I am seated at Die Pienk Kerk Restaurant Coffee Bar, on a Sunday, Easter nogal. Its founders must be turning in their graves as the Luyande Madope Trio’s acoustic sounds reverberate through our souls. Damned as they will be.
The Pienk Kerk is a relaxed, airy and friendly venue in Richmond, off greater Melville. I had not known it existed until I noticed the jazz post. An inviting surburban venue profiled by lush greenery. Frida Kahlo greets you as you walk up the few steps past the fountain towards the entrance.
The large windows and skylight penetrate with soft afternoon light. The gentle aroma from the kitchen drifts softly through, almost unnoticed. The wooden pine tables and chairs declare a welcoming familial earthiness. We are at home.
The charismatic Luyande Madope a “South African pianist, composer and musical director whose work bridges jazz, African contemporary music and storytelling across stage, screen and broadcast platforms” introduces the band and the afternoon’s intention. He plays solo welcoming us into his journey. The music though, immerses all senses.
Soon the trio are one. Luyando, the preacher, is a magician on the organ nay piano. Mzwandile Kunene conducts the double bass like a choir in full rendition while Sipho Malinga lifts what cannot be lifted on drums.
The high ceiling enables sound to travel unhindered while the wooden rafters gives it a theatrical lift. The congregants are exalted. Transfixed.
Luyando’s facial contortions adds further visual storytelling while his fingers dance with piano keys as his partner. Tunes from Duke Ellington and Khadja Nin move the rainbow congregants as it does Luyando. He gets up, brings the congregants into his music. They eagerly join. Enraptured.
The setting sun’s rays slowly move across tables. The afternoon seems infinite. Delicious food and drinks are ordered, served and consumed as if part of the rendition.
White paper mache birds fly across the ceiling like heavenly angels. Frida Kahlo stares stoically from the outdoor cushion. She, like Lenin must be tapping to the beat in their graves. The African rhythm, not unlike the Mexican rhythm, enrapt, releases. The congregants join, clapping and vocalising.
When the last song, Miriam Makeba’s iconic Pata Pata is rendered, congregants jump and dance in utter joy. Touch. Touch. We are truly touched. We shall be saved.
