Prestons Liquor Stores specials
An Elegant Exploration with Stellenzicht Wines 13 - 14 June 2025 | The Tank Room
Over the weekend of June 13 - 14, The Tank Room welcomed guests for a refined wine tasting experience with the distinguished Stellenzicht Wines.
23 discerning wine lovers gathered to explore a curated selection of 6 exceptional wines, each sip offering a glimpse into the vineyard's dedication to craftsmanship and character.
Using a trusted 5-point Likert scale, guests shared their impressions, offering thoughtful feedback for the wines presented.
3 wines stood out above the rest and received a rating of above 4. Stellenzicht Tristone Cabernet Sauvignon 2020
Stellenzicht Aernite Syrah 2019
Stellenzicht Acheulean Chardonnay 2023
Each of these standout selections captured the attention and appreciation of our guests, reaffirming Stellenzicht Wines reputation for excellence.
We thank everyone who joined us for this memorable afternoon of elegance and discovery.
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The Herald
9 hours ago
- The Herald
Prestons Liquor Stores specials
An Elegant Exploration with Stellenzicht Wines 13 - 14 June 2025 | The Tank Room Over the weekend of June 13 - 14, The Tank Room welcomed guests for a refined wine tasting experience with the distinguished Stellenzicht Wines. 23 discerning wine lovers gathered to explore a curated selection of 6 exceptional wines, each sip offering a glimpse into the vineyard's dedication to craftsmanship and character. Using a trusted 5-point Likert scale, guests shared their impressions, offering thoughtful feedback for the wines presented. 3 wines stood out above the rest and received a rating of above 4. Stellenzicht Tristone Cabernet Sauvignon 2020 Stellenzicht Aernite Syrah 2019 Stellenzicht Acheulean Chardonnay 2023 Each of these standout selections captured the attention and appreciation of our guests, reaffirming Stellenzicht Wines reputation for excellence. We thank everyone who joined us for this memorable afternoon of elegance and discovery.
Mail & Guardian
18 hours ago
- Mail & Guardian
Blue Notes for Bra Louis: The final beat of a jazz revolutionary
Louis Moholo-Moholo performing at The Orbit in Johannesburg on 25 May 2017. Photo by Siphiwe Mhlambi. Free jazz flowed through the streets of Langa when visiting the Moholo family home. Outside in the courtyard facing the street, Louis Tebogo Moholo-Moholo and his late wife Ma Mpumi would sit with visitors armed with a sound system and a speaker blasting some of the wildest avant-garde music at high volumes. People walking in the street would come in to greet, while children were in and out of the yard, often being handed sweets. The drummer — revolutionary, mentor and friend to many — died on the morning of Friday 13 June at the age of 85, sending sadness echoing throughout the jazz world. Bra Louis, or Bra Tebz as he was often fondly referred to, was one of the greatest musicians in the world. He lived with energy; a vibrant and fiery spirit that never stopped fighting for freedom and for uplifting the people of South Africa. Those lucky enough to watch him perform over seven decades witnessed an intense passion that embodied freedom in every way. 'Yes baby, no baby!' he would often shout while playing, which audiences would shout back. He was also very stylish with his Fedora hats and cool T-shirts (some of which he painted himself). 'We love you, we love you, you don't have to love us, but we love you!' was another famous saying. These signature chants were known worldwide, as Moholo's reach was far beyond what we might imagine. He lived and breathed music, in every possible way. Louis Moholo-Moholo performing at Guga S'thebe in his community of Langa in 2018. Photo: Terence Visagie. The Blue Notes 'That band was made in heaven,' is what Moholo would say when talking about The Blue Notes, one of the finest bands in South African history, the members of which all died in exile. He was the last remaining one. Moholo was born on 10 March 1940 in Langa, Cape Town. The street where the family lived was home to several musicians, including the great Christopher 'Columbus' Ngcukana. Langa is one of the oldest townships in the country, which bred many great artists, such as Brenda Fassie. He started playing drums as a child, after being inspired by marching bands, and later joined the Young Rhythm Chordettes. Moholo was mentored by musicians like Cups Nkanuka, who also lived in Langa and took many musicians in the 1950s under his wing. Apartheid laws oppressed black musicians, and in That same year, he left South Africa with The Blue Notes, made up of bassist Johnny Dyani, trumpeter Mongezi Feza, pianist Chris McGregor, and saxophonists Nikele Moyake and Dudu Pukwana. The band was invited to play at the Antibes Festival in France and what was initially a temporary departure became permanent exile. They moved to Zürich in Switzerland and played at the Club Africana, assisted by Abdullah Ibrahim and Sathima Bea Benjamin. The Blue Notes playing at the Antibes Festival in France in 1964, after first leaving South Africa. The band then moved to London, after an invitation to appear at Ronnie Scott's. They were hugely influential on the British jazz scene. The The Blue Notes embodied an attitude of revolution — it showed through their music and the way they lived. Moholo later continued with Brotherhood of Breath (led by Chris McGregor), and was the bandleader of The Dedication