South African music in New York

What do you think of when you think of South African music? Are you a South African in New York, or a New Yorker listening to South African music? Have you heard any live South African music in New York, or do you own any South African music? Or are you a South African musician who has performed or is planning to perform in New York? Why not post about it in the comments below. I would love to read about your experiences, thoughts, ideas and perceptions, and come to your concerts, if you are performing here.

Travel

Off to New York today! Johannesburg to Zurich tonight, and then on to New York tomorrow afternoon. Wish me luck

boundries

This post, and the ensuing comments, raise some interesting questions. What really is the "line" between appropriate and in- in an academic relationship?
When I first started at varsity, I was utterly in awe of my lecturers. My parents had really built up to us what it took to achieve a PhD, and it made me really excited, and also a little afraid, of the whole process. I called everyone "professor" or "doctor" as appropriate (or sometimes not. I called several doctors "professor". I prefer to err on the side of flattery, I guess), and in most instances, it went down okay. The people who had issues with it, ironically, turned out to be among those for whom my respect has grown, rather than suffered. There are a few who I still call "prof" whom I really feel deserve the title, but those who prefered first names in general, and went for less formal relationships, have turned out to be the most inspiring and influential mentors. And then there were those who I never felt even vaguely at ease with. I have learned the hard way to follow my instincts on those ones.
Earlier this year, one of my undergraduate students called me "professor". I corrected her, explaining that I didn't have a PhD yet, let alone a professorship, and inviting her to call me Nicol. She switched to "Miss Hammond". That was more accurate, but, in light of my discomfort with professional identities and surnames, I wasn't nutty about it. When I tried again, the resultant "aunty Nicol" what a little terrifying! but very amusing. In South Africa, a sign of respect is to call an older woman "tannie" or "aunty". I get the respect thing, and am happy to practice it myself, but I feel so old when someone, expecially a student only a few years younger than me, practices it on me.
On the other hand, when I'm supervising my teaching students and am called into the principal's office to give my age, rank and serial number (or the academic equivalent), I almost wish I looked like an aunty....

Fore Play: A Lesson in Jivometric Drummology

This is so clever. I will comment more when I have had time to read it more thoroughly

stars

About a year ago, my mentor gave me a star made out of beads and wire. I wear it on a lanyard attached to my cell-phone. About a week after she gave it to me, we were on a beach that had been battered by a storm, and there were bits of sea-weed and live sea snails all over. The snails were floundering about, some moving in the wrong direction, all struggling to get back to the sea. There were just so many....
Well the memory of my mentor currying those snails back into the water is so firmly implanted in my memory.
And then I read Leo Buscaglia's "Living, Loving & Learning" (New York: Ballantine Books, 1982):
"The other day I was on a beach with some of my students, and one of them picked up an old, dried-out starfish, and with great care he put it back in the water. He said, "Oh, it's just dried out but when it gets moisture again, it's going to come back to life." And then he thought for a minute, and he turned to me, and he said, "You know, Leo, maybe that's the whole process of becoming, maybe we get to the point where we sort of dry out, and all we need is a little more moisture to get us started again." When I picked myself off the sand, I said, "Wow!" Maybe this is what it's all about." (pg. 52).
I'm going to send a copy of the book to my mentor with a star-shaped bookmark, and a thank-you note.

why?

I am really loving working with student teachers. It is great to be able to see all this potential from the back of the classroom. One of my students, in particular, is so exciting, because she is just so capable. I know that she is going to do well in her course, and I know that she is going to build a very productive career for herself, because she has the skills, and she makes the effort. And yet something worried me about one of the classes I sat in on last week. She did everything right according to the check list, and she had a good rapport with the kids, and it was very easy to praise, and yet something didn't ring true. She was teaching geography (map reading) to a grade 8 class, and she had these beautiful little diagrams with contour lines, and conventional symbols, and fun exercises with 3D models and coloured pencils and pieces of string, and yet all the children asked were questions like "will this be in the test?" and "could you please explain that again?" I kept waiting for someone to ask "why is it called a trig beacon?" or "why do we have spot heights?" or "why are the contour lines brown?" or anything. And then it occurred to me. The questions I was waiting for were all "why?" and no one was asking them. Kids don't know how to. They know they have to regurgitate this stuff for an exam, and they become excellent at it, but then they forget it and move on to the next exam, and they never know why. On Monday, I am going to talk to my very clever, capable student teacher about "why" questions, and get her to ask some so that the kids ask some, and hopefully in a couple of weeks when she goes back to college, and the kids go back to their former teacher, they will have taken something with them.

the future of SA

I had a really interesting morning. I am supervising student teachers on their "school experiences" at the moment, and today, my supervisor/trainer/employer and I attended a grade 11 history class. The topic was 'Bantu Education', and the very confident, capable and innovative student teacher divided the class into blacks and whites, and taught the blacks in Afrikaans, and the whites in English. The result, which could have been explosive, was very successful. The students twigged quite quickly about what the topic of discussion was, and after the requisite teaching, a really interesting and encouraging discussion on black economic empowerment and the effects of Apartheid ensued. Anyone who is not enthusiastic about the future of this country should sit in on a class like that. Children of 17 are so aware of the issues that face this country. They think about the future, theirs, and the country as a whole, and they listen to one another. Sure, there were a diversity of oppinions, but there was also a clearly expressed desire to make things work. I am feeling bouyant!