Documenting The Process: The Indaba Is… Zine Ting

Siya Mthembu had contacted me a few months prior to ask if I’d be down to hang out while a revolution unfolded before my eyes.

Of course I’d be down, was my response.

That initial proposition was followed by silence. I made nothing of the whole affair until, some two months into our COVID19-induced lockdown in Mzansi, he mailed to lock the dates down.

There’d be a recording session at some farm in the outskirts of Jozi; cats’d be hanging rippin’, riffin’, blowin’, and generally hanging out. Four days, roughly.

I was super keen, willing, able, and ready.

What unfolded was chaotic brilliance. Militant melodies amidst state-sponsored terror — terror in the form of an arts department, and government, that couldn’t function well, were it provided with clear directions on how to — illuminated what has proven a universally dark period, shared by human beings across areas local and otherwise.


The sessions were what rollercoaster rides could be, were rollercoaster rides mentored by the sickest musicians this side of consciousness; the dopest producers; the livest engineers; and the most righteous of sages — like bra Steve Dyer, whose Dyertribe Studios we congregated, created, and found a safe haven in.


Being a part of this recording, through my image-making, is an experience I’ll forever cherish. It presented another opportunity to learn, to grow, and to document a live music scene which remains greater than the sum of its parts; greater than it’ll ever know.

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