Another Musical Interlude - South African Music

In an earlier post, I thought about songs, musicians and composers that inspired me. Not one of those songs or pieces of music were from a South African musician or band, so I thought I’d rectify that and take a look at the wealth of artists our country has given to the world.

In South Africa during the 1980s, times were turbulent. The country was in the grip of a National State of Emergency, and this gave the state almost unlimited powers to detain anyone (without trial) for expressing an opinion contrary to the hegemonic patriarchy of the day. This gave rise to an unprecedented period of musical opposition. International bands were beginning to take notice, and some incredible protest songs were produced. South African bands no less so; however, because of the perfidious Detention without Trial, these musicians had to get creative with their protests. I’ve put together a list of songs which were part of my early and late teens. Each represents a song that had a special meaning for me.

Best Golden Oldie - the one that started it all

 One of the first songs I remember hearing by a South African musician is Kinders van die Wind (Children of the Wind) by Koos Du Plessis. This song has enjoyed a long life, thanks to singer Laurika Rauch, who performs it to perfection. Although Laurika's version is best known today, I have included the original in tribute to the songwriter. 

 

Best International Struggle Song

 There are a few songs which could be mentioned here, but for me, it was Biko by Peter Gabriel. A South African by birth, he fronted the hugely successful Genesis before embarking on a stellar solo career. His poignant tribute to Steven Biko, who died at the hands of prison guards in one of the most shameful acts in a sea of shameful acts this country endured, is a musical tour de force and still resonates today. I cannot hear this song without wondering how much richer a nation we would have been if Mr Biko had not been taken so young. 

Best English speaking Struggle Song 

The tragedy of the human condition is nowhere better expressed than in Bright Blue's song Weeping. It is quite simply one of the most beautiful songs ever written. 

The Granddaddy of South African Music 

No list of South African music can ever exclude the incredible Johnny Clegg. His first band, Juluka, formed with close friend Sipho Mchunu burst onto the music scene in South Africa in the late 1970s. The international markets quickly embraced him, and he became known as Le Zoeloe Blanc (the White Zulu) in France, where his concert in 1992 outsold Michael Jackson's. Juluka gave way to Johnny Clegg and Savuka, and further success ensued. As a sought after solo artist, Johnny Clegg still performs today, and his son Jesse is making a name for himself as a musician also. A lot of the songs that Juluka and Suvuka produced were struggle songs, and the best of these is Asimbonanga (we have not seen him) written for Nelson Mandela during his incarceration on Robben Island.  If you watch the clip all the way to the end, the great man himself, Tata Madiba, makes an appearance.

The first song of Juluka's that I ever heard was Scatterlings of Africa, which spoke to me on a very personal level. I am one of the scatterlings, and I feel the red earth in my veins and the copper sun on my skin. 

Best Campus Band- English 

For me, this is and always will be The Spectres. I met the band at university, and loved them from the beginning. More pop and less struggle, nonetheless, the band was very politically sentient and were ardent members of the End Conscription Campaign. Their song "Teddy Bear" enjoyed national radio play, and is probably their best-known song. However, the title track from the album Be-Bop Pop called Vox Populi (the voice of the people) is my favourite. I can't choose between the two, so I offer them both for your listening pleasure. 

Best Campus Band - Afrikaans 

During the 1980s, disaffected Afrikaners began a musical revolution. It started with the Voelvry (free as a bird) tour, and produced Afrikaans musicians such as Koos Kombuis, Gereformeerde Blues Band and many, many more. They opened the way for many South African musicians today, both English and Afrikaans. This was the birth of Afrikaans Alternative music, and I was thrilled to witness it first-hand. 

In 1998, an outdoor concert called "Houtstok" (Woodstock) was held. I went, and it was spectacular. The evening ended with Joos Tonteldoos en die Dwaarstrekkers putting a spin on "Wild Thing". 

You can hear the song here.  

Best Afrikaans Love Song 

 I can't offer a list of South African musicians without mentioning the incredibly talented late Ralph Rabie. As the leader of the Gereformeerde Blues Band he gained fame as Johannes Kerkorrel, bringing a scathing critique of white middle class indolence and complacency to life. He tragically took his own life in 2002. His beautiful ballad about Hillbrow, a suburb of Johannesburg in which I lived for 2 years, is nothing less than a love song. 

 Best Afrikaans Struggle Song 

This is a very controversial song, because the struggle it refers to is the Boer struggle during what is now known as the South African War (previously Anglo-Boer war). I've included it because this is part of my heritage too. My great-grandmother fought against the English in the South African War, and was interred in a concentration camp. It is a beautiful song, and pays tribute to a great leader. 

