Die Antwoord News

An article by Adrian Covert about Die antwoord versus the real culture in south Africas Cape Flats. After a post on BoingBoing put the South African rap group in the spotlight, people everywhere became intrigued with the group's mix of white trash and thug personas, a construct that prompted questions as to how "real" their personalities actually are. Comprised of frontman Ninja, Yo-Landi Visser, DJ Hi-Tek, and the oldest Progeria survivor, Leon Botha, the group has now ridden the wave of hype to an unlikely point: a record deal with Interscope. Wait, what?

Given the complex history of the region and the confusing racial imagery of the act, do we laud this group for questioning the meaning of race in 2010, or do we call them out for creating an attention-grabbing gimmick at the expense of someone else's musical culture? American bloggers and writers hail the post-modern ideals of the group and that they push the boundaries. They suggest that Die Antwoord is forcing us to question what race really means, and how they're the true realization of early 21st century pop culture. But are Die Antwoord really that edgy, or are they merely a Blackface act living in 2010.

The answer isn't easy. The music they're pulling from is hip-hop from the colored - meaning racially mixed in South Africa - Afrikaans-speaking ghettos outside of Cape Town, spliced together with 20 years worth of electronic influences. (Afrikaans may be the language of the colonists, but it's also spoken by a fair amount of coloreds in the country.) The personas pull from something else entirely.

The face of the group is a larger-than-life personality known as Ninja. Last decade, he was known sometimes as Waddy Jones, sometimes as Max Normal. He involved himself in various Johannesburg art-rap projects where the line between performance and live would become blurred. Then Jones, while involved in the more lighthearted MaxNormal.TV project (which his current Die Antwoord members were also involved in), decided he wanted to become part of the Cape Flat rap scene, which is undeniably Zef. Thus, he created a series of Zef characters.

Zef - Afrikaans for "common" - can reflect many different cultures, but in the case of Die Antwoord, it refers to blue collar, white trash Afrikaner culture and the gang-influenced, colored culture of Cape Flats in South Africa. Owing to the obvious in-authenticity of their roots, critics and writers lazily refer to the group as a musical version of Ali G. But that's too easy, and doesn't quite reflect the complexity of Die Antwoord. Of course they're quasi-ironic. And of course much of what they do is an act. But the music they make isn't so much being parodied as it is a vehicle for them to mess with the wider world.

The last factor, and perhaps the most crucial one, is that all members of the group are white. Ninja refers to himself both as white trash and a gangster. His supporting cast also embodies this same gangster-trash spirit, albeit to a more muted extent. Under most circumstances, this wouldn't cause anyone to bat an eye. But in a country still haunted by its apartheid past, a group of middle-class kids descended from colonists claiming entitlement over the culture of the oppressed makes them one of the more dangerous pop sensations to spring up in some time.

And while the American media might be quick to praise, the conversation going on in Africa is reflective of the different racial experiences of the United States and South Africa. Some writers over there feel that the outlandish statements, paired with middle-class backgrounds ultimately deadens the positive impact of Die Antwoord. Other African writers have ultimately come to accept what Die Antwoord is about, framing their approach purely as an act of art. But the discussion ultimately brings to the surface what makes Die Antwoord so potentially dangerous: do they have a right to claim colored culture?

In the first 30 seconds of the their album, $0$ (streaming here), Ninja says "Check it. I represent South African culture. In this place you get a lot of different things. Blacks, whites, coloreds, English, Afrikaans, Xhosa, Zulu, Basotho. I'm like all these different things, all these different people, fucked into one person."

I may not be South African, but I do know that it's a stretch when someone starts trying to represent socioeconomically-segregated ghettos where they didn't grow up. In the case of Waddy Jones, when he heard the Zef rap coming out of Cape Flats and decided he wanted to be a part of it, he shacked up in the nearest white enclave, adopted the Ninja personality, and began his mission to attain credibility.

In videos, Die Antwoord romanticizes the messy cultural and political state of South Africa. In songs, Ninja has claimed to be colored on the inside. These statements and behaviors have a troubling parallel to the concept of post-racialness: or the idea that we've transcended race, and from here on out, we should discredit all racial boundaries.

As idealistic as that may be, it's also unrealistic. Real problems still exist when it comes to race, and in many cases it's not minorities making the call for a post-racial culture, but rather the white majority.

While it's interesting for Ninja to question these cultural distinctions, it isn't his place to determine the state of race. Some will rush to protect Die Antwoord under the umbrella of art, which is intellectually fair. But in the real world, everyone is interpreting this all wrong, especially in the United States. ??How many Americans ears that perked up at the sound of Die Antwoord really understand the state of race and class in South Africa? (not to mention the United States). How many of them saw past the ridiculous surface antics of Ninja as entertainment and comedy, and understood the political commentary behind the look? Most importantly, would anyone outside South Africa have cared if Die Antwoord were colored or black?

Some have said that we cannot blame Die Antwoord for their fans, but this is where the whiteness of Die Antwoord becomes a factor. They can try and disregard their white status publicly, but the truth is that they're using that same distinction to gain the attention of the world. Fashionistas love the "look" of Yo-Landi Visser (pale, blonde and mulleted), while the Art crowd is drawn in by their visual appeal (and by odd-looking sidekick, Leon Botha). Meanwhile, I've heard comments that Die Antwoord are doing stuff that's "new and refreshing."

The truth is that nothing they're making is all that new. In the mid-2000s, Dizzee Rascal and Wiley were up in the UK pioneering a similar sound known as grime, which combines 2-step dance music with dancehall reggae and hip-hop. Down in the south, Three 6 Mafia were applying the rave aesthetic to their own strain of hip-hop. And in South Africa, the rapper Spoek Mathambo has been working with producers Markus Wormstorm and Sibot for the last three years (Sweat.X, Playdoe) to create a critically-lauded sound that's pretty much on par with what Die Antwoord are doing now (minus the theatrical posturing).

And that's not to say that Ninja didn't help develop the sound of South African hip-hop -- Waddy Jones worked with those same producers in the early 2000s in various capacities. And the Die Antwoord album is skillfully made on a musical level. But it doesn't change the fact that Die Antwoord isn't really breaking any new ground musically. Post-racial politics? He's certainly breaking ground there, but it's important to remember that there's a big difference between a new road and one so often trod that it's taken another look entirely.

By Adrian Covert | MOG Associate Editor
source:http://mog.com/MOG_Features/blog/1869255