. I give her a t-shirt with a picture of Nefertiti on it that I got at Fashion Week and she gives me a big hug. I meet Nathi, one of the backing singers in the backroom. Brenda introduces her as her daughter although I later learn that she is her girlfriend. She has a beautiful voice, of course, entire- ly different to Brenda’s – sweeter, less primal. She is a strong, 17 Notes from the South gently mature match for Brenda’s eternal teenager. I tell Brenda that Nathi is the mother and she is the daughter. “Everyone says that,” she responds. Then we all end up at her house in Buccleuch – not without a short trip to the bottle store, where Brenda stocks up on an entire shopping trolley of alcohol. I follow her around her suburban Jozi home. She shows me a bullet hole in her bedroom window, a result of her recent much-publicised burglary. My mind flashes to the newspaper article and Brenda saying: “Why would anyone want to kill me? Don’t they know the whole country loves me?” Then it’s back to the music room where Bongani, Brenda’s son, sits down at the keyboard. He is a classically trained pianist and the room melts into beauty as he plays the keys with his hands, body and sweet, sweet face. Paitjie, Bongani’s friend, is sitting next to me, dressed head to toe in yellow hip-hop gear. It’s his birthday and Brenda sings her own, deep-deep house interpretation of Happy Birthday. Paitjie’s smile almost exceeds the breadth of his face. Later, I tell Brenda how lovely I think Bongani is. She smiles pensively. “I think he smokes zol,” she says with a look of worry on her face.