Recorded on November 22nd 1968 at the Herrick Merrill Studios, Johannesburg
Originally issued in South Africa on Atlantic City (AYL1001) in 1969, this was an extremely rare record, out of print for years, and considered a real find in the specialist shops. The original tapes were destroyed, but the material resurfaced briefly on the reissue of Winston Ngozi’s album Yakhal’Inkomo in 1996, and all credit to Matsuli Music for resurrecting it now.
Formerly known as Chris Schilder, Shihab played in the clubs around District Six, taking his Islamic name after his conversion in 1975. This was his debut album, clearly influenced by the music of the first wave of South African modern jazz – the Jazz Epistles, the Blue Notes and others – but more by what the musicians had learned from Americans – in saxophonist Winston Mankunku Ngozi’s case, Coltrane in particular. This seems to be the starting point rather than an extension of the distinctive hybrid that someone like Abdullah Ibrahim had constructed, using music closer to traditional African roots.
However, the opening number, Spring, shares the similarly characteristic rocking bass line and the repetitive and percussive style of piano, blocked chords a feature, before Shahib extends it into fluent linear runs in his solo. The rhythmic, rolling piano, with the steady swing and cymbal tick from drummer Gilbert Matthews, forms a platform over which Mankunku’s rich and attractive tenor soars, using occasional trills and punctuated by an explosive interruption here and there.
Before The Rain And After is a buoyant, optimistic up-tempo waltz and an opportunity for piano and guitar solos; the number is very much guided by the guitar of Garry Kriel. Look Up continues with this more straightforward jazz template, utilising Matthews’ forthright swinging approach.
A bass drone forms the bedrock for The Birds, reminiscent of Coltrane’s Crescent, where the introduction is drawn into a measured blues, driven by a strong bass line by Phillip Schilder. At several points, Mankunku threatens to take it “out”, but relents and keeps it within the melodic framework. After his expressive piano solo, Shahib pulls it back into the coda, mirroring the start.
The album ends with the ballad You Don’t Know What Love Is, a showpiece for the evocative, almost plaintive sound of the saxophonist, whilst Shahib’s left-hand chords are matched by sensitive cascading runs on the higher notes.
Although the leader apparently had misgivings about the end product, the recording session being rushed and him not being able to iron out some flaws, it still holds up as being an impressive piece of work and well worth getting hold of.
02. Dedication (To Daddy Trane And Brother Shorter)
03. Doodlin'
04. Bessie's Blues
Bass – Agrippa Magwaza
Drums – Early Mabuza
Piano – Lionel Pillay
Tenor Saxophone – Winston "Mankunku" Ngozi
Recorded on 23 July, 1968 in the Johannesburg Studios of Manley Van Niekerk
NOTES:
"Ah... at last it's done. I mean the recording of South Africa's number one tenor sax player, Winston "Mankunku" Ngozi. This is the LP that every jazz fan has been waiting for. Listen to it from side one to the last note on side two then you'll agree with me that this is jazz, dished out by the son of the soil in a soul/jazz bowl.
About the man himself. He was born on 21st June 1943 in Retreat, Cape Province. He started playing the piano at the age of ten and two years later bought a tenor saxophone. "Mankunku," as he is called, started to take music seriously in the early sixties. His first professional engagement was with Alf Herbert's African Jazz and Variety and thereafter with South Africa's greatest bassist Midge Pike of Cape Town, about whom he said "Midge was really the man behind my success. He really helped me a lot, I take my hat off to him, dad — I will always remember him." I asked him who influenced his playing. "Daddy Trane and Brother Shorter," he said. "Is that why you composed a tune called "Dedication?" "Yes dad, I feel like crying every time I listen to the music of these two men." I first heard Mankunku play in 1967, during the La Vern Baker/George "Stardust" Green tour. I am sure that many a jazz fan will agree with me that he was the star of the show.
