Fred de Vries

Wits University Press

1 Jan Smuts Avenue
Johannesburg
South Africa
http://witspress.wits.ac.za

© Text, Fred de Vries 2008

© Photographs, Fred de Vries 2008, unless otherwise indicated

First published 2008

ISBN 978-1-86814-469-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without the express permission, in writing, of both the copyright
holder and the publisher.

Cover, layout and design by Hybridesign

Cover illustration by Lorcan White
Printed and bound by Paarl Print, Paarl, South Africa
 CONTENTS

Acknowledgements v
Introduction – Tim Cohen vi
Fred de Vries viii

THE STRINGS
Abdullah Ibrahim, Hyatt Hotel, Rosebank, Johannesburg, November 2007 1
Chris Chameleon, Newtown, Johannesburg, September 2007 13
DJ Kenzhero, Rosebank, Johannesburg, February 2007 25
Fokofpolisiekar, Back2Basix, Westdene, Johannesburg, March 2006 33
Japan and I, Montecasino, Johannesburg, June 2007 43
Jaxon Rice, Melville, Johannesburg, September 2006 51
Jim Neversink, Melville, Johannesburg, April 2006 59
Prinses Petro, Bohemian, Johannesburg, August 2006 67
Toast Coetzer, Kloof Street, Cape Town, October 2007 75

THE OFFICE
Nikiwe Bikitsha, Rosebank, Johannesburg, September 2006 83
Jeanetta Blignaut, Spier Estate, Stellenbosch, February 2006 91
June Josephs, Newtown, Johannesburg, September 2006 99
Eric Mafuna, Woodmead, Sandton, May 2007 107
Benjy Mudie, Rosebank, Johannesburg, May 2006 115
Warren Siebrits, Illovo, Johannesburg, April 2007 123
Henri Vergon, Newtown, Johannesburg, October 2006 131
THE PEN
Gabeba Baderoon, Spier Estate, Stellenbosch, March 2007 139
Melinda Ferguson, Norwood, Johannesburg, March 2006 147
Ronelda Kamfer, Kloof Street, Cape Town, November 2006 155
Kleinboer, Yeoville, Johannesburg, December 2006 163
Danie Marais, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, June 2007 171
Lodi Matsetela, Roka, Johannesburg, October 2006 181
Marlene van Niekerk, Amsterdam, the Netherlands, May 2006 189
Yabadaka Shamah, Hatfield, Pretoria, October 2006 197
Ivan Vladislavic, Troyeville, Johannesburg, September 2006 205
Ingrid Winterbach, Durban, May 2007 213

THE BRUSH
Vusi Beauchamp, Hatfield, Pretoria, August 2006 221
Jodi Bieber, Hyde Park, Johannesburg, July 2006 229
Kudzanai Chiurai, Melville, Johannesburg, February 2007 237
Karl Gietl, Troyeville, Johannesburg, March 2007 245
Anton Kannemeyer, Observatory, Cape Town, October 2007 253
Maja Maljevic, Greenside, Johannesburg, August 2006 263
Hermann Niebuhr, Fordsburg, Johannesburg, April 2007 271

THE PAMPHLETS
Bok van Blerk, Krugersdorp, March 2007 279
Steve Hofmeyr, Midrand, Gauteng, March 2007 287
Adam Levin, Parktown North, Johannesburg, August 2006 295
Rian Malan, Parkview, Johannesburg, January 2007 303
Elinor Sisulu, Khotso House, Johannesburg, December 2006 311
Helen Zille, Civic Centre, Cape Town, November 2006 319
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A heartfelt thank you goes out to: Tim Cohen, Rehana Rossouw,
Kevin Bloom and Branko Brikic for giving me the space and
confidence; Estelle Jobson and Veronica Klipp for believing that
this collection could be made into a coherent book; and Helen
Haynes for the many insights. And to everybody who was willing
to be interviewed.

The publishers and I wish to thank all those institutions and

individuals whose photos have been reproduced. Acknowledgement
has been provided accordingly at each instance. All interviews in
this collection were published in earlier versions in The Weekender
newspaper, apart from two interviews, those with Abdullah Ibrahim
and Chris Chameleon, published in Empire magazine. We extend
our thanks to these media.

