I grew up just as
And it was probably no coincidence that the advent of teenage-based popular music coincided with advances made with radio broadcasting. Because, initially, it was from the radio, during the early 1960s, that we got most of our music.
A perusal of the South African Broadcasting Corporation’s website reveals that the first “wireless” broadcast in this country occurred in
Initially it broadcast in English, but Afrikaans soon followed, and African languages ensued in the 1940s.
The first commercial service, Springbok Radio, was introduced on May 1, 1950, with a full FM (frequency modulation) network starting in 1961, taking services countrywide. With various African language stations, and regional channels like Radio Good Hope (1965), Highveld (1964) and Port Natal (1967), by the time yours truly was five (in 1961), he was able to soak up those crisp, static-free radio waves to his heart’s content.
I tried to find a website listing Springbok Radio’s Top Twenty throughout it’s existence (it folded at midnight on December 31, 1985), but without success. However,
The late 1950s, as is to be expected, were dominated by Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers. According to the 1958 list, the Everlys’ All I Have To Do Is Dream was the top single. While I probably know that song only from having heard it much later, there are several I don’t know – though it is always possible on hearing them that they will register somewhere in the subconscious. The next tune from that year I recall is At The Hop (No 6) by Danny & the Juniors – though I know it from much later, at
I do not recall Elvis’s Don’t (No 10), but obviously know his Jailhouse Rock (No 11). Other songs that ring bells include Perry Como’s Catch A Falling Star, The Chipmunk Song by, well, The Chipmunks, and Jerry Lee Lewis’s Great Balls Of Fire, which always seemed to have a sexual connotation in a house of four boys and just one girl.
Of the top 20 hits in this country in 1959, only two were familiar to me – Cliff Richard’s Living Doll, at No 1, and Smoke Gets In Your eyes by The Platters (No 3). I cannot recall Elvis’s A Fool Such As I, which was No 2. Again, many of the others might be familiar if I heard them – like Buddy Holly’s It Doesn’t Matter Anymore (No 14). In fact, I think I know the Everly Brothers’ Till I Kissed You (No 11), but can’t be sure. Johnny Horton’s The Battle Of
Then came the Swinging Sixties. And what was on top of the charts in
As popular music grew in influence, many musicians and composers started to reflect these concerns, but few of them made it onto the charts in
But the era of records was not yet truly upon us in the early 1960s. Sure our folks had the odd 78, but initially we just got our kicks from the radio. My eldest brother, Ian, would have been seven in 1960, second eldest Alistair six, and me four going on five. But even at that young age, we were aware of the music that was happening around us. We knew Lonnie Donegan’s fun cockney tune My Old Man’s A Dustman (No 16 in 1960), Elvis’s Are You Lonesome Tonight? (12) and Roy Orbison’s Only The Lonely (14). Neil Sedaka’s Oh Carol must surely be the same song we got to know when Chuck Berry resurrected his career in the 1970s, and sang that song, which he composed.
Ricky Valance’s one-hit wonder, Tell Laura I Love Her, (No 20) was not familiar at the time, but when Billy Connolly did a rip-off of it decades later, I knew the song subliminally.
So much for 1960. The next year offered the same sort of fare, very much still a continuation of the 1950s, with Elvis’s Wooden Heart, which I can’t recall, topping the South African charts. Petula Clark’s Sailor (No 2) doesn’t spring readily to mind either. But this was the time when the Twist revolutionised dancing, and Chubby Checker was at No 7 with, well, The Twist. However, the crooners of that year made the most memorable impact. Danny Williams’s
Interestingly, one Mickie Most had a song, D In Love, at No 6 in 1961 in
None of the top three from 1962 can I readily recall – Telstar by the Tornadoes, I Remember You by Frank Ifield and The Locomotion by Little Eva (although the title rings serious bells). I do recall The Young Ones by Cliff Richard and the Shadows (No 4), Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling In Love (No 5) and Chubby Checker’s Let’s Twist Again (No 6). There were a couple more Elvis and Cliff songs on the charts, but the world was waiting for the great phenomenon of the Beatles, which occurred, in
So what was the top single in SA in 1963? It was indeed From Me To You by the Beatles. She Loves You (yeah, yeah, yeah) was at No 2, and for good measure, I Want To Hold Your Hand was at No 6, there just ahead of Op My Ou Ramkiekie by Dawie Couzyn and Doris Brasch, whoever they were. Other memorable tunes from that year were From A Jack To A King by Ned Miller (No 10) and Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday (No 12), which even kids today will know, so catchy is the song. I do recall seeing the film of the same name, but no doubt it was some years after the single became a hit. Slipping in at No 20 was a thing called Blame It On The Bossa Nova by Eydie Gorme. I’m sure I’d recognise it because the title’s so familiar, but I can’t recall it at all.
