Two Nations in Concert
- Sharon Gill
- Nov 8, 1997
- 3 min read
Following on the heels of a similar event at London’s Royal Albert Hall last year, the Two Nations in Concert is presented by The Nations Trust to celebrate the visit of HRH The Prince of Wales and Prince Henry,” declared the press release. The line-up looked good enough to justify the trip from Durban to Johannesburg, so I packed local rock band, Arapaho, and a fellow journalist into my bus and headed north …
The first glitch was the information on Friday morning that the press conference had been called off, the excuse being that the bands were busy with sound-checks. Yeah, right, and they’re all sound-checking at exactly the same time, aren’t they. Whatever, the cancellation notice never reached Durban, so we were pretty pissed off because we’d travelled all night specially to make the conference.
The second glitch, and a major one at that, was the total absence of President Mandela at the concert. Due to a double-booking, the South African patron of the Trust ended up at an awards ceremony in Durban, while his Royal guests were in Johannesburg being entertained by musicians from all parts of South Africa, plus two expatriates, a Trinidad-born Englishman, and five sexy young Brits spouting “girl-power” from every orifice.
However, The Show Must Go On. Appropriately, the proceedings opened with the Two Nations Youth Collaboration, a fifteen-piece ensemble performing their own brand of kwaito-meets-hip-hop-meets-gospel-meets-pop. And they were terrific. Second up was the “Princess of Africa”, Yvonne Chaka Chaka, a rare sighting for South Africans since this dynamic and very talented lady performs more often in neighbouring countries than at home.
Representing the east coast, Arapaho played at two-thirty in the afternoon. An unfortunate time-slot for a rock band who had come all the way from Durban to play three numbers for a charity concert, but possibly a deliberate move by the organisers to get the younger portion of the crowd into the stadium early.
A fifteen-year-old girl called Nadine sang a couple of songs, and then Yvonne Chaka Chaka came back on stage with Ringo. The Family Factory with Vicky Vilakazi and Jabu Hlongwane, British soul singer Omar with earrings in strange places and an even stranger hairstyle, and then fitness freaks BC Dance, all followed in quick succession.
And then came Brenda Fassie. South Africa’s answer to Madonna, this charismatic exhibitionist, wearing not much more than an ill-fitting corset, worked the audience into a frenzy, especially when she and her costume almost parted company.
But the early crowd was really waiting for Just Jinger. “I’m gonna stand …..,” began Art Matthews, and the kids went beserk. “….. Stand in your way,” they yelled back. I have never seen such a fantastic response to a South African band.
At this point, glitch number three reared its ugly head. In order to get photographs of HRH and the Spice Girls, we had to miss not only Twins, but also Ed Jordan, the Soweto String Quartet, E’Smile, and Trevor Rabin. We were body-searched by security, our equipment was sniffed by police dogs, and for over an hour the laid-back South African photographers clashed with a few arrogant brutes from the international press, while being glared at murderously by those who weren’t accredited for the photo-call.
HRH & Son finally arrived. They greeted the Spice Girls, stood still for all of two minutes, and then disappeared.
We hot-footed it back to the photo pit just in time for Arthur and Abashante, a firm favourite at any gathering, followed by Billy Ocean who was backed by Cape Town band The Rockets. A change in the playing order meant we also got to see Jonathan Butler.
And then came the Spice Girls. Oh, whoopee. There must have been a backing-track somewhere because there sure as hell wasn’t any sign of a band, which also gave rise to the suspicion that the girls weren’t even singing. And who can blame them? I wouldn’t sing that crap in public. For a grand total of three songs they strutted and pranced about, which left some of the kids in the audience stunned at being so blatantly short-changed. Bollocks to Girl-Power!
But it wasn’t over yet. Lucky Dube and his dreadlocks bounced into view, and delivered a power-packed set of reggae magic that had the crowd roaring for more. His pièce de résistance was a boldly accurate statement. “So many events like this are held to raise funds for charity, and the next week some fat politician is driving around in a new Mercedes. But I’m sure that won’t happen with this one.”
The concert wound up with Rebecca Malope, but by then most of the 30,000-strong crowd had left. We took off too, leaving a small clump of die-hard ravers swaying in the almost deserted stadium.
[Originally published in Personality, Keur & Next magazines, November 21, 1997; the Natal Witness, November 7, 1997; photos published in the Daily News Tonight, November 6, 1997]
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