In preparing this book for publication, I was fortunate to have

the excellent services of David Lea as editor, Andrea Nattrass as
proofreader, Karen Lilje as book and cover designer and Lorcan
White as cover illustrator.
 INTRODUCTION
Journalism schools teach something called rather grandly ‘art of the
interview’ – a kind of mix of methods and techniques, and, truth be
said, some tricks of the trade. Often it tends to descend into a set
of simple and rather inflexible rules and maxims. ‘There is no such
thing as a stupid question’ is one saying you often hear. My old editor
once told me with typical flippancy that journalism was essentially
about something very simple: ‘You ask stupid questions and then you
take the stupid answers and put them in the newspaper.’
Yet there is an art to the interview which is a more ephemeral
thing, and I think the root of it lies in empathy. Empathy is something
you cannot fake, something you cannot learn through the crude
methodology of applying a set of maxims. You have to feel and
share the secret hopes and desires of the person being interviewed,
even if just for a moment. You have to walk in their shoes.
These interviews embody that technique, if you can call it that.
Fred’s interview technique is really not a technique at all but rather
the application of a soft eye to a set of characters, some famous,
some who should be famous and some who simply represent an
embodiment of the striving that lies behind the actions of all of us.
The characters he interviewed are diverse but often they fall into the
category of people who seem like chicks frantically pecking on the
egg in a desperate effort to get out: small but determined, frantic,
not cowed by the world. Many of them are musicians and artists,
and underground artists at that, people who feel they might have
something to say but are struggling to define what it might be.
Though the characters are diverse, they fit into an odd pattern. They
are very reflective of place, of the urban mix, and of a peculiar time and
segment in history. One critic described one of his pieces as a ‘historical
psycho-geography’, which is true of many. They include a particularly
interesting focus on young Afrikaners, who are in the process of their
own peculiar insular renaissance. You get a sense of discovering or at
least trying to discover undercurrents in an odd time and place from
these pieces, which is one the reasons they are so gratifying.  
 As Fred’s main editor for many of these pieces, I must say to my
shame, that I was always pressing him to try and interview more
famous people. The axis on which newspapers work is that fame
develops its own newsworthiness. Happily, Fred just ignored me and
continued submitting interviews of his motley array of weird artists
and singers many of which I had never heard of but in a strange way
got to like, even though I had never met them.
Fred’s own description of his choice of characters was that they were
selected mostly on the basis that he admired their ‘stubborn singularity’.
His admiration of the interviewees provides a kind of background glow
to the pieces. But it’s his belief that his job is to try to catch a glimpse
of their vulnerability or their hidden motivations that keeps them from
descending into a kind of puffy personal advertorial.
One of the arts of the interview is the tricky business of
managing the distance between interviewer and interviewee. People
who consent to being interviewed often have an agenda of their own,
even if it’s simply a sense of vanity. This is why the critical tools in
the interviewers arsenal are a quick eye for the inflections of what
is being said and a sense of judgement about what is significant and
what not. One of the things that impressed me about the articles was
the adept way that Fred handled this ‘distance issue’, closing in and
out like a movie lens, at times critical but more often, just insightful.
What you won’t find here is sense of angry confrontation on the one
hand or sly voyeurism on the other.
Taken together, these interviews constitute a kind of deeply
personal moment in South African history when identity rather than,
say, freedom is the essential topic of the day. The political world is
now not so much an issue of oppression/liberation but of personal
identification. These interviews don’t constitute any overarching
historical narrative. In truth, they tilt more towards the suburbs
rather than township which makes them positively ahistorical. But in
a way, I think they reach into the political moment more accurately
and insightfully than a historian ever could.
Often we see each other in each other’s reflections better than
we see ourselves. These interviews provide a bit of that sense of
refractive personal truth. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as
I enjoyed editing them.
Tim Cohen
 FRED DE VRIES
CV
1959 Born in Rotterdam, the Netherlands
1977 Studies Human Geography at University of Utrecht
1979 Forms punk band Zero-Zero
1980 Zero-Zero record three songs for Utreg Punx LP, before
disbanding same year
1985 Works as freelance journalist in Nairobi, Kenya
1987 Works as freelance journalist in Kampala, Uganda
1990 Returns to the Netherlands
1991 Studies Postgraduate Course in Journalism at Erasmus
University of Rotterdam
1992 Works as correspondent for Trouw Daily and Elsevier Magazine
in Pretoria
1995 Returns to the Netherlands
1996 Works as foreign editor for de Volkskrant Daily, Amsterdam
1998 Publishes Respect! Rappen in Fort Europa together with Toine
Heijmans
1998 Nominated for Dutch Press Awards
1999 Works as Rotterdam correspondent for de Volkskrant Daily,
Rotterdam
2001 Moves to Asmara, Eritrea to write a book
2003 Moves to Johannesburg to do research on beat poet Sinclair Beiles
2006 Publishes Club Risiko: de jaren tachtig toen en nu
2006 First of series of interviews, with Fokofpolisiekar
2007 Club Risiko nominated for Gouden Leeuw