On the first side of this LP is "Yakhal Inkomo" (one of his original works), literally translated "Bellowing Bull." The sound of a bull bellowing mournfully at the loss of one of his kind, is one from deep down in the heart. It is with this sound captured musically, that Mankunku expresses his deep grief at the loss of one of the greatest tenor players in the world, Daddy Trane, as he calls the late John Coltrane. If you listen to the early recordings of John Coltrane — for example "Blue Train," "Moments Notice" and Wayne Snorter's "Johnny's Blues" and "Noise in the Attic," you will agree with him that he was influenced by them. The second tune is also his own composition — "Dedication" (to Daddy Trane and Brother Shorter). It is a 4/4, which is so well arranged that I could hardly believe that it is his original work — with this tune he really plays his part. He plays himself. I remember during the recording session he didn't want anyone to move about because such movements disturb his feelings and concentration. The other tunes are his choice. From Horrace Silver's works he chose "Doodlin"' and from Coltrane's "Bessie's Blues."
About the trio that provided the background, he said "they are fabulous dad, they are with me all the time. When I reach the climax, they are there with me — I love working with them." That, I myself believe, because while recording "Yakhal' Inkomo" I saw tears rolling down his cheeks after Lionel Pillay's piano solo. Everyone there was thrilled to hear Lionel play with such feeling, a real down-to-earth feeling. The Early Mabuza Trio played and played — they deserve full marks." — RAY NKWE President of the Jazz Appreciation Society of South Africa
The 1960s and early 1970s are often referred to as High Apartheid in South Africa: the Separate Amenities Act of 1953—which legalized the racial segregation of public spaces—was still in full effect. The horror of the Sharpeville Massacre—in which police opened fire on crowds of demonstrators, killing 69—had traumatized the nation. Growing numbers of black South Africans were being forced out of their homes in some of the largest mass evictions in modern history. Following their ban, the ANC (African National Congress) had been pushed underground, with many of its leaders imprisoned at the infamous Rivonia Trial. In short, with the main source of internal resistance repressed and a lack of support from almost all Western countries, the future for black South Africans seemed bleak. Moreover, if music can be a hub of communal joy, safety, and collective catharsis for oppressed cultures, in the early ’60s even this was made impossible by the closure of any venues that catered to mixed audiences or ensembles. For many musicians in the still-nascent South African jazz scene, working in their home country simply became unsustainable. In the following years, a major exodus of talent occurred with major figures such as Abdullah Ibrahim, Sathima Bea Benjamin, Chris McGregor and the Blue Notes, Miriam Makeba, and Hugh Masekela moving to Europe or America.
During this early era of South African jazz, much attention was given to the incredible work put out by these exiled musicians. Abdullah Ibrahim—then known as Dollar Brand—and Samitha Bea Benjamin would go on to work with Duke Ellington. The Blue Notes became notable in the European free jazz scene. Perhaps the most commercially successful, Hugh Masekela would become the popular face of South African music in America.
While many left the country, a sizeable group of musicians remained, continuing to live and work through the height of Apartheid. Among them was young saxophonist Winston “Mankunku” Ngozi. Raised by a musical family in the Western Cape, Ngozi, inspired by a mix of local musicians and famous American players, would gradually build a reputation as a uniquely talented young artist. Staying in South Africa at this time proved itself to be routinely difficult. One story details how while playing at the Cape Town City Hall, Mankunku, billed as Winston Mann, was forced to play behind a screen while a white musician mimed his notes on stage. In the authorities’ eyes, black artists couldn’t be seen to play such complex music.
In 1968, with a backdrop of political despair, enforced displacement, and segregation, Mankunku would gather Lionel Pillay (piano), Agrippa Magwaza (bass), and Early Mabuza (drums) to record an album that has since become a touchstone for generations of South African jazz artists. Yakhal’ Inkomo, or Bellowing Bull, is a stunning, timeless record that deserves recognition not just within the South African jazz pantheon, but amongst the pioneering American albums it was inspired by.
The original release of Yakhal’ Inkomo, recorded on 23 July 1968 at the Johannesburg Studios of Manley Van Niekerk, consists of just four tracks. The first two, “Yakhal’ Inkomo” and “Dedication (To Daddy Trane & Brother Shorter),” are original compositions by Mankunku, while the remaining two, “Doodlin’” and “Bessie’s Blues,” are compositions by Horace Silver and John Coltrane respectively.
