The Extraordinary Life and Times of David Kramer [Review]

A Review of David. Kramer: A Biography, by Dawid de Villiers and Mathilda Slabbert. Cape Town: Tafelberg, 2011. ISBN 978-0-624-04847

His modest protestations notwithstanding, David Kramer’s life has been anything but “ordinary” – and at last we have a book that does justice to this, David Kramer: a Biography by Dawid de Villiers and Mathilda Slabbert. Their “Preface’ makes clear what kind of book this is: not a tell-all celebrity biography, but a serious attempt to understand the enormous contribution Kramer has made over the years as a musician and solo performer and as a collaborator (with Taliep Pietersen and others).
This is not exactly an authorised biography: Kramer gave the two authors a free hand, but it is clear that a relationship of trust developed between the authors and Kramer, and that the book has benefitted enormously from the material that the Kramers (David and Renaye, and David’s brother John) made available. The result is a book that, while clearly sympathetic to its subject, retains academic objectivity and rigour. The focus is on Kramer’s work, and on the context of that work, rather than on his private life.
The authors provide a series of insightful and well-informed discussions, focussing primarily on the solo albums, beginning with Bakgat in 1980. This enables them to make sense of the trajectory of Kramer’s career, and provides a much-needed perspective on his cultural interventions over the years. These stem from his determination to focus on and give expression to what is local and indigenous and distinctively South African (or Western Cape). Kramer’s roots are of course, in the Karroo (Worcester), and what stood out immediately was his use of a non-standard colloquial Afrikaans and his own ‘blik’ style of music. Bakgat was immediately banned by the SABC. At the same time, however, Kramer was aware of how much was excluded by the official, white Afrikaans-speaking culture of the platteland dorps. Exclusion also shapes identity. This led to his ever-deepening engagement with the undocumented and largely unrecognised language, history and musical traditions of those most marginalised of people, the rural ‘coloured’ farm workers and communities of the Karoo, the West Coast and the Northern Cape. (It is probably not incidental that Kramer’s paternal grandfather was a Lithuanian refugee, Berel Karabelnik, aka Barnett Kramer, who started out in South Africa as an intinerant smous in the Van Rynsdorp area.) This interest culminated in Karoo Kitaar Blues and in the various versions of The Ballad of Koos Sas (a legendary outlaw figure – the “last Bushman” – who was tracked down and killed, and whose skull was put on display in the Montagu museum.)
One of the things which distinguishes Kramer’s music then, is his ability to transcend the limitations imposed by his platteland origins, and to empathise with and enter into dialogue those who have been marginalised by over 300 years of colonial and apartheid history. His creative partnership with Taliep Petersen, culminated in Ghoema, which explores and celebrates the rich musical history and traditions of the people of Cape Town, dating back to the era of slavery.
While the book doesn’t delve into the Kramer’s personal life, it does discuss the problems resulting from sudden commercial success (“Hak Hom Blokkies” was a number 1 hit in 1981, followed closely by “Royal Hotel”). Kramer came to be identified with a particular image or persona (which he had himself promoted) – the familiar image of the singer, wearing baggy trousers, velskoene and slicked-back hair, “almal se pel”. This was, of course, enhanced by a succession of iconic VW bus advertisements, flighted on TV for something like 13 years, which helped to make him a household name. However, his persona was threatening to take over and rule his creative life. His most overtly political LP of the 1980s, Baboondogs (with mostly English lyrics) was in part a response to these pressures. The psychic strain involved in managing the disparity between the public persona and the private David Kramer may have contributed to the debilitating depression that he suffered from for a number of years.
The book deals in a more summary way with the remarkably successful collaboration between Kramer and Taliep Petersen. District Six, the Musical touched a raw nerve by tapping into the collective trauma that resulted from the destruction of District Six, and subsequent shows (Fairyland, and Kat and the Kings) helped to retrieve the music and culture of the District for a contemporary audience. The latter is the only South African show to have played on both the West End and Broadway.
In the new millennium Kramer’s trips into remote rural areas and his work with hitherto unknown musicians, culminating in Karoo Kitaar Blues, helped to do for folk-roots music in South Africa what Alan and John Lomax had done for folk and blues music in America and elsewhere. Most of the musicians Kramer found died in the nine years between the original show in 1991 and the release of a DVD in 2000. Their lives and music were in effect rescued from oblivion by Kramer: we would otherwise never have heard of the likes of Tokas Lodewyk, Hannes Coetzee, Dawid van Rooi, Koos Lof, Siena and Jan Mouers, Helena Nuwegeld and Jan Willems.
It would be difficult to underestimate the significance of Kramer’s original work and “shape-shifting” versatility. The subversive charge of much of his music influenced a new, younger generation of Afrikaans musicians, who were part of the “Voëlvry” movement. The great merit of this book is that it gives Kramer’s work the serious attention that it deserves, without being ponderous or over-solemn. David Kramer: A BIography is readable and articulate, and is well-illustrated with photographs. It traces the evolution of Kramer’s preoccupation with place and identity and belonging from Bakgat to Huistoe. His exploration of what he calls “cultural borderlines” (in reaction to “the previous apartheid mindset”) has as much relevance now as it ever had.
If nothing else, the book will get readers dusting off their copies of Bakgat and revisiting the music that had such an impact in its time. One or two small suggestions: a David Kramer timeline at the beginning of the book would have been useful. And did the publishers consider the option of including a CD (Bakgat or Klassic Kramer) with the book?

