NDUDUZO MAKHATHINI

NDUDUZO MAKHATHINI AT TURNER SIMS CONCERT HALL, SOUTHAMPTON – 22/11/22

“How has jazz made you a better person,” someone asked on Twitter yesterday. I didn’t reply, but I’m still thinking about it. I raised myself on indie rock music, which places an emphasis on individual genius, the tortured artist who usually kills themselves or dies of an overdose before the age of thirty, which is really the cut off for doing anything of worth with your life. After thirty you’re basically a fossil in the indie rock worldview. It’s a music that values youth and rebellion, that’s about saying “Fuck you” to everything: fuck your parents, your teachers, your leaders, the past, the future, etc. On the other hand, jazz – if you want to call it that – places its emphasis on spirituality, on raising consciousness; on healing the psychological wounds of oppression, discrimination and injustice; on community, on learning from elders and building on the traditions of the past. It’s much more positive, I think, is what I’m trying to say. And it has made me a better person. It’s helped me become more open, more acceptant, freer; it’s helped me rewrite negative thought patterns. It’s helped me go deeper into who I am. It’s removed the fear and loathing that was in my heart and replaced it with openness and acceptance. The pills have helped too, of course. But jazz has definitely played its part.

First of all, I have to say that I find it hard to write about music that I feel such a deep connection to. I mean, I love pretty much all the music I write about, but when I’m writing about an indie band, I have no problem making snide comments and focusing on trivial aspects of the performance, like who the band members look like, or who is standing next to me in the audience, because it’s kind of in the spirit of the thing. But with this music, that seems to communicate with me on a deeper level, I don’t want to be snide or trivial, because it’s not in the spirit of thing. And it’s the spirit of the thing I’m here for. I have no real technical understanding of what I’m listening to. I have no idea what melodic or rhythm innovations are being performed in front of me. I just feel it. Deep within. It’s like T.S. Eliot said, “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” So when NDUDUZO MAKHATHINI says that he is fascinated by what he doesn’t know, I know exactly what he means. Or rather, I don’t know. From the moment he bounds onstage the joy of his music fills the room. It’s like a kind of magic. It is basically magic. It’s a celebration of the mystery of life. It’s music that seems to have the goal of making connections with the past and the present and illuminating a path to the future. It’s music that seeks to build on the traditions of the past, but that is reaching, through improvisation, to something beyond. It’s deep stuff that flows like blood in the soul. For me the overarching effect is joy. Makhathini beams throughout the set and his joy is infectious. It certainly infects me. When they finish the set I get to my feet and deliver a one-person standing ovation. They have brought joy to my soul and really it’s the least they deserve. After the show I see Makhathini smiling towards me. “That was amazing,” I say. “So joyous.” He shakes my hand and gives me a little hug. He smells amazing. “Thank you for coming,” he says. “No,” I say, “thank you for coming.”

Deep