I first met Gabbi Le Roux on an otherwise unremarkable night out. I sat alone in a corner of Surfa Rosa nursing a frosty beer, waiting patiently for a show upstairs in the now mainstay venue of District. Whilst lost in my ruminations I was charismatically approached by our protagonist and inquired upon as to why I was sitting alone so serenely. We instantly got to chatting deeply and found a mutual appreciation for philosophy, poetry and tender folk music, as well as each other. This went on through the night till the early unspeakable hours and continues up till this day. During the course of our ramblings Gabbi told me of her new band called Cistamatic that she had just formed with two young and as yet unknown musicians named Ethan and James. Little did I or anyone know at the time but Gabbi and her band were soon to become icons of the emerging post pandemic music scene, and for good reason.

However fierce they may be, the Gabbi I first met was soft spoken, honest, caring and humble. A side not many get to see in them, and one I attribute to them approaching me. The first time I had the honour of watching Cistamatic was funnily enough at their Soft Side single launch, a Synth Pop banger of Gabbi’s own inception prior to the band’s full formation. Not many people know this but Cistamatic was originally a solo Synth Pop project that Gabbi steered into a power trio when opportunity and destiny knocked on their door.At the time there wasn’t much of a hint of the raw power and dynamism that the band is now known for, and none of the socio-politically charged lyricism, however there was a tangible harmony between the musicians that has only strengthened and matured with time. 

Yet in the blink of an eye, I and many others saw their unstoppable and unparalleled rise to Punk royalty as they achieved more in their first year as a band of relatively unknown “scene” outsiders than I have ever witnessed before. One is led to ask why? I believe there was a particular ripeness in the Global consciousness of the time, especially so in South Africa due to its long history of gender based violence, queerphobia, racism, classism and brutality, all of which makes it a hotbed for the re-emergence of Punk. With most of the old guard of the music scene having been wiped away by the pandemic and a whole horde of disenfranchised youth robbed of their coming-of-age moment for two years, the myth and symbol of Punk was a powder keg ready to be set off by the right band at the right time. Cistamatic IS that band. 

Tough yet tender, Gabbi’s lyrics and stage presence commands attention. What they’re doing on stage brings to mind a quote from Afrobeat pioneer and political revolutionary Fela Kuti “Music is supposed to have an effect. If you’re playing music and people dont feel something, You’re not doing shit…I want to move people to dance, but also to think.” And that about sums up Punk in a nutshell. 

Right! I think that’s enough of my opinion for one article. Now you can find what Gabbi the Punk Troubadour themself thinks of all of this. Enjoy. I have a suspicion you might find it enlightening. 

Tyla: What is Punk? 

Gabbi: I think of Punk as a philosophy. Punk is about refusing to accept the status quo and actively doing something about it – it involves questioning the systems that guide our lives, challenging sensibilities and expressions of dissent. Punk is inherently about resistance – it’s about finding an alternate way of being in a world where increasingly, we have less power to determine exactly how we want to live our lives. We’re trapped in this nightmare of techno-capitalism, white supremacy, conformity – Punk is planning the escape route. 

Punk is not some middle-aged white dude playing power chords, it is also not some safety pinned drug-infested nihilism. Punk is about passion, resistance and reckoning with injustice. The activists who are fighting for affordable housing, healthcare and food are punk. Anti-fascism and decolonialism is Punk. Girls rescuing random girls from creepy men in bars is Punk. The anti-apartheid movement is punk. South Africa has a long history of resistance and lots of things to be Punk about. We may have the most progressive constitution in the world but we do not have the infrastructure or resources to implement it, and people are suffering every day. It is easy to turn a blind eye and not do anything about it – but we have to. Thus, many of us are willing to devote our lives to some kind of alternate way of being.

T: What purpose does art possess for you?

G: You can see it as an individual expression of creativity, a way to release pent-up emotions or express your inner world. There’s also an element of craftsmanship, of making something really well. But to me, it doesn’t matter unless it’s also a tool we can use to broaden our understanding of the world, start conversations and encourage action. Think of Marcel Duchamp putting a urinal in a gallery – or Kirsha Kaechele who recently caused so much controversy because she would not allow men in her gallery to see her fake Picasso. These examples really pissed people off but also shone a spotlight on uncomfortable questions about our world.

What constitutes art? Why can powerful groups exclude marginalised ones but not the other way around? Why are certain things acceptable and unacceptable and who benefits from deciding? You can tell a lot about a society by the things people panic about. My favourite artists are people who aren’t scared to say the dangerous thing

T: What do you listen to that might surprise us?

G: I like that we’re getting to a point in the music ecosystem where we aren’t so exclusionary about our tastes.  For most of my younger life I was a guitar music purist – I thought Pop and Electronic music was dumb and Jazz was boring – but that was immature of me. If you’re open-minded enough to listen, there’s always something to enjoy. I’ll listen to Fiddler on the Roof, Hyperpop, Deftones, Classical music and Erykah Badu in one sitting. If it makes me feel or think then I’m into it. As a musician and artist I think it’s important to take the time to enjoy lots of different kinds of art and expression. 

T: Who is Gabbi?

