In a country where the increasing dissatisfaction of its future is reflected in a growing majority of faces across all races, Johannesburg South Africa’s art-rock outfit Blk Jks are giving the people something to beam about once again. Formed from the ashes of the nation’s apartheid and racial civil war, the Blk Jks ‘white’ sound (for the record - its not) was plausibly met with resistance when shaped over seven years ago. Droning guitars that are anything but dull and a sound that fashions an unmistakable psychedelic flare, the Blk Jks are part of a fresh musical movement from the children of New South Africa. Listening to their first EP Mystery, you’d be hard pressed to find the indigenous narration of kwaito and its looped influences in their music. Instead, they are fueled by rock in a dub fog that’s not only won over the locals but changing traditional African music for its new generation.

To be fair, they are not on some political lobbying agenda nor are they visionaries. This isn’t a band bent on becoming a movement as some would like to label them as simply because of the countries bloody history. After just a short while with the band, one gets a sense that they are more vessels of today’s postwar youth - down and out but full of intense conviction - doing away with the downhearted sneers and exorcising them through frequencies and riddim.

In a buzzing market outside of Joburg’s East Rand, we talk to Blk Jks guitarist Mpumi Mcata about ushering in the sounds of rock in the adolescence of post apartheid and how they are helping create South Africa’s new unified identity.

Pensatos: You guys literally started in a jail cell.
Mpumi: Our first gig (all four of us) was in a jail cell put on by some University students. It was quite crazy. It was a whole drum and bass thing-meets-performance arts-meets-whatever-thing in a jail cell. It was an abstract situation to be in.

People feel the need to drop [music] off on our desk. It’s kinda like when you break up with a lady and then you don’t see her for awhile and people feel the need to tell you what she’s up to.

But with South Africa’s segregation history, wasn’t it sinister to play there?
[laughs] Yeah, given the recent history for South Africa - the whole segregation from apartheid - it’s only been a couple years gone. So, to go there as four black guys playing the ‘rock sound’ was quite something. But the University students have always been quite liberal I guess.

Was your non-kwaito style guitar driven sound met with some distaste? This is after all a very segregated country because of its history.
Not really. Just more confusion because it is a Western sound. Not that it hasn’t been done before by black Africans here in South Africa, but people kind of catch on to the riddim and musical rhythm or ideology of where [music] comes from. People can relate tribe wise to where that beat, that sound comes from. So it was sort of a confusion where people were like, “It’s not black enough,” or , “It’s not white enough.” I think now more than anything we are met with curiosity and eventually enthusiasm.

So have they warmed up to it?
It would seem that some people either respond well to hype which has proven to be true or over time people just want to know you are for real. The one thing I can say we do have - and we don’t mess around about - is sincerity. Just being honest with what we are doing. We’ve been playing for eight years without pay day in and day out. So when people get into that and know it’s for real that translates, you know? That shows that we are not going away and people listen to what you have to say because of the passion.

Why don’t you think that’s translated to the labels yet, since you’ve had to self-release all your material?
The label people wanted to change certain things or position us in ways we don’t feel comfortable with because the thing itself is going to reflect our personality as well. We can’t get into magazines or culture and act like something we’re not. It’s just not going to work out. Continuing to move on our own, the labels are learning more about who we are.

…[our sound] was sort of a confusion where people were like, “It’s not black enough,” or “It’s not white enough.”

How did you originally hook up with Diplo?
He was in South Africa for a thing in Cape Town deejaying and he heard about us from someone somehow. Then he heard ‘Lakeside’ from our MySpace site. He took a connecting flight from Dubai and we met him at the airport for an hour or so and had a short chat. It was a good time. He then called over Knox Robinson who became our manager.

Then you worked with Brandon Curtis of The Secret Machines who produced your Mystery EP stateside.
He was like a whole new experience: the studio, the gear, equipment and just how big things could be. We just had to do it. If we didn’t we’d be cheating ourselves. We had to push the limits of what we could do - experiment with that. After recording with him we understood him more and looking from the other side I think he understands us more. If we work in the future, it will be even prettier. He brought this energy by emphatically expanding the possibilities for us.

Those sessions were at Electric Lady Studios - the house the Jimi Hendrix built.
We were definitely, definitely aware of that. I can’t really say what that emotion was like for me. Back in 2005 my sister passed away and I didn’t cry. I still haven’t cried. I think the Jimi Hendrix experience was like that for me. Standing there, I was like, “Um, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this [feeling].” I didn’t know how to process it.

Those darker emotions seem to come out when you play live. Take the studio cut of ‘Lakeside’ and compare it to a live version and you notice a moodier tone.
I totally get that. What happens is a lot of people in Europe and America haven’t been to our live shows yet and they don’t know what we do live as a whole package which is why it’s important for us to bring out an album soon. Much of the music is pieces of a whole because what we do is quite broad. Things like ‘Lakeside’ were composed as a part of a longer song. It was written as a story about a miracle that happens at this lake that none of the people can speak of. So it just expanded into ‘Lakeside’ and that’s what we want people to get; exploring those dimensions. But at the show we like to open up and change moods. A lot of bands cap themselves whether it’s genre or stripped down. We don’t want to do that.

Our first gig was in a jail cell put on by some University students. It was an abstract situation to be in.

Speaking outside those bands, are there any western influences today with your music?
People feel the need to drop things off on our desk. It’s kinda like when you break up with a lady and then you don’t see her for awhile and people feel the need to tell you what she’s up to [laughs]. I don’t know though. We kind of get into a lot of stuff. Our tastes are very much different in the band. I’m sort of afraid to say anything. If they saw me going on about some band, they may come back and punch me in the face. I will say it varies but I’m like a politician. I can’t commit. They’ll kill me. “Why did you say you like that band? You’re making us look like wussies!” So I’ll stay clear of that.

So when are you going to bring out that album?
We worked on it half way at the SABC which is the oldest and largest recording studio in South Africa run and built by the old apartheid government. It’s actually a very political thing. We are working on completing those sessions and then mixing it up with people we know - like Brandon - and people we meet along the way. But we want to get it done asap. We’d like to have it done by December, maybe summer next year but no later than that. I’m putting my neck out there [laughs].

+ band site: blkjks.com
+ stream: Blk Jks ‘Lakeside’