Jabulile Majola Is Finding His Purpose Through Song

Jabulile Majola possesses an aura about him that draws you in, like a magic wand that works its way around any room, finding pockets to wholly infect and transform from the inside out. His new album, Ipasi, distills this idyllic slant into eleven songs of Afro-folk perfection, recalling the indie bands of the mid-to-late 2000s while merging their sensibilities with a distinctly Southern African approach to guitar playing, perfected over time. It’s billed as his debut album, but builds on a foundation he’s been laying since 2023, through features on songs by the likes of Mpho.WAV and Kenza, and Unyazi, the collaborative album he released with Yoav in 2024. Isitifiketi arrived to great acclaim last year, signalling an arrival of sorts for the artist, and setting him on track for multiple tours and performances across the country.

Ipasi has been a challenge to make, he tells us. “I didn’t feel like this was an album until about two months ago,” the artist says. “It was a difficult process, but we didn’t lose the intention.” The album’s reception has come as a surprise to him. “It makes me feel like I’m really living my purpose.”

Produced by Ross Dorkin of the band Beatenberg and released in partnership with Cape Town-based Quiet Life Co., the album is a breezy encounter with playfulness, with the freedom of not taking oneself too seriously while giving everything to the work. “I don’t wanna say ‘genius,’ but the guy is real. He knows how to listen, and that’s something that I learned from working with him. It’s not so much about what you want to say as much as it is about hearing what the other person has to say,” he says. 

Each song on the album represents a room, delicately arranged and packed with all the necessities, with comfort built in. Together, they form a continuous loop of positive thoughts and an empathetic stance on life. 

“Umuzi Okhanyayo” welcomes us into this parallel universe. “Ngifuna ukum’bona ongithandayo (I want to see the one that loves me),” he sings, holding space for a feeling that suspends you temporarily on an ethereal plane, a distant planet. Thando Zide joins him on “Ubukho Bakhe,” shifting us into another room where first-hand experiences become lore, and both artists’ pens seem to defy gravity for the betterment of all. With the opening line, “Ngimthande ngazithandela kuye (I loved her so much that I tied myself to her),” Majola motions towards poetic enclaves, shelters where tenderness and warmth find a home. When Zide arrives, it’s with the reluctance to fully let go of the words, like she wants them to percolate before sharing them with us, singing: “Ubukho bakho yibo lokhu okwenza ukuthi ngikhohlwe ukuhlaba kwalomhlaba lo (your presence is what makes me forget the pain of this world.”

“I’ve learned to approach songwriting not as giving answers. I’ve approached it as ‘asking questions honestly.’ As a songwriter, you have to realise that you’re not there yet. The way I look at it now is, ‘Have I grasped the art of storytelling [yet]?’ When you look at life with that lens, it revolutionises everything,” he says. “I’m not approaching songwriting as though people came to me for answers. I’m also coming with my own questions.”

“Mandla” was one of the album's singles, a potent and poignant song that taps into folk music's power to make people feel something beyond surface-level incursions into our emotional well-being. It tells the story of a man who's out of options, at home with nothing to do. “Lisobala inxeba lakhe (his wound is clear for all to see)/ angimahluleli umakhelwane (I do not judge my neighbor),” he sings.

“It’s a story that I was far removed from, but I knew that I had to say it. And when I look at the way people respond to it, I did not sit down and think, ‘Okay, South Africa is struggling with unemployment, let’s talk about something related to that.’ It is something that people are responding to. And because I wrote it from a place of, ‘Hey, I am observing my neighbour struggling with something that they have no control over,’” he says.

Born in Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal, Majola was orphaned shortly after birth and spent his early childhood in a Christian children's home in Greytown before being adopted by a pastor's family. He grew up alongside 26 siblings. The church is at the core of his musical foundations, while folk tales and the storytelling traditions of his upbringing have also helped shape the artist he is today. Majola draws inspiration from artists such as Bon Iver, Paul Simon, Joseph Shabalala and Leonard Cohen. He adopted his mother's name, Jabulile, as his artistic identity, making his music an ongoing exploration of his own origins and sense of self.

His songwriting is ministry, and conversation with him feels like an excursion through his mind, like trinkets leaving a trail of immersive encounters. “Hope” is deceptively simple and effective, the oldest song on the album, and one that he wrote two days after his sister’s passing “I used to be strong/ we use to share the load,” he laments, the grief finding space to expand in-between the guitar chords. 

“S’bani Sami” is the soundtrack to breathing, essential as water is for well-being. Lia Butler joins him on “Uze Wazi,” which departs from the folk sound into something reminiscent of ‘70s Motown records. Lia Butler’s effortless cadence and Majola’s unassuming posture elevate this song and place it miles ahead of the pack. 

He calls “Baba Wethu” “the hardest thing to write.” “Three days after my birth, my mother disappeared without a trace. There’s nothing poetic about that, it’s reality. Sometimes, reality doesn’t inspire us to do something, it pushes us to do the thing, whether we like it or not. Sometimes, inspiration is the grit: you are down in the dumps, doing [the thing]. Inspiration makes your back bend over, and that’s not a comfortable feeling,” he says.