It’s generally agreed that American black culture has been
endlessly pilfered by white musicians—jazz, rhythm and blues, and
rap have each taken their turns being appropriated, exhumed, and
bastardized by whites. Of course, this literal-minded outlook ignores
the give-and-take of ideas that’s attendant with all cultural exchange,
but although it’s a broad simplification, it’s proven to be a durable
and surprisingly common pattern in the history of American music. So
when a quartet of black South Africans reclaims that whitest of white
genres—progressive rock, long the bastion of pimply tech-heads
and doughy shut-ins—the predominately Caucasian world of indie
rock sits up and takes notice.
Of course, it’s not the first time a black artist has entered the
arena of “white” rock—to name just a handful, Jimi Hendrix,
Living Colour, and most recently TV on the Radio have each had their
turn at redefining the black “role” in rock music, as if such a thing
needed to have set parameters. But BLK JKS aren’t African American;
they are African, and their ease at inhabiting the tricky bombast of
prog proves not only the similarities between Anglo prog and African
township, but also the futility of separating and pigeonholing
different musical varieties.
“As children coming up in the kind of state that South Africa was
before ’94,” says BLK JKS guitarist/vocalist Mpumi Mcata, “we were
always very inquisitive and hungry for knowledge of life beyond our
immediate space; so indeed, as much as the wonderful and oftentimes
powerful sound of South African music—from traditional to
urban—surrounded us, we soon fell into the arms of, say, Ms. Nina
Simone, then found even more strength in Fela Kuti, and, when we were
coming to, Public Enemy, Sonic Youth… most of this we had to dig
for.”
BLK JKS’ debut full-length After Robots has almost too many
influences to measure, with messy polyrhythms butting up against
tightly constricted funk, and clean jazz chords augmented by metal
shredding. It’s a record that sounds dominated by musicianship rather
than songwriting, and as a result can be flashy at times, but that’s
often in the record’s favor. “Taxidermy” sounds like early Rush meets
Os Mutantes, while songs like “Banna Ba Modimo” are perhaps more
similar to the Mars Volta than to anything else on the American rock
scene. There are also a couple missteps; the ballad “Standby” wants to
soar but feels awkward and gloppy, while “Skeleton” is an uneasy
mixture of metal and reggae.
After Robots, out on Secretly Canadian, was recorded in their
label’s home (and the college town) of Bloomington, Indiana, and
produced by Brandon Curtis of New York space rock band Secret
Machines—a pedigree far removed from BLK JKS’ Johannesburg home.
The band’s reputation is still largely based on their live show, which
showcases both their American influences and their inherent African
musicality. I ask Mcata if he’s found that most of BLK JKS’ audience in
America is white.
“It’s maybe because… most of America is white?” he responds. “No,
we haven’t really experienced it that way; spending most of our time in
Brooklyn, the situation is pretty well mixed and balanced.” In the
meantime, he says, BLK JKS aren’t allowing race, or anything else, to
define their audience. “We’ll just be taking this here soul food to as
many people as we can all over the world and see where that puts
us.”