HEROES/INFLUENCES
Interviewers: Ischa Meyer (‘Dutch interviewer whose basic principle
was that “everyone has a secret and it’s up to you to uncover that”.’);
Theo van Gogh (‘Disciple of Meyer, could be awfully rude as a
columnist, but was brave and empathetic as an interviewer. Murdered
in 2004 by a religious fanatic.’)
Writers: Paul Bowles (‘Wrote astonishing books about north Africa
that captured the mystery and darkness without ever making it
“exotic”.’); Richard Ford (‘American novelist who showed that small
town America can be as exhilarating as downtown Manhattan.’);
Ryszard Kapuscinski (‘Polish travel writer who managed to get into
the soul of the countries he covered, without becoming complacent
or condescending. His credo was: “If you want to know about the
president, start with his gardener, and slowly work your way up.”’);
Niall Griffiths (‘British writer who wrote Sheepshagger and Kelly + Viktor,
some of the most disturbing literature of the 21st century.’); Lester
Bangs (‘Best rock writer, ever.’); Jules Deelder (‘Speed taking, jazz-
loving Rotterdam poet who looks like Count Dracula.’)

Musicians: Ray Davies (‘Leader of The Kinks, wrote beautifully

structured songs about love and melancholy without ever sounding
corny.’); Cowboy Junkies (‘Just like the Ramones made the same album
over and over again, exquisite and poignant.’); Cat Power (‘American
singer/songwriter with a voice simultaneously full of lust and sadness.
Did the best cover of Rolling Stones’ ‘Satisfaction’ by leaving out
the macho chorus.’); Replacements (‘The ultimate boys’ music, loud
guitars, great choruses and dumb/clever words. Managed to sabotage
own career like no other punk band.’); Blixa Bargeld (‘German noise
musician: erudite, arrogant, drama-queen, decadent and eternally
subversive.’); Patti Smith (‘For keeping the faith.’)

Artists: Andy Warhol; Walter Meyer (‘Stunning foreboding landscapes.

Unfortunately I could never afford his work.’); Banksy (‘Anonymous
subversive English graffiti artist with great sense of humour.’)

Single events: Rolling Stones – Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out (album); Roxy Music
– Roxy Music (album); Koos Kombuis – Niemandsland (album); Sex Pistols
– ‘Anarchy in the UK’ (single); Velvet Underground – ‘Pale Blue Eyes’
(song); Beach Boys – ‘Tears In The Morning’ (song); Diva (movie); Pola
X (movie); Permanent Vacation (movie); Sopranos (series); Arnon Grunberg
– Tirza (book); Marlene van Niekerk – Agaat (book); interview with
Belgian punk band De Brassers on Dutch television in 1981; the scene
in Almost Famous where everyone starts singing ‘Tiny Dancer.’
Abdullah Ibrahim photo: Sally Shorkend
 ABDULLAH IBRAHIM
HYATT HOTEL, ROSEBANK, JOHANNESBURG, NOVEMBER 2007

