Jazz, Code, and Memory: A Personal Reflection

Dedicated to Ebrahim Khalil Shihab (formerly Chris Schilder)

At times, I forget to remember that I am not a Jazz musician.
It is based on the lived fact that Jazz lives in my blood.

Aside from writing what many call great software—what we simply call code—I find deep similarities between the two worlds. There is consistency. There is anger in the notes and tonalities. There is frustration—especially when recognition does not come as it should. I have felt this in my software journey, even while being internationally recognised.

Image Copyright (C) Ian Bruce Huntley

This is not dissimilar to the OGs—the old school Jazz artists of the 1960s and 1970s at their height. And when I speak of that height, I speak of a period of transition—almost a divorce, or if I am diplomatic, a partial separation from American Blues and Bebop.

It was in the late 1950s and into the 1960s that our ancestors began to shape a distinctly South African Jazz sound. Like all revolutionary music, it was born from circumstance. The environment shaped the sound. The struggle refined the craft.

I have written about this before—Cats can attest. But here, I want to anchor this reflection on Ebrahim Khalil Shihab. I love and know him—not personally, but through the culture. This is the beauty of Jazz: it transcends time. When done well, it is not unlike software creation.

Image Copyright (C) Ian Bruce Huntley

Tata Ebrahim Khalil Shihab is a Tata in every sense—a composer, a player, a creator. I am writing about him with purpose. This is based on stories told to me by my legends who knew him in their time in Woodstock, Cape Town—a place I, as a descendant and archivist, consider the Mecca of 1960s South African Jazz sound.

He never let apartheid disrupt his love for himself, his people, and humanity. That, to me, is the mark of a true Pan-Africanist and a true creator.

I remember a story told to me by Big T Ntsele:

“Hey, la Cat was very quiet… kodwa when it came to playing ama Thambo (piano), yhoo Jack… kuzafuna wena to rewrite your bassline because seasons will change on you.”

That was him. Quiet. But when he played—everything shifted.

He was one of the ambassadors of our sound—recording and shaping it in Woodstock, Cape Town. And as I said in a previous reflection in 2023:

“Apartheid was a silly, deliberate mistake.” – Brian Lindiaya Ntshinga , 1937

Yet even within that darkness, the sound that came out of our people was beautiful.

I have been listening to the record Spring. Like many, I once associated it with the late great Winston Mankunku Ngozi. But through digging into archives and my own recollection, I found that Spring is rooted in Tata Ebrahim Khalil Shihab’s work.

I digress—but maybe not.

This 5am reflection is a reminder of how Jazz carries me. It holds me through my mental struggles and through my living in this metasphere—where I move between code and Jazz, logic and feeling.

As I end, this article is inspired by my living father, Chris Albertyn. It is also inspired by the memory of Bruce Ian Huntley—rest in peace, young man.

And it is dedicated to my Cats all over.

To New Brighton, Port Elizabeth.
To District Six—when it was ours.
To Langa, Cape Town.

I have poured my heart out.

Written by Brian Lindikaya Ntshinga

Founder, Chief Scientist, Jazz Fanatic – Impilo TV (www.impilotv.co.za | www.eclives.co.za | ECLIVES

For those who want to go deeper into the sound, you can pre-order your vinyl of the repressed Spring record by visiting:
https://matsulimusic.bandcamp.com/

Written by admin