logo
A jazz club in Johannesburg plays its last songs and laments downtown's decline

A jazz club in Johannesburg plays its last songs and laments downtown's decline

Independent11-05-2025

On a Friday evening in downtown Johannesburg, a world away from the genteel suburbs that include some of Africa's wealthiest neighborhoods, groups of men huddle on a dark street as a security patrol whizzes past.
Around the corner, popular jazz venue the Marabi Club is hosting its last Friday night show before closing down – another victim of the city center's decay and the jarring inequality in post-apartheid South Africa.
'It's devastating. This is such an iconic space in the inner city and now we have one more reason not to come downtown. It's a true sign of the city's decline,' said Renata Lawton-Misra, 34, a climate change consultant, attending the concert with her husband, Kyle Schutte.
For Schutte, the reasons behind the closure are clear. 'Safety concerns,' said the 38-year-old financial consultant who said he wouldn't normally set foot in the area. Downtown is now known for rampant crime and dilapidated infrastructure after an exodus of white people to the suburbs after the apartheid system of racial segregation ended in 1994. 'True or not, perception is the issue.'
The Marabi Club had been part of a wave of investments designed to reinvigorate downtown, in particular the Maboneng district, about a decade ago. It was founded in 2017 by TJ Steyn, son of the late South African insurance magnate Douw Steyn, and Dale De Ruig.
The club attracted visitors including Jay Z and Beyonce.
'Look at what we created here with amazing food and music,' said waiter Emanuel Mcotheli, pointing to the packed room of mainly Black urban professionals.
The club was named after marabi, a jazz movement that emerged in the 1920s, to honor South Africa's rich musical heritage. Back then, miners and day laborers would congregate downtown and were drawn into illegal shebeens (taverns) by the sound of marabi, repetitive and improvisational keyboard tunes.
The genre gained popularity through bands like the Jazz Maniacs and influential artists such as Hugh Masekela and Miriam Makeba.
'I grew up singing marabi,' said the club's resident vocalist Mbalizethu Siluma, 40, who sings soul and R&B, inviting the snappily dressed guests to dance after dinner.
Despite the attention the club has received, South Africa's strict COVID-19 lockdown severely hit it and other businesses that hoped to reshape parts of downtown Johannesburg. A succession of short-lived mayors, eight in five years, made things worse as essential public works went undone.
The neglect of downtown Johannesburg was exposed to international attention in 2023 when a fire in an overcrowded apartment building left unregulated by authorities killed 76 people.
'We knew it wasn't the perfect place to open a jazz club but we were hopeful that it was on an upward move,' De Ruig told The Associated Press. 'Ultimately, it was a bit of a false start.'
He said the city has provided almost 'almost no support' and basic requests for better lighting, security and cleaning in the area were ignored.
The city's government said it could not comment on the reasons behind a private venue shutting its doors, but spokesperson Nthatisi Modingoane said it was 'unfortunate for the creative economy.'
For Lusanda Netshitenzhe, a member of the steering committee for the Joburg Crisis Alliance, a coalition working to end corruption and improve city government services, the Marabi Club's closing represents a broader issue.
' People unfortunately don't feel safe getting to Maboneng,' Netshitenzhe said. The area 'once celebrated ... is unfortunately no longer doing well due to continued deep systemic issues, poor urban governance and lack of leadership in the city of Johannesburg."
Mayor Dada Morero said in his State of the City address this month that 'drastic times call for drastic measures' and vowed to intensify efforts to revitalize the inner city, including rehabilitating abandoned buildings and installing public lighting.
Any plans for reviving the area come too late for the club and its musicians.
'Maybe there's something better coming … look at how this place is, Marabi isn't dying,' Siluma said before hitting the stage.
De Ruig and his partner are considering moving the club to Steyn City, a gated commercial and residential estate owned by the Steyn family, 32 kilometers (20 miles) north of Johannesburg's city center.
Downtown is left to those who can't afford to leave.
___

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad
He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad

