kagablog

I mean, I like Lebo Mashile. Well, we all do, I guess. She’s a brilliant writer, a phenomenal performer whose gigs leave you breathless, a ‘wordsmith extraordinaire’ whose written and sung words often make you fly into spiritually endless journeys. Plus, she constantly reinvents herself, she’s a people’s person, and she’s outspoken (as I could personally witness at a recent pro-Zim concert at the Bassline in Newtown, Jozi). Together with sister artists such as Napo Masheane, Simphiwe Dana, Mak Mamabolo, the Mazwai sisters, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, India Arie (and, fortunately, many more) she incarnates the prototype of a ‘post-Western shero’, a woman and an artist fully emancipated from all the nonsensical Western ideals about what “beauty” is (or, rather, should be). Like all those sisters she is independent, confident, politically and poetically conscious, but also equipped with a positive “I-don’t-give-a-shit” attitude that clearly warns whoever wants to invade the sacred space she and her sisters have created for themselves (and for all of us): “Watch your step dude! You don’t wanna mess with me!”.

For these reasons, it’s natural for me to pick up a Mashile’s book (or a Badu’s cd) when I feel down or over-thoughtful about this schizophrenic world of ours. In particular, when this blues knocks at the backdoors of my soul, I read (or listen to) one of my all-time favourite poems: I’m talking about Mashile’s “Style” (if I read the paper version in In a Ribbon of Rhythm, or listen to the audio shot in Live!, it depends exclusively on my more or less contemplative state of mind at the given time).

Some verses of this poem, like those that follow, are simply well-tested, all-natural medicines, whose reinvigorating effects are comparable only to those of a smooth spliff smoked under a full moon light (or, as in Mashile’e fortunate personal experience, with JC).

It is the very liquid soul that oozes from these pores
To light the sidewalks with our magic beyond the distant shores
It is the joy from which the laughter of the dying is drawn
Style is the essence of my people

We walk tall in every creed and shape and language known to man
We walk tall and touch the God with every step upon this land
We walk tall into our futures burning our memories into the sand
Because style is in the bodies of my people

And when we move to any groove we shake the earth around the sun
Ask for the tricks that dip our hips we’ll tell you rhythm makes blood run
Back to the source African booties know the answers and when I’m done
I’ll tell you style is in the movement of my people
…
But we know the force that rules the world
Derives its power from our dance
When my people express their beauty
The whole world goes into a trance
When we create we shape the planet
It’s only through voice that we have a chance
Because style is in the music of my people
So wear your colours with pride
Sing your spirits unplugged
We’ll use the hands that built our art
To build ourselves with love
Always remember that you carry your style in your blood
Because style is in the survival of my people (In a Ribbon of Rhythm, pp. 3-4)

But, apart from being a fan of Mashile’s poetry , I am also a fanatic of Prince (“The Artist”, “The Symbol”, the everything)’s music. So, more often than not, after reading (or listening to) Mashile’s poem, I feel the urgent desire to complete the soul-healing therapy with Prince’s own electro-funk version of “Style”, as recorded in the 1996 album Emancipation. To fully appreciate the lyrics and the groove of this mesmerizing track, one deserves a private session, a stereo pumping loud, headphones well-placed on the ears and of course, at one’s own discretion, a sweet j.
Obviously, nothing can replace the feeling of self-intimacy of a stereo playing for yourself exclusively. And certainly the confused notes of a freaky writer don’t serve the purpose. But anyway, for now, in the temporary absence of a sound system, let me humbly remind some of the most enchanting lines of Prince’s masterpiece, verses full of subtle and witty messages:

Style is not something that comes in a bottle
…
Style is not a logo that sticks 2 the roof of one’s ass
Style is like a second cousin 2 class
…
Style is not lusting after someone because they’re cool
Style is loving yourself ‘til everyone else does 2
Style don’t get drunk on a Saturday night
…
Style don’t get married then break the vow in a year
Style is keepin’ a promise

Style is not biting style when U can’t find the funk
Style is the face U make on a Michael Jordan dunk
Style ain’t the jeep U bought when U know your broke ass got bills
…
Style is a gold-tooth smile with an attitude
Style is a peaceful wild postin’ the rude
Style is growing your own food
Style is a non-violent march
Style is an accurate account of what’s inside every heart
…
Style is not a lie
…
Style is buying your moms a house
Style is a clean mouth
Style is puppy breath
Style is no fear of death
…
Style is hailing a cab
Then U know, givin’ ‘em the finger when they pass your ass!

Style is a soul new power
Style is when all black men are free
Style is U and me

And, here are my favourite ones:

Style is lettin’ your lover drive while U talk on the phone and chill ☺
Style is a man that cries
Style is Ali’s jab (nothing beats that!!!)

… and, last but not least:

Style is the glow in a pregnant woman’s eyes

Wow… don’t they give you goose bumps???

So Prince and Mashile’s ultimate message is that style is the best (or probably the only) means of mass survival at our disposal, in an idiotic shitstem which lies under the weight of the Damocles’ swords of weapons of mass destruction and media of mass distraction. Their words definitely help coping with the mass hysteria that is typical of the utterly styless local and global world we live in.

Where do I see stylessness around me? Well, basically everywhere I turn my eyes! Looking at my everyday life from a bottom-up perspective, here come some few examples: from the taxi driver who rapes a woman whose only “fault” is to wear a miniskirt, up to the corporate geek wearing a vulgar Italian suit and talking at the cell while driving his ultra polluting SUV, and further up to our puppet politicians and those who pull the strings upon them, these are all individuals without a single drop of style in their obtruded, cholesterolic veins!!! (and the list of the styless ones is, unfortunately, virtually endless).

So the lesson that comes from the dynamic, super-stylish duo Mashile-Prince is: guys, get rid of all the political, ethical, aesthetical, theoretical, religious, and blah blah blah bullshit they are feeding your mind and soul with! Stand up and say: Me i’ve got value! I a human being, dammit! And one with tons of style!

In my humble view, once you’ve come down to this self-evident conclusion, nobody will never ever be able to bring you down anymore.
But maybe all this abstract talking about style (when people need more material stuff like food, shelters, hospitals, schools) it’s just nonsense. Maybe. Or maybe acknowledging the uniqueness of our own style it’s the key to have access to a new, more sustainable, spiritual approach to our fucked up realities.

As for me, I have no answers to offer, but only questions to raise. And, indeed, I think I have already spoken too much. It’s time for me to pick up In a Ribbon of Rhythm from my shelf, put disc 3 of Emancipation in my stereo, and light up one.
To come to the end of this story: let me greet you the way Mc Don Cornelius used to greet the funky guests of his show “Soul Train” (the most stylish tv programme ever created)… with just a slight variation, i.e: Peace, Soul… and Style!