Two major music events that were meant to happen this year in South Africa were either outrightly cancelled or face uncertainty about their future. Hey Neighbour — which brought Kendrick Lamar as a headliner two years ago — fell short of its promise of staging a two-day extravaganza featuring Doja Cat, Central Cee, and Leon Thomas, among others. What began as a postponement ended in a full cancellation.
“The shift is to allow adequate time to secure the necessary artist lineup, funding, and to build an experience that truly captures the event’s signature spirit of community and connection,” read part of the press release published on the festival’s official Instagram account in late September. As of writing, thousands of ticket-holders are still awaiting refunds.
The second event, organized by the Monyake Group and slated to bring Kanye West to South Africa in December, now faces significant skepticism from an audience whose trust has already been strained.
At the core of both events’ troubles is a faltering post-pandemic economy that has weakened consumer confidence, coupled with an exchange rate that makes such productions prohibitively expensive. It’s in this climate that two independently-run, jazz-forward festivals — Kids Love Jazz (KLJ) and uManyano Lwe Jazz (ULJ) — continue to operate.
The Most Valuable Currency: Community and the Reclamation of Jo’burg Jazz
This past weekend marked the second KLJ event of the year and the third since its debut in October 2024, which introduced a bold visual identity and a DIY attitude. According to founder Vuyo McGlad, the aim is to create a home for “live music lovers that have been excluded and made to feel like they don’t belong.” He’s referring to the often exclusive world of jazz appreciation, which, consciously or not, shuts out potential audiences — particularly younger ones. “When they come to Kids Love Jazz, they feel like we belong here,” he tells OkayAfrica.
KLJ is part of the broader Narowbi collective, which has brought a renewed energy to Johannesburg’s live music scene. At its core is an insistence that nothing is possible without the support of the jazz community — including the artists themselves. McGlad says the last two editions cost upwards of R300,000 (about $17,000), a figure that would have been much higher were it not for the generosity of the musicians involved.
“Everyone on the line-up gave us discounts,” he says, referencing artists such as Thandi Ntuli, Muneyi, and Vuyo Viwe. “They see the value of the platform. We’re so grateful, because they really think with us. Even our suppliers always do us favors.”
When Zukiswa White co-founded ULJ with friends and staged the first edition in 2021, she understood it as a necessary intervention, both in jazz and in the broader live music ecosystem. Four years on, the festival has grown into a two-day experience. This year, audiences will gather for performances by Msaki, The Muffinz, Sisonke Xonti, Thandi Ntuli, Malcolm Jiyane, and nineteen other musicians and DJs.
“We’ve benefitted from brand awareness this time around,” White says. “Last year was really great for us. It might not have looked like a massive success, but the 250 or so people who were there all had a story to tell. That builds trust; you don’t have to work as hard to convince new people to come on board, because the previous audience does that for you.”
“A big milestone for us this year was selling out the first 150 tickets without even announcing a line-up. All we had was a date and a venue. When I look at who bought those tickets, many of them are ULJ fam already, and now they’re buying two, three tickets. People see this as a space meant to be shared with friends and family.”
Community is also what keeps people returning to KLJ. Says McGlad: “We see it all the time. People come to the show, and they have this feeling that [they are] gonna come back here because [they] feel so welcome, it was nice, and the atmosphere was great. These events are therapeutic to people.”
Accessibility is at the heart of KLJ’s organisational ethos, and the reason they have chosen the Braamfontein precinct is because of its centrality. “You can get to Braamfontein from the North, from the West. You can get a taxi, drive, or take the Gautrain, and you’ll get there. The city is alive,” says McGlad.
For White, the mission is more radical, and ties back to the history as a historically exclusive place that systematically kept Black people in the peripheries. There’s a reclamation of sorts that takes place, and as White puts it, “Johannesburg is for all of us.”
“Consciously or unconsciously, Black people think they don’t have a legitimate claim to Gauteng as a place [they] can be a native of. The case we’re trying to make with ULJ is to make the point that Johannesburg has language, culture, and that there’s something unique about this city that has survived. Having people descend on the city when everyone else leaves in December is not coincidental,” she says.
Beyond the Bottom Line: Surviving on Collective Labor and Community Spirit
Independent eventing is not easy. Both KLJ and ULJ are financed through collective labour, with family and friends filling gaps through in-kind support. White is vocal about the disparity in the use of language when discussing Black-run events versus white-owned ones.
“We need to demystify the cost and implications of eventing,” she says. “Across the ecosystem, whether you’re a talent, consumer, or an organiser, we [need to] have the necessary conversations about what it takes to stage a production. It’s become too common to label a failed event as a ‘scam.’ It’s okay to say, ‘this event failed,’ instead of, ‘this organiser is a scammer.’ That nuance is critical if we’re serious about repairing rather than destroying. The space is still largely racist, patriarchal, and colonial. A lot of us are trying to push back against that.”
Resources and infrastructure remain the biggest barriers, from venue access to production equipment to marketing. The work continues anyway.
“We broke even on the Sunday show, [and made] no profit. Transport money came from ourselves, but if you look at the buzz, everyone was so happy. And to us, that’s enough. And it’s not even about popularity, just seeing people happy – I saw people cry. It’s such a great feeling to see that people love this platform,” concludes McGlad.
Thandi Ntuli’s set drew a crowd well before it began. Performing in a trio alongside Tlale Makhene on percussion and Sphelelo Mazibuko on drums, she paused mid-set to acknowledge KLJ and the work it’s doing for the community. “The kids are alright,” she said, a line that sent the venue into roaring applause.
‘ The preceding article may include information circulated by third parties ’
‘ Some details of this article were extracted from the following source www.okayafrica.com ’