The interview lasted exactly 11 min 49 sec, and that included

the time it took to find me a chair. Then, after a question about
Mannenberg, he snapped: ‘I think this interview is not going
anywhere.’ To which I replied: ‘I think so too. I think we must stop.’
I grabbed my jacket, recorder and records to be autographed,
and marched out of his hotel suite – humiliated, degraded, call
it what you want. But also furious about my professional failure
to have a proper interview. But was it really failure?
I had been warned. South Africa’s famous jazz pianist
Abdullah Ibrahim is known for his moodswings and
volatile character. Everyone I spoke to had a story. A jazz
writer cautioned me about his abstruse, esoteric answers. A
photographer told me how he had once abused her for simply
doing her job. Somebody else said that he abruptly ended
a concert when someone lit a cigarette. I met someone who
was rudely told to ‘stay out of his orbit’. And the interviewer
before me didn’t get enough answers to fill the required
column inches.
2 THE FRED DE VRIES INTERVIEWS: FROM ABDULLAH TO ZILLE

I had interviewed awkward people before. German noisenik

Blixa Bargeld of Einstürzende Neubauten is notoriously
difficult, and so are Miriam Makeba, Nadine Gordimer, French
filmmaker Leos Carax and the Slovenian band Laibach. But if
you apply the basic rules – prepare thoroughly, come up with
enough intelligent questions and try to break the ice with a few
friendly remarks – you usually succeed.
A proper in-depth interview requires more. You must try to
identify with your subject as much as you can; part of you must
become him. Yet another part must stay detached and critical.
Essentially, as an interviewer it’s your job to find ‘the secret’ –
everyone has something to hide, everybody has unknown flaws
and virtues. You must unmask and demystify your subject. It’s
your duty to make him or her human.
That requires more than questions and answers; you have
to pay close attention to the voice, phrasing, clothes, reactions
to the environment and body language. During the interview
you look for contradictions and evasions. There may be lies and
attempts at myth-making. You treat your subject with respect,
but not as a hero. As rock writer Lester Bangs once said: ‘A hero
is a goddamn stupid thing to have.’
Although the equation is lopsided (you usually want more
from them than they from you) and you have to give up part of
your personality, you must try and put yourself out there as an
equal. That means: you will only take a certain amount of shit.
So in the days before the interview I had the unenviable
task of becoming a 73-year-old jazz giant from Cape Town
who grew up during apartheid and went into exile in the
mid-seventies. Reading, listening and imagining I composed
my own narrative of his life, from which the questions
automatically followed.
 Abdullah Ibrahim 3

Abdullah Ibrahim was born as Adolphus ‘Dollar’ Johannes

Brand on 7 October 1934 in the Cape Town suburb of
Kensington. At the age of seven he learned to play the piano, and
as a young man he was introduced to jazz by GIs and sailors who
brought records from America. By 1949 he was an accomplished
musician. He formed the Jazz Epistles, a band that also included
Kippie Moeketsi, Jonas Gwangwa and Hugh Masekela.
That was around 1960, the days of Sophiatown and the
seminal ‘all African jazz opera’ King Kong, a tragic story about
township boxer Ezekiel Dhlamini. By chance I had found an
original vinyl copy of the King Kong album, which featured most
of the Jazz Epistles, except Dollar Brand who had been left
to his own devices after his colleagues had gone to London
to perform King Kong there in the early sixties. Stubbornly,
Ibrahim refused to leave, claiming that it wasn’t entertainment
and playing other people’s music he was after. For a while he
became a recluse in a garage in Cape Town where he practised
twenty hours a day for a year.
I note: defining episode.
Next I listen a few times to Mannenberg – is Where it’s
Happening, the haunting hymn about the Cape flats, carried by
Basil Coetzee’s yearning sax. On the back of the album cover
is a cryptic note that reads: ‘Is this what Rashid Vally wanted?’,
written by Abdullah Ibrahim. Vally was the producer. Asking
Ibrahim what he meant by that should be a good lead up to
Mannenberg, which in his words ‘captured the sound of the
mood of the people’ at the time, 1974.
This may be the right moment to confess that I wasn’t too
much of a fan of Ibrahim. I once saw him perform with a trio
in Pretoria in the mid-nineties and didn’t return after the break.
The endlessly tinkering piano failed to excite me. For me jazz
4 THE FRED DE VRIES INTERVIEWS: FROM ABDULLAH TO ZILLE

