From ekasi to global groove
Amapiano is sweeping the world, conquering dance floors everywhere,
‘Idon’t get the hype. You can’t even identify the genre. You can tell when you’re listening to a rock song or a pop song or rap. Not this.” The narrator? A close friend of mine. The alleged unidentifiable genre? Amapiano. After I (kindly) tell him that his comment is a limited and narrow approach to genre classification as a whole, I wys him.
Amapiano songs are instantly recognisable — to such an extent that this amapiano (a Zulu word which loosely translates as “the pianos”) novice struggled to distinguish one tune from another in a day listening to amapiano playlists on Spotify — one of a number of digital streaming platforms we have to thank for the popularisation of the genre.
Characterised by a log drum (a hollowed-out percussion instrument, the sound of which resembles shakers) fused with kwaito, house, synths and basslines which skrik vir niks, its homogeneity is what makes it uniquely distinctive and recognisable, and which ultimately unifies the genre.
Kwaito plays a pivotal role as the progenitor of amapiano, with the 2022 Bubblegum Club documentary short, Freedom Sounds: From Kwaito to Amapiano, exploring the influence kwaito has had on the younger generation of amapiano musicians.
“Amapiano is a child of kwaito,” musician Sandy Mrd states in the Showmax documentary Impilo Ye Piano, which follows the lives of burgeoning and established amapiano artists.
The most discernible similarity between the two authentically Mzansi genres is the sound, as kwaito music producer Oskido explains in Freedom Sounds. Amapiano’s tempo emulates the 100 beats per minute of kwaito, yet kwaito is slower: “You know when you groove, you groove like that,” Oskido demonstrates as he near-nonchalantly sways from side to side in his chair, his movements resembling a low-key Madiba shuffle.
Orlando West-based amapiano artist DJ Stokie echoes Oskido’s statement: “The vocalists we feature ... you can hear that kwaito influence, but the beat has just changed.”
Pioneering kwaito musician Mandla Mofokeng, who goes by the moniker “Spikiri”, elaborates on the cultural significance amapiano shares with kwaito in the light of apartheid-era and post-democratic South Africa.
“We miss you, Mandela. We couldn’t say it ... [so we] started kwaito. We were going to be free, you see? This was 1989 ... So amapiano — that’s what it’s doing. Exactly what we did. It’s still what we started.
They’re still pushing the culture, and they’re doing it their way.”
Eswatini-born and South Africa-based amapiano DJ and producer Lungelihle Zwane, known as Uncle Waffles, cites late kwaito singer Lebo Mathosa as her “number one” inspiration on account of her being an “unapologetic, vibrant woman who was very much herself”.
Local musician and lead singer of kwaito band Bongo Maffin, Thandiswa Mazwai, also drew inspiration from “lone ranger” Brenda Fassie, affectionately known to South Africans as MaBrrr: “We wanted to break out of this neat package of what it means to be a woman.”
Sandile Msimango, known as Young Stunna, was raised with the music of MaBrrr and Mathosa, saying that kwaito “opened doors to people expressing their ideas ... we [amapiano artists] wanna improve this ...”
“Yoh!” he says of the “gqoem, gqoem, gqoem” found in kwaito: “Shap! That’s the sound we [amapiano artists] want to hear now! That’s the freedom!”
Tumelo Mabe, one half of Katlehong-originated DJ’ing duo MFR Souls (along with Tumelo
Nedondwe), says they “try to imitate [kwaito’s] basslines” in their songs, but “in the amapiano way ... If it’s an emotional day for us, the bassline will be emotional. It gives you the freedom to be like ‘aah!’ and when it hits hard — that ‘Gong! Gong! Gong!’ ... Ah, thank you Lord for the gift of life!” he says with passion in Freedom Sounds.
The geographical origin of amapiano remains obscure, with “the townships of Gauteng” being the closest concrete answer. As Mazwai, filmed grooving and singing along to popular amapiano artist Pabi Cooper’s 2021 hit Isphithiphithi, exclaims: “That’s keKasi, Papa!”
Yet, though its terrestrial origins remain terra incognita, amapiano has garnered global recognition thanks to a combination of social media attention and the 2020 Covid-19 pandemic.
From its nascent days (early 2010s), amapiano hasn’t received much radio airtime, with budding artists sharing their tunes (and moves) mainly on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube.
Choreography shares a symbiotic relationship with the sounds of amapiano, for it was dance challenges that solidified its local — and international — popularity.
“The kids that you see on the street with the great moves are now able to travel with it,” Uncle Waffles shared in Freedom Sounds. “Now the world is getting to see the young black talent, in South Africa particularly.”
While acknowledging the sombre nature of the pandemic, Pabi Cooper in Freedom Sounds adds that amapiano artists benefited from the social isolation: “In a way, it really changed a lot ... For amapiano to go worldwide like that ... We were all on our phones,” she says as the camera pans to a cellphone screen displaying groups of people showing off their best amapiano dance moves.
“A small kid right here, chopping it up, can go viral — next week he or she could be in the UK,” Uncle Waffles says.
Take Tyla, for example: the Jozi-born amapiano artist’s tune Water initially went viral on TikTok before making history (herstory?) as winner of the inaugural Grammy Award for Best African Music Performance. I mean!
The introduction of this specific Grammy category drew even more international attention to music and musicians from Africa.
US music critic and staff writer for The New Yorker Kelefah Sanneh’s July 2023 article “How Far Can Amapiano Go?” sees Sanneh recounting an evening at the Brooklyn Mirage where Major League DJs, twin brothers Banele and Bandile Mbere, performed: “The sound was sparse, tense and slightly menacing, with a bass line that cut in and out of the mix unpredictably; it could have been house music, except that there was a ghostly absence where the steady, orientating thump was supposed to be. People didn’t seem sure how, exactly, you were supposed to dance to this stuff. Near the stage, a few fans gathered to peer at the Mbere brothers, whose heads moved non-stop, swooping in time with the music, and with each other, as if they were the only people in the room who could hear that missing thump,” he writes.
His article also mentions how the twins benefited from sharing their music videos on YouTube, amassing view after view, international fan after international fan.
As with the dance challenges, the aesthetics of amapiano music videos are synonymous with the genre. Think shots of Joburg’s townships; young, black bodies writhing to the log-drum-infused bassline beats in clubs; swish cars; choreographed dancing in kasi streets; and skrr-skrr-meets-hip-hop-street-style fits — an amapiano video is a subgenre in its own right.
London-based DJ Nicky Summers’ introduction — and near-immediate penchant — for amapiano led to its popularisation on UK radio stations, with Isle of Pom-originated AmaFest, described as “the largest amapiano festival in the world”, further attesting to the international popularity the genre created by our country’s young, black musicians has received.
The theme song of the Spanish Netflix series La Casa de Papel (also known as Money Heist), Bella Ciao (originally a late 19th-century Italian protest song), has also received an amapiano remix, featuring Kabza De Small and DJ Maphorisa. Ngiyabonga, Netflix.
From South Africa’s townships to US stages, amapiano is approaching its apex — yet, unlike Mount Everest’s summit, this genre knows no limits.
How’s that for a recognisable sound?
A small kid right here, chopping it up, can go viral — next week he or she could be in the UK