Amapiano duo Kabza De Small and DJ Maphorisa mark their return with 6-tracker Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena
Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena album art
On their sixth full-length collaboration, Kabza De Small and DJ Maphorisa placate the worries of their global fanbase and put to rest the unsettling rumours of their breakup. The virtuosic duo finds each other at their most inspired to put together a rigorous six-track body of work in anticipation for their live show at the Sun Arena in Pretoria on the 22nd of July 2022.
The EP’s sonic flow finds resonance with the artists’ unique marketing strategy; in preparation for their first live show, the Scorpion Kings emerged with a 14-track preview, which spawned such hits as Hello (Live) and eMcimbini (Live). Following the disappointing covid-induced cancellation, the brand patron saints of music return two years later for a re-do with a generous Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena. The duo adorns each song’s initial 30 seconds with pulsating percussion, anchored by dominant sustained basslines before their signature synths and piano chords arrive to steer the records to transcendent abandon. As a rule, these breaks, patterned before and after the climatic pivot, act as tastemakers before a song, and as preparation for the song that follows.
In the slim record, Kabza and Phori, as they are affectionately known, showcase their ruse as they enlist at the outset vocalist Russell Zuma. The Da Muzical Chef-assisted production sees Russell Zuma croon in a hypnotising falsetto a plea for a return to “Emakhaya (Home, typically in the rural areas)”. He demonstrates restraint at crucial moments, with sly melisma’s that award the song its balmy candour, while the habitual bass-led synthesiser solo’s return its groove. Technically impressive, Emakhaya sees its immediate best when all the sounds are united towards the end.
Beliveki introduces a denser, and quicker percussion. Ami Faku, the Scorpion Kings’ frequent collaborator, returns her soulful gospel-rooted strut to attest, disbelievingly, at answered prayers. Amid the elaborate backdrop, her percussive voice is rendered small, but blends in suitably. Yet the banal, and vapid lyrics do not influence the undulating catharsis.
Phila Dlozi introduces Inhliziyo with quick, short ululations above a pulsing synth. Inhliziyo is richly layered, with the singer ascending with the crisp percussion to gorgeous overdubs consisting of pacific “oh la la la la la” and serene “ohh yeah”. At each turn, the rhythm increases with promising anticipation to reveal the afro-jazz artist’s lucid declaration, “Inhliziyo yami ishayela phezulu (My heart is pounding)”. The song is imagistic in its lyricism, and Phila Dlozi starts from this end before increasing in desperation to almost shouting the repeated phrase, “Oh ngiyamthanda (Oh I love her)”. Meanwhile, the production strikes gold in its intricate mesh of the early piano torch song and later thumping bassline. The bass shoots to the heart, it only stoking the singer’s enthusiasm.
Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena singularly reveals DJ Maphorisa and Kabza De Small’s full scope of creativity. Their discography teems with an uncommon faculty for ably walking the fine line as both musician and listener. On DJ Oskido’s Youtube enquiry into artists, Joyride with Oskido, he meets Kabza at his house for a probe on the genesis of Amapiano. Himself the ingenious contributor to a movement, Oskido remarks wryly about Kabza’s piano ingenuity, “People who know the keys!”. A picture frame of the erudite Scorpion Kings twosome hangs wobbly on the wall of the blackened studio before the camera pans to a concentrated Kabza on the piano, body swaying in rapt pleasure. Oskido tells a story of a producer with whom he collaborated for an Amapiano genre song: “I asked him to play but he could programme with one key only,” he says, gesturing with hand movements. With a rise in inflection, he continues, “I gave him the vocals. When he sent back the track, I told him it's offkey. He didn’t understand what I was talking about”. Amid an engaging Kabza, he profoundly proffers, “I realised that Kabza actually knows music”.
Kabza De Small, whose moniker refers his stature, cuts a reserved figure next to his partner, the incomparable DJ Maphorisa. The latter is effervescent and looks at ease in the presence of glaring eyes. The past decade, and the 2020s have been years of huge gains for him, in return for shapeshifting a culture. He is jovial and unafraid to guffaw with his entire being at the slightest quip. He espouses ubuntu (philosophy) if there ever was, with an unparalleled collaborative nature. While Kabza has been hard at work immortalising his genius in two-part full-length albums, Lawd Phori (DJ Maphorisa) has contributed to vocals and production. He has spent the better part of the time since coronavirus eased touring and looking fashionable (in the wise words of late contemporary muse, Riky Rick: eating cotton), radiating an air of resplendence that communicates one thing: he is good at his job. Otherwise, he has also been drawn in social media wars that are keen on negative sentiment about his artistry, an anachronism that denies his dues.
In an era of fallible heroes and celebrities, in which the nebulous veil between fame and success has been lifted to reveal a binding fragility and precarity of life, it seems important now, more than ever, to advance deeper truths about artists; truths that are complete with affirmations. This EP seeps that awareness and posthumously features Mpura. Trust Fund is a dirge that follows closely the playbook’s rules; despite its wounded tenor, the song does not lose its textural aesthetic.
Mpura’s unique cadence comes to life above ever shifting sonics, his idiosyncrasies reverberating with nostalgic sentimentality. When Mpura asks incessantly, “Bathi kubhlungu kuphi? (Where do they say it hurts?)”, Maphorisa’s rapper alter ego, Madumane, gives response with a catalogue of reasons: “Mpura kubuhlungu ngoba anisekho man (Mpura it’s sad because you’re gone man)/ uKiller naye akasekho man (Killer [Kau] is also gone man)/ uRiky naye akasekho (Riky is also gone)”. The song loops back to its rallying cry before Focalistic restores the atmosphere with volume and power. Sonically, the song does little in the way of advancing the vibes, instead relying a little eagerly on its eminence.
Meanwhile, Young Stunna wills Abajuluke with his vintage buoyancy on the fifth track, passing the baton to a cool Madumane who murmurs on-beat the thumping chant “Abajuluke”. It has reminiscences of Kwaito, with its unmitigated greatness. London sees rhythmically dominating pads drive with the song to a perfect closer for an imperfectly perfect performance by the inimitable duo.
Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena volunteers a sidewise gleam into an all-consuming, yet awe-inspiring and fulfilling journey in the fulcra of music. The Scorpion Kings portray a sense of unhurried urgency to put out works, but with the idea that eternity is at their disposal. Indeed, forever is theirs.
Stream Scorpion Kings Live Sun Arena HERE:
Penned by Thembi Ngubo