Earlier this year, hankering through those unsteady motions that unemployment is prone to come with, rang a call from Maeder “Mr Oz” Osler. 

“PM,” (as he calls me) “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Jasper Cook by name…used to play for the African Jazz Pioneers.”

The Pioneers, I contemplated – had never heard of them. But the invite did however come with some perqs for a down on his luck indolent. Free lunch and beer. No need for taxi fare, the old man would personally come pick me up. 

So, seated at 1989 coffee shop alongside the Messrs Cook and Osler, I was secretly most grateful for the lemonade in hand and the double bourbon in it than the company I found myself in. It had not yet registered with me that here was a man whose trombone used to boom alongside jazz maestros of no negligible renown at the tail end of the 80s and has been a formidable companion to, inter alia, Jonas Gwangwa’s reputable live performances. His name is mentioned in the same breath as those defiant artists whose songs were a protest against apartheid and who thrived in a time where being a musician was often regarded as a respectable political act.

Nowadays, though, Mr Cook ambled with the auspices of a walking ring, couldn’t hear very well and spoke, it seemed at the time, with a tinge of irritability. Like a man who’s experienced a life more extraordinary than the rest of us and is now bored out of his wits by the moribund unfolding of an existence as a reluctant pensioner. Or just an old man, I suppose, with the standard problems that come with getting old. 

This would be the first and last time I’d hear Mr Cook’s baritone voice, his good-time stories of the wild days with the globe-trotting Pioneers and that razor sharp memory that offhandedly recalled names and dates at the drop of a hat. Uncharacteristically, I had not at the time take it upon myself to do any meaningful digging on The Pioneers. Nor had I listened to the discography they used to play to slunken-jawed audiences across the globe. 

Those in the know will recall that it was The Pioneers who played at the funeral of David Webster – academic and activist whose life was cut short by the hardmen of Apartheid’s security cluster back in 1989. They have graced highbrow black tie dos in Europe, have played for late statesman Nelson Mandela and opened up for some of showbusiness’s A-listers

In the interim, however, the grapevine has it that Jasper is working on a book, is an eager cryptocurrency enthusiast, that he was last seen somewhere in Jo’burg where he is generally at his happiest and people know him by name. Admire him well enough to hail him off the street just to talk, or jam, mostly just to talk about the days when The Pioneers were a hip and happening 10-man outfit rubbing shoulders in elite jazz circles.

And then almost like an epiphany, I stumbled on a piece of musical composition that encapsulates the spirit of the golden era of African jazz circa the 50s and 60s – the iconic melody, Ten-ten Special. Written by Isaac “Zacks” Nkosi, a seminal voice in those days where this genre of jazz was establishing its signature, unravelling into its own and acts like Dollar Brand were accorded the status of cult figures within this captivating new sound. The Pioneers, aboard a steam train in their video cover of the song, strumming and swinging, there Jasper shuffling, his great horn almost overwhelming the locomotive’s confined corridors. The lone white face in a band of “brothers,” Mr Cook doesn’t appear at all intimidated or unsettled in the company of such luminaries as the mad drummer Sipho Mtshali or veteran founder Ntemi Piliso. He simply blows hard and unmistakable, hair gelled back pa-pa-pa-paaaaaa pa-pa-paaaaa an eager student of what his African forebears did for the advancement of the indigenous jazz oeuvre. 

Since then I have been persistently looking for Mr Cook through the Pioneers’ videos. Straining for his trombone on the albums, turning to Google for whatever may be said about the man or his partners in crime.

The search has yielded some mind-blowing finds, one of which is a glowing 1950 feature on Drum. Penned by the outstanding late Todd Matshikiza – himself a notable composer – the piece is a nostalgic reflection on the glorious days when instrumental music was a soundtrack that pierced into the very consciousness of just another regular day in the life of the township. 

So, onward my search persisted.

On the song Way Back Fifties, Jasper’s instrument is almost dormant, subdued and overshadowed somewhere in the background by the trumpet that is necessary for the song to work as beautifully as it does. 

Mannenburg vibes. 

All whining trumpets and shuffling keys. 

If not a Dollar Brand cover then at least his influence is well-defined in the bare logics. By popular estimates being a cover act probably means you’re lazy, unaccomplished, but take it from someone who once tried learning guitar especially jazz and see how that works out for you.

