Embracing My Identity Through Music as an Immigrant in the US

Jaina
Jaina
Sep 8, 2018 · 10 min read

and Witnessing the Rise of South African Culture in the Western World

After immigrating to Queens as a Mauritian who had been living in Lobatse, Botswana, I had spent years trying to fit in and rid myself of any characteristics that might have me labeled as a foreigner. Obviously, already being somewhat of a music fanatic at age 10, this also meant showing an increased interest in western culture and music. I was a fan of probably every boy band you can think of, as well as acts such as the Spice Girls, TLC, Eminem, Fatboy Slim, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Offspring, Ricky Martin and Lauryn Hill to name a few.

I declared my love of Britney Spears to my first friend here in the states, hoping I’d impress her with my knowledge of pop music, only to be told that it wasn’t cool to like Britney. Her older sister was a diehard NSYNC fan who had the biggest crush on Justin Timberlake and so any mention of Britney was immediately dismissed. That was the day I stopped liking Britney Spears. However, during my teenage years, things took a turn and I became heavily infatuated with all forms of rock and roll. This included hardcore, 80s punk, death metal, thrash, nu metal, grunge, ska, etc. Playing Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater during consecutive summers broadened my music scope tremendously. The individual whose sole job it was to curate the soundtrack for that game deserves a trophy, because they helped convert a bunch of skater kids into diehard hip-hop fans and vice versa — I’m sure of it. What I’m not sure of, is whether or not this obsession with rock and roll was a normal phase I went through as a teenager. Admittedly, it was probably just a continuation of trying to dissociate myself from any preconceived notions I thought people had about me as an immigrant. I’d like to think it was a combination of both.

A photo I took of Claudio Sanchez (Coheed & Cambria) with my flip phone in summer of 2005.

Because of this, I had long forgotten about everything that shaped my identity in Botswana and Mauritius, including my love of Bollywood blockbusters that I’d memorize hundreds of song lyrics and dance routines from. I had long forgotten about traditional Southern African tunes I’d hear every day on the streets of Lobatse, Botswana, while running errands with my parents on the weekends. My teenage years were filled with rowdy rock concerts, various attempts at trying to nail solos on my acoustic guitar, spending hours at Sam Goodys or Kim’s Video in St. Marks and watching documentaries such as “The Decline of Western Civilization” like it was homework.

Fast forward to about 7 years later, when my sister introduced me to a talented couple from Mali who produced captivating, western African music. They were called Amadou and Mariam. This was probably my first introduction to anything remotely African or global and I loved it. I loved that they were singing in French. I loved the sound of the drums and the melodic yet complex guitar notes being plucked away by Amadou. The familiarity of it was something I clung tightly to and the sound of their music was a much needed breath of fresh air from all the loud rock and roll and rap music I had grown accustomed to. A live concert of theirs that I had attended in 2009 was probably the first one I went to where there wasn’t any shoving, crowd surfing and moshing. I had forgotten that you could show appreciation of the music at a show through head-bopping, two-stepping and the occasional cheering and clapping while also maintaining/enjoying personal space. The performance given by Amadou and Mariam and their band was truly sensational, by the way.

The first civilized concert I ever attended. Amadou & Mariam at Webster Hall in 2009.

At that point in my life, I felt like I was subconsciously making up for the first couple of years of living in the US, during which I completely rejected the cultural elements that shaped my childhood. Ironically, even listening to Vampire Weekend’s “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” reignited my interest in foreign and global sounds similar to the one they adapted into their music.

I started listening to Western African artists such as Magic System and began to appreciate old Indian rock n’ roll and soundtracks to Bollywood films I had watched before moving here — most notably the works of R.D Burman and A.R Rahman. I also dug into some bootleg CDs my relatives had brought with them that contained both classic and recent Sega and Seggae music. One random day, my sister sent me a very short YouTube clip of an old South African Converse commercial (possibly from the late 90s/early 2000s) where pantsula dancers are seen showing off their moves in a dusty backyard and sporting brightly colored Chuck Taylors and bucket hats. The style of pantsula dance became popular in the 1980s in South Africa and was used as a form of expression by black South Africans in the suburbs during the Apartheid, finding its roots in the township of Soweto. Pantsula dancers were known for wearing Chucks, or just “takkies,” as South Africans referred to sneakers as. The sound of the Kwaito beats combined with the Pantsula dancers and township culture I was once exposed to had brought back so many memories and surely had a nostalgic effect on me.

And thus my rediscovery of Kwaito, South Africa’s “slowed down version of garage,” as described by Diplo once, and Pantsula dancing commenced. It was tough to find anything of value on the internet at the time. I’d assumed that all the older music never made it to the digital world, and it hadn’t yet. But I never stopped digging. A random visit to the now closed Other Music record store in SoHo led to my discovery of modern South African House music when I purchased a copy of “Ayobaness! The Sound of South African House” on CD. This version of South African house draws its influence from Kwaito, much like GQOM — which is a distinct style of minimalist house music focused heavily on bass and synth, and that emerged out of Durban recently. A few years back, I was lucky enough to attend a Red Bull sponsored event celebrating South African House music where the late DJ Spoko and Nozinja performed. It was surreal to hear these sounds in a hipster underground dance club in Brooklyn and watch their dancers perform traditional African dance styles with a dancehall twist.

