I’ve been a fan of Ladysmith Black Mambazo since I first heard their soul-stirring harmonies on Paul Simon’s Graceland album in 1986.

I finally got to see them perform live when they came to Houston in 2014. Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, I felt deeply moved by their energy and voices.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s sound is unlike anything else—rich, resonant, and deeply spiritual.

The group’s origins go back to the early 1960s, when a young Joseph Shabalala, a farm boy from Ladysmith, began forming a vocal ensemble with his brothers and cousins. He named the group “Ladysmith” for his hometown, “Black” for the strength of the oxen on his family’s farm, and “Mambazo,” Zulu for “axe,” symbolizing their ability to cut down their musical rivals. But their mission was never about competition. It was about unity. Through decades of apartheid, change, and global transformation, they’ve carried the same message: peace, love, and harmony.

That mission came to life on stage at their concert at Jones Hall in Houston.

As their voices filled the hall, I closed my eyes and let the waves of isicathamiya wash over me. It’s a genre born in the hostels and mines of South Africa—soft, intricate harmonies sung in low tones, carrying stories of struggle, perseverance, and joy.

This show was especially meaningful because I attended with my wife, who lived in South Africa for nearly a decade. As they sang in Zulu, she leaned over to whisper translations, giving me cultural context I never would’ve picked up on my own. This deepened the experience and reminded me how music can open windows into other worlds.

Their current lineup—Thulani, Sibongiseni, Thamsanqa, and Msizi Shabalala; Albert and Abednego Mazibuko; Mfanafuthi Dlamini; Pius Shezi; and Sabelo Mthembu—has carried the torch beautifully. Each man brings his own energy to the group, but together they’re one voice, one heart.

The evening’s setlist was a carefully woven tapestry of the group’s classics, newer material, and traditional South African spirituals.

One of the most touching moments was their performance of “Homeless.” It took me right back to the first time I heard their voices as a teenager. The harmonies were just as haunting, just as moving, maybe more so, now that I understood them more deeply.

There were also moments of levity.

At one point, one of the singers encouraged the audience to sing along in Zulu. We gave it our best shot. We stumbled over the syllables, laughing at ourselves.

He smiled, clapped his hands, and said, “That was perfect!”

That brief exchange reminded me that joy, too, is a universal language.

The true highlight of the evening came after the show.

A dear friend from South Africa arranged for us to meet the group backstage. I didn’t know what to expect. These were global icons, after all. But they greeted us like old friends. Humble, kind, and gracious.

Before we left, they sang for us one more time, their voices echoing softly in that quiet backstage space.

It was an intimate moment I’ll never forget.

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