What struck me most in this sincere yet playful conversation with Cape Town’s clubkid, queer icon aka ‘Dragmother’, Tazmé Pillay, was confidence. Not just in the stereotypical sense, like the way he started the call with his shades on, but the confidence to fail, to speak one’s mind, to be vulnerable, to support the underdog, to be subversive. In this interview, the depths of Tazme’s confidence reminded me of my childhood: having every inhibition down, dressing up and being a star. I felt disarmed and inspired by Tazmé’s message to us all: challenge yourself to fail, but more importantly just take action.

CEC audience is most certainly familiar with the Cape Town nightlife community The Death of Glitter (D.O.G) and know about the South African art community that is Kutti Collective, but it’s an honor to talk to Tazmé personally and to learn more about this creative force. Many people know him as the ‘mother of the Mother City’s club kids’ and as the creative behind D.O.G and Poppers, but he also works as a freelance music journalist with DJ Mag and has so much knowledge to share. He’s created a life that is so much more than a party, and we’re all invited. 

Grace: Could you tell us a little about your background and what led you to this point?

Tazmé: Growing up I always wanted to be famous but I’ve come to realize that that desire wasn’t about fame. I recognized fame as a symptom of being a successful artist. It’s recognition for your work, not so much recognition for you. As a kid, I was always exploring channels of expression.

Although I was a very natural performer, I never expected myself to be working or building any sort of career in the music industry. I studied acting at the University of Cape Town and as I developed creatively, it was also a case of understanding that perhaps my love of performance also extended beyond just the actor performance. I realized that there’s a lot more to my artistry.

Grace: D.O.G is a leader in the promotion of local queer, trans and gender-non conforming artists, which plays an incredibly important role in representing those who have been marginalised as well as developing a community for self-expression in an inclusive way. Could you tell us a bit about the inception of D.O.G?

Tazmé: I started investing in night life while I was on campus – it was an opportunity for me to explore all the facets of that creative instinct, not just the performer. The Death of Glitter was also about creating space, taking the way that I would present myself and putting it into a larger context so that other people could experience it and other people could find it for themselves.

I’ve always been obsessed with glam rock culture and David Bowie, club kid culture. It’s that really decadent hedonistic era from the late ’70s into the early 90s. I associate that vibe with ‘gender fucking’. I felt very connected to those modes of expression with an anarchical edge. So, when I turned 21, my mom asked what I’d like to do to celebrate. I said, “I want to throw a party, but I want to throw a glam rock kind of era party called The Death of Glitter.” She replied, “Don’t you just want to get a cake?”. 

I did some research and fell in love with the long history of the venue EVOL on Hope Street, and decided that was the perfect location for my 21st. There was a certain kind of energy in the room that night that the manager, Bernard, in particular picked up on. Six months later, we hosted the first public D.O.G and it was packed to capacity – it was called ‘Unsex Me Here’. That’s how it began.

The first five parties that I ever threw were named after quotes from or titles of theater shows because obviously I was that much of a nerd. ‘Unsex Me Here’, ‘Venus In fur’, you get the jist. 

Grace: D.O.G has so many important values in its manifesto, including accessibility and making a utopia, personal expression, liberation, subversion, moving beyond one’s reality and of course, fun. What would you say you’re most looking forward to about future D.O.G events?

Tazmé: Manic frivolity! I just want to create spaces of chaotic fun. The party that we did last year, for instance, which was our relaunch at The Factory, was really beautiful, but I wanted to pull it back to this punk anarchy that reminded me of the early days of Evol: making shit out of nothing. 

Especially at this time in the world, I think there’s a heaviness everywhere. I’ve been very focused on making this particular event something that feels rooted in queer joy and absolute queer chaos. I don’t know if it’s going to be the most comfortable experience. That’s never really something that I try to do. I like spaces to challenge people in a way that might just shift them out of their modes of expectation, out of their comfort zones. In doing that you really do explore the potential of making a queer utopia reality. It’s that subversion. It exploded beyond my expectation and suddenly there was a very dedicated following. It’s still incredibly important to me to be subverting whatever expectations people have.