On the song Uzozo with the lyrics “kwadutyulwa bathathu ndasala ndiyingxwelerha” (three were shot and I became an orphan) the saxophone leading you to the end of the song you’re not looking forward to end. A crude, raw voice guiding you along the promenade of unassuming township sounds.

Sgaxa Mabhande / bazawoja? (You’re the Captain) on that Bra Hugh Masekela tip with a restless, marching keyboard. So far the most political in their oeuvre for me as they sing about “the captains who will sit over their own fire”. 

On Flying High, there is Jasper opening things up. Again swiftly he introduces us into the Uyeyeye song. On Hosh, a worthy journeyman, still not quite the main act, nonetheless there sauntering about the major players as he later shuts it down, his instrument distinct as the music fades away.

Then happens the somewhat unexpected, a beautiful-voiced woman, probably stunning in her 80s dress ensemble, pitches up to join The Pioneers on Mbombela.

On Fleamarket, there he looms large once more – but he doesn’t stand a chance. May God have mercy on the trumpets on this one!

Pressed by time and a ridiculously expensive data arrangement, I reluctantly had to put The Pioneers away, say “cheers” to Jasper and his horn. It would’ve been a sad farewell had I not chanced upon a piece of his stunning writing to keep me company. Veteran writing. The sort only a true artist can put together once he has stashed his horn away in its case. The Old Man is thinking of making Colesberg his home. Remvasmaak to be exact. And wonders whether the community might embrace a once-flagrant, badass muso. His words are too beautiful to reduce to quotes, so we’ll let them speak for themself:

Semigration

The pandemic showed we could work from home, and set off a drive toward semigration, mainly to coastal towns and more especially to those in the Western Cape. Maeder Olser and Jasper Cook, in many stoeptalks pondered the question of semigration to the Colesberg. Jasper is now living in Johannesburg. He thought “But wait. Would I want to live in Colesberg, or Remvasmaak?”

Remvasmaak wins on some counts:

• no 18 wheeler trucking rigs tearing up the tar and parked all over the place
• so, no potholes
• fewer rodents (they don’t stand a chance in a cleanly swept yard, with those fleetfooted township brakke and chickens about)
• warmer in winter (fewer trees to cast cold winter shadows)

Colesberg dorp wins cosmetically and practically on others:

• shade and trees
• leafy gardens
• shops & co-ops
• Post Office & courier

Jasper thinks:

It is debatable how long the Post Office will still be there. There are news reports that it is on its last legs, but then, those opinions have been reported for years. Maybe the PO will survive. From a semigration point of view, if the PO dies in Colesberg, it will die in other semigrational destinations as well, so let’s leave it out of the reckoning.

Shopping

It looks like a no-brainer, but here’s the thing. Jasper prefers the notion of living in Remvasmaak. He has as many friends in one as in the other. As for shopping, when he lived on the farm, his shopping was emailed to Ok Value, whose shelf-packers picked the order. It was waiting for him on arrival in the dorp. He thinks he could continue this arrangement from Remvasmaak. He no longer owns a car. Accustomed as he has grown to having his groceries delivered in Jozi, Jasper reckons there are plenty of people in Remvasmaak who will collect and deliver things from the dorp to his lodgings, for the same fee the delivery persons in Jozi usually charge. That charge will be cheaper than being forced to own and run a car, and may be the start of a small delivery enterprise.

Internet

This is not a problem. Remvasmaak falls within the coverage area of the main cell networks, and Jasper already uses a MiFi and a laptop with an eight battery in Jozi. MiFi batteries last four hours, so he is happily able to write through load shedding darkness without skipping a beat, (especially if he is writing music, which he does often).

Haircut

Jasper could make the trip to the dorp for that, but he is equally sure that someone, somewhere in the area can cut what little he has, neatly enough, for the going rate.

Medical

Remvasmaak is closer to the hospital. Win for the township.

Legacy

In the days of apartheid and before, certain areas were “ours” and oters were “theirs”. Despite our constitution allowing, on the face of things, anybody to live anywhere, Jasper wonders whether Remvasmaak will “have him”, and whom to speak to find the answer.

Conclusion

It comes down to whether people in Remvasmaak accept him. Interesting. On paper, Jasper would rather live in Remvasmaak.

“I’ve always loved trains. And marabi music for me always seemed to have that same quality as the sound of a train: it just goes on and on, but as it goes on it always changes and you know it’s going somewhere.” Trombonist Jasper Cook who played with the African Jazz Pioneers, as quoted in Ansell, Soweto Blues.