Not mentioned in these lists is the fact that in 1963, Bob Dylan released The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. While not to everyone’s taste, other sources indicate Blowin’ In The Wind and Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right did very well that year on local charts. So too did Peter, Paul and Mary with the Dylan song, Puff the Magic Dragon, which many later averred had drug connotations.
I find it hard to believe that the Beatles were a one-year wonder in this country, but it seems, according to these lists, that after 1963 they never again had the year’s top hit.
In 1964, that accolade went to Heart by Gene Rockwell – is that the one that goes: “Yes I’m telling you heart…”? Anyway, No 2 was You’re My World by Cilla Black (which I’m hazy on), though I do recall very well the No 3 hit, Chapel of Love by June Muscat: “Going to the chapel of love / Gonna get a married…” In fact, since I turned eight in 1964 and was that much older, it is small wonder that I know, even today, at least 60 percent of the top songs from that year. Remember how the Singing Nun became so popular with the French tune Dominique (No 5)? Then there was that immensely popular tune, Shabby Little Hut, by The Bats (No 7), one of the first really big South African hits. At No 11 was Cilla Black’s Anyone Who Had A Heart (boom boom), while The Shangri-Las made it to No 12 with Leader Of The Pack. I recall the sound of revving motorbikes on that one. Ray Charles’s Everyboy Loves Somebody (No 13) sounds familiar, while The Beatles made their first appearance at No 14 with A Hard Day’s Night. I remember Glad All Over (No 16) by the Dave Clark Five, and Sandie Shaw’s Always Something There To Remind Me (No 17). Finally, at No 19, there was the legendary Satchmo, Louis Armstrong, with Hello Dolly.
But the omission of the Beatles song, Can’t Buy Me Love, from this list seems glaring indeed.
By 1965 the pop machine was pumping out songs thick and fast. This year I score about 70 percent in terms of remembering the tunes from the top 20, not least the No 1 song, The Carnival Is Over, by the Seekers, an Australian group whose harmonising saw them integrate a folk rock sound into the mainstream of popular music. I don’t recall Gene Rockwell’s Torture (No 2 – what a title!), but the Beatles were up there at No 3 with Ticket To Ride. This was still at a time when the Beatles songs relied heavily on their tight harmonies, with neither John Lennon nor Paul McCartney really taking the lead as an individual on any of the tunes. The group pops up again at No 8 with Help!, the title track from my first Beatles album, which I would have got for probably my ninth birthday. The Beatles were to collide head-on that year with their main rivals, the Rolling Stones, whose catchy tune Under The Boardwalk came in at No 5. This song went nicely with the Bats’ Shabby Little Hut. Tom Jones had a magnificent voice, and was a favourite of my mother. His song, It’s Not Unusual (to be loved) was at No 9, while the delightful What’s New Pussycat was at No 18. The Seekers were really big that year, with World Of Our Own, which I also recall well, reaching No 10 that year.
The first local commercial success for that legend of our lifetime, Bob Dylan, came in the form of The Byrds’ rendition of Mr Tambourine Man, which was at No 14. Another
The Stones, cementing their success, reached No 17 that year in SA with Satisfaction, another of those songs which will live in our memories, and those of future generations, for a long, long time to come. Indeed, few other songs probably have as recognisable opening bars. Others will recall the Righteous Brothers’ Unchained Melody (No 19) and the Staccatoes’ Come Back Silly Girl (No 20), but I don’t.
