“The universe has a natural rhythm that everything adheres to—that everything submits to—the flow of the river, the flight of the birds, and the changes of seasons. So with us, when we play music, the goal in essence is to become one with this natural rhythm.” – Abdullah Ibrahim.
This quote encapsulates Ibrahim’s philosophy on music, which is deeply rooted in his African identity and the natural world.
Abdullah Ibrahim 90
Abdullah Ibrahim turns 90 years today marking 76 years of him sharing the natural rhythm of becoming one with nature and teaching us life lessons through his music and activism.
Watching Abdullah Ibrahim become one with the natural flow of life as his fingers glide through the notes of his piano is a marvel. It’s spiritual. You travel with his notes, leading you to quench your thirst with “The Water from the Ancient Well.”
There is luck, and then there is fortune. I was right in the thicket of the latter to see Ibrahim live during his South African Tour in April this year.
Ibrahim captures his audience with every key he plays. He knows how to make music the centre like gravity holding the earth together.
With more than seven decades of experience creating magic, one wonders what makes an artist insist on performing even in his advanced years.
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An African musician
In a recent interview with Eye Witness News, Ibrahim distanced himself from being called a jazz musician.
Like the vastness of the universe, he does not want to be boxed while staying true to his pan-Africanist stance and being known as an African musician.
“This music is what they call jazz. Now, the term jazz is a very strange term to us. We never called ourselves Jazz musicians. What does it mean? You have European music, it is called European classical music. If it’s Japanese, it is called Japanese music; if it’s from China, it’s called Chinese music. Why is our Music called Jazz?” he asks.
“What is this is a derogatory term? We never call ourselves Jazz musicians. “This little gift we’ve been given is to probe and understand the truth”.
He likens being labelled a jazz musician to how African medicine has been called witchcraft from the Western perspective.
This has been Ibrahim’s stance for decades.
With albums like African Suite, Sangoma, Ancient Africa, African Marketplace, and Good News from Africa, Ibrahim has been clear that he makes African music, and this continent is one of his greatest inspirations.
His music is a historical reference to the sounds and stories of the African continent.
In the heart of Tshwane, the country’s capital, the legendary Abdullah Ibrahim graced the city with a visit, marking a significant chapter in his The Water from the Ancient Well tour.
At the core of African music is community. The stories you find in its notes. It’s a sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than ourselves.
In Ibrahim’s music, this sense of community is not just a theme; it’s a living, breathing reality. Maybe it is the yearning for home, as the narrative of homelessness and landlessness continues to be our story.
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Homeless at home
As the master pianist performs, the room is filled with a diverse audience.
While many are young, the majority are elderly, a testament to Ibrahim’s intergenerational appeal. His music is a bridge that connects us all, creating a shared experience that transcends generations.
Many in attendance were some of his loyal fans. They followed his career from their youth until their elderly years.
It’s a very organic following based on the hope, love, and resistance that resonates with Ibrahim’s fans—the kind of loyalty that can mostly be seen when people see themselves in you.
Recent events in South African history have been marked by the term decolonisation, especially through movements like Fees and Rhodes Must Fall.
The term is also well pronounced in community and political movements that seek restorative justice by returning the land to African people.
While Ibrahim may reside in Germany and his roots are firmly grounded in Cape Town, he says that “our narrative is homeless people. You are homeless in your own home”.
He is not alone in this philosophy of displacement as a result of colonialism and apartheid. In Paul Simon’s 1986 Graceland album, legendary Ladysmith Black Mambazo sings about homelessness and the death of sleeping outside in the cold.
The same homelessness narrative that led to the death of anti-apartheid activist Nat Nakasa, who was known asA Native of Nowhere.
Ibrahim has maintained that white supremacy could not understand his and his peers’ music, just like his own.
Composing one of his most famous songs, Mannenburg, named after his hometown, was a way to rebel against what labels wanted from him and capture the conversation between him and the keys of his piano. It was African music that he wanted to play.
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The Jazz Epistles
The same passion and need to create space to play African music were the pushes that created the historical band The Jazz Epistles.
The band included Kippie Moeketsi on alto saxophone, Jonas Gwangwa on trombone, Hugh Masekela on trumpet, Johnny Gertze on bass, and Early Mabuza or Makaya Ntshoko on drums. While Ibrahim is known as “the master,” he attributes the term to Moeketsi.
“Kippy was an incredible musician. He was one of the people who guided us and said that what we were doing was valid. Every time we got into the studio, we were told what to do by somebody who did not know a thing about what we were about,” he says.
The 90 year-old said that he had no mental capacity to play music he was not designated for – music that did not come from his elders and was not African.
Ibrahim’s mother was also a pianist. He often accompanied his mother to her gigs and watched her play.
Now, as an elder, he passes on the generational wisdom he gained through his M7 academy for South African musicians in Cape Town, established 25 years ago.
Music is how Ibrahim and his peers found a home and family while living in exile. In his music, he tells the story of displacement and forced removals from his place of birth, District Six.
You hear the impact of the Cape Malay slave trade. In his music, you can register Black hymns that ring Ntsikana’s Bell. You hear the calling of Bilal- Allahu Akbar and brotherhood in Ismael. He took us on journeys from Soweto to Mannenburg. You hear the flow of rivers and every flavour and era of South African Townships through happiness and despair.
You hear how his SeSotho identity was torn away from him so he could have a “better life”. You can see that he could not embody the name his father gave him, Senzo.
You hear him lament and yearn to have a place called home. Happy 90th Birthday, Mr Ibrahim. May we all find a place called home-Ekhaya.
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