Grace: I loved reading your review on Greenday live at DHL Stadium. What are some of your favorite sounds of your childhood that have influenced you? It could be another band or perhaps something less archived, like a sound from your youth growing up in Durban.

Tazmé: It’s the sound of my grandmother’s kitchen. I still think about it. That’s a space where I spent a lot of time as a child in particular but also I think it’s a really important space that taught me a lot about strength in femininity.

Grace: I found your writing on the photo essay with Alok-Vaud Menon, captured by Meghan Daniels extremely moving, but further to this, your capacity for expansion, care, support, mobilisation with people in your community is unparalleled. Could you share a bit about what community means to you?

Tazmé: Community is actually the driving force of everything that I do and everything that I make. We’re in the middle of a really terrifying time in the world and now is a time for action. I’m genuinely scared for people and I’m scared for my kids and my sisters because of the sudden spike in far-right thinking and fascism. It’s not a time for us to use buzzwords, it’s a time for us to do. 

There was a point where my practice switched from me looking inward to me looking outward. Community is possibly the most essential facet to everything that I do. I really hope that the things I do and create can continue to bring people together. Even if it’s bringing people together in modes of disagreement, at least it’s creating discourse. 

My process has evolved in such a way that now when I think and I conceptualize things, it’s with that in mind at the forefront and how is it going to affect the community.

This has been a labor of love for so many people. Looking through the archives of our older parties on Facebook shows how this is a history of Cape Town. Seeing images of Brett Seiler writing poems on the wall or Lindsay Raymond painting vaginas. It’s this whole insane congregation. Seeing how everyone has come into themselves is really special.

Grace: You’ve created some of the most iconic looks over the years, including Yzma from ‘Emperors New Groove’ or your own curated creations (like your all-pink-glitter look with the giant bow) – fashion and performance are tools to express identity. What have been some of your most memorable or favorite looks to date?

Tazmé: I love working with people. BLÜNKE for example, who unfortunately has left the fashion world (I’m in mourning) and I created some of my favourite pieces. Kayn Hosac made an iconic piece for me for D.O.G last May, which was a PVC gown with a hood and spikes on it – a huge club kid fantasy covered in 1200 safety pins. That look in particular felt like the culmination of everything I had been doing up until this point – there was a refinement and confidence.

Grace: Could you share a little bit about your process, when you’re imagining a setlist, a piece of writing, the art direction of an event, an outfit – are they all very different processes or would you say you have a recipe to draw from to begin a creative endeavor?

Tazmé: It’s a lot of work. I think that people don’t see it though, which means that I’m doing a good job. I need to learn to allow myself to slow down because I feel like my process is just constantly happening all the time. 

All of a sudden my brain is going in a million different directions. I asked my best friend last month, “Do you also have a filing cabinet in your brain? I have this idea and then I put it in a folder in the filing cabinet. Then I’ll come back to it when it fits in place somewhere else. It’s an archive.”

The process for me in bringing something to life. It begins with an idea, spark of inspiration or concept and then I will sit down with my team. Doing this party with Johan has been the most pivotal thing over the past four years. He’s one of the greatest creator partners I’ve ever worked with simply because he’s one of the only people around me who can say no. I am definitely the type of artist who needs collaborative energies. I can have some really insane ideas that need engineering.

Grace: Toni Morrison said, “Your life is already artful – waiting, just waiting for you to make it art.” You have been so prolifically artful in your life already – embodying and actioning the creativity within you. What advice would you give to people who are perhaps struggling with their creative expression?

Tazmé: Follow your goddamn instinct and make bad art. Fail. Because if you do those three things, you’re going to learn to trust yourself. You’re also going to learn to have conversations with yourself that may lead you to a point where you can create with the kind of confidence that doesn’t depend on other people liking it. There’s so much pressure to be a commercially viable artist or create a certain type of work that appeals to an audience. Fuck that. Make work that makes you feel like you’re fulfilling that thing inside you. If you fail at it, just try again. Keep trying.

There certainly is so much more to Tazmé’s artistry than the clubkid he has been known as. There’s a power in creating a space that acts as a small city, with both public and private spaces, where we are challenged both as a society and to rebel against the confines of our own creative capacities. Chew on that.

Written by Grace Crooks

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