It must have been around this time that we started listening to the shortwave broadcasts from LM Radio. The official announcement from this station, broadcasting out of the then
It was only be at the end of the Seventies that a worthy successor to LM Radio would emerge, with the advent of Capital Radio 604. But more about that later. In the mid-1960s we relied on Springbok Radio and LM Radio for the bulk of our sounds, along with a growing collection of seven-singles and the odd LP.
In 1966 I turned 10, and today can recall 16 of the 20 top singles of that year, according to the SA’s Rock Lists Website. Who, today, doesn’t know Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Are Made For Walking, which was at No 1? It has become a timeless classic.
I recall Jim Reeves’s Distant Drums (No 2), with its slow, steady beat, mostly due to a friend, many years later, parodying it by singing it in what we used to call a white-coloured accent: “I hear the sound – dum, dum, dum – of deeeeestant drums – dum, dum, dum – faaaarrrr away – dum, dum, dum – faaaaaarr away…”
Dickie Loader and the Blue Jeans were at nine with
Des Lindberg was a gem on the South African folk scene, and he pulled the mickey out of the hegemonic Afrikaans language with Die Gezoem Van Die Bye (No 11). How, as kids, we guffawed at the line about the aasvoels aas, which sounded rather rude. The New Vaudeville Band captivated many with Winchester Cathedral (No 12), while The Seekers’ The Carnival Is Over (No 14) was yet another winner from this melodious outfit. A sense of the exotic was provided by Guantanamera (No 15), by The Sandpipers, while I always enjoyed the way the sound speeded up to reach a crescendo, before again subsiding and then building up again in Bend It (No 16) by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beeky, Mick & Tich.
With the war in Vietnam starting to cause major schisms in the US between its supporters and those “peaceniks” vehemently opposed to it, it took a military man, Staff Sergeant Barry Sadler, to put the case for the defence with his ultra-patriotic Ballad Of The Green Berets (No 18). And with “bubblegum music” to the fore, two such songs concluded the top 20 – The Pied Piper by Crispian St Peters at 19 and Jimmy Come Lately by South African outfit Four Jacks & a Jill.
While this list excludes any Beatles songs in the Top 20 in 1966, it is interesting to note that in his book, South Africa In The 20th Century (Struik), Peter Joyce lists three Beatles songs among his selection of hit singles that year. They are Yellow Submarine, Eleanor Rigby and Paperback Writer. Also out that year, says Joyce, was California Dreaming by the Mamas and the Papas, reinforcing the
As I go through these lists, what they reveal to me is just how many memorable classics were composed in those years. Many have become part of the modern argot. While the term “silence is golden” is probably as old as the English language, today you cannot say it without thinking about the song by the same name which was a No 1 hit in this country for The Tremeloes in 1967.
If someone says to me: “I’m a believer”, I automatically hum the song by that name performed by The Monkees, which was at No 2. Engelbert Humperdinck’s The Last Waltz (No3) literally will last forever. No-one who heard it will forget it. So too for Sandy Posey’s Single Girl (No 4). We’ll forget
Tom Jones’s The Green Green Grass of Home (No 6) would be parodied by the youth, including us, when we started smoking dagga a few years later: “It’s good to smoke, the green green grass of home.”
Then there was that lovely whistled tune by, well, Whistling Jack Smith, called I Was Kaiser Bill’s Batman (No 7). And, despite a prejudice (born of apartheid) for Afrikaans at the time, I like many could sing along to Groep Twee’s Ou Kraalliedjie (No 9).
My mother was a Max Bygraves fan, but I can’t remember Remember When (No 10). But other classics were lurking in the lower half of the draw, including That’s My Desire (No 11) by The Hollies, and Timothy (No 12) by South Africa’s own Four Jacks & a Jill. Indeed, the song was so popular, an Afrikaans singer with a tricky name, Carike Keuzenkamp, also made a hit of it at No 14. I remember being asked by my teacher that year what my favourite song was and saying Timothy. I was right into all this commercial stuff. I was lapping it up! And there was so much of it about. At No 13, Engelbert powered through with Release Me, while Gene Rockwell had a hit with Save The Last Dance For Me. There were great songs galore this year, in terms of their lasting impact. Who’ll forget This Is My Song (No 16) by Petula Clark (Pet Clark, please), or Sandy Shaw’s Puppet On a String (No 17)? Or the super-catchy Ha! Ha! Said The Clown (No 18) by Manfred Mann? And then, at No 19 only, we had the epochal A Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harem. But Let’s Live For Today by The Grass Roots, at No 20, I can’t recall at all.