Telegraph

time2 hours ago

  • Telegraph

He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad

Father's Day is upon us and whether you celebrate it with abandon or believe it is nothing more than another American import designed solely to line the pockets of wily marketeers, it does perhaps serve the purpose of making us consider the men who helped bring us into being. Father-and-child relationships can be fraught – certainly the teenage years can test even the most placid of tempers – and who does not remember those years, scowling in indignation, resolutely promising to never, ever become like the man who had just given you a dressing down for some transgression. But that was then and this is now and, just in time for Father's Day, a recent survey has been published that finds that, as we get older, the vast majority (91 per cent) of us agree that, now we're older we realise our fathers were right about most things. That is certainly the consensus in The Telegraph offices... He told me I should try working in London – I ignored him Melissa Twigg The moment I told my father I was moving to Hong Kong, he responded with the level of enthusiasm he once reserved for cleaning the hamster's cage. This was confusing: his own mother and stepfather had lived there for decades and used to wax lyrical about it, as if it was some kind of tropical utopia. My father, though? Not a fan. He found it too hot, too crowded and too frantic. At the time I was 29 and a magazine writer in Cape Town – a city that, while outrageously beautiful and full of people who look frighteningly good in swimwear – was starting to feel too sleepy. I was also recently heartbroken and suffering from the kind of emotional upheaval that could only be soothed by moving continents. My father was baffled. 'Why not just go back to London?' he kept asking. 'You're a journalist and you grew up in one of the great media hubs of the world – surely you should at least try working there?' Of course, I ignored him. Fast-forward a year and I was miserable in a cramped flat in Sai Ying Pun. I had a job that was superficially glamorous, working for a glossy society magazine, but it turns out that spending your days interviewing heiresses isn't all that fulfilling. Also, I discovered, I am not a natural party girl and would rather be reading a book than downing shots with junior bankers. After three years, I booked a one-way flight to Heathrow and exhaled audibly as the plane landed in familiar greyness. Back in London, I got a job on a broadsheet, a husband and, eventually, a baby – all those things I had wanted so fervently at 29, but which had felt so out of reach as I had wandered alone along the baking, crowded streets of a foreign city. And my dad? He never once said, 'I told you so'. I wish I could have told him he was right about the values of hard-work and self-reliance Mick Brown It was the length of my hair and Mick Jagger. Those were the two main abrasions I recall in my relationship with my father. He had fixed opinions on both things. Girls had long hair, not his son. And whenever the Rolling Stones appeared on television there would be a sigh of disgust, almost equal to the volcanic eruption that would occur whenever George Brown, the bibulous Labour minister whom Dad felt disgraced the family name, hoved into view. Dad's father had walked out on my grandmother shortly after he was born, leaving her to bring up her only son on her own. Her family were Salvationist, and he was a dutiful son, who became a dutiful father. He had been brought up on the principles of self-improvement and working all the hours God sends – a very Dad phrase. He had left school at 15, and worked for a building company. Money was tight and on Sundays he tended the garden of a big house nearby, while I explored the shadowed corners of the huge lawns and counted planes flying overhead. On Remembrance Sunday, at 11am, Dad looked at his watch, put down his rake and we both stood silently in the garden, observing the minute's silence. A disciplined man then, but an extrovert who brought joy to everyone who knew him. The church was packed for his funeral. He died when I was 22, and there's not a day when I don't wish I'd have known him for longer, and could have told him he was right about the values of hard-work and self-reliance. He was wrong about Mick Jagger – or should I say Sir Mick Jagger – whom even Dad would have had to acknowledge became a pillar of the establishment. But he was right about his habitual instruction to 'get your hair cut', as much as I argued and protested at the time. Sadly, the passing years, and the receding hairline, have taken care of that. I think he'd finally approve. Always have enough cash on you for a taxi home Celia Walden Now there's a piece of advice that could have been delivered in the Middle Ages. Over the past few years, I've had people burst out laughing when I've offered them cash. I've seen people back away, hands in the air, from the diseased little note I was offering up. But of all the great pieces of advice my dad [former Tory MP George Walden] has given me, this remains one of my favourites. It's about safety, he used to explain. About always having the ability to get home and never finding yourself relying on another human being at the end of a night out. It was also, I suspect, about a very healthy mistrust of technology, which has been proved right time and time again. The ATM isn't working, it's miles away or it's run out of cash, so again, you're at someone or something's mercy. As a teenager, I remember thinking it was a weird thing for Dad to be so stuck on. Now that I have a 13-year-old girl (to whom I have given the same advice) I can see that what he was really stuck on – and wanted for me above all else – was independence. His advice to me would be to try to be a bit more like him William Sitwell When it came to our