bios

an interview with Eldon van Aswegen, director of FOSTA

FOSTA follows both the story of DJ Fosta and Bridges For Music, from Fosta’s time in prison to his discovery of Bridges, playing at Glastonbury, and building the Bridges For Music School in Langa. Along the way it takes in Fosta’s musical legacy, embedded in the jazz traditions of Langa.

Following our review, van Aswegen talks to us, via email, about the film’s journey to screen.

Reactionary Reviews | That Winter Fest | Sognage

by Roger Young

There’s a woman talking to the fence about the one time she took Ritalin, and it’s still straight-edge early. This is the first sign that the word “fest” might still have some meaning. Everyone here seems to have recently done their laundry. Or had it done. And recently been to the salon, especially the mohawk guy.

DIFF26 | FOSTA (2026) | Directed by Eldon van Aswegen

Premiere | SC7: 5pm July 24

FOSTA is a document of our times. As a film it often hedges its bets, reflexively providing quick solutions after touching on the real issues in play.

While ostensibly about DJ Fosta’s redemption story, the film often feels like a tale of the triumphs of Bridges For Music, an organisation that has for many years been organising workshops in Langa with big-name EDM headliners featuring at South African music festivals.

James – Hillbrow 2006

I Hardly Remember Their Names

The bike slides out from under him, wet slick as he brakes too late, crossing Harrow to Hillbrow, both of them, James, and his girlfriend sliding into the path of an oncoming truck. He, protected by the bike, lost only his legs.

Reactionary Reviews | Black Math | Blood Sweat Sparkles

by Roger Young

Black Math gloriously revel in not reinventing the wheel. Screamo, punk, rock n roll grunge, youth, whatever, attacked with gusto. Don’t let the word Math fool you into thinking this is prog-rock. It’s fucking progressive though. Blood, Sweat, Sparkles plunges onwards with relentless disregard.

I Hardly Remember Their Names

After his arrest no-one mentioned him, he dropped out of our thoughts, except to mock that he had been arrested so easily. So dom. So fucking dom that Boyo.

Arrested in the golden afternoon sun clutching four meagre caps of smack, unga, nyaope whatever…

Not So Famous Last Words | Rev. David Herbert Allen | 1920ish – 1992

There is a memory of a photograph of my grandfather in short pants, on a sand dune, shirtless, laughing, but I cannot tell you where my grandfather served in the war, my mother used to be able to, but now she talks mostly about the farm.

NSFLW