Peter Joyce’s book reminds us that this was also the year when The Beatles did Hello Goodbye and
Indeed, Joyce’s book notes that in the summer of 1967, the youth of the
It was this mood of resistance that we tapped into, led no doubt by elder brother Ian. But, while we identified with the anti-Vietnam war movement, we had our own problems back home, not least of them the pernicious policy of apartheid. We were conscientised (if you’ll pardon that struggle term) from a young age, thanks to the liberal stand taken by the Daily Dispatch newspaper, and of course by my father. As young white males, we also knew that in the not-too-distant future we’d be eligible for military conscription. So this dual agenda was always at the backs of our minds: opposing apartheid and conscription. It would rub off on the sort of music we listened to, but we refused to become hidebound by one philosophy, always retaining an open mind on matters musical.
The fare to which the majority of the predominantly white youth were listening in
Of course, living as we were on the southern tip of
Then a ray of a different light. Percy Sledge popularized soul music as few others have, and the fact that My Special Prayer was at No 9 that year shows that many whites were indeed colour blind when it came to music. I personally loved his voice.
This is one year where I can recall almost every song listed on the top 20. Next up, at No 10, was Lazy Life by Quentin E Klopjaeger. And it was indeed a “kinda lazy life, I know” for us young kids growing up beside the sea. Who could be blamed for exclaiming What A Wonderful World, as Louis Armstrong sang in this 11th placed song. For some reason I associate this song with a classmate who lived up the road from the school. I cannot recall his name.
Tom Jones was back again at No 12 with Delilah (my, my, my Delilah!), but it is Paul Mauriat’s Love Is Blue which proves unlucky No 13 for me: I can’t place it.
Manfred Mann was there with Dylan’s Mighty Quin at 14. Here, if people bothered to listen, as one of the first commercially available examples of Dylan’s genius for melody and, in particular, great lyrics. Of which, more later.
Many groups, I am convinced, were virtual one-hit wonders. I will always remember Judy In Disguise – “with glasses!” (No 15), but John Fred & The Playboy Band, who did it, rings no bells at all. The Troggs, of course, were unforgettable, and Love Is All Around (No 16) was just one of a string of hits they had at the time. So too The Monkees, with Daydream Believer (No 17) yet another highly popular hit.
For apartheid-blighted
The Tremeloes were at No 19 in 1968 with My Little Lady, and No 20 was filled by the Ohio Express with Yummy Yummy Yummy, the epitome of bubblegum music. “Yummy yummy yummy I’ve got love in my tummy/ And I feel like loving you” – or suchlike. But, like so many other equally commercial hits of the Sixties, this one will live on in our memories – probably precisely because it is so banal!
I have to stress that this was the commercial side of our listening experience. All the time, as we grew older, the albums of the great names missing from these lists, and of course the likes of the Beatles, Stones, Bee Gees, Simon & Garfunkel and so on who did achieve remarkable commercial success, formed the bulk of our listening pleasure. This was a time, particularly in the early 1970s when I went into high school, when teenagers exchanged albums with each other. The key was to listen to something someone else had and cut a tape of it. I know the purists will say taping kills music, but it was not as if it was done for a profit. Kids could not afford the sort of bucks needed to buy that many albums, so this was a way of hearing more stuff than otherwise would be the case. And of course music was a great, a key, part of our upbringing. How could it not have been? My contention is that there has never been a richer epoch in the history of music than the 1960s and 1970s. That, indeed, is what this project is all about. So when I borrowed an album by Jim Capaldi, formerly of Cream, called Oh How We Danced, from a classmate, I was devastated when I foolishly left it on the back seat of my mother’s car, and the sun worked its warping magic on the thing. I think we ended up having to pay my mate Jeremy out. Records were brought to school and swopped. Or you went around to your mate’s house and listened to his latest discs. It was a music culture that sprung up – even if most of us weren’t very musical. I battled along on a cheap acoustic guitar, trying to emulate some of my heroes, but received no musical training. Some who did, however, were later able to draw on those rich years of experiencing top-rate music, and in turn forge their own careers in music. But then again they probably did not get taught to play like The Velvet Underground, whose deliberately discordant walls of fuzzy, monochordal guitar became a hallmark for the Underground revolt which emerged in the late 1960s against the increasingly smug mainstream pop industry. It was among this Underground movement that many of the groups we latched onto were to be found.