wasn’t an esoteric mantra but the wild sax of John Coltrane

and Ornette Coleman, the discordant piano of Thelonious
Monk and the scathing trumpet lines of Miles Davis.
But as I read more about him, my respect for Ibrahim grew.
He was discovered for the international market by Duke Ellington
when he played in Zürich in 1963. Why, I wondered, had he
decided to go to a dull place like Zürich? He subsequently moved
to New York with his wife, jazz singer Sathima Bea Benjamin,
and led Ellington’s orchestra for a series of concerts. Ellington
told him: ‘You are blessed because you come from the source.’
In New York he became part of the free jazz scene, sharing
the stage with Coltrane, Coleman and trumpeter Don Cherry.
Exciting times, full of wild stories and anecdotes. Must ask him.
I admired Ibrahim’s attitude. Once he had mastered all the
technicalities of his instrument he decided that flaunting your
skills wasn’t where it’s at. In a 2001 interview with the Guardian
he said: ‘When you have all that technical information behind
you, it’s not necessary to manifest all of it. It can be implied by
playing one note if your delivery is sincere.’
The same interview, which describes him as ‘a voluble and
often amusing raconteur’, quotes Ibrahim as saying that music
has healing powers, that a musician isn’t an entertainer, but a
healer. This reminded me of Blixa Bargeld, who once said that
‘music offers a glimpse of Utopia’. I make a note.
Equally interesting was his gift to absorb everything. His
sound is a seamless tapestry of jazz, classical, African folk,
Cape Coon carnival, choral music and gospel, all connected
through improvisation. I scribble down a quote about ‘the hell’
of improvisation and taking risks.
There’s also Abdullah ‘the teacher’, the man who opened
his M7 Music Academy in Cape Town, where pupils are not
 Abdullah Ibrahim 5

only taught about music, but also about martial arts, eating and
mediation, in order to achieve ‘a more holistic lifestyle’. This, of
course, is perfectly in line with his own post-alcoholism existence
of being a vegetarian, a teetotaller and karate expert. He’s a
follower of the seventeenth-century Japanese samurai warrior
Miyamoto Musashi, whose lifestyle was a mishmash of various
Eastern philosophies – a loner with a spiritual message.
Additionally, as I read Michael Titlestad’s jazz book Making
the Changes, an image appeared of Ibrahim who sees himself
as a ‘divinely inspired musician’ whose music communicates
God’s truth. ‘My talent is medical formula handed down from
the creator. I am a dispenser of medicine,’ he stated in 1985.
The same book mentions author Bessie Head who called him
‘a complete and perfect flower in the desert’ and his music ‘a
refreshing breeze to the soul’.
Although mesmerised by these mystical descriptions, I was
also prepared for hostility. As the son of a Sotho father (murdered
when Abdullah was four) and a coloured mother Ibrahim
carried a lot of bitterness about identity, colour and race. He
grew up rough, surrounded by gangsters, junkies and alcoholics.
Apartheid restricted his educational aspiration. Music, he
claimed, saved him. ‘In all that horror it was at least clean; you
were dealing with something beautiful,’ he told the Guardian.
Another reference to music offering a glimpse of Utopia.
Before he gave up alcohol in the late sixties he was described
as arrogant and disrespectful. Obviously such characteristics are
amplified by drinking, but do they really disappear when you
quit? I wondered if it was the intoxicated New York jazz scene
that led him to his drinking. I also wondered whether becoming
a Muslim and changing from Dollar Brand to Abdullah Ibrahim
in 1968 had anything to do with meeting the radical, anti-white
6 THE FRED DE VRIES INTERVIEWS: FROM ABDULLAH TO ZILLE

Nation of Islam? These were tricky, personal subjects, and I

would have to be cautious when asking him about them.
In the eighties he became a prima donna, demanding to be
treated like a rock star. That worried me too. Hero treatment
makes people narcissistic, unpredictable and obnoxious.

