South Africa is, in many respects, in a semi-permanent state of flux. In the early 90s, the country slouched from centuries’ long anti-black rule and decades of white supremacist Apartheid into democratic rule widely referred to as the “rainbow nation”. The term, coined by Archbishop Desmond Tutu after the first democratic election in 1994, was meant to capture the multiracialism and unity of the new regime. An intoxicating optimism swirled through the air.

While the “new South Africa” grew, new genre kwaito was born with it, amplifying the hopes and uncertainties of millions of young black people across the country. Kwaito – then known for its mid-tempo BPM, heavy basslines and similarity to house music – was the de facto soundtrack of a burgeoning democracy. In 1995 Arthur Mafokate, often referred to as “the king of kwaito”, released “Kaffir” – a song that lampooned white South Africa for its use of the racist slur (similar to the n-word). Three years later, kwaito outfit Boom Shaka released “Nkosi Sikelela,” which controversially subverted the country’s national anthem.

Responding to the uproar at the time, Boom Shaka band member Junior said: “We’re not dissing anything, this is our own version… [a lot of kids] don’t know the lyrics to the song. The reaction to our version has been incredible, they love it.” The move, misunderstood and derided at the time, is probably one of the best examples of what kwaito would go on to do through the years: interrogate the sacredness of the rainbow nation project, call bullshit on it when needed and define freedom on its own terms.

Kwaito was there when the rainbow nation was born. It was there when the rainbow started falling apart in the early 2000s, but what does the genre look like today? In short, it’s complicated. It’s probably worth mentioning that, in 2018, no one simply calls it kwaito anymore. It’s morphed, creating cousins such as Durban kwaito in KwaZulu Natat, skhanda (a genre pioneered by local rapper KO that blends kwaito and hip-hop) in Johannesburg, kwai-hop in Soweto and new-age kwaito in the form of acts such as Okmalumkoolkat, Cassper Nyovest and Riky Rick.

In April, I saw two of kwaito’s new contingent rip shit up in Braamfontein, the Bushwick to Gauteng province’s Johannesburg. Kid X – a rapper who used to be on skhanda–churning label Cashtime – performed his kwaito-referencing music to a heaving crowd at club Republic of 94. He employed the genre’s use of call-and-response hooks, performing tracks such as “Aunty” and “Pass ne Special.” Both songs also draw on the genre’s raspy cadence and unhurried drum work.

A stone’s throw away, at a popular pub called Kitcheners, future kwaito duo Stiff Pap played. They’re based in Cape Town, where in Rondebosch and its adjacent suburb of Observatory duo Bougie Pantsula also reinterpret kwaito. On that night, Stiff Pap’s blend of everything from gqom and kwaito to drone and industrial music blared out at an audience. Both acts, whose members study at the University of Cape Town, have spoken of how they don’t intentionally set out to make kwaito – and wouldn’t strictly refer to their music as such – but draw their influence from it. This is probably the best template of the new kwaito. It draws from its 90s predecessor – borrowing visual palettes, slang and pop culture references – and reworking it for a generation that grew up on MTV and the internet. To understand where the genre is going, you’d have to see and hear from the acts breathing life into its scene.

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