But as the year 1969 played out, a relic of the 1950s was still dominating the charts in SA. Elvis’s Suspicious Minds was the top hit of that year, followed by The Bee Gees’ Don’t Forget To Remember, both memorable ballads. Strangely, as I’ve perused these lists, I am taken by the absence of such other great Bee Gee tunes as World, Words and The New York Mining Disaster 1941, to name but a few. However their brother Andy Gibb, going solo, was also on the charts that year with Saved By The Bell (No 9).
The Troggs were still there with You Can Cry If You Want to – “’cos you’re the one for me” (No 3). I don’t recall Herman’s Hermits’ My Sentimental Friend (No 4), but another favourite was Tommy James and the Shondells’ Crimson And Clover (No 5), which, unless I’m very much mistaken – which I probably am – was among the first pop hits to employ echo effects.
The Staccatos’ Cry To Me was at No 6, while Booker T and the MGs proved you could make a hit instrumental with Time Is Tight (No 7). The Archies lowered the tone with the sugary Sugar Sugar, while The Casuals had a memorable hit with Jesamine (No 10). “What am I supposed to do with a girl like Jesamine?”
Put A Little Love In Your Heart by Jackie de Shannon was at No 11, and I can’t recall it. But another great group – worth buying their albums – was Creedence Clearwater Revival, whose Proud Mary was at No 12. The Hollies maintained their successful formula with Sorry Suzanne (No 13), but I’m battling to recall the 1910 Fruitgum Company’s Indian Giver (No 14). I’m sure I’d know it if I were to download it off the Internet… something that was as impossible to imagine those days as flying to the moon. What am I saying? In fact it was on July 20, 1969, that Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon. It was an event, a process, which would be explored by numerous rock and pop musicians over the coming decade.
Back on earth, in
But enough of that! Enough already! Leapy Lea kept the year trilling along with Little Yellow Aeroplane (No 18). Only One Woman (No 19) by The Marbles rolled below my radar, but Hair by The Cowsills (No 20) was a beacon at the end of a tumultuously creative decade – if, as I suspect, this is the same song that formed part of the hit musical by the same name, which took the free world by storm in 1967. For probably the first time ever, audiences were exposed to full-frontal nudity on stage.
Peter Joyce’s book confirms that “Hair” did indeed have a major impact in
Look, I am going to get back to all the good stuff from this pivotal era later. But for now, let’s fast forward through the hit-parade songs, the – as it were – background music to the next decade or two. I’ll then unleash some of the gems – both groups and solo artists – which for good reason were not worldwide hits, but which, together, shaped a global consciousness by providing layer upon layer of fascinating listening matter.
Okay, so
Topping the SA charts that year was Pretty Belinda, by Chris Andrews: “On our block, all of the guys, call her Belinda …” It was catchy and fun, a certain hit. I was just asking myself who Andrews was. Was he a one-hit wonder, I wondered. Well I see he had another song at No 14, Brown Eyes, which, frankly, I can’t recall.
The second-placed song was another global mega-hit, Mungo Jerry’s In The Summertime. Was this a reggae song? It certainly seemed to have a lilting, Caribbean feeling to it. Then, from that upbeat song, at No 3 was a lovely Dave Mills ballad, Love Is A Beautiful Song, ideal for those up-close moves on the dance-floor – for those still into things like waltzing, which was totally infra dig in those days.