father's advice, my brother and I agreed on a simple strategy: always do the exact opposite of what he suggested. This, of course, was meant with great affection. My younger sister, elder brother and I all had wonderful relationships with him. And I say relationships, plural, because he had a wonderful ability to take a different approach to each of us, according to our character and needs. But when it came to strategising, from work to relationships, we enjoyed the conversations, we just didn't take the directions. My father, Francis, was born in 1935. He made, the obituary writer of this paper, noted: 'a very good fist of a difficult birthright', living in the shadow of towering ancestors. Neither a sportsman nor an academic star, he stayed under the radar at school and, eschewing the family bent of writing, he worked in the City, not as a financier but in public relations. He made very little money and we never looked to him for business advice. Or if he offered it, we'd politely ask if any of his friends might help us. And therein lies a clue to his great worth. He died in 2004, a death at 67 brought on by what I call long lunchitis. He was the arch practitioner of lunching. He was one of the best-connected men in the City. He was one of the most loved. At his memorial service a senior British politician told me: 'You know, your father had no enemies.' So where my Daddy's advice might have been lacking, he made up for this by his example. He was loved because he was companionable, affable, funny, generous, charming, self-deprecating, very huggable and always warm. He told great stories and he was always giggling. He was too modest to have ever said this himself, but if I imagine what his advice to me would be now, it would be to try to be a bit more like him. I hated being deprived of my teenage rights, but I'm inflicting the same wholesome trauma on my own children Rosa Silverman As a child, I felt certain I had a raw deal. My dad (in close collaboration with my mum) adhered to a style of parenting that my siblings and I called 'brown bread,' consisting of bans on various activities that constituted fun in the Eighties and Nineties. Watching Neighbours was out (not educational), likewise eating crisps (unhealthy), riding my bike without an ugly polystyrene helmet (unsafe) and playing with Barbies (too gendered, I think was the reason for that one, though confusingly I was allowed dolls). I have great lacunae in my cultural knowledge from that time, particularly where ITV was concerned. No, my dad wasn't religious. He was (and remains) an adventurous, fun-loving, idealistic hippie who envisaged a healthy, wholesome childhood at least for his first three offspring. (He and my mum gave up by the time of their fourth, who had an XBox, watched Friends as a toddler and essentially parented himself.) I was outraged at being deprived of these basic rights enjoyed by all my peers and tried not to look bemused when they discussed soap-opera plotlines, or over-excited when offered a Penguin bar. Then I became a parent myself and, oh boy, have I inflicted that intergenerational trauma on my own children. My dad was right, I discovered. Crisps actually aren't that good for you. Going anywhere at all without a helmet could be disastrous. It's kind of weird to give a plastic woman with lovely pert breasts to a young child to play with. I haven't managed to impose quite so wholesome a childhood on my kids as my dad managed, but the intention is there. They feel tortured by my insistence on vegetables and screen-time limitations. No one but them suffers such injustices, they believe. One day, perhaps, they'll realise: they have my father to blame. His determination to take notice of others' genius made my life so much richer George Chesterton My father was not someone you could rely on to give sound advice, unless it was another lesson in how not to do something, but I still feel gratitude for how his determination to take notice of others' genius made my life so much richer. Listening is a tree that bears fruit many years later. My father's simple habit was always to highlight something he thought was wonderful for its own sake, something he thought I needed to take notice of. Like most children, I either paid the most perfunctory attention or just passed it by entirely. But this acknowledgement of the brilliance of others must have worked its way into my mind. For him, it was something like the effortless skill of Peter Sellers switching from one voice to another in The Goon Show, or Orson Welles grilling Paul Schofield in A Man For All Seasons. He would insist I listen or watch or read – probably a thankless task at the time. For me, it is especially powerful in music: in the call and response of A Boy Like That from West Side Story, Cole Porter's lyrics to You're The Top, Chaka Khan screaming perfectly in tune, or something really obvious like the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. That feeling can be summarised by Ian Dury (no stranger to brilliance himself) when he sang There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards. This is a lot more than just admiring something remarkable – it is being aware of the magic another human being can conjure and allowing it to give you comfort when you need it most. Brilliance is the word that always comes to mind, since what these moments provide are sources of light, little explosions that split the creation from the creator, who – let's be honest – are often not the best adverts for humanity themselves (Wagner, anyone?). Recognising the brilliance of others is also a healthy thing to do. It's an ego-less moment of reflection beyond your own petty concerns and something my dad and I would both have benefitted from having more of over the years. But we should give thanks where it's due, whether that's to those who inspire us or our fathers. Sometimes both.