*
Our interview is scheduled for three-thirty in the boardroom of
the Hyatt Hotel in Rosebank. With half an hour to kill I check the
Musica megastore to see how many of the more than a hundred
Abdullah Ibrahim albums they have in stock. Only one.
In the Hyatt the publicist tells me Ibrahim has landed this
very morning, flown in from Germany. He’s had little sleep.
And with a tight schedule of half a dozen interviews that
day he might be tired and grumpy. So when we finally meet
(he doesn’t shake my hand, just says ‘hi’) in the suffocating,
windowless boardroom I take the initiative and suggest he
orders something to eat and we move elsewhere for our chat.
He agrees, and we go to his R6 000 a night suite on the top
floor of the Hyatt (the two other band members stay at Rosebank
Hotel). There he calls room service and orders a tuna sandwich.
He asks if I want one too. I decline, but feel good. He seems
relaxed and friendly, and with nothing planned after our interview
it all looks positive. I have a list with 31 questions, tackling different
subjects and building up to the personal issues.
He sits down behind the desk. He’s dressed in a loose-fitting
black shirt and despite his many years in New York hasn’t lost
his Cape accent. I switch on my recorder. Someone brings a
chair, so I can sit opposite him. I start with the observation that
so few of his albums are available. He says that he’s busy with a
plan to re-master and re-release much of his back catalogue.
 Abdullah Ibrahim 7

Then he gets up and walks to his bedroom. It takes a while

for him to come back. Later, listening back to the tape I realise
that this is where the change in mood and attitude occurred.

A friend of mine has 60 of your LPs. I was wondering if you prefer your
music on vinyl or digital?
‘I have no idea. I don’t play it.’
Oh. What do you prefer when you buy music?
‘I don’t buy music, I don’t listen to music.’
Not at all?
‘No, why should I listen to music?’
Because it’s quite pleasant at times.
‘I play it myself.’
So when you want to hear music you play it yourself ?
‘Yes, but I don’t listen to recorded music, because that’s time gone.’

This, I think, is the right moment to throw in a question

about the difference between studio recordings and live
performances, between composing and improvising, between
the static and the fluid.

From what I read I thought you were a person who actually doesn’t
like recorded music, because it’s like a mere snapshot, while music
constantly evolves. Is a studio the right place for your music? Do you
improvise in the studio?
‘I don’t understand your questions. Do you know what I do?
What do you mean: if I improvise in the studio or where do I
improvise? It’s a stupid question.’
Why?
‘What do you mean: do I improvise in the studio?’
What I mean is: do you go to the studio with finished songs, so everyone knows
8 THE FRED DE VRIES INTERVIEWS: FROM ABDULLAH TO ZILLE

what he must play at a certain point or do you improvise there and then?
‘What is it you want to do with this interview? Because these are
really dumb questions you know. Ask me something creatively.’

I feel a rush of adrenalin, bad, toxic adrenalin that gives you

an instant headache.

Okay, I’ll go to the next question then. I want to know about the current
tour. What will you do? Give an overview of your career? Play particular
songs around a certain theme? Play new work?
‘Are you into jazz music?’

I nod.

‘So what is your understanding of jazz?’

I’m asking a question to you as an artist.
‘I’m asking you because you’re asking me a question as a non-
artist, and you’re asking me questions about jazz. So I’m asking
you: what is your perception of jazz? What happens? Because
I don’t know how to answer you.’

From here on things get increasingly worse. He says he has no

idea which pieces he’ll play because the concert is only the next
day. He says I must come and listen. Stupid question. I know
I’ve lost control, this interview is heading towards disaster. Not
the tiniest part of me is him. In a final attempt to placate him I
decide to try the healing route.

A German musician, Blixa Bargeld, said that music offers a glimpse of

Utopia. You’ve always said that your music has healing qualities. Do
agree? Does your music offer a glimpse of Utopia?
 Abdullah Ibrahim 9

‘Look, you’re quoting me people and I don’t know who they

are. This is what those people say and I got nothing to do with
this, okay? You must ask them if it has anything to do with
Utopia. I got nothing to do with this.’
You said your music has healing qualities.
‘What are you asking me?’
Does it ring a bell then when he says this thing about Utopia, is it the
same thing?
‘You’re asking some dumb stuff man, I don’t know who this
person is.’
It doesn’t matter who he is, it’s what he said.
‘Of course it does matter. I don’t know who he is.’
He’s a German improvisational musician.
‘I don’t know, you know. And now you want me to quote
something that I don’t know about.’

