PIGGS PEAK

When films were invented in the late 1800s they were called silent pictures or moving pictures. Silent because they didn’t come with any sound, just title cards to narrate the story or dialogue. Sound wasn’t incorporated into film and theatre until the 1920s, before that live musicians and orchestras would serenade the performance for dramatic effect. When recorded audio was introduced into cinema in 1926 it changed the game and paved the way for sync music. Music then became a powerful storytelling tool used to deepen emotion, define a character, and anchor a scene to a specific moment.

In an attempt to bring music into conversation with cinema, we’ve transformed our playlists from our Omasah Estate Television Residency into living, breathing narratives. This segment of the residency is called 'Scenes From Imaginary Films' with our first feature being PIGGS PEAK, which is written and curated by LDK_TheNoble, through imagining the soundtrack to a South African crime drama shaped by ambition, poverty, love, betrayal, and grief. Through a carefully sequenced collection of R&B, Soul, and kindred sounds, the playlist traces the emotional journey of a young graduate whose search for a better life draws him into the murky depths of the criminal underworld.

Set against the backdrop of economic hardship and the familiar rhythms of township life, Piggs Peak follows a protagonist caught between survival and morality. What begins as a temporary return home after university slowly unfolds into a story about desperation, newfound wealth, fractured family ties, and the cost of chasing freedom in a country where opportunity often feels out of reach. Each song functions as a scene, soundtrack cue, or chapter, revealing moments of triumph and tenderness before descending into tragedy and loss. In Piggs Peak, every track is a frame in a larger picture—one that asks us to consider how sound can shape memory, place, and the complicated realities of modern South Africa.

Economic Reset

BETTY BROWN — Hometown

Your uncle picks you up from King Phalo Airport, skinnier than you remember, but looking more enthusiastic than ever. You can’t tell if he’s on something or just happy to see you. You load up your luggage in his beat up Toyota sedan, exchange greetings and a brief handshake. He’s very chatty on the drive home, but you’re barely responsive. Your mind falls adrift, you’re watching how familiar places have fallen further into ruin. You haven’t been back in over 2 years, and this reminds you why. But you’re done with varsity now, and have nowhere else to be, so you’re back in your Hometown. Back in the economic cage you came from, but it’s only temporary, you tell yourself.

Kazi Ya Sanaa — Lebo's Despair

What you told yourself would be temporary starts feeling permanent, days, weeks, and months go by. The days, all the same—slow and excruciating, you feel the claustrophobia of being trapped in a township house with 4 other individuals all dependent on one basic salary, a pension fund, and side hustles. Your daily routine is also contributing to your despair—wake and bake, job portals and emails, doom scrolling, repeat. Your saved up funds are depleting and you no longer recognise the man in the mirror, the poverty is eroding you slowly. You need to get out of here or start making your own money before you lose yourself permanently.

Piggs Peak

Marcus Harvey — Save Myself

One random Tuesday your phone starts ringing, and the thought of a job offer you can’t miss makes you run towards it. You don’t recognize the number, but you know +2437 is the area code for Piggs Peak. You pick up and hear a familiar voice on the line, brief but frantic, there is a problem that needs to be solved. You pace back and forth, scratch your head and snap your fingers a couple times, till you get the light bulb moment you were searching for and call back with a solution. A week later you receive a delivery package for your troubles. Randoms start frequenting your grandmother’s house and all your money problems disappear. “I gotta save myself..” is what you say to reconcile with your actions.

Lusanda — Progress

It’s 8 months in, business is booming and you take frequent out of town trips to Piggs Peak, Swaziland. It’s one of those trips, the sun is setting behind your back, and you’re in the midst of a long drive home. A smirk spreads across your face, the thought of the Progress you’ve made is dancing in your internal dialogue. You suddenly see all the things you could now achieve, somewhere beyond the economic circumstances you were caged in before. You just bought a car 2 months back, secured a lease in an uptown apartment complex and moving out of the hood in a couple of weeks.

Umabukisa

Lia Butler — Umabukisa

Tensions are rising in the house, no one is happy about your newly found income streams. Your granny says you’re bringing her unnecessary attention, your uncle thinks you’re a show off, and your mother is convinced that you’re lost beyond redemption. Arguments happen on a regular basis, you just can’t wait to move into your new apartment in an upscale neighbourhood where people stay out of each other's business. You host a farewell party of some sort on your last weekend. It’s both chaos and fun at the same time, everyone came through, neighbours, family, old friends—a recipe for disaster. An argument breaks out, people are calling you out and projecting their disappointments and expectations on you. They don’t seem to understand your decisions, they couldn’t, they’re too complacent with their lives.

Ngihamba Nawe

lordkez — Aweh

You’ve been in the new neighbourhood for a minute now, you’re settling in and making friends. However, you still stick out like a sore thumb, both your style and vocabulary are different, sharp but clean. The women are intrigued by your mystique, but you don’t pay them any mind. At least not until you met her, an outspoken socialite with an air synonymous to the 90s. You met her at a party, disappeared together for 2 hours, kissing and conversing in the back of your car. It’s been a regular thing since then, and she’s cool with who you are, uhambe nawe.

