That’s us sorted for the World Cup in South Africa next year, then.

The accommodation’s arranged – yes, you can come, too; just bring your sleeping bag – and there’s a bus, presumably an extra large one, being readied to transport us all to the matches. There’s one snag, though … our host is predicting a South Africa vs Scotland final.

A more credible, nay possible, scenario would have Ladysmith Black Mambazo playing for South Africa. They look fit enough, turning on some heroic physical feats in between and sometimes while singing, entirely a cappella, like a choir of angels.

As Paul Simon discovered when he involved them in his Graceland album, an event remembered here through a beautifully rendered Homeless, Joseph Shabalala can marshal voices like a pianist can finger chords. Some of the voices featured back then have been replaced by younger ones, four of them belonging to Shabalala’s sons, but the sound remains as rich, velvety and uplifting as ever.

At times it’s as if they’re performing a kind of musical deep breathing, which given the dances, leaps and mock one-upmanship that illustrate these songs, might just be the case.

They flatter as well as entertain, assuring the audience that we’ve beaten them in a singing contest – a claim that leads to one dissenting voice in the group trying to strike a bargain that involves borrowing all the women present – and while one or two songs become a mite bogged down in lengthy call and response routines, the overall effect of those voices is undeniably uplifting.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo,

Royal Concert Hall, Glasgow,

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