Sweat breaks out, ugly, smelly sweat.

Okay. The sleeve of Mannenberg, can I ask you something about that?
It has a little quote that reads ‘Is this what Rashid Vally wanted?’ What
did you mean by that?
‘Maybe you should ask Rashid.’
You wrote it though.
‘Ja, well ask Rashid: what is it that he wanted?’
You don’t know what he wanted? Why did you put that quote there?
‘I think this interview is not going anywhere.’
I think so too. I think we must stop.

There. I switch off the recorder, 11 min 49 seconds.

*
10 THE FRED DE VRIES INTERVIEWS: FROM ABDULLAH TO ZILLE

The next evening I go to his show. The swooning crowd gives

him a standing ovation. For them he’s a hero, a goddamn hero.
He loves the adoration, bends forward, hands folded, Zen style.
Later people ask me if I enjoyed the performance. Finding it
impossible to be objective I say that the part after the break was
too much of a greatest hits pot-pourri. ‘Stars on 45.’
A few days later I hear of a list of subjects that one isn’t
supposed to mention in his presence. These include: any other
musicians, in particular Hugh Masekela; politics; apartheid;
exile; Sharpeville; ANC; Mannenberg – the song; his German
residency; New York; changes in the music industry; any
movies; Confucius; his wife; his rapping daughter; Islam; his
pilgrimage to Mecca.
The exhaustive list provides some comical relief. It wasn’t
me then. It was him, his ego. But the whole affair does beg some
questions. Was he simply tired? Did I fail as an interviewer?
Or did I, unwittingly, uncover something? Something nasty
and hypocritical about this adulated healer, teacher, master,
whose off-stage attitude smacks of narcissism, bitterness and
an urge to degrade?

CV
1934 Born in Kensington, Cape Town
1941 First piano lesson
1949 Becomes professional musician
1958 Forms Dollar Brand Trio
1959 Joins Jazz Epistles with Hugh Masekela, Jonas Gwangwa and
Kippie Moeketsi
1960 Releases Jazz Epistle Verse 1
1962 Leaves South Africa for Europe
1963 Meets Duke Ellington in Zürich
1964 Releases Duke Ellington Presents the Dollar Brand Trio
1965 Marries Sathima Bea Benjamin
1965 Moves to New York
1965 Plays Newport Jazz Festival
 Abdullah Ibrahim 11

1966 Leads Duke Ellington Orchestra

1967 Attends Juilliard School of Music, New York
1968 Returns to Cape Town, converts to Islam and changes his
name to Abdullah Ibrahim
1970 Pilgrimage to Mecca
1973 Releases African Sketchbook
1974 Releases Underground in Africa
1974 Releases Mannenberg – is Where it’s Happening
1976 Moves to New York
1976 Returns from New York
1979 Releases Africa – Tears and Laughter
1980 Releases African Marketplace
1982 Releases African Dawn
1985 Releases Water from an Ancient Well
1987 Releases Zimbabwe
1987 Releases Banyana
1988 Releases Mindif
1988 Composes soundtrack for Chocolat
1989 Releases African River
1990 Returns to Cape Town
1990 Composes soundtrack for No Fear, No Die
1990 Meets Nelson Mandela
1991 Releases Mantra Mode
1991 Releases Desert Flowers
1993 Releases Knysna Blue
1994 Performs at Nelson Mandela’s presidential inauguration
1995 Releases Yarona
1997 Releases Cape Town Revisited
1997 Releases Cape Town Flowers
1998 Releases African Suite
1999 Opens M7 Music Academy in Cape Town
2001 Releases Ekapa Lodumo
2001 Releases African Symphony
2002 Releases African Magic

HEROES/INFLUENCES
Unfortunately we didn’t reach that stage. But these include Duke
Ellington, Thelonious Monk and the seventeenth-century Japanese
samurai warrior Miyamoto Musashi.