‘Stupid' – Josh Rock hits out at ‘disrespectful' World Cup of Darts rival's on-stage antics
‘Stupid' – Josh Rock hits out at ‘disrespectful' World Cup of Darts rival's on-stage antics

The Sun

timea day ago

  • The Sun

‘Stupid' – Josh Rock hits out at ‘disrespectful' World Cup of Darts rival's on-stage antics

JOSH ROCK has hit out at World Cup of Darts rival Devon Petersen for his antics on stage. Rock and Northern Irish partner Daryl Gurney claimed victory over the South Africans to reach the quarter-finals of the tournament. 2 Rock, 24, was not pleased with the antics of Petersen during the match. Petersen was continuously talking during the match but it was his decision to pour some of his drink over Gurney's darts case that crossed the line. Rock hit out at the act after the match as he claimed the South African was "disrespectful". He said: "Devon started talking for the bull-up and it got me fired up and then he decided to pour a bit of a drink over Daryl's case. "I think it's a wee bit disrespectful in my eyes." Gurney also slammed Petersen for his talk during the match and joked he would be a millionaire if he was paid per word. He said: "If Devon was paid for every single word, he would be an absolute millionaire because not once did he shut up. "Even in the bull pen he was at it and it annoyed him [Josh]. JOIN SUN VEGAS: GET £50 BONUS "It was the worst thing he done." Gurney did insist that he was able to block out the South African so it did not "bother" him. He added: "The only time he did not talk was whenever he was throwing, but that's Devon's game. "I told him [Rock] that because I played South Africa before and Devon did the exact same, I just blacked him out this time and it didn't bother me. "I shouldn't have messed about whenever I had those three darts at 32 and then I shouldn't have done a stupid one, a blind 180, because that's just stupid. "That's playing into Devon's hands, but at the same time, Devon loves it and he'll go back, and the first thing he'll say is 'Oh, you see what I did? I made Daryl do this'. 'But, no, glad to get the result. We're in the draw and that's the main thing that matters." The Northern Irish pair will now face neighbours Ireland in the quarter-finals of the tournament. Irish ace William O'Connor has already complained about the conditions at the World Cup of Darts. The Limerick-born thrower has insisted that it is "too hot" on the stage to get the best from the players. Elsewhere, Belgian star Dimitri van den Bergh has announced he will NOT be returning to darts full-time after his shock retirement.

I was celebrating baby scan when my world fell apart – I woke up covered in blood & glass… with my family gone forever
I was celebrating baby scan when my world fell apart – I woke up covered in blood & glass… with my family gone forever

The Sun

timea day ago

  • The Sun

I was celebrating baby scan when my world fell apart – I woke up covered in blood & glass… with my family gone forever