Diepsloot

Inside Diepsloot: A Review of Anton Harber’s Diepsloot

Anton Harber: Diepsloot. Jeppestown: Jonathan Ball, 2011.ISBN
978-1-86842-421-4

What makes this book important? It gets behind the (often sensational and misleading) headlines and lifts the lid on what actually happens inside this informal settlement of +/- 200000 people, north of Johannesburg. (It borders on its near neighbour and polar opposite, the very upmarket suburb of Dainfern.) There are many more Diepsloots – it is one of about 1700 informal settlements around the country, all competing for attention. Such places are often the sites of “service delivery” protests and vigilante action. Rather like the canary in the mineshaft, they give us early warning of the stresses and strains that threaten our society, and our common future. The author, Weekly Mail founder and editor, Anton Harber, tells us: “I learned that if you want to understand where this country is headed, you need to listen to the people of Diepsloot.” And he does.
The book points to the often intractable difficulties that prevent progress and impede service delivery (among these, “the frog” – the Giant Bullfrog whose natural habitat is Diepsloot East, and which needs to be protected). There are multiple overlapping authorities, various processes that have to be followed – and no one seems sure where the money will come from. Even where there is the political will, this is a bureaucratic nightmare. The problem, in a nutshell, is this: the state is faced by multiple challenges in its attempts to regulate and introduce services to an area where people have simply moved in, built shacks, set up trading stands, and tapped into the Eskom electricity grid – without seeking permission from anyone to do so!
Interestingly, Diepsloot is a child of the “new” South Africa: it dates from 1995, when the “Zevenfontein squatters” took it upon themselves to move in. Subsequently (in 1996, and again in 2001) people were relocated from Alexandria. “The people of Diepsloot are “the cast-offs and refugees of other areas” – and about 30 000 new people arrive every year. Some 5000+ RDP houses have been built, some housing stands have been developed, and there is some bonded housing – but this is a drop in the sea of 3x2 metre shacks. Sanitation is inadequate: sewerage flows through the street or into the stream (the “sloot”) that runs through the centre of the settlement. Most people rely on informal trading to survive. Life is precarious, crime is rampant, and in the absence of effective policing or a working criminal justice system, people often take the law into their own hands.
In this “organised chaos” the authorities have limited purchase. The ANC representatives operate out of offices, talk the language of due process, and counsel patience. Closer to the grassroots are SANCO and the SACP and the Youth League: “We know the needs of the people. We feel the pressure because we are here on the ground”. These organisations have a tense relationship with the ANC. Local ANC leaders accuse SANCO of running a “mob-like organisation” that takes protection money, threatens foreigners (Diepsloot was the site of extreme Xenophobic violence in 2008), and sells access to land and shacks. Harber’s book provides a valuable insight into alliance politics on the ground, beyond the headlines. It reflects a variety of opinions, and gives space to all the “stakeholders” (as well as to the views of ordinary residents) and avoids over–simple judgements.
What one gets from Harber’s book, then, is a careful, well-researched and systematic study by an outsider who brings his skills as an investigative journalist and his personal integrity to bear. His overview is based on what he sees and hears in Diepsloot (he spent four months there, and interviewed hundreds of people), and its objectivity and fairness are obvious. This is of course still an outsider’s perspective: the book does not try to provide a hands-on street level account of daily life as experienced by the residents of Diepsloot. This is not a criticism, just a description of the kind of book this is – and it doesn’t pretend to be anything else.
Harber chooses not to problematise the fact that he is white, and an outsider, but he can hardly be unaware of this. One or two black critics (e.g. Andile Mngxitama) have used this as a stick to beat him with, asking why “a white researcher would care to intrude into black spaces”. This kind of knee-jerk, half-baked response smacks of reverse racism: do we really want to create a new social and intellectual apartheid, where only “blacks” can write about “blacks”, and “whites” about “whites” – and where we keep to our own (racially defined) spaces?
Take the trouble to read the book (unlike Eric Miyeni, who criticises it without having read it), and arrive at your own judgement!

THE GREAT MATRIC PASS-RATE DECEPTION

Now That the initial hullaballoo and self-congratulation is over, it may be time to reflect on the Matric results, and particularly on the significance of the 70.2% national pass rate. Jonathan Jansen hits several nails on the head, and I borrow shamelessly from his article (“Matric razzmatazz conceals sad reality” – Weekend Argus, 7 January).
1. 52% of children who started in Grade 1 never made it to Matric. That is 539 102 young people. Where are they now?
2. “The requirement for passing is so low that pupils really have to put in a special effort to fail.” i.e. All that is needed to pass is 40% in a home language, 40% in two other subjects and 30% in three subjects! This is how low we set the bar!
3. There is great pressure on schools to only enter candidates who have a good chance of passing, and to advise students to select subjects that they are likely to pass (e.g. Maths Literacy rather than Maths). The Maths pass rate was 46%, and fewer students wrote Maths. In fact, the number of students enrolled for Matric declines each year.
4. Many Matriculants will find that they lack the skills or qualifications to find a job. Only a small proportion (24.3%) will qualify to enter university – and many of those will fail their first year.

The national obsession with Matric pass rates is counter-productive, and does not serve the real interests of our learners.

Is it not time for someone to say that the Emperor (in this case our Minister of Basic Education) has no clothes?