S26 11' 01'' E27 59' 51''.
My first clue that I was at a thinking person's live music event was the buzz of ticket holders in the reception area who were chatting while nursing hot cups of coffee. Many looked as if they had come straight from their respectable 9-to-5s > collared shirts, leather shoes. The merchandise table was supporting various packages of Niemand albums and crisply rolled shirts in branded sheaths. (My surprise was understandable, in retrospect. My previous most recent live music experience had been the My Coke Fest marathon where I had been north of the average age by several decades, and probably still need to submit to supervised detox and physio due to the involuntary exposure to this and that...)
This was the launch of Joe Niemand's second album titled ‘This Is War', which he has produced and released independently. I'd made my way through to the UJ Arts Theatre that cold evening wanting to support Joe and his vision. A cup of coffee with Joe a year previously had revealed his drive for high quality in all aspects of his work and this evening was to be consistent with that focus.
The auditorium was dimly lit and seated a coupled hundred on the lower level, probably similar numbers above. A black screen had been lowered over the front of the stage. All that was visible were a few pedal units and a mic stand, the only indications that the evening was to get louder. ‘Niemand' was projected onto the screen against the characteristic orange mushroom cloud. The lights dimmed further and the logo was replaced by a video - a chatty and somewhat comical monologue from Joe while he scribbled a sign for his dressing-room door, welcoming everyone to the show. The screen lifted and the evening began. What followed was an evening of passionately delivered rock hooks and melodies woven together by story telling and social commentary. A backdrop delivered dynamic projected settings and context as the audience were pulled along on a captivating and challenging journey. We found ourselves in a smokey pub at some point, sitting around a piano and contemplating the people around us and the emptiness inside us. We found ourselves considering that the solution for our country may not be a politician or a constitution. We were introduced to a close friend of Joe's whose time had been misspent before it ended unexpectedly last year. Joe spoke as a man of faith, unapologetically. We were in his world now, being immersed in his thoughts and emotions. At some point he said "This is our church, and these are our worship songs." I think I cheered while the guy next to me shifted his weight awkwardly. It was always going to be a mixed crowd.
The band members were unassuming to start, but completely superb. No member found themselves teetering on the front edge of the stage delivering anything self-indulgent, but the moments of individual brilliance left no-one in doubt. The climax of the evening was when the black screen at the back of the stage lifted unexpectedly to reveal a 30-person choir which joined Joe on the last chorus of the last song, ‘Jericho'. I think I still have goose-bumps.
This was war. Joe explained that the war was on all we find unacceptable: crime, fear, hate. As clear as this was, I also felt the event represented a war on our expectations and, especially, war on the industry standards. The supporters are the troops and I'm proud to be in the trenches...
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