“All those burning bridges …” It all comes back to me when I read the titles. The Mike Curb Congregation was the odd name for an outfit that did Burning Bridges, which was at No 4. Superstar Neil Diamond had a huge hit with Cracklin’ Rosie at No 5, while
Then, ladies and genitalmen, please welcome warmly, Mr Percy Sledge. What a relief, in the midst of all the above, to get the mournful soul sounds of Mr Sledge with Come Softly To Me at No 11. I can’t recall the Tremeloes’ Call Me Number One (No 12), but The Kinks produced a revolutionary sound with Lola (No 13), which addresses the whole transgender issue: “She walks like a woman and talks like a man does my Lola…”
But clearly this website’s lists are not as comprehensive as one would like. What does Peter Joyce’s book say were the hit singles of the year 1970 in
Hey, it’s 1971 and I’m in Standard 7, or Grade 9 in today’s parlance. And hey, I’m falling under some bad influences, man. I’m like smoking fags – have been for a couplie years now – and also a fair amount of zol. It’s like affecting my studies at school, man, but hey, so long as … Hey, what was I saying, man? Look high school saw me practically drop out of society. Like I went through the motions, man. Occasionally bathing, brushing the old tande, sometimes wearing clean clothes. But like the thing to do was to wear old bell-bottom denim jeans, slip-slops or nothing on the feet, maybe some beads but definitely a denim jacket, with badges bought from Wearwell Outfitters. Like Wearwells was in
Ja, so while all this was happening, at its core was the music, man. I mean the real music. Hendrix, Canned Heat, Jethro Tull. I could go on and on, but you know that that is what this project is going to be about. When I get to actually tackling these issues, and sharing with you something of the era. But these lists, man, they tell a different story. They tell of a populace out of touch with the real reality. And at the time I couldn’t give a toss, it seems, in retrospect, for virtually anything. Not even myself. I just existed for the music. The real music.
Not Mammy Blue, by Charisma.
Yes, that was the No 1 song in SA in 1971. Look, I’m not knocking it. It was catchy, and I’ll always remember it. But it’s just that so many of these songs lacked gravitas, lacked purpose, lacked soul, feeling, guts, emotion, reason, depth, despair, euphoria. You know, they were just somehow superficial. Yet they were part of the background of our lives. Unavoidably present. Funny that I can’t recall even half of the 1971 list. And I don’t think I’ll blame the grass. Take The Sweet’s No 2 hit Co Co and No 4 hit Funny Funny. No recollection. But Dawn’s Knock Three Times (No 3) has tormented me ever since. “… On the ceiling if you want me / Twice on the pipe (clang, clang) if the answer is no”. Alan Garrity’s Put Your Hand In The Hand (No 5) is also there, burnt on my brain. But not so Giorgio’s Looky Looky. Thank heavens! Three Dog Night, a reputable band, had Joy To The World at No 7, and I was tempted to be seduced by its message of joi de vivre. But then my home town’s own The Dealians had to issue a warning, Look Out Here Comes Tomorrow (No 8) and I crawled back into my carapace. The Archies – what a name! – did A Summer Prayer For Peace (No 10) and I’d like to hear it again, because I can’t recall if it was a sincere call for peace. I mean was it about the Vietnam war, or just a puffy piece about general peace, global peace? Are there bands today, I wonder, who are writing scathing stuff about the
Anyway, Dave Emunds was back at No 11 with a catchy ditty, I Hear You Knocking, but I regret to say I can’t recall No Matter What (No 12) which may have been a good ’un because it was by, if I can put on a George Harrison accent for a mo, “the Apple band Badfinger”. Dylan seems to have again made it onto the SA charts at No 13 – albeit that If Not For You was sung by Olivia Newton-John (or Neutron Bomb, as we would have it).
Thank heavens for Creedence. Have You Ever Seen The Rain came in at No 14, offering a bit of sanity in an otherwise rather dippy chart, thus far. And, at No 18, The Seekers were still at their melodious best with Never Ending Song Of Love, while Tony Christie tried to justify his actions at No 19 with I Did What I Did For Maria.
