The Photographers Preserving the Soul of Live Music

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, large-scale gatherings were effectively banned, and music events of all sizes ground to a halt. In the rush to find alternatives, online streaming emerged as the cost-efficient, safety-conscious solution: hop on Instagram Live and broadcast a performance to the masses sitting at home, with little else to do but escape the plague. The logical next step was the emergence of streaming-centric business models, which, in turn, raised demand for photographers and videographers. Platforms like Verzuz created a trickle-down effect that inspired grant-making organizations across the continent, such as Music In Africa, to support concepts that could be scaled and presented to audiences with time on their hands.

In the midst of the global health shock, Lerato Pakade tweeted that she'd decided to become a photographer. That was in 2022, and she revisits the moment during a conversation with OkayAfrica. "It was at [a Bitches Brew show] at Leano restaurant," she recalls. Bitches Brew was a trio consisting of Zoë Modiga, Titi Luzipo, and Spha Mdlalose; the venue, located in Johannesburg's Braamfontein precinct, is now called Jozi Gold.

"I took this picture of Titi, and literally I just said it. I was just like, I'm putting this here to keep myself accountable. Kanti, I was casting a spell," she tells OkayAfrica. A few months later, she was at the National Arts Festival in Makhanda with fellow photographer Jonothon Reese, an experience she describes as "like bootcamp" because of the rehearsals, the back-to-back shows, and the jam sessions that unfold over two weeks.

"I was running my own thing at the time (a consultancy business), and I was like, after this contract, this is what I'm gonna do," she says. Being in Makhanda was a homecoming of sorts: it's where she obtained her honors degree in Economics, where her parents met, and where she was conceived. "Being in [Makhanda] is peace for me. It's a holy place for me. It's not a coincidence," she affirms.

The consistency, rigor, and self-belief that carried her through prior professional engagements became the impetus she needed on this new journey. She also gained new skills. "I remember the first show in Makhanda was Mbuso Khoza's. There's a photo I have of him; it's like he's bowed his head in prayer. I was right underneath the stage, crying. I will never, ever forget it. That's never left me. So [I lead with] the heart first, because that photo represents how I was feeling at the time."

Siphiwe Mhlambi's journey has been much longer than Pakade's, with an archive stretching over three decades and multiple exhibitions to his name. The latest was in March, during the Cape Town International Jazz Festival, where he exhibited large-scale prints alongside his mentee, Arthur Dlamini. One of the country's foremost jazz photographers, he has worked with a stellar cast of artists, from Nduduzo Makhathini and Linda Sikhakhane to Judith Sephuma and Hugh Masekela. He got his start at the height of apartheid and found in live music photography a refuge from the daily violence confronting him.

"I can honestly say that jazz was just something that gave me so much solace. It gave me freedom; it gave me an opportunity to see myself, to create, and to see something from start to end. I did it for so long, not even knowing where it was taking me," he says.

Sinazo Notho is a producer at the South African Broadcasting Corporation, South Africa's national broadcaster, where her work focuses on finding and platforming cutting-edge talent, from fine artists to musicians and beyond. Her job, she says, is to make viewers "feel something."

She continues: "[We] want people to watch the shows we work on, which is why I source images of a specific artist, to give the interview weight and importance."

Images, she tells us, help people see what is being spoken about. “Photographers have a way of capturing the soul of a moment that stays with you; you become curious about what was happening at the time the image was taken, and now you want to listen to the interview because you think there will be a moment when the conversation brings the images to life. Using images compresses time. It lets us skip exposition and go straight to feeling. Photographers are culture keepers."

It’s an appreciation she returns to often. "I appreciate the kind of access I get through photographers — the context, because it's never just content, right? The honesty in images, the story, and the style of the imagery form a narrative that resonates with viewers. My job is to be the bridge between the camera and the community. Photographers, culture preservers, people who document culture — they show culture differently. Without photography, culture is invisible. And as a producer, if I get both of those right, I don't just make a show. I make something people will send to their kids one day and say, 'This is where we come from.'"

That soul, that connection that Notho speaks about, lands in the frame through hours of endless contact with oneself and one’s devices. Both Pakade and Mhlambi understand the value of reading a room, of knowing when to strike, and when to pull back. Pakade has the fitting language for it. "I often wonder if I'm being an etiquette snob. We try to stay as far away from that as possible, but there's also a reason why practice comes about a certain way or becomes established. Firstly, you're an audience member like everybody else. There's something about respecting the appointment that other people have with the music — whether it's visually, that I'm not in your way. Often, when I move, I'll turn around to the person and be like, I'll just be a minute, I'm so sorry to obscure your view. That matters to me, just to recognize other people's humanity, whether I'm the official photographer or there for myself," she says.

In the time she's been active, Pakade has been in a few photographers' pits where that etiquette was absent. She speaks of an anger she can't explain when people lack basic decency and common courtesy. "It's even in how we approach the musicians on stage. Firstly, it matters just to greet, even if you don't know them. We're not just there to extract; we're saying: you guys are here for a thing, I'm also here for a thing, to be a witness," she says.

"There's a certain energy — I'll call it a masculine energy, for lack of a better word — that matches the language of photography: capture, shooting. There are a lot of clicks, or a person gets so close that the musician is conscious of their presence. Once you build a relationship with people, there's a way you can be close that you know they'll feel comfortable, you know they trust you."

The music and visual worlds have been among the hardest hit by the advent of generative artificial intelligence. With a few prompts, it's possible to generate what might pass for a masterpiece within seconds. But it remains hard to conceive how the technology could replace the soft skills required to build the kind of rapport that sustains Pakade's relationships. 

She theorizes it this way: "There's also choices you make, like when to look and to look away. There are moments where musicians are so vulnerable on stage. It's a quiet thing, and it's an emotion thing. Sometimes the silence is more important than your shot. When you're in that, the last thing you want to hear is a click. The musician is doing a thing that you have to respect. Sometimes they're vulnerable in ways where you're like, I'm glad I'm here to witness it, but I'm gonna let you have this private moment in public."