There are many artists and bands that I have left out, and the new generation of singers and songwriters are doing a fine job of keeping the flame alive. 

I am going to leave you with one last song. I love the energy of this song, and it never fails to get my feet tapping! Big by Qkumba Zoo. 

The nature of loss

As part three of my "nature of" trilogy, I thought I would take a look at loss. Whenever we think about loss, as opposed to losing something, there are always deep emotions involved. As a child, I suffered a traumatic loss at age 10. My mother died, a terrible loss in itself, but as I look back on the 36 years since her death, it is the small losses that devastate us. 

My mother never got the chance to see me grow into a woman, see me fall in love for the first time, nurse my inevitable broken heart when it went wrong. She didn't see me walk down the aisle on my father's arm, or see the birth of her grandson (my nephew). 

For a long time, I never spoke about this. People are uncomfortable with grief, and don't really know how to respond. As a child, I sensed this. More than anything else, I didn't want pity, so I never spoke about my mother. This repression was almost as damaging as the event itself. I trained myself to show no emotion, to wear a mask, and to ignore the pain, with catastrophic results for the adult me. My brain now believes that to show emotion is to show weakness. To ask for help is to show weakness. To allow people to see the anxious girl behind the confident woman is weakness. And weakness is not acceptable. If I trust someone and they hurt me, somehow that is my fault. I was the fool for trusting. 

Now, having experienced the aftershock of my loss, I see that this was wrong. I see that trusting someone and being hurt is not my weakness or failing, it is the other person's. I see that showing emotion makes you human, not weak. And I am beginning to see that being able to get up and go to work even when I was terrified to leave the house, makes me strong, not weak. 

As I write this, a friend of mine is going through a terrible loss. Her husband died suddenly in January, and she is coming to terms with the loss of her soulmate. She was very kind to me when we were at school. I was a few years younger, struggling with my demons, and she cared. I met her husband once, and he was a wonderful man, taken too young. But as long as she and their children continue to love and honour his memory, he will live on. 

I regret that I never knew my mother as anything other than "mom". I didn't get to find out the type of person she was, what her dreams were, and how she would have helped shape the person I might have become if she had lived. 

To J, keep remembering him, keep talking about him, keep his incredible spirit alive as you have been doing this year. As the anniversary approaches, know that there are many people who are standing with you, in spirit if not in person, and we are all there to provide what little comfort we can. You inspired me all those years ago, and you continue to do so now.

The nature of friendship

In my last post, I talked about the nature of change and how I haven't seen most of my class-mates since 1985. I have stayed in contact with a few, but by and large, my deep friendships started when I left school. However, it was at school that I met one of my closest and dearest friends. She stayed only a year, but during that year a friendship formed that has " looked upon tempests, and is not shaken", in the immortal words of William Shakespeare (Sonnet 116). 

She lives halfway around the world from me, in Canada. We stayed in touch sporadically after she went back, but that thread holding us together always remained firm. 11 years ago I tried to find her. I was going through a divorce, and I yearned to reconnect with her. I couldn't find her. I tried a lot of things, but she remained elusive. 

Five years later, in 2009, she found me. Our thread was still connected! When I opened up the e-mail from her, I immediately burst into tears. It was a moment of such emotion that I was overwhelmed by it. We have managed to stay in touch ever since, and thanks to the marvels of modern technology, can speak to each other, text each other or like a post on Facebook. 

I have that thread with very few other people. Some because I have never lost touch with them, so the thread never tightens. Others because that is not the nature of our friendship. 

Today I felt the tug of the thread again. I worked on a project in Poland in 2011, and met someone who became one of my best friends. He supported me in my dark days, and I supported him during his. We were geographically apart, but never more than a call or text away from each other. He married, had children and moved to Australia, and slowly, as one does, we lost touch. This morning, his birthday, we chatted for over 4 hours. It was as if we had never stopped talking. We slipped back into our friendship like a comfy pair of slippers. 

Friendship is one of the most important things you can ever experience. It nourishes us, and the delight of hearing from old friends is measureless. 

I am not one for resolutions. I like lists, remember. But I am making a promise to myself that I will keep in contact with more of my friends who are far away. Just because we don't see each other often (sometimes for years) doesn't mean that we can't be in each other's lives. No-one is ever too busy to type up a few lines to say "my friend, how are you?". Life is fleeting, and one day I might be sorry that I didn't do it more often.