Living for Disco

In this post, I will mostly be answering questions from Gord and Uncle Did, seeing as the latter also asked about music, and the former requested a review of a gig I went to on Saturday night.

When I first arrived in Namibia, I was enormously excited about the prospect of going to see live music. I asked a few people about the various opportunities to see artists, and who was out there, and I drew a blank. There were some concerts by local Afrikaners, but I don’t tend to like Afrikaner pop music. At the risk of being labeled a racist once again, it generally sucks ass, and it sounds as if it’s been pasted together by a four year old with a copy of A Tune A Day for the guitar and a pot of non-toxic glue.

Over the last six months, there seems to have been somewhat of an explosion in accessible live music by Namibian artists. One amazing guy is Elemotho, who I have now seen five times, and who is always excellent. However, on Saturday I went to see a Namibian legend: Jackson Kaujeua came along to support his equally talented son, Jackson Jnr at the Warehouse Theatre. Jackson’s been on the Namibian gospel music scene since the 70s. He was exiled in the UK and in the US during the war for independence because his lyrics leaned too heavily towards the revolutionary, and he came back in the early 90s. He’s been making music here ever since.

What made it great was the incredible energy they put into the performance. The whole band looked as if they were having just about the best possible time. They got down there in with the audience at the front, and worked everyone up into a dancing frenzy. They sang in Herero, in Damara Nama, and in English. Jackson Jnr’s music is, ironically, a bit more traditional sounding than Jackson Snr, who sings as soulfully as Marvin Gaye in a voice like dark brown gravel.

They seemed to combine their different styles seamlessly, and they both had an incredible stage presence. Admittedly, I think Jackson Snr’s outfits had something to do with it - he changed three times, finishing up in a patchwork leopard/tiger print suit, with a tiger print hat, and a pair of spats.

I remember sitting there, my face stiff from smiling, as they belted out the last number, as the crazy dancing rasta at the front leapt on stage to help with the drumming, as all the dancers just let go, and as the atmosphere just went crazy how fucking lucky I am to have been there, and seen it. I’d like to put it in a box, and keep it for when I’m home.

This entry was posted on Monday, May 21st, 2007 at 4:29 pm and is filed under Under African Skies. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.