The Culture Edit: South Africa's festival scene is losing its local voice

Time Out

2 days ago

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Cape Town has just been named one of the best cities in the world for nightlife, and there's a reason genres like amapiano, gqom, and Afro-jazz are taking over global playlists: South African music is world-class. Gig guide experts Let's Get Local digs into why festivals at home treat local acts as second-tier, and what message it is sending.
South African music festivals used to feel like a showcase for the country's raw creativity. They weren't just about big stages — they were a proving ground for artists, a meeting place for scenes, and a way to discover music you couldn't find on commercial radio.
Now, too often, they feel like scaled-down copies of global mega-festivals, where the majority of budgets go to foreign headliners and local talent is squeezed into early slots for minimal pay.
In the late '90s through to the 2010s, festivals like Oppikoppi, Mieliepop, and Splashy Fen championed local music. Endless Daze created an intimate boutique experience with indie and psych-rock acts drawn almost entirely from South Africa's underground. Misty Waters Music Festival (still going today) and Search Festival both made thoughtful curation their calling card.
Even Rocking the Daisies, now synonymous with global headliners, began with a proudly South African identity. Back then, the music felt anchored in place.
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Today, that balance has shifted. Festivals increasingly justify their existence around expensive global names, often spending more on a single imported act than the entire local lineup combined. In the process, they've diluted the cultural role festivals once played — elevating local artistry and building the scenes that sustained South African music year-round.
The Global Headliner Arms Race
The pivot toward international names didn't happen overnight. By the early 2010s, promoters felt mounting pressure to compete with global festival circuits. At Rocking the Daisies, the arrival of acts like alt-J and Flume marked a shift toward an 'international-first' marketing strategy. At the same time, Oppikoppi began adding overseas guests like Yelawolf and August Burns Red to attract younger crowds.
By 2024, Rocking the Daisies was headlined by UK rapper Stormzy, U.S. hip-hop artist JID, and R&B star Snoh Aalegra, with South African performers making up most of the poster's mid-tier but little of its hype machine.
The irony? Many of these local acts consistently sell out venues on their own tours, yet they're relegated to filler slots at the country's biggest stages.
The cost structure is also sobering.
Industry insiders estimate an international headliner like Stormzy or Doja Cat commands upwards of R4–5 million for a single slot. By contrast, top-tier local artists often receive under R300,000, and emerging acts are lucky to see R10,000–R15,000 for a festival appearance.
The logic from organisers is familiar: big names drive ticket sales. But the reality is more complex.
Hey Neighbour: A Cautionary Tale in Timing and Expectations
Hey Neighbour debuted in late 2023 with a sold‑out lineup headlined by Kendrick Lamar, H.E.R., Swedish House Mafia and others. After that successful inaugural edition, there was no festival in 2024 — it effectively went on hiatus. The event re‑emerged this year, originally scheduled for 30–31 August 2025, headlined by Doja Cat (her first South Africa show) and Central Cee.
But in early July, Hey Neighbour was abruptly shifted to December 2025. This move leaves ticket-holders in limbo, facing delayed refunds until 10 October, and airport and accommodation bookings timed for August. One social-media user demanded, 'Just cancel… Why are we waiting three months for a refund? What's happened to the monies?'.
The absence of a 2024 edition already raised eyebrows among industry watchers — many questioned why a follow-up was even planned without continuity. Now, with the August lineup scrapped, there's growing speculation that Doja Cat or Central Cee might not be available for December. Insiders suggest organisers may be scrambling to secure yet another global name to justify the festival's inflated budget and ticket prices — a risky gamble given the missing 2024 momentum.
Hey Neighbour's troubles underscore the fragility of festivals built around international headliners: without a reliable local core, everything hinges on a few big names — and when those fall through, the whole structure is at risk.
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What We've Lost
Festivals weren't just about music — they used to be cultural laboratories.
Oppikoppi's hilltop poetry jams, Endless Daze's visual art installations, and Mieliepop's quirky 'beach in the bush' vibe made them feel like more than a lineup. Now, too many festivals have reduced the experience to corporate activations and VIP lounges, with less room for experimentation.
For local artists, this shift is more than symbolic. The South African live music circuit is already under strain from poor radio support, limited streaming royalties, and shrinking venues.
Festivals once helped bridge that gap. Now, many local acts accept under-market fees just for exposure, only to find themselves on side stages at off-peak hours.
A Local-First Model That Works
Critics of international-heavy lineups often hear the same counterargument: 'But local artists don't sell tickets.'
That's simply not true — and Liefde by die Dam proves it.
Liefde by die Dam, an Afrikaans music festival held in Cape Town, Johannesburg and Windhoek, books almost exclusively South African acts.
No overreliance on international stars. No glossy global branding. Yet it sells out multiple cities every year. In 2024, over 15,000 tickets for the Johannesburg edition disappeared within minutes of release. General admission tickets cost between R395 and R450, with VIP packages at R2,999 — still far more affordable than most big festivals.
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By contrast, Rocking the Daisies' 2024 edition struggled to fill its 25,000-capacity venue despite marquee names like Snoh Aalegra and Mick Jenkins.
Weekend passes started at R1,699 and VIP packages soared past R8,000. The festival's high production costs, driven in part by international artist fees, forced it to target affluent audiences, creating a sense of exclusivity that alienated some of its original fan base.
Liefde by die Dam's success highlights a key lesson: South Africans will support local acts if festivals trust their audiences and keep prices accessible. It's not about nostalgia — it's about sustainability.
But There's a Way Back
It doesn't have to be this way. Some festivals are proving that a proudly South African focus can still draw crowds and build communities.
CottonFest, launched by the late Riky Rick, has become a cornerstone of local hip-hop and R&B. Its open mic competition before each festival allows new talent to earn a slot on the main stage, making the festival feel like a living, breathing reflection of the scene.
Up the Creek has maintained a small, intimate footprint by booking majority South African artists for over 30 years.
Misty Waters and Mieliepop are still committed to eclectic, locally-heavy lineups.
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These events succeed because they invest in their communities. They're not trying to out-Coachella Coachella. They're asking: what makes our audiences, our artists, and our spaces worth celebrating?
For bigger festivals, the lesson isn't to cut internationals entirely, but to find a better balance:
Prioritise local headliners: Put South African stars at the top of the poster. Let them own the night.
Fair pay minimums: Set a floor for local artist fees, tied to ticket pricing and inflation.
Platform emerging artists: Follow CottonFest's lead and create pre-festival programs to discover and promote new talent.
Invest in culture beyond stages: Workshops, debates, art, and wellness spaces can deepen the festival experience in ways a VIP gin bar never will.
Public funding with conditions: Municipal grants should require a minimum percentage of local artist spend to qualify.
The Risk of Losing Our Own Audience
Festivals have always been more than just concerts. They're where scenes are built and careers are made. If we keep outsourcing our lineups and our culture, we shouldn't be surprised when our artists — and audiences — look elsewhere.