Mars Baby, Filah Lah Lah — Guide Me

She breaks down all the walls and insecurities that had previously kept love at bay. You’ve never experienced this before, you’ve run from it anytime it came close, but not this time. Her nurturing tendencies make you feel loved, supported, and safe. She’s the one, you don’t need any convincing further than this. You become inseparable, tethered to each other, and her falling pregnant by you reinforces this permanence. You’ve never been religious, but you find yourself praying, “Lord please, guide me, don’t allow me to mess this up.”

Re Philela Zaka!

Marcus Harvey — Mapula

You haven’t been home since the family fell out of touch, granny hasn’t even seen your kid yet. Life has kept you busy, you’re fresh into fatherhood, winging it and making things work—comfortable with where you are. You get an unexpected call one late night, it’s your neighbour from back home, granny is having an emergency, and there is no one to tend to her. She has been alone for some time now, both your uncle and mother are somewhere unknown with another one of their seasonal lovers. This breaks your heart, knowing that the woman who cared for you as a baby has been suffering in silence while you could willingly buy her the whole world. She’s too prideful, she can never ask for anything from you.

ThandoNje, Saul Madiope — Go & Get IT

It’s lung cancer—60 years of smoking a traditional tobacco pipe can do that to a person, mind you she’s 83. The doctors are saying something about surgery, but all you’re hearing is more medical expenses. Where are you going to get all this money? Her pension won’t even make a dent from what you can estimate, and her kids, your mother and uncle are not to be depended on. There’s no other way, you have to Go & Get It, the only way you know how. You find a legitimate job, somewhere corporate, but you still keep the side hustle. With your grandmother’s dire health and your own family's needs, you need about every scent you can get.

Marcus Harvey — Lerato

You’ve been working your 9 to 5 for a while now, the side hustle is still booming, you’ve even had to bring a few people on board. Granny has been doing okay, you talk frequently on the phone, the family is great, and you still make out of town trips to Piggs Peak. But “mathata ga a fele”, the troubles never end. Your estranged uncle comes to you begging and pleading, battered and bruised, he’s in huge debt. His knack for keeping up with appearances has left him owing the wrong people money. Principle forbids you from feeling any empathy for him, this is the same person who indulged in your suffering. You can’t, so you tell him that you don’t have the kind of money. You feel justified, you work for yours and do right by your people.

Grandma Mirriam

Kazi Ya Sanaa — Long Island Ice Tea

Yes your granny is religious, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t drink. She’s a firm believer of good cocktails, Long Island Ice Tea to be precise. You’ll find her sitting in the veranda on Saturday afternoons, enjoying a cold one, toking on her tobacco pipe, and watching people go about their daily lives. Your uncle, who’s now turned fugitive to your granny’s house, schemes with your mother to lace granny's drink so they can benefit off life insurance claims. Her, being in equal financial disrepute, she agrees and executes without mercy. You get the call on a Sunday morning, and your world just comes crashing down.

Wav Gardn, Ovuyonke — Abaphantsi

It’s the evening before the funeral, you’re back home in the townships, everyone is. You’re sleeping in your old room with a few other distant relatives, the lights are off, you’re making small talk trying to fall asleep. Then suddenly you find yourself speaking alone, they’re sleeping, some are even snoring. You stare at the ceiling for a while, then the tears start streaming down the side of your face and puddling in your ears. No sound, just a clenched jaw, and a gaping hole in your chest. You have a vivid dream that evening where you meet your granny in an open field, she’s smoking her pipe, she reassures you that she’s okay, she’s with Abaphantsi. You wake up sadder and heavier than before, but hopeful still.

Hurting & Healing

Roho — Disaster Artist

It’s weeks after the funeral, you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. You’re barely home, partying more than you usually do, and you’re surrounded by an entourage of people you don’t even recognize. You’re doing too much, splurging on everything, because “I’ll do whatever you want me to” is the motto you live by. Masquerading behind false friendships and fast women, but really, you’re such a disaster, in a terrible state. Your girlfriend has grown tired of your new found lifestyle, taken the child, and moved back to her mothers house.

Filah Lah Lah — VAUGHN'S SONG

You can’t keep wallowing in your own sadness. You pick your heart up, dust yourself off, and get back to your usual routines. Coffee, prayer, morning calisthenics, and early evening jogs. You’re finding solace in your shattered universe, but your heart still shudders when you see women dressed in the red & white church attire you can’t seem to forget. It’s been some time now, people keep telling you the time will heal, but you’re not too sure about it. You know your granny is in a better place, but it’s hard to let go.

Nanette — Letting You Go

Life has gotten back to the pace you’re familiar with, you’re back doing life with your little happy family. In fact, she’s your fiancée now, you’re busy with marriage preparations. However, it doesn’t feel the same without your gran, but if anything, you carry on, for her, and all the moments she’s missing. Rummaging through some of the mail you left unattended in your sombre days, you find that she left you her house, and a little something. You break down crying, painfully happy, letting her go. But the story doesn't, find out that your mother and uncle somehow cheated you out fraudulently...