“What? Oh my gosh, guys, this is crazy! I never thought I’d say I won a Grammy at 22 years old.”
They were endearingly humble words from Tyla as she stood at the pinnacle of the pop music world in February, and for a moment it allowed the rest of us to feel that we had something in common with her. After all, you and I also never thought we’d win a Grammy at 22.
For all her humility, however, the fact is that Tyla is already in a class of her own as the youngest African to win pop’s most coveted award.
Of course, the wheel turns and this year, as bright young people like Tyla reached out and grabbed their futures, the South African cultural world lost veterans who had come before: beloved figures like poet James Matthews, gospel star Solly Moholo, Darlington Michaels (the magnificent rogue Georgie Zamdela from Isidingo), and of course the inimitable Connie Chiume, whose role as a respected elder in both Black Panther blockbusters reflected her status in the local acting world.
Television is poorer for their passing, but it remained in good health this year. The big-budget historical epic Shaka Ilembe cleaned up at the South African Film & Television Awards, getting a record 17 nominations before going on to win in 12 categories. Unsurprisingly, a second season has been commissioned, and, while I don’t know how far they’ll take the story and I definitely don’t want to provide any spoilers, you might want to keep an eye on that Dingane fellow.
There were probably more than a few local film and TV makers who watched Deadpool & Wolverine rake in R50m during its South African run"
There was also high praise for Die Brug as this local iteration of the international reality show was nominated for an international Emmy. It’s a good concept — strangers have to band together to build a makeshift bridge across a lake to reach a cash prize — but I suspect a show about South Africans having to build their own infrastructure out of twigs was always going to feel particularly relevant here. I look forward to local spin-offs like Die Waterpyp and Die Straat.
Indeed, there were probably more than a few local film and TV makers who watched Deadpool & Wolverine rake in R50m during its South African run — roughly what it made every half-hour during its opening weekend in the US — and reflected how many films they could make for that sum. Still, at least they would have been cheered by seeing their own struggles reflected in the superhero flick, as two jaded misanthropes with fantastically foul mouths take a huge amount of punishment but somehow don’t die.
Speaking of bloody-minded penury brings us elegantly to literature, where local publishing always seems to be one WhatsApp piracy spree away from ruin. Rumours of the death of the novel, however, are exaggerated, especially now that “romantasy” has left the privacy of feverish diary entries to slide moistly into the mainstream. Admittedly it’s a broad church, ranging from quasi-medieval courtly fairytales right through to bog-standard porn but where the hot plumber is an elf. However, as a genre it seems unstoppable.
In South Africa, though, it is the gritty crime drama that still holds sway. This year Irma Venter and Rudie van Rensburg, along with the un-put-downable Deon Meyer, underlined the fact that Afrikaans thrillers — and Afrikaans book-buyers — are the economic engine of local publishing.
At some stage I hope we can start the process of having Steinberg brain declared a national key point, like parliament or the SABC.
Of course, they’ve had some help, albeit late in the year. John van der Ruit’s Spud has returned, a bestseller once again, reminding us of that bona fide publishing phenomenon of the mid-2000s when more than a few fine books that might not otherwise have been considered bankable enough got published solely because there was Spud money sloshing around.
Some books, on the other hand, were always going to be winners. Jonny Steinberg’s Winnie and Nelson: Portrait of a Marriage and Andrew Brown’s The Bitterness of Olives won the Sunday Times literary awards for nonfiction and fiction, gongs that seemed guaranteed from the moment both books arrived.
At some stage I hope we can start the process of having Steinberg declared a national key point, like parliament or the SABC. He certainly seems more interested in South Africa than the former and produces considerably more knowledge than the latter — but I know that Gayton McKenzie, our new minister of Sport, Sport, Sport and Whatever Else There’s Time For, is a very busy man, so perhaps this will have to wait.
For now, though, South Africa’s cultural workers, who act or sing or write, who dance or paint or sculpt, who record the thoughts or songs or beliefs of our country, who chronicle or transpose or interpret, will simply get on with it, as they always do.
The money will be terrible, because it always is. The hours will be long, because they always are. If you ask them why they do it, they’ll quote Tyla: oh my gosh, guys, this is crazy.
But that’s only half true, because they know why they do it: because they have to; because they’re compelled to. Because it’s what they love. It’s who they are.
And there’s nothing crazy about being yourself.
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