I was at the perfect point of my meticulously planned buzz. I had two cocktails in hand, thanks to the complimentary mixology class my friends and I attended after completing four out of six planned activities in a sort of scavenger hunt that involved flower crowns and drumming circles. Sun El-Musician was at the peak of a set that burned through Under The Sun, a masterfully curated collection of tracks that reached its climax just as the sun reached the horizon on the Atlantic Ocean. A perfect picture. Except for the wind that had picked up off the shore, kicking up small hurricanes of dust and grass that clung to our clothes, stuck in our hair, and garnished our drinks. Honestly, by Cape Town standards – this might as well have been a breeze. My mind took me back to Kiss Kiss at the Castle just 4 months ago, where we braved what felt like an actual hurricane but somehow made it through.
A voice comes onto the sound system from a microphone off stage. Blissfully unaware, we assume this is someone introducing the Ndlovu Youth Choir, who was scheduled to sing us into what the festival had billed as the “Sunset Moment.” That moment would ultimately see more than the exit of the sun – it would see the exit of all of us. “Due to changing weather conditions, The Corona Sunsets Festival must end early,” said the voice on the microphone to a 3000 person strong crowd. “We apologise, but the safety of our artists, crew, and audience is our priority. The celebration will continue at venues like Cafe Caprice and Rita’s – please make your way to the exits, and await our email.”
Up until that point, this year’s Corona Sunsets Festival proved to be a mostly enjoyable day out at The Glen Country Club. The festival, a global event series launched by Corona to promote the brand, is touted as a celebration of “golden hour,” electronic music, nature, and sustainability, albeit that its primary function is something closer to an interactive billboard than a sanctuary for music lovers. This was already clear from the set up at The Glen Country Club, which prioritized the experience and activities over the dance-floor.
The stage and dance-floor lacked shade, making it difficult to stay there for long stints in direct sunlight, and the sound was far from ideal. Zakes Bantwini brought out two live keyboardists during his set, but it was a struggle to appreciate how this added to his afrotech heavy 60min when most of the detail and nuances in his setlist were lost to the open air behind us. Still, the vibes from the crowd were good, and my friends and I enjoyed the sidequest (plus free cocktails) that the activities offered while waiting for the headliner we came to see — Liquideep. The iconic South African deep house duo have been making a steady comeback, and we arrived ready to live like it was 2013 again. We’d been excited for weeks. And now, we had to leave.
You have to respect the organisers for putting safety first – especially if they realised that the event was not equipped for the weather. “With wind gusts exceeding 70km/h, the safety of guests, artists and crew remained the highest priority,” festival organisers said in a press release sent out today. But despite the shut down being made in everyone’s best interest – you have to wonder if this entire thing could have been avoided with more careful planning and strategy. Cape Town is notoriously unpredictable at the turn of her seasons, and any event that places itself outdoors should take this into consideration. It was clear that there was no contingency plan in place for the situation facing the festival, and the organisers had to improvise on the fly. The solution? Dividing the festival’s headliners across Corona sponsored venues in the CBD.
While it’s admirable that the festival organisers worked quickly to secure venues for their headliners to play at, there’s a few things wrong with this solution. The first and most obvious issue is capacity – how can you possibly accommodate a field of 3000 people across five medium to small sized bars in the city, bars where entry is often dependent on table bookings and bottle service. Then there’s the issue of accessibility. Splitting the headliners across venues on vastly different sides of Cape Town gives the audience an ultimatum in place of a choice. People who paid upwards of R1500 to see Liquideep and Purple Disco Machine on the same stage now had to decide which one to sacrifice to see the other.
The discomfort of this situation is compounded when you consider the venues these two acts were placed at – Purple Disco Machine at Café Caprice in Camps Bay, and Liquideep at Souk on Long Street. It’s a move that exposes the underlying segregation that continues to divide Cape Town’s nightlife scene – a division that is not often spoken about, but is often abundantly clear through moves such as this. It felt like little effort was made to locate a space, Corona sponsored or not, where the lineup could continue together as planned (the Apollo warehouse, perhaps?). Instead, the crowd was splintered and given no opportunity to get their full money’s worth.
As we exited the venue amidst a confused and annoyed crowd, I made the choice to embrace the chaos and follow Liquideep to wherever they would be. An alert had been put out on Howler, listing the venues where the “celebration continues,” but no information had been communicated about which of these venues the headliners would play at. It was about two hours later, back at my house, that we discovered Liquideep would perform at Souk at midnight from a story posted to the duo’s Instagram page. My two fellow adventurers had faded, but I was determined to make this sidequest a success. I arrived at a crowded Souk just before midnight to a small crowd of festival goers struggling to enter in groups without a table booking. I was thankful to be by myself, and employed the Berghain strategy. I waited patiently, politely, and nonchalantly. “Are you alone?” The bouncer asked me after 20min. “Yes,” I said. He let me in.
While it was far from how I’d imagined seeing them perform, I was glad that I caught Liquideep at Souk. It was intimate, nostalgic, and the crowd was electric. It felt like the most ideal setting to celebrate the legacy and impact of an act who, for a moment, were the definitive voice of South African dance music, and to sit in the excitement and anticipation of what they might do next. They grooved through a 50min set packed with their greatest hits and some deep cuts. The audience knew every word.
I chuckled at the irony of Ziyon singing “you don’t have to be alone” into a microphone 5 feet away from me while I was, very clearly, alone. I shouted the lyrics to “BBM”, and swayed in time with the crowd to the euphoria of “Still.” I found myself grateful for the unexpected journey that Corona Sunsets took me on – it had been a while since I flitted through the streets of Cape Town chasing an artist, and I explored some new spaces I’d never been to before that I’ll probably go back to in the future. I had no idea what the 2997 other people in attendance at the festival were doing with their Saturday night, but I hoped that they made the most of it. I certainly did.
I’m still awaiting that email, though.
Texx and the City reached out to festival organisers with specific questions about the stop show. We did not receive any answers beyond the press release sent out to media today. As of this moment, no information has been made available about refunds.