Eventually, more and more classic South African music began to naturally pop up on the internet in the mid to late 2000s as it became easier for people to upload, download, store and share. If you found one artist, chances are there was a whole queue of “artists similar to that one,” (thank you, algorithms and last.fm) and soon enough you’d uncover a whole dusty treasure chest of South African artists from way back in the days. This included the likes of Hugh Masekela, Brenda Fassie, Miriam Makeba, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Lucky Dube all the way to the Soweto Gospel Choir, Brickz, and Brown Dash. Spotify and iTunes’ libraries also grew exponentially and luckily for me, this included genres of music from all corners of the world.

Then in 2011, Beyonce had fused the foot work done by pantsula dancers into the choreography for the music video of Run The World (Girls), and I can honestly say that this definitely played a large role in the boosted interest of South African street dancing culture not just in the US, but globally as well. As you’ll notice in her video, the dancers of the Tofo Tofo dance group from Mozambique are also seen wearing their signature Converse sneakers. I was thrilled to see the rich history of South African culture unravel on the internet and to witness the western world’s acceptance of these energetic dance styles.

Not long ago, I found myself shopping at Turntable Lab and stumbled upon a record titled “Pantsula! The Rise of Electronic Dance Music in South Africa, 1988–90.” I spent no time deciding whether I was paying too much for it as I was quite shocked to come across this gem in their collection. When I finally got home and played it, the music I was hearing ended up being nowhere near what I had expected — which was the Kwaito music I was attuned to. It turns out though, that this earlier version of electronic dance music was basically the result of South African disco artists putting a local spin on American/International house music in the 80s. It was more pop-sounding than anything remotely “garage.” I soon discovered that the influence here was bubblegum music and Shangaan Disco, both characterized as “synth-heavy, distinctly South African pop.” It is known that Bubblegum music borrowed from several genres that evolved in the 40s and 50s as South African artists tried to find a ‘local sound’ for their jazz and blues inspirations. I should mention that these genres leaned more towards the pop sound and were less political because of censorship during those times.

It seems that I as I keep digging, I continuously go down a rabbit hole only to find a trove of obscure South African music that existed in a vacuum while so many cultural shifts were happening in the late 80s and 90s. The more music I find, the more I’m able to piece South Africa’s social, political and cultural history together and make sense of it. It is indeed very rich and I’m not surprised that it has begun to play a much larger role in shaping sounds that are popularized across the globe.

I’m eager to also see South African stars continuously gain fans overseas and am curious about how musicians and DJs incorporate African styles of music into their work while giving proper credit. For example, Damon Albarn, along with several artists under XL Recordings, did an exemplary job producing an album titled “Kinshasa One Two” in 2011. Being that it was an album created as a benefit for the charitable work being done by Oxfam in Congo, it did much more in brilliantly highlighting contemporary Congolese musicians on the individual tracks. The sounds on the album are intricate, dark, heart-warming and tell a fascinating story about a world and its people so foreign to us. Another group hailing from Kinshasa, Mbogwana Star, released the critically acclaimed album, “From Kinshasa,” in 2015. This album also sheds light on the rising subculture of musicians in the Congo who have adapted to a very DIY approach in creating music. Liam Farrell, or “Doctor L,” who is a member of the group, described the approach as being “an element of survival,” where artists recreate music they’ve heard using whatever resources necessary to make that happen. (Side note: I ultimately feel that these albums are more geared towards music nerds rather than having Western appeal and fitting into mainstream sound waves.) This only goes to show how nuanced the music coming out of the continent of Africa is and how multicultural its people are, which is why I’m always perplexed at the term “Afrobeat” being thrown around to describe all types of sounds emanating from there.

New York based band Innov Gnawa performing Morrocan Gnawa music at Le Poisson Rouge in July 2017

Although I wish it were the other way around, it is sincerely through popular Western artists and culture that we will recognize the appeal of African singers and musicians who have so much to offer. Artists such as Drake and Wizkid and the release of movies such as The Black Panther are examples of this. Additionally, this year’s Afropunk festival blessed their line up with a couple of stand-out South African artists such as DJ Lag, Sho Madjozi and Manthe Ribane & OKZharp. I can positively say, after attending both Afropunk and their Liberation Sessions show, that all three acts had an overwhelmingly positive reception and definitely gained a whole lot of new fans. Although GQOM has now risen to popularity partially due to the evolution of its sound, it started off as an acquired taste given it’s dark characteristics, and at times, lack of melody. However, it seemed like a natural move to include this genre on the Black Panther soundtrack due to its unique sound and edge. Since then, it has gained increased exposure not only by listeners but by DJs and musicians who are experimenting with the sound as well.

I hope that with this blog post, I’ve done my part in showcasing not just how amazing it is to discover so much about yourself and embrace your own culture, but other cultures as well through music and the lens of the people who create it. Stories are told through sounds and lyrics, and expressions come to life through dance and movement. When weaved together, such as at the Amadou and Mariam concert I attended or in that Beyonce music video, it is only what I can describe as an authentically shared cultural experience — traditions being passed down or being transformed into something that is perhaps more pleasing to a contemporary, global audience. As people of any kind of diaspora living in the United States, we should continue to share and celebrate the music and art that help to explain our rich heritage and history.

Jaina

Written by

Jaina

Visual/UX designer, music nerd, etc.

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