the dawjee trio: inventions and dimensions
by Mandisa Mpulo
“For me, it’s a new sonic environment to explore ideas in”, said Muhammad Dawjee of his new trio, when I recently caught up with the bandmates at Melville’s “Lonely Hearts Club”. They gave me a sense of what I was about to hear before inviting the audience into a soundscape of reinvented standards, and the new dimensions of original compositions. Each member also shared some of the milestones along their journey to the collaboration, as well as a sense of what they're drawing from in their own private playlists.
While I sat contemplating how apt the sign on the door was in capturing the tone of my winter season, Dawjee and his band-mates Nick Bjorkman (drums) and Nhlanhla Radebe (double bass) reminded us of what we’ve missed over the last year and a bit. As live audience applause gave way to the finger-tap of like buttons on our portable screens, I became increasingly nostalgic for the intimacy shared among music lovers — face-to-face — in public. It’s now mostly a mask-to-mask experience, but many of the charms (read as challenges) of a live-music outing still remain.
I’m remembering it all as I type: the sight and sound of patrons wandering into the venue or hovering at the door, as Dawjee — standing right next to it — stayed connected to the rhythm section. While the trio kept the set-list flowing, my ears occasionally caught the competing sounds of a comment made by one patron to another. The double bass and drums competed to stay ahead of the fluctuating pitch of chatter, while the tenor saxophone continued to assert its presence. The nostalgia ends as I recall the moment when a nearby patron left his barstool to speak — yell — to me, launching a spray of hops-scented droplets my way.
The trio (the reason for having braved the cold and pestilence) played two sets showcasing a sense of continuity with the past; the first, a journey through standards of the American songbook and the second, a re-reading of local scripture from the books of Johnny Dyani and Winston “Mankunku” Ngozi. It represented what Dawjee described as a continuing search for “spiritual food”, while giving definition to some of his own musical sketches, which are being fleshed out in the trio setting, as well as through other formations.
So what does it all sound like?
The opposite of an overbearing parent, Dawjee kept his expectations for the newly-birthed sound to a minimum. He explained that the collaboration allows him to test perceived sonic boundaries, in the format that largely shaped his approach to music. It’s about “the magnetic energy, with how ideas move when there are three people together, that I really enjoy”, he said, elaborating on the trio structure which he previously explored with the band Kinsmen. The older collaboration brings his tenor saxophone together with the sounds of India, through the sitar and tabla. The newer setup opens up a different kind of conversation that he’s still making sense of.
The development of his playing style gives insight into the importance of cultivating spaces for young people to get together and play in different configurations. For Dawjee, who hails from Laudium in South Africa’s administrative capital, it was the trips to eGoli that allowed him to find like-minded young people to explore a broader form of musical cohesion with. This shows up in his broader collaboration Iphupho L’ka Biko, where three becomes five, in an exploration of joint spiritual and political culture¹. It’s a testament to the idea that while we may be shaped by different cultures — our common-sense — we can meet each other in a shared field of meaning, and create new idioms.
This idea comes through from Dawjee’s childhood musical influences, particularly the tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins. He points to Rollins’ contribution to the modern jazz, or bebop, sound as a key inspiration for his playing style. This style of music stepped away from the structure of ensemble playing typical of the swing-era, which was based on extensively defined arrangements. It’s Rollins’ particular inventiveness, uninhibited by common-sense, that Dawjee recalls from the kind of music his father introduced him to.
As the ballast for the trio’s explorations, double-bassist Nhlanhla Radebe, points to the city sounds of his childhood — Jazz’s offspring — when he recalls how his musical curiosity was shaped. This began with early forays into beat-making, then trying his hand at electric bass, and eventually, his introduction to the upright bass. The school environment was a significant factor in his development, but it was the trips taken to (the place formerly known as) Grahamstown that helped him to see where curiosity could lead to. He counts the local bands Voice and Tribe among his influences.
Rounding out the trio is Nick Bjorkman on the drums. He told me he chose them because “it’s a fucking cool instrument”, but also because of the low demand in the market for his classical piano skills. As an early adherent to the gospel of PIVOT, Bjorkman brings multi-disciplinary versatility to the band.
While the trio includes some experience on the piano, it presents a challenge for the sax, bass and drums. The absence of the piano’s right hand melodic contribution however, creates space for the saxophone and bass to take up this voicing. Something which double-bass player Nhlanhla Radebe expanded upon, when he noted the particularities of the configuration, which also makes way for a more egalitarian style of play:
The band’s structural democracy gives way to the feeling of the trio, as Bjorkman remarked “I’m the lucky guy in this setup.” This extends to how the collaboration came about, as Dawjee told me that he just called up the two guys he’d really like to play with. So, while the limits of our nation’s democracy are currently being tested through debates on the cultural impact of legalised polyandry, the bandmates demonstrate that the their union is based on the art of mutual admiration.
Having covered the past and present, the conversation took us to a consideration of the trio’s future. On what’s next, Dawjee — a youth, despite the wisdom-signalling beard — shared his thoughts on the outfit’s future structure and sound. It’ll be less groove, more the essence of sound. Like my trip to Melville to hear the music, it’ll be a call to get the feeling back in our fingertips. Less of the smooth screen-swiping. Less texting, more texture.
While Dawjee scrolled through his phone to answer my final question, his bandmates shared some of the sounds that currently make up their “most listened” playlists. For Radebe, it’s America’s contribution to the new jazz sound in the work of Kendrick Scott Oracle, Marquis Hill, and Walter Smith III. The old school — from the pre-Covid times — still has a place, as Wynton Marsalis, Joshua Redman, and Christian McBride make an appearance. Bjorkman shares that he’s listening to music that’s on a similar frequency as that of The Dawjee Trio’s sound. The kind that’s relatively more spacious, drawing attention to precision and note placement, like the South African trio of the nineties, Tananas. Back from searching his Spotify history, Dawjee points to Siya Makhuzeni’s Out of this World, among other projects, as one of his favourite things.
“Raw, natural, fucken beautiful”. That’s the standard.
Notes:
¹ The article uses an interpretation of the philosophy of “joint culture” (Biko in Mangcu, et al. 2015, 1), particularly the idea of “embrac[ing] different racial realities [which] is to acknowledge and integrate different South African experiences.” A version of the chapter can be read here: https://mg.co.za/article/2015-07-30-xolela-mangcu-on-race-in-post-apartheid-south-africa/.
X Mangcu, N G Jablonski, L Blum, S Friedman, M Swilling, V Gumede, J Netshitenzhe, S Pillay, C Soudien, and H Mokoena. 2015. The Colour of Our Future: Does Race Matter in Post-Apartheid South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press
