In Conversation with Kozo Zwane

For Kozo Zwane, music isn’t just a career, it’s a calling shaped by cities, spirituality, and an ongoing search for truth. Now based between Johannesburg and Cape Town, Kozo moves with an artistic fluidity that reflects both his roots and his aspirations. “Cape Town shaped much of my taste, while Joburg, on the other hand, is changing my approach to my career,” he says. The duality between these cities continues to define his evolving sound.

Kozo’s musical journey started early in his life. “I grew up in church, so the first time I sang in front of people, I was about eight,” he recalls. Although financial constraints kept him from attending the Drakensberg Boys’ Choir School, he eventually found his way back to songwriting in high school, inspired by friends who rapped. “Since then, it’s been a quiet constant until 2019, when I decided to give it a proper try. Somehow, along the way, it became a career – I don’t even know when exactly, but it did.”

At the core of Zwane’s artistry is spirituality – something he sees as central to how and why he creates. “I’ve been trying to reconnect with customs that were lost when my grandfather moved from Paulpietersburg to Joburg and became a bishop,” he explains. This reconnection process, which includes honouring his elders and traditions alongside Christian teachings, grounds him. “Learning how to pray, still informed by the church, but also acknowledging more than just Christ, opened me up to hearing from my elders too.” He adds, “Praying before doing anything music-related helps me understand the seriousness of this calling. Spirituality is central, even when choosing who to work with, there needs to be a mutual understanding on that level.”

That same alignment plays a critical role in collaboration. “There has to be a shared understanding,” Kozo explains. Whether working with artists like Muneyi or others, he says the connection is organic. “It never feels forced—there’s no resistance, just placement and flow.”

Kozo once wrote, “create from what you hope for”, a phrase that has come to define his writing. It’s a lesson rooted in wisdom passed down from those he looks up to. “Dr Nduduzo Makhathini said that during isiGuqo. And I remember Dr Jonas Gwangwa once said, ‘If you listen carefully to all South African music, that cry is there.’ That lament, that longing—it’s generational.” Even when his work carries sorrow, Zwane sees it through a lens of hope. “Looking back at my work from around 2021, when I moved to Cape Town, I realised that even when the music sounded sad, the writing was about hope. Now, I ask myself: What do you actually wish for? What does that love look like? It’s no longer about the lack, but about imagining the presence of what I desire.”

While many artists find comfort in performing solo, Zwane finds joy in company. “I prefer performing with others. It creates a sense of conversation—someone else in the room understands what’s happening behind the scenes, and that comforts me.” He adds, “I initially wanted an orchestra, a choir—the full setup—but I had to simplify. Now I’m happy having one or two people on stage with me and still feeling held.”

That appreciation for shared moments extends beyond the stage. “I was in a band with Sanele from Operation Khathaza. We learnt guitar at the same time, practised together, and pushed each other to perform regardless of fear.” With artists like Muneyi, he’s learned to command a room. “Every person I share a stage with teaches me something I couldn’t learn alone.”

Despite his growing reputation, Zwane still primarily releases solo work on SoundCloud, while his collaborative features land on platforms like Apple Music and Spotify. “Recording is expensive,” he says plainly. “Performing helps fund recording, so for now, I don’t want to put myself in a position where I work at a loss. I’d rather build sustainably.” It’s a strategic decision shaped by practicality and purpose.

In recent years, Zwane has embraced a shift in perspective when it comes to performing live. “I got that from performing with the likes of Muneyi” he says. “It’s allowed me to be more forgiving of myself. In school, there was this constant pressure to be polished. But when I attended a live rehearsal by Msaki, I realized that what moves an audience is honesty, not perfection.” For Zwane, the stage is now “ongoing rehearsal,” a space to embrace imperfection and presence alike.

That intentionality extends to his creative process. “I’m more conscious when writing for features because I’m in a shared space,” he explains. “With my own music, it usually starts with me playing around until something comes together. I can be more experimental at home, even scream at odd hours just to get an idea out. After praying, I feel free to explore.”

Even when not explicit, the emotional core of South African music – what Dr Jonas Gwangwa called “the cry” – is ever-present. “I think lament is always there, whether we acknowledge it or not,” Zwane reflects. “Even in Amapiano, beneath the surface of party music, there are spiritual statements and social commentary.”

Unapologetically honest, Zwane doesn’t shy away from vulnerability in his work. “If I’m not being honest, what’s the point?” he asks. “For Muneyi’s EP, I had to write from the perspective of a villain—and to be fair, I have been a villain. I’ve been inconsiderate, cold. But vulnerability doesn’t scare me if I’m telling the truth.”

And when it comes to what he wants people to take away from his music, his answer is both simple and profound. “Besides truth, nothing. I don’t make music for the audience, not in a self-righteous way. I’m grateful that people resonate with it, but what they take from it is not up to me. All I can do is share. Whoever receives it, receives it—and what they receive is between them and God.”