Orchestra, Viva La Black and 4 Blokes. In her biography, influential Swiss free jazz pianist Irène Schweizer —who died last year — describes at length Moholo's influence on her. She met him at Club Africana in 1964, when the Blue Notes landed in Zürich, and performed with him throughout his life. In the book, Moholo is quoted as saying on arriving in Zürich, 'We gave the audience the satisfaction of that high-level music, because this band was made in heaven. So unlucky that they all died; it's like I have been fired from the band and I think maybe they're having a big, big show in heaven!' A life well lived Life in exile was tough, with setbacks such as surviving without a passport or having a drumkit lost. But Moholo had a champion spirit and kept playing through the struggle. He has played on hundreds of records — the true figure is not known. Every time we sat together to listen to music, he would pull out a new album that he had recorded with someone somewhere in the world. Throughout his career, he played with celebrated musicians of the free jazz world like Cecil Taylor, Archie Shepp, Keith Tippett, Wadada Leo Smith, Evan Parker, Stan Tracey, Alexander Hawkins, Irène Schweizer, Enrico Rava, Roswell Rudd, Peter Brötzmann, Derek Bailey, John Tchicai, Saadet Türköz and more. In October 1969, jam session with Frank Zappa, Philly Joe Jones, Earl Freeman, Louis Moholo-Moholo, Johnny Dyani, Grachan Moncur and Archie Shepp at the Festival Actuel in Amougies, Belgium. Photo: Jacques Bisceglia (Supplied by family). A programme for the UK's Bracknell Festival from 1979 quotes British music journalist Steve Lake saying, 'Louis draws rhythms out of nowhere, brings a sense of cohesion and righteous logic to the most uncompromising free blowing, even while stoking the excitement to almost unbelievable plateaux of intensity. His intuitive balance — between control and intensity — is very rare: most drummers possess either one quality or the other.' Moholo played mostly in the UK, but also all over Europe, and even lived in Argentina. A friend in Italy, Riccardo Bergerone, describes that once, while on tour with Viva La Black in 1989 in Turin, Moholo had a heart attack on stage. He had health issues over the years but was not one to dwell on serious things. In September 2005, he returned to South Africa with Ma Mpumi, and though the couple could live in an upmarket suburb in Cape Town, they missed Langa and opted to return. It was through visits to his home that we cemented a friendship that would last for his remaining years. He loved drinking rooibos tea and had a penchant for sweet things like chocolate cake and peanut butter. Ma Mpumi and Louis Moholo-Moholo at a performance. Photo: Supplied by the family. One of the most captivating things about watching Moholo on stage was how he did not care who musicians were or how old you were, as long as you could play. 'Play, man! Play!' he would sometimes urge younger band members, insisting that they give everything they had to the music — a defiant spirit dedicated to the sound. In 2019, Moholo played one of his last gigs at Guga S'thebe in Langa. For many years after, he struggled to walk and could no longer play, but in his head, he was always composing or singing, and always listening. In times when he was bed-ridden, we would gather, just like in the courtyard but now in his bedroom, where he would listen to many albums — very loudly. Musicians from all over the world would come to visit him. On his playlist often were free jazz tunes, and repeatedly music by Abbey Lincoln, in particular the songs They Call it Jazz, Skylark and Through the Years (composed by Bheki Mseleku). And often, accompanied by a spliff of sorts, Moholo would sing and croon the words. It is impossible to capture Moholo's life in one article — he lived large and beautifully — and will be remembered by all who knew him. UK musician Shabaka Hutchings says: 'We've lost a giant of creative music in the passing of Louis Moholo-Moholo, one of those elders who have lived a life in service of sound and energy and feeling…I learnt so much from this man that it's difficult to fully articulate the lessons passed down…I remember the last tour we did with him, supporting him as he walked onto stage whispering, 'Yes baby, no baby, yes baby, no baby,' as he hyped us all into that subtle dance we were preparing to engage.' Shabaka Hutchings, Louis Moholo-Moholo, Tumi Mogorosi and Siyabonga Mthembu performing with Shabaka and the Ancestors in 2017, Photo: Eitan Prince. For his contributions to music, he received several awards including a What happened to the Blue Notes in the end? Moyake had returned to South Africa in 1965, and died a year later. Feza died in London in 1975 (at only 30 years old), and the remaining band members recorded the tribute album, Blue Notes for Mongezi. Dyani died in 1986 in Berlin, Germany, and another tribute album was made titled Blue Notes for Johnny. McGregor died in 1990 and a month later, Pukwana. For all his bandmates, Moholo released an album, For the Blue Notes, in 2014. Now with his death as the final note, we can honour his life, music, humour and long-standing influence as Blue Notes for Louis Moholo-Moholo. Bra Louis's death is a massive loss for us but there is comfort in knowing that he is reunited with his family, Ma Mpumi and his beautiful band — all of whom he loved so much. ____________ **Louis Moholo-Moholo's funeral will be held on 28 June 2025.