Again, the website list includes glaring omissions, probably because some of the better tunes never did make it to the Top 20. Peter Joyce, in his book South Africa in the 20th Century, cites among his “songs of the year” such gems as Harrison’s My Sweet Lord, Rod Stewart’s Maggie May, a Carole King song I can’t recall called It’s Too Late, and something by Hugh Masekela called Union Of South Africa, which he might find somewhat embarrassing today.
Nou ja, and so on to 1972. I’m now mos 15 going on 16 and in Standard 8, or Grade 10. The dope is still much in evidence, apartheid military conscription is threatening, eldest boet Ian is out of school and about to be snatched by the state for so-called national service. They were not pleasant times, thinking ahead about “what you wanted to do”. The kak was getting kakker as the apartheid state clamped down on the “communist” black opposition, having a decade earlier shoved Mandela and his comrades into tjoekie on
No, despite all this, Johnny Nash was having a good time of it. I Can See Clearly Now (the rain has gone) he sang in his SA No 1 hit. Equally chuffed was Daniel Boone with Beautiful Sunday (No 2), which I can recall our gardener, Wells (
And then, Imagine. Shock! Horror! John Lennon actually made it to No 5 in SA with one of the world’s most memorable songs. It was, of course, later to be if not banned, then warned against most sternly (I heard the warning in the army in 1980). The whole concept underscoring Imagine was of a stateless, Godless, communist world, we were told. Love didn’t enter into it.
Just below Lennon on the list was another gem, Melanie’s Brand New Key, which I recall being all about roller-skates. And finally, Paul Simon was there, at No 9, with Mother And Child Reunion from his first solo album. The Hollies were at No 10 with Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress, which my bad influences (older brothers, their mates, you name it) soon subverted to read Long Cool Penis In A Black Woman. Sies!
I’m sure I know Come What May (come what may?) which Vicky Leandros had at No 11, and Jessica Jones’s Sunday Monday Tuesday (No 12), but like most of the remainder on this list, I can’t be sure till I hear them. Even Roberta Flack’s The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (No 17) while so familiar title-wise, remains a blank.
But what did Peter Joyce ferret out for 1972 that these lists missed? Well, he notes that this was “the year of the teeny-bopper – the 10-, 11- and 12-year-old fan, who idolizes David Cassidy, the too-good-to-be-true Osmonds and, most of all, the Jackson Five and its child star, Michael Jackson”. Jimmy Osmond gave us Long-haired Lover From Liverpool, and Donny offered Puppy Love. But Joyce also notes that this was the year that Don Maclean released American Pie, arguably one of the greatest rock songs of all time. The Seekers also brought out the delightful I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing, which they sang in perfect harmony, unlike the world itself which was beset by turmoil, the Vietnam war being the most notable example. And then. And then a certain Neil Young provided Heart Of Gold. And suddenly, by mentioning Young and Maclean, one opens up two worlds of fantastic music, of unique qualities born of a time when so many talents just rose to the surface and burst upon the world. Small wonder I wasn’t too interested in my studies. And of course there was much, much more. But, as I promised, we first have to get through the background music that accompanied me in high school and college in the 1970s. Please bear with me. These things have to be done. As a sign of respect, a sort of epitaph to one-hit wonders, or real wonders, or money-obsessed fakes, or a combination of all of that and much else besides. These hit songs were very much a part of the fabric of society, even if they served to distract the masses who were missing out on the real diamonds just below the surface.
Come 1973 and, I see in Joyce’s book, that due to “intense pressure from large sections of the American people, and especially from the youth”, President Nixon was forced to abandon the war in
For the rest, 1973 yielded fewer and fewer songs that I can actually recall. Brilliantly, I see Cat Stevens finally made it with Can’t Keep It In (No 6). Talking of Cat, and I’ll do so at length later, I just find it so hard to reconcile him, now Yusuf Islam, with a religion, Islam, which is so law-bound, so doctrinaire. Here was this amazing free spirit, who sang of world peace and flowers and things, suddenly subsumed by a religion which seems to be the antithesis of what he stood for. Well back then, I dug Cat. Still do. Got his DVD recently, MagiCat. Couldn’t understand his chat about religion on there though. Anyway, back on the hit parade, Don Orlando & Dawn were probably celebrating the end of the Vietnam war with Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree (No 10), while good old Paul Simon was back with Take Me To The Mardi Gras (No 12). And then there was nothing else I can recall.