Beginning with the title track, Mankunku introduces a theme that permeates throughout the album: beneath a relaxed, joyful surface, there is a covert vein of protest. As all political resistance would inevitably be silenced, Mankunku, like many financially unstable and politically suppressed musicians, was forced to hide his rebellion in a commercially viable and non-confrontational package. The Zulu title, which translates to Bellowing Bull, was interpreted by white audiences as an evocation of the stereotypical pastoral lifestyle of the pre-colonial era. This vision of a tribal black existence sat well with the authorities, content to confine black cultural output to old clichés. As Gwen Ansell wrote in Soweto Blues: Jazz, Popular Music, and Politics in South Africa, “A rural image of cattle roaring on their way to slaughter was … well in tune with the censors’ stereotype of appropriate African subject matter.” In actuality, the bellowing bull was a far more resonant image for black audiences. Though the liner notes by Ray Nkwe declare the title to be an expression of Mankunku’s grief following the loss of John Coltrane, Mankunku would describe the Bellowing Bull as a representation of “the black man’s pain”; a bull’s distress while watching the slaughter of its kin. In an interview within Ansell’s book, he explains how listeners would reassure him that they were hearing his message; that they understood what James C. Scott called the “hidden transcript.” In short, once one listens beyond the breezy tone, a much more complex expression reveals itself. This is music that is at once deeply enjoyable and imbued with a quiet resistance.
As for the track itself, “Yakhal’ Inkomo” hinges on a simple, elegant I-II harmonic progression. Mankunku’s motif establishes itself, dissipates into a wave of bubbling keys, before returning to comfort with a series of short, sharp, joyful bursts. The solos from Mankunku and Pillay are beautiful, Mankunku occasionally drifting into a stylistic expressionism reminiscent of Coltrane or Pharoah Sanders. Following on shortly after, Pillay’s bluesy solo morphs from the lightness of the established E-flat major tonality to a darker minor phrasing. It is perhaps the only moment that brings the impassioned political subtext to the track’s surface.
There is another understated but powerfully subversive element of Mankunku’s music: the subtle integration of Xhosa and other indigenous musical stylings within a conventional American jazz context. Indeed, there is an intriguing circularity between African and African-American jazz of the period. While Mankunku looked to the work of John Coltrane, artists like Coltrane and Sanders were incorporating elements of African music into their own work. In a conversation celebrating the record on All About Jazz, Salim Washington recalls Mankunku going so far as to call Coltrane a Xhosa musician. Though Mankunku’s inclusion of this musical heritage was perhaps limited by commercial necessities and political context, the influence is there. Referring to the timbre of Mankunku’s playing, Salim Washington explains in his essay, Exiles/Inxiles: Differing Axes of South African Jazz during Late Apartheid, how “during his solos [Mankunku] frequently makes use of a technique that resembles umngqokolo, or Xhosa overtone singing.”
The second track, another original composition, is equally notable to Yakhal‘ Inkomo yet less ubiquitous in South Africa. “Dedication (To Daddy Trane & Brother Shorter)” is a beautiful ode to Mankunku’s American muses. Their influence is plainly apparent in the song, Mankunku’s modal playing mirroring the wide melodic steps that Coltrane pioneered. Aside from another pair of excellent solos, the track also demonstrates the quality of the album’s recording; Pillay’s piano tones sound exquisite as they enter the track.
The two remaining tracks, “Doodlin’” and “Bessie’s Blues,” are renditions of Horace Silver and Coltrane’s jazz standards. The former’s swinging 12-bar blues is perfectly captured by the quartet while “Bessie’s Blues” introduces the explosive energy of Coltrane’s hard-bop work. As the album’s closer, the track demonstrates both the technical virtuosity of the players and the impassioned spirit of the project. It is a fitting end to the record and a loving tribute to the legend who had died a year before the album’s recording.
Yakhal’ Inkomo clearly made a powerful impression on the people of South Africa, becoming one of the best selling jazz records of all time in the country. Given the horror of that period of history and the enduring scars it has inflicted on the country, it is worth considering the role of art in times of immense struggle. The album is a demonstration of the ability of music to simultaneously allow for a moment of relief and to inspire a revolutionary zeal. Its importance within liberation movements cannot be overstated. Perhaps, in the case of Yakhal’ Inkomo, it is this unforced blend of protest, subtle indigenous stylings, and contemporary jazz that made the record one of the most important albums in South African musical history.