Mail & Guardian
18 hours ago
- Mail & Guardian
Between bows and hymns: Zawadi's Ngimuhle and the sound of ancestral play
Voice and vision: Musician Zawadi YaMungu has a new album out, titled Ngimuhle. I cannot remember my first encounter with Princess Magogo ka Dinizulu's music. I have heard her name in my grandparents' unfinished sentences that morph into multiple conversations. Her name sat on the tongues of friends and collaborators Sibonelo Gumede and Sanele Ngubane through organic, didactic and curious chats that spanned over two years. We were drawn by her wayward orature, which manifested itself in unfinished sentences, as a way of making meaning. Waywardness that reads as unintelligible and opaque to outsiders and those of us on the fringes of insider outsider status. Yet, this waywardness is vocally grounded in the internal choreographies of relationality. Put differently, it is inherited generational behaviour passed down from Princess Magogo's mother, Queen Silimo ka Mdlalose, and the Zulu royal family's maternal lineage. We learn about this through Dr Kholeka Shange's spectacular work on Princess Magogo. In the midst of our intrigue and pure geekiness, my friendship with KwaZulu-Natal musician Zawadi grew through encounters that have blurred into each other through an ongoing research project of remembrance through a collective called Phoshoza — a pensive constellation of Zawadi, Sanele, Sibonelo and myself — attempting to understand the sonic frontier that Princess Magogo's music signals. To understand Zawadi's stunning disinterest in restraint, it is important to begin with Princess Magogo's practice of waywardness. It is something she inherits and transforms into her own unbridled practice. It is an instinct that abounds in the work of luminaries like Mam'Busi Mhlongo, Thandiswa Mazwai and Simphiwe Dana, who exemplify a disinterest in restraint in different ways, through their compositional styles, distinct vocal and visual languages and through their remarkable aesthetic choices which ritualise performance. I think it is a wonderful time to witness Zawadi's intuitive, intelligent, referential compositional style through her new album Ngimuhle. We have witnessed her take on the monumental task of extending Princess Magogo's archive, walking alongside the work that Mam'Sibongile Khumalo had formidably turned into one of the most stunning teacherly interventions about how we nurture matriarchal sonic archives. Ngimuhle lands as a continuation of this historical practice from Zawadi's contemporary perspective that is clearly aware of how the past persists in the present. I remember the first time Zawadi heard Princess Magogo's original composition of Ngithethele, which is covered in her album. We were listening to, and digitising, an old vinyl recording that had the fuzziest sound typical of vinyls that have been played a lot. Of all the songs we heard from the Buthelezi family record archive, Ngithethele became that stubborn song that refused to be forgotten. When I heard her live performance of it at Untitled Basement in Johannesburg, I remarked to Sanele that I could not believe she could finally sing that song without tears streaming down her face. In those moments, tears signalled the body's recognition of encounters that only music has the language to express. Zawadi has a deeply generous compositional style that travels through long-form songs which ritualise performance and stretch the parameters of what a song can do. Ngithethele is scenic and capacious, it travels and petitions across realms of feelings and every note is pushed to new grounds. As listeners, we are thrust into a space of ephemeral disregard, abdicating the seat of self-consciousness that this material world often rewards. Instead, Zawadi's wailing voice gestures towards another way of affirming our human selves. It is the same beckoning, anchoring call that gave meaning to Princess Magogo's life and music. We hear it in Ngithethelele, and we give it different names. The album opens with Isibekizelo, featuring poet Sandiswa Zulu, which sets the tone of the album's folkloric instincts and unapologetic roots in Nguni cosmologies as the base from which she creates her own distinct style. There is a strange, growing obsession with the categorisation of alternative music in some sound scenes in South Africa. This pedantic insistence often distracts us from the core business of an alternative ethic. It is the grave difference between an aesthetic that is not lived and one that erupts and is best described by bassist, composer and arranger John Jamyll Jones from World Experience Orchestra, who chants, 'If you don't live it, it won't come out your