Jazz in focus: Capturing a sound in image

Mail & Guardian

2 days ago

Jazz in focus: The Peffers Fine Art booth at the RMB Latitudes Art Fair in Cape Town
Jazz has to be seen live to be appreciated. That might sound like a platitude that could apply to any genre of music but, for me, it was a revelation. As a person whose ears were more finely attuned to rap and rock from a lifetime of listening, every attempt I made to listen to jazz in the privacy of my home ended in failure. Until I experienced it live.
Some of the best moments of my life have been seated in a dimly lit room in front of a big jazz band. Nothing compares to seeing a six- or seven-piece ensemble playing at the peak of their powers, with an audience congregated to witness the holy communion of drums, bass guitar, double bass, piano, sax and trumpet.
It was only once I had worshipped at the church of a sold-out jazz gig, and sat in the presence of the genre being created live and in the moment, that I was able to appreciate it.
I had this on my mind last weekend when I encountered the booth hosted by Cape Town gallery Peffers Fine Art at the RMB Latitudes Art Fair.
What I found was an exploration of South African jazz seen through the discerning eyes of legendary photo­graphers. It was an encounter with a hard-to-describe beauty, an attempt to capture the ephemeral magic that makes this genre of music so special.
The booth, a selection from the larger Back of the Moon exhibition, was the brainchild of Ruarc Peffers, often working with Matthew Blackman of the publisher Blackman Rossouw. Theirs is a fascinating, almost informal collaboration, where Blackman delves into the historical depths, unearthing narratives and forgotten faces, and Peffers brings a curatorial vision to the surface.
The idea for this compelling booth began somewhat organically.
'Initially, it started with Ruarc representing the Alf Kumalo estate and then also working with the Baha Archives,' Blackman recounted.
A casual conversation about the Journey to Jazz Festival in Prince Albert led to the idea of an exhibition.
'I made an offhand comment that maybe we could do an exhibition of jazz photography with them,' Blackman shared.
This initial focus on Kumalo's work gradually expanded: 'As the project developed, we began to pull in all of the other photographers of that era. And then, you know, we finally pulled in the Ernest Cole photographs from the final chapter of the republished House of Bondage book.'
Musician Moshe Kgasoane and comedian Loyiso Gola at the Peffers booth
The Latitudes showing felt like a concentrated essence of that larger exploration, a collection of moments plucked from a rich and resonant past. The exhibition ultimately featured the work of not only Kumalo and Cole, but also Bob Gosani, GR Naidoo and Jürgen Schadeberg.
Walking through the booth, I was struck by the way these photo­graphers, each with their distinct approach, managed to capture something beyond the mere visual representation of musicians.
There were the familiar giants, Hugh Masekela and Miriam Makeba, their images carrying the weight of their immense cultural impact.
But it was the glimpses of lesser-known figures that truly resonated.
Blackman's research illuminated the story of Gideon Nxumalo, a jazz innovator whose contribution in the Sixties deserves far more recognition.
He found it interesting 'how there are these forgotten figures in our jazz history and … how truly incredible they really were among them'.
To see Nxumalo captured at his piano by both Kumalo and Cole felt like witnessing a vital piece of history reclaiming its rightful place.
Similarly, the photographs of Philip Tabane and Julian Bahula, pioneers of the Malombo Jazz Men, spoke to a crucial shift in the South African jazz landscape, a move towards a more homegrown sound. Through the lenses of Cole and Kumalo, their revolutionary spirit was palpable.
This wasn't just a random assortment of photos. It felt like a deliberate curation of narratives. Some images were instantly recognisable, having become ingrained in our collective memory through album covers and publications.
'There's the famous Miriam Makeba by Jürgen Schadeberg, which was an obvious one,' Blackman noted.
But it was the discovery of previously unseen or misidentified photos, particularly from the Ernest Cole archive, that held a particular allure.
Blackman recounted the detective-like process of identifying subjects.
He found it 'interesting that there's so many photographs in our archives that are sort of unidentified'.
These rediscoveries underscored the depth and untapped potential in our photographic archives.
Even a seemingly simple image of Masekela with a trumpet-maker, unearthed and correctly identified, held a quiet power, a glimpse into the everyday life of a legend.
'That was actually the one, interestingly, that Hugh's daughter had never seen before,' Blackman shared, highlighting the fresh perspective these discoveries brought.
What, then, makes a jazz photograph truly special? It's a question I pondered as I moved from frame to frame. Jazz, at its core, is an improvisational, atmospheric art form.
How do you capture the fleeting beauty of a saxophone solo, the rhythmic pulse of the drums, in a static image? Blackman articulated this challenge beautifully: 'Jazz, being music, is obviously an art form, which is one that is difficult to represent in written language … But a photo can capture the kind of poetry of that music because there's movement and obviously atmosphere.'
The most compelling jazz photographs are those that transcend mere documentation. They aren't just about who was playing but about the feeling, the communication between the musicians, the sheer immersion in the act of creation.
Alf Kumalo's image of Winston Mankunku, shrouded in cigarette smoke, his saxophone a conduit for something profound is an embodiment of a mood, an era, a feeling.
Blackman pointed out some were posed due to the limitations of the equipment. 'Many of the early photographs are of jazz musicians posing as if they are in a jazz club rather than actually being in the jazz club.'
Yet, even in these staged moments, there's an attempt to convey the spirit of the music. As technology evolved, photographers gained the ability to capture the raw energy of live performances.
But, regardless of the setting, the great photographs capture moments of intense focus, where the musician is utterly lost in their craft. They're often not looking at the camera; they're in conversation with their instruments, with the music.
There's something inspiring, almost primal, about witnessing that level of dedication frozen in time.
'The key is it's a photographer, who is an artist capturing somebody … making art themselves; there's this beautiful symbiotic connection.'
The response to the booth was enthusiastic and culminated in it winning the audience choice award.
'I was really delighted to see how many young people were coming through, recognising who some of these jazz musicians were and taking selfies next to them,' Blackman said.
Leaving the booth felt strangely akin to leaving a jazz gig, my senses still ringing with the rhythm of what I'd just experienced, reluctant to return to the silence outside.
Just as it took witnessing jazz live for me to truly understand its power, it took standing face to face with these photographs to realise how deeply the genre's energy lives beyond the music itself.
There, suspended in stillness, was the very essence I had first encountered in a crowded, low-lit room — the pulse, the presence, the communion.
These images didn't just show me jazz. They made me feel it, again.