Authenticity VS The need for Purism and the chin strokers’ desire to be more legit than anybody else.

Picture yourself strolling aimlessly down a nameless South African street. Your headphones booming relentlessly, your mood inexplicably optimistic and the spring in your step noticeable for all to see. Without warning you’re suddenly plucked from your trance by a nearby fracas of rumbling spit shot at light speed, topped by a furious smattering of disjointed rhyme. Intrigued, you turn to see a rap battle in progress. One of the competitors, draped in Tokyo city neon and accompanying skinnies, waxes on about sports cars and “swag“.

The other, shrouded in baggy exterior and khaki familiars, spouts righteous inner-city observations with antiquated finesse. His dusty fingers a clear mark of crate-digging through the classics. After some back and forth the latter begins to appear agitated, visibly nauseated to his core. He spews, “Nah dawg, you’re just another imitation, it’s all material with you. You’re not real.” and makes off shaking his head down the street. The other would-be shrugs and takes his blindingly flashy figure up the opposite end of the same street.

And you’re left thinking, “What?” but don’t feel bad, so is everybody else out there with more than just a passing interest in local rap. What you’ve witnessed is the gnarled, corroded head of hip-hop elitism presenting itself wherever so much as a couplet is uttered in this country. All too predictably a rift has formed between disgruntled puritans (aka heads) and the burgeoning influx of bright young things (aka what heads call hipsters) oft obsessed with the monetary gain and lifestyle associated with “making it”. A foolish schism that could either threaten the authenticity of a future South African sound, or, fingers crossed, spur that same sound on in gallant abundance.

In an age where practically everybody’s next of kin has rap ambitions and unprecedented access to recording apparatus, it’s not exactly a surprise that we’ve got more local emcees than ever before. A quick perusal of Soundcloud or the ReverbNation charts will affirm this. It’s also no shock that “more” doesn’t automatically equate to good. Yet instead of encouraging and guiding these fresh-faced upstarts, the lingering old guard of the scene seem only willing to dismiss them as dim-witted replicas of everything they hate about rap. Petty nothings like “Yoh, what’s with the accent?” or “How many times are you going to say ‘yeah’, choma?” do nothing to raise the bar of quality. If the americanisms are the real problem here, let all heads be reminded that rap, in the form we know it as today, is about as American as apple pie.

Let’s move away from the stagnant idea that every local rapper is going to, and should sound like, Prophets of Da City or Brasse Vannie Kaap. These kids have not grown up on Godessa or Mood Phase Five. They’ve had their ears dedicatedly cast, from an early age, to the likes of Big L, Biggie, Jay Z and Lil Wayne. Their lyrics are punch-line driven, lurid displays mirroring the consumer society they live in. Sure, many of them may not even have heard of Hymphatic Thabs, Gin-I-Grindeth or Knoffel Bruin, but does that mean they should be chastised for what they produce? In a word, no. Why? Well, because they’ll learn nothing from it. The future of South African rap can be quite rosy if we allow it to be, and heads can feel reassured by the fact that anybody who’s only in it for image or status won’t be around in two years. Like you didn’t already know that.

Obvious critique aside, the onus should be on what the new breed are doing right. The direction some of them are taking is genuinely fresh. Case in point: Voicetag - A Cape Town trio intent on shattering staple rap commonalities with their vibrant fusion of spoken word poetry fused with flamboyant forays into the hitherto unexplored regions of grime and glitch. Joburg’s Dirty Paraffin offer us a further glimpse into the good being done, raps drenched in comedic lethargy over sumptuous dance floor-blitzing synths which result in the kind of fun the local scene’s been missing.

Die Antwoord‘s exploitative, juvenile portrayal of their interpretation of stock Cape Coloured tropes, suffused with distinct rave sensibilities, is another example of this. Like it or not, Ninja and Yo-landi, while hardly newbies, are emblematic of the now possible universal success that fuels the every breath of many aspiring local emcees. Whether or not that makes the overblown playground grit and grime of their aesthetic worth a listen is purely down to taste (ahem) but what is undeniable is that they’re a sure step in the right direction.

The authenticity the scene is craving for will take time. We’re going to have to keep our eardrums clear and our eyes peeled and wait for the undesirables to disappear before we can truly treasure what remains. But don’t fret, because after long centuries of cave paintings did we not have Basquiat? Progress is underway. Live and let learn, people.

WORDS: Jayson Geland