horn.' Zawadi is in the mode of performance at all times. By the time she recorded the second song on Ngimuhle, she had long reckoned her own playful approach to beauty as an inherited, intergenerational and ancestral tradition. In a world where young black women contend with imposed beauty standards, Ngimuhle is an affirmation of the vastness of black girlhood aesthetics. I have seen so many videos of them beaming at themselves through this song. The horn section is something to behold. It is celebratory and reminds me of Bra Jonas Gwangwa. Zawadi's compositional style is both referential and bold. The first time I heard Ixoxo being recorded, it became clear that the existence of musicians like Mam'Busi Mhlongo and their contributions to folk and indigenous electronic traditions shape the novelty of this song. I think it is such a brilliant quality to be able to open portals of hearing, listening and extending an archive while also maintaining an original sense of tone and choreography. It is a shortsighted way to live and produce, to believe that the only way to break ground is to break paths with tradition. It is such a fine line, such a sensitive tightrope, to not find yourself on the other side of nauseating nostalgia, to not be consumed by it to the extent of losing your sense of place in the world one confronts. Zawadi holds this line with the rigour and agile versatility embodied by a musician who honours their own instincts and curiosities. The fixation with invention overlooks how traditions of music grow, largely through referential collaboration across generations, eras and genres of sound. She visits the paths of musicians like Mam'Miriam Makeba, Bra Hugh Masekela and Mam'Dorothy Masuka, who were institutional figures in pan-African sonic practices, singing across borders and languages. Mama and Andoja are sung in KwiSwahili. Mama is a sketch of gratitude to motherhood and Andoja lands like the medicinal balm mothers layer over a sick child for relief. Woza We Mvula sits in a similar sensory register. She puts down uMakhwenyane and plays the handpan, an instrument that holds a song that feels like a lullaby as a soothing and cleansing space that collaborates with us in our process of living. Zawadi's performance at Untitled Basement exemplified a broad artistic expression that takes seriously the importance of collective practice. This approach is rooted in her early experiences at the Twelve Apostles Church, where she began her singing journey in a choral tradition as a young girl. She sang Jabulani Sizwe, which is the last song on the album with the Soweto Central Chorus. She reminded us of the fugitive presence of electricity in African folk and indigenous traditions. It is fugitive in a wayward sense, meaning its existence is conditioned by the compositional choices that she makes with the bass player Lwazi Mlotshwa. The tone and intensity of her show are a testament to the uncompromising power of relationality that produces intimacy and open form. Her band is kind, supportive and committed to her vision. We do not need to be told this; it can be heard in moments that drift into astral improvisation that requires trust. Sibonelo Nxumalo, pianist and producer; Buhle Hadebe on drums; Thabo Sikhakhane on trumpet; Siyalo Zulu on trombone; Adiele Mupakaidzwa on lead guitar; Menzi Cele and Mandisa Mbambo on backing vocals and Sanele Ngubane, producer, are exemplary musicians who remind us paths are made by walking but brilliant paths are made through collective vulnerability. The generosity that she left on that stage is enough to hold up our smiles for an unquantifiable time. We are inundated by musicians who have lost — or have no concept of — performance or what it means to ritualise the mode of being inside the music with others. Zawadi's performance showed us that music is an extension of how she lives her life. By the time she takes the stage to play the music, she is not playing the album recording; together with her generous band, they are playing the process and journey of where they are in the life of the music. The point of performance isn't replication or reproducing the archive of recording, it is about pushing yourself to see where you are in the life of the music. The recorded album is a prompt for conversations that performance brings forward. This is a shared understanding among musicians who are great performers and know how to elaborate their album recordings into other dialogues that the audiences can join. Zawadi did this at Untitled Basement by refashioning conversations through her album that had me gasping in admiration and unrestrained awe with Sanele, exclaiming: Ay mfethu, wenzani uZawadi!
