Renegades – Frank Marshall

p>Renegades.

1. A person who deserts and betrays an organization, country, or set of principles

2. A person who behaves in a rebelliously, unconventional manner

3. A person who abandons religion; an apostate

When Magriki told me about Frank Marshall’s exhibition, I didn’t have to think twice about whether or not I wanted to go.

Come on, what else is there to do on an icy Thursday night in Johanneburg, than taking to the streets (the Newtown streets nogal) to go and attend the opening of an exhibition at an exclusive gallery.

The uppity Rooke Gallery has always been quite popular among the artsy-fartsy, semi celeb culture of Gauteng. People from all over have travelled to this dodgy but lovely area just west of the Nelson Mandela Bridge to view exhibitions by the likes of Gart Meyer, Zander Blom, Olaf Bischoff and even the very well known band photographer Liam Lynch. So naturally, when I heard of Frank Marshall’s opening, I thought it could only be good! And although I, myself, have never been a big heavy metal fan, it was exactly that!

Renegades is a landmark exhibition by Frank Marshall, representing a decisive outcropping of a Heavy Metal subculture in Sub-Saharan Africa. Marshall’s portraits offer a tentative and considered vision of this subculture in Botswana; historically adverse in reaction to the occidental genre, making Marshall’s subjects somewhat of an anomaly. In this way, Marshall aptly dubs his subjects renegades, tentatively situating himself as a mediator chronicling “visions” of rebellious individuals who form part of an ulterior, emergent rootedness where traditional identities and political histories in Botswana are subverted.

Heavy Metal audiences have traditionally been Caucasian, Patriarchal, and Eurocentric, making Marshall’s portraits parodies of heavy metal lore envisaging the multiple polarities of the subculture’s social strata.

To put it frank (see what I did there) – It’s weird seeing black people dressed up in tight leather pants with belt buckles shaped like sheep heads, pointy boots, cowboy hats and Slayer T-Shirts. I found it really, really weird.

It was cool though.

The opening night attracted people from various genres, shapes and sizes. They all rocked up. From the weirdo gay-men with their librarian lookalike girlfriends, the old school hippies with their messed up dreadlocks, the guys that looked like half a jack and gazelle with their funky leopard print coats, the scouting art dealers, and of course, the usual metal following.

What I enjoyed most was Rhutz (I think) jamming away on stage whilst everyone got a change to either gaze in awe, or gawk in confusion.

My personal (painfully honest at times) opinion is thus this – It’s either a really good idea by a metal-loving white man with a final project due who has some good contacts in Botswana, with a boot full of leathers and things; or it’s a brilliant, unexpected discovery that will actually make me fuel up my Volkwagen and head north, just to see something so fascinating it makes one believe in a real bona fide movement again.

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