two of khumalo's works, "shades of words" and "cry out", have particularly gained significant critical reception. reviewing the festival d'automne performance of "shades of words", martin kaltenecker writes,andile khumalo's shades of words is a melodrama built upon spoken poems (sent by mail to a friend of the composer) accompanied by seven instruments which envelop the poetic fragments with subtle and often 'sciarrinian' textures.george lewis has also written of the piece,this extraordinarily compact composition performs with aplomb the bridging of the temporal gulf between words, which can generate an entire network of associations in an instant, and music, which despite its reputation for immediacy, takes its time to construct its environment. while many composers routinely report their interest in "time"–a seeming truism–the implication of khumalo's composition goes beyond now-conventional disruptions and transgressions of disciplinary boundaries. shades of words transposes disciplinary contentions and struggles for meaning to a higher and more resonant register that asks us how to reconcile two experiences of time: one in remembrance, recollection, and fantasy, where indeterminacy and agency meet, and the other on a (now often virtual) page, operating in the interstices between immediacy and permanence.while these reviews are mostly positive, lukas ligeti has suggested that khumalo's music is derivative:andile khumalo's shades of words, a setting of poetry by alexandra zelman-doring, was written in the style of european post-second-viennese- school/darmstadt modernism. the relevance of this eurocentric music to the cultural situation in south africa is debatable, and newly-created music in this idiom is almost inevitably derivative. perhaps khumalo, now back in south africa after many years of studies in germany and the united states, will yet develop a south african slant to this style of music, leading to a more individual voice. of cry out, kaltenecker writes that the pieceproved to be a virtuosic piece played mezza voce, culminating at the very end in a striking texture of strident sounds, the oboist turning to play the woodblocks in dialogue with high pizzicati from the viola and the piano.other critical perspectives on the composer have tended to consider his role as a non-western composer writing in a style largely ascribed to western composers. chris van rhyn, for instance, has written that while many composers in post-apartheid south africa reverted to an accessible musical aesthetic rooted in basic tonal concepts, khumalo tends to compose in a more abstract manner. of this, van rhyn suggests that perhaps in the case of [khumalo], it served a young black south african composer well to not reproduce [the shift an accessible aesthetic], so as to challenge persisting notions of the african as primitive (natural, tonal) compared to the west as modern (universal, abstract). when looking at the other works by khumalo in my possession (iso(r) for flute, cello and piano (2004), ossia for clarinet and cello (2010) and schaufe(r)nster for piano (2011)), it is clear that khumalo does not aim to always denote 'africa' in his works.georg beck suggests a similar defiance in khumalo's music when he writes of cry out that das klug und einfühlsam gebaute ensemblestück des jungen schwarzafrikanischen komponisten andile khumalo, hielt denselben konsequent [unter einer wispernden, stetig gespannten oberfläche verborgen. musik, die (gegen die erwartungen unseres "postkolonialen" bewusstseins) gerade nicht die große geste sucht, keine schwarze faust zeigt, die vielmehr auf einer sehr europäisch geschulten material- und instrumentalebene elementare fragen eines südafrikanischen komponisten von heute verhandelt: wie kann das individuum, hier die bratsche, allen gegenläufigen umständen im ensemble zum trotz, seinen weg gehen?[the clever and sensitive ensemble of the young black african composer andile khumalo, concealed [the notion of crying out] consistently under a whispering, constantly tensioned surface. music, which does not seek the great gesture (against the expectations of our "post-colonial" consciousness), does not show a black fist, but rather, through very european material and at an instrumental level, asks the elementary question of contemporary south african composers: how can the individual (the viola here) have its way, despite all opposing circumstances in the ensemble?]