‘By the way, what is the name of the newspaper?’ Karabo enquired. ‘I am going to write for a newspaper and I don’t even know its name. This is embarrassing.’
‘The Opinion’, Samantha answered with joy and pride painted all over her face.
‘Damn! That is profound. I love it’, Karabo said as he nodded to show his approval.
‘It is perfect. It is going to create a storm’, Ziyanda smiled, congratulating Samantha on her creation. ‘I am glad that I get to be a part of this.’
‘I am thankful that you agreed to join. When a friend recommended you, telling me that you once wrote for Cape Argus I just knew I had to have you. I read some of your articles and I was impressed’, Samantha praised Ziyanda.
As they sat enjoying their beer and light conversation, three young men walked through the doors in a single file like soldiers called in for an impromptu parade. Each of them was lugging three exact looking speakers the size of a 25-litre container. They placed them in a corner that had been designated as a DJ booth. They returned outside to bring two more speakers that were much bigger than the first ones they brought in before walking in with more sound equipment. The lounge music on the small speakers scattered around the area continued playing uninterrupted.
‘What is happening?’ Samantha asked curiously.
‘I heard earlier in the week that there is a bash’, Karabo answered.
‘Ewe. I hear DJ Morena, PH, Karabo Rej, Tshepo and some of Cape Town’s finest DJs are playing tonight. Kuzofiwa’, Ziyanda gushed with excitement. ‘I can finally take a deserved break from my studies.’
‘Is that you? Karabo Rej?’ Samantha teased Karabo.
‘I wish. Karabo Rej is one of Cape Town’s best upcoming DJs. He is in the same league as PH and DJ Morena. Yanda, who is Tshepo?’ That nickname again, reminding Samantha that Karabo and Yanda were not strangers to each other. She was curious about their history but she did not have the pluck to ask, at least not yet. She needed more glasses of Carling Black Label to summon the courage.
‘Hayibo Karabo! You don’t know umkhaya wakho? Tshepo is one of the best Deep House DJs right now in Cape Town. It could be argued that he is the sole guy that is responsible for the growth of Deep House in the Mother City.’
Karabo rolled his eyes at Ziyanda. He was well up to date and he had never heard about Tshepo before. ‘Well, does he know me? I thought Karabo Rej was the king of Deep House this side of the coast?’
‘Okay. Let me put it this way. Tshepo is the Glen Lewis of Cape Town. Rej is…well Fistaz Mixwell’, Ziyanda tried to simplify the distinction between the two.
‘I am lost’, Samantha complained.
‘What I mean is that Tshepo only plays Deep House. He doesn’t compromise. He doesn’t care, whereas Karabo Rej will assess the crowd and play the music he thinks and feels the crowd would respond to; and given that Deep House is new to the West Coast, most Deep House DJs tend to compromise. Tshepo is not one to compromise. Dude doesn’t give a phuck’, Ziyanda explained subliminally sharing a little history of Deep House in Cape Town.
‘I like him already. I like his approach’, Samantha sounded excited. She had never met Tshepo but she could relate to him. She had always admired iconoclasts, individuals who are bold enough to live life their own way. If they didn’t like the rules, they created their own.
‘You really have a knack for this sort of thing hey…the subtle yet important things that people don’t pay attention to’, she paid a compliment to Ziyanda.
‘Please! Anyone with a passion for Deep House will tell you what I just told you’, Ziyanda blushed as she deflated the attention from herself.
‘Yet you are the one telling me. Perhaps you should do a piece on this Tshepo guy. A comprehensive profile on him’, Samantha suggested to Ziyanda. She sensed that Tshepo would make a perfect subject and that profiling young upcoming superstars would position her paper as an example of new media that looks at society from a 360-degree angle instead of just one angle that perpetuates stereotypes.
‘A DJ? I bet the interview will be between her and his astronomic ego’, Karabo protested.
‘Do I sense a hint of jealousy?’ Ziyanda mocked Karabo
‘I think so too’, Samantha seconded Ziyanda.
‘Please’, Karabo defended his position.
Suddenly the music from the small speakers stopped playing. For a moment it was quiet. The only sound that remained was that of the voices in the pub. Then a voice boomed from the speakers that were recently brought in.
‘Mic check, mic check’, the male voice bellowed. ‘And one two, one two’, the man continued to do a sound check.
‘That is DJ Morena’, Karabo said to Samantha as he pointed to the guy wearing a navy-blue Zulu Electric hoodie with golden stripes.
‘Oh, so what time does the bash start? I would like to attend’, Samantha asked.
‘They say it starts at seven but we know the big shots will only start playing two or three hours after the event has begun’, Ziyanda replied.
‘That is fine. I will be here around nine o’clock. I hope you guys are coming’, Samantha looked at both Ziyanda and Karabo.
‘Don’t worry girl, I will be here. This is my scene’, Ziyanda said in a high-pitch tone mimicking an American accent and a genuine white smile that accentuated her beauty.
‘I will be here, it is not like I have anything to do tonight. Zanele has gone home for the weekend’, Karabo added, unwittingly reminding his company that he was a man in a relationship – a committed relationship. ‘I also want to see this new king of Deep House who is supposedly better than Sir Karabo Rej.’
The ladies burst out in laughter. ‘Samantha, he won’t admit it but he is jealous of Tshepo’, Ziyanda again teased Karabo. It was after five o’clock when the three youngsters agreed to meet at the same place four hours later. The big speakers that had arrived earlier on were now spread around the pub. Three amateur DJs rotated on the decks while being supervised by DJ Morena. They were the same guys who had carried the sound equipment in earlier. Their task was to warm the crowd until the big guns arrived later in the evening. For now the crowd would have to settle for the amateurs. They were not complaining. They understood very well that the best were on the way.