G: My name is Gabbi, I’m 28 years old and I’m a working artist, organiser and producer. I have 4 part time jobs, I am also obviously in Cistamatic, we do all of our own management, booking and graphics. I’m naturally independent and have a firm way of going about things, and I’m not afraid to tell people what I think.  Some people think that I’m very scary but my friends will attest that I am actually a very soft-hearted person. I also just like to get things done, doing them properly and making things happen. I’m curious to my own detriment and have far too many interests and defective tendencies to have a ‘normal job. I decided a few years ago to devote my life to music, art and community – and I know that’s insane but it’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. And yes, it is extremely gruelling and financially unstable to try to hack out a career for yourself as an artist in Cape Town. I cry a lot. But I also laugh a lot and make a lot and do different things every day – which is way better for me than sitting at an office so that my boss can buy another beach house. 

T: If you personified Cistamatic, what qualities and beliefs would they embody?

G: Cistamatic is a Punk band in the philosophical sense I described earlier. We’re trying to marry progressive politics with progressive rock… We’re a gutsy little three-piece birthed out of Doom Metal, Riot Grrrl and New Wave but the primary thing is that our music is political. Not that you can ever really divorce art from politics, but our music is explicitly taking a resistant and progressive political stance.

Cistamatic is essentially a ‘mask’ that allows all three of us, James, Ethan and I to express ourselves beyond our individual capacities. When we’re playing together it’s almost as if we’re summoning a Lovecraftian creature – wholly unafraid, pulsing with motion and constantly evolving and creating. It’s equal parts ferocious and tender. There’s a lot of anger and rage but there’s deep sadness and a pure hopeful longing under it.

T: In the throws of a phoenix moment in the “scene”, what observations and hopes for it do you hold?

G: Playing with Ethan and James is not only the most fun and cathartic thing ever but it’s also given us a proper purpose and a sense of responsibility to my community  – we make it our business to create spaces of solidarity and safety within a largely white, male Rock scene. I spent years of my life feeling excluded from the music scene I loved so much, because as a girl, I wasn’t safe there. I remember the first time I went to Gandalf’s and some guy put his hand up my shirt. I just decided ‘nope’, I guess I’m not allowed here and didn’t go to shows for like, 5 years, because every time I did something horrible would happen to me or someone around me. and it’s not just girls. Queer people and people of colour are also vulnerable and largely excluded from the Rock scene. After COVID, there was this empty space where the Cape Town Rock scene had been, and Cistamatic had just formed.

I really think things are changing – since COVID there’s been a distinct change in consciousness, especially with the influx of people in their early twenties who are a lot more politically aware than before. There’s less ‘sex, drugs, rock and roll’ and sleeping with teenagers, and people are talking to each other and community policing more. It makes me happy that the women in our audiences know that if some guy assaults them at one of our shows, they will be taken seriously. There are more dialogues about who is ‘allowed’ to participate in the Rock scene and I definitely see a more diverse and integrated alternative music scene beginning to form. Like, what’s the point of counterculture if marginalised people can’t find solidarity there? I love seeing how many more gays and girls are starting projects and coming out to dance because and they feel like they’re allowed to participate too. It seems normal now but when I was growing up, the alternative music scene was a predatory space and it was really hard to get your foot in the door.

T: What’s important to you?

G: Since I was a kid I wished that I could be a ‘rockstar’ – not necessarily in the worldwide fame sense but in the sense that, I used to lie on my bed and listen to Avril Lavigne and Hole and just wish that one day I could make music that made other people feel seen and empowered. Especially the weird girls and the queer kids, the baby Punks. I spent a lot of my life terrified that I would never find my place in the scene and that no one would care about what I was making. But now all of these young women and punk kids come to our shows, and they really care about the music and what we stand for as a band. And I think that’s really important, because hopefully it encourages more people to take up space in the scene and start their own initiatives. If I never saw the Dollfins or Inge Beckmann when I was in my teens, I don’t think I would be on stage screaming my lungs out.

One thing I can say is that the Alternative Rock scene remains extremely white and largely segregated from the rest of the SA music landscape. I think this is ridiculous – especially since we have such a gorgeous smorgasbord of culture, talent and music in our country. I think there needs to be a concerted effort by bands and organisers to throw events which have more diverse line ups, integrating different genres and people from outside the Alt Rock scene to form truly incredible and unique experiences. It’s honestly in everyone’s best interest to have a totally interconnected music scene where innovation, creativity and community building can thrive – there would be more money and a bigger audience, it would literally be great for artists, organisers and venues alike.

T: Can you help us understand your unique brand of tender-fierceness?

G: I feel a lot and I care a lot – I always have. I was a pretty tender and emotional child, but through various shitty experiences I learnt that a certain level of aggression was really useful to protect my soft little soul (and my vulnerable girlish body). In my teens I took this to an extreme – I was entirely antisocial and vehemently rejected any attempts at friendship or connection. But as I’ve grown older I have learnt that there is power in both fierceness and tenderness, and that the two concepts are entwined for me. My passion and deep empathy motivates me to be fierce in the face of pain and injustice. You can very much see it reflected in Cistamatic – often my lyrics are about times where I have been abused or exploited or wronged – and having the braveness to speak out about it is one thing, but it’s kind of ferocious to get up on stage and scream about it to anyone who will listen. There is tenderness in fierceness and vice versa – the sharp bite of a dog comes from the need to protect itself. I guess that’s why a lot of punk is so aggressive? Because it comes from such a ‘vulnerable place’ in the terms of going against the grain of being politically dangerous.

T: Leave us with food for thought.

G: When you say something against the norm, you are endangering your place. So it has to be loud and brash to compensate for the pain and tenderness it expresses? There’s your food for thought Ty. 

Well dang. I’ve nothing left to say except thanks for the tender fierceness dearest Gabbi. May you yell obscenities at the status quo for another thousand years.