IT WAS supposed to be a celebration of new life, but the day of Robin Du Plessis' baby scan became one that would haunt her forever. Clutching the envelope containing the gender of their unborn baby, her fiancé Willem was driving Robin and their daughter Shylo, just hours after their ultrasound. 5 They had been to visit Robin's mother, who was organising their surprise gender reveal party, to deliver the envelope with their unborn baby's sex on it. But just minutes later, tragedy was about to rip the family apart. In August last year, their car was involved in a terrible crash that claimed the life of Willem and their daughter Shylo. Robin, 31, says: 'It was such a horrific accident and I can't believe we have lost them both. 'I then had to give birth to our daughter Roane on my own, and I'm bringing up my two boys without Willem. 'When their little sister grows up, I'm going to tell her all about her amazing dad and little sister. 'I will make sure they are never forgotten.' In the days leading up to the tragedy, the couple were thrilled to be expecting again, and were looking forward to their upcoming gender reveal party. Robin, who lives in South Africa, says: 'I was 16 weeks pregnant, and more than anything I wanted to have a gender reveal party. 'I'd never had one before, even though I'd already given birth to three children, but this pregnancy was going to be my last baby and I wanted to do something special.' Race Across The World pays heartbreaking tribute to show star Sam Gardiner after tragic death age 24 The couple had met in June 2020, and Robin says she felt an 'instant spark' between them. 'After a few months we decided to go for a drink together one night after work, and from then on we became a couple,' she recalls. 'He was my soulmate. My Mr Right. I felt a depth of love that I'd never felt for anyone before. And he felt the same about me. It was as though we didn't need anyone else but each other.' The couple welcomed their daughter, Shylo, a couple of years later in 2022. 'Willem was the most amazing dad,' she says. 'He doted on Shylo and he was amazing to my two boys from a previous relationship. 'I couldn't believe my luck in finding him. It was as though it was meant to be. We were crazy about each other. 'We spent night after night outside our house with a campfire, just talking and looking up at the stars. And talking about our future together as a family.' 5 5 The couple had been trying for another baby when Robin sadly suffered a miscarriage in 2023. 'I was convinced that something had been wrong for me to have lost it like that,' she says. 'It had never happened to me before, and I'd been distraught over it. 'So when I found out I'd fallen pregnant again, the following year Willem was thrilled, but I was so anxious in case it happened again. 'I was scared, but he was convinced it was going to be alright.' Day of disaster Robin told her mum that she wanted a gender reveal party and she said she would organise it. So at 16 weeks pregnant, on August 30, 2024, the couple drove over to the hospital to have a scan. Robin says: 'We'd brought the kids with us. 'I lay on the scanning table and the doctor ran the scanner over my stomach. 'The heartbeat was strong and clear. It was so tempting to ask what we were having, but we asked the doctor to write it on a piece of paper whether it was a boy or girl, and we sealed it up. 'There was no way we were going to spoil the surprise at our reveal party.' On the way back from the hospital, the couple called in at Robin's mum's house and handed over the envelope so that she could organise the right colour for the reveal. 'We'd brought her some shopping too, and we told her about the scan and how it had gone,' Robin says. 'We talked about who we were going to invite, but I was leaving it up to her to organise. I couldn't wait. 'After a while we said our goodbyes, and we all got in the car to drive home. 'We lived about an hour from mum, and it was dark driving on the highway. 'Everyone was tired, and we just couldn't wait to get home.' The family were about halfway home in an area called Dalmas at around 9pm when they saw some headlights in the rear view mirror. 'There was a car heading towards us,' Robin says. 'It looked like it was coming up fast behind us. We didn't even have time to say anything before I felt a massive bang. Where to seek grief support Need professional help with grief? Child Bereavement UK Cruse Bereavement Relate The Good Grief Trust You can also always speak to your GP if you're struggling. You're Not Alone Check out these books, podcasts and apps that all expertly navigate grief… Griefcast: Cariad Lloyd interviews comedians on this award-winning podcast. The Madness Of Grief by Rev Richard Coles (£9.99, W&N): The Strictly fave writes movingly on losing his husband David to alcoholism. Terrible, Thanks For Asking: Podcast host Nora McInerny encourages non-celebs to share how they're really feeling. Good Mourning by Sally Douglas and Imogen Carn (£14.99, Murdoch Books): A guide for people who've suffered sudden loss, like the authors who both lost their mums. Grief Works: Download this for daily meditations and expert tips. How To Grieve Like A Champ by Lianna Champ (£3.99, Red Door Press): A book for improving your relationship with death. 'The next thing I knew I found myself on the road behind our car. 'Dazed and confused, I looked around. There was shattered glass everywhere.' The car behind the family had crashed into the back of them but the driver had fled the scene. 'I crawled around to the front of the car,' Robin says. 'Willem, one of my boys, and Shylo had also been thrown out of the car on impact. 'My other son was the only one left in the car. 'In total shock I looked at Willem, and he had blood coming out of the side of his mouth. 'He wasn't moving. I knew that he was gone. The boys were ok, with just cuts and bruises. 'But Shylo lay there motionless. Not my baby too. 'I knew there was nothing I could do for Willem, but Shylo was barely alive. I cradled her in my arms, tears pouring down my face.' Tragic last breath A couple of passers-by stopped by the wreckage and called an ambulance, but for Shylo it was too late. 'Just 45 minutes later, Shylo took her last breath in my arms,' the mum recalls. 'The ambulance arrived two hours later, and they couldn't revive her. I'd lost both my husband and my beautiful daughter, just like that they were gone. 'It just seemed like some terrible dream.' The ambulance took Robin and the two boys to hospital where they were checked over. 'I didn't know if my unborn baby had survived,' she says. 'But they did a scan and the heartbeat was still there. 'Willem had been right about one thing, when he had told me this baby was going to be ok.' Dazed and confused, I looked around. There was shattered glass everywhere The boys had X-rays and scans too and luckily it showed they had no broken bones. While she and her baby were unharmed, Robin struggled with the heartbreak of losing her family while trying to carry on with her pregnancy. She says: 'I didn't know how I was going to be able to carry on without Willem and Shylo. My soulmate and my daughter were gone. 'I went through the rest of my pregnancy in my blur. 'My bump was growing, but Willem wasn't there to see it. 'I just felt numb through it all. What should have been such a happy time was so empty for me. 'I could feel the baby kicking, and wanted to share it with him so badly.' Robin delivered their daughter Roane in February this year. 'Willem should have been there by my side,' she says. 'He would have loved to have had another daughter. He'd been so excited about this baby, and he'd never even gotten to know she was a girl. 'I wish with all my heart that he'd been able to meet her. But I'll make sure she always knows how special her dad and sister were.' 5

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store