And what did Peter Joyce have to say about 1973? Well two conspicuous omissions from the website list he mentions are You’re So Vain by Carly Simon (of whom more later, hopefully) and
My matric year, 1974, and I turn over a new leaf. After the death of my father, I finally decide to give up dagga and cigarettes, and to exercise more. It seems I realised that I might one day have to fend for myself. What a bummer! Small wonder, perhaps, that I recognise only about half a dozen of the songs on the top 20 list for that year. I clearly had other things on my mind, not least passing matric, which in
I knew the No 1 song because it was by one of the era’s greatest song-writers and singers, Kris Kristofferson. Why Me was an overtly Christian song, which somehow had universal appeal. It cleverly uses an accusatory approach, with the singer imploring: Why me Lord? What have I ever done to deserve even one, of the pleasures I’ve known?
From the sublime … At No 2 someone called Carl Douglas gave us Kung Fu Fighting, which had everyone jumping up and down on the dance-floor, throwing all sorts of punches. Terry Jacks (who he?) had a cover of Rod McKuen’s Seasons In The Sun at No 6. As a sign of where the sub-continent was at, one of the ugly versions of this song which filtered through to us from the beleaguered
Many of the other groups in the Top 20 list are familiar, but the next song that rings a bell is
The next page in Joyce’s
The hit parade, such as it was, played little part in my life by this stage. We were following our own noses, experiencing all the sorts of music this project will set out to discuss. But, for what it’s worth, in 1975 the first song I recall is Fox On The Run (No 2) by The Sweet. At No 3 was Love Hurts by
Joyce notes that in 1975, tests were being done to prepare
In 1976 we experienced television for the first time from January 5, and the political future of the country was transformed completely with the June 16 uprising by school pupils in
Among the songs Joyce saw as hits in 1976 were When A Child Is Born by Johnny Mathis and
It’s 1977, my third and potentially final year at art school, and each year I have had to apply for a postponement from military conscription. Fortunately, each time I have been successful. So I am still a free spirit, as it were. Except that under apartheid we were all to some extent in chains. The whites if you had a conscience, the blacks always, but especially if you refused to collaborate with the regime. One man not collaborating, at all, was Steve Bantu Biko, from Ginsberg location near King William’s Town, about 70km up the drag from East London. His Black People’s Convention was being given good space in the Dispatch by Donald Woods, so it came as no surprise really, shocking though it was, when it was reported, the day before my 21st birthday, on September 13, 1977, that Biko had died in security police detention. With the country still simmering after the
Meanwhile, another black person was born that year, whose parents would not have thought in their wildest dreams that he would become a national hero, for white and black. Also from the King William’s Town area, Makhaya Ntini would reap the benefits of a democratic, non-racial
On the music front, it seems Pussycat’s
One sport to escape the sporting ban was surfing, with
Hey its 1978 and I’m still young. Only 22. But too old to go to the army, where many of the okes are just out of school. My call-up is for July 1978, but fortunately I have a cunning plan. No I’m not about to bolt and run to the newly “independent”
And the charts reflected it. Disco “classics” Staying Alive (No 4) by the Bee Gees wearing too-tight underwear, and Night Fever (No 12, from the film Saturday Night Fever) paved the way for an era of strobe lights and the sort of dancing and dress which were not good for the soul of laid-back surf-loving, former hippie dudes. Still, it was at places like the Holiday Inn disco in East London that the chicks were to be found, so that is where we ended up sinking our Castles. The No 1 hit that year, says the list, was Boney M’s
Peter Joyce’s book doesn’t add much to the hit list, apart from another Boney M song, Mary’s Boy Child.
For me 1979 was the big one. The military, which I had avoided for the past five or so years, finally caught up with me. That July, I had to “report for duty”. Failure to do so could have resulted in a six-year prison sentence. But, while I was to be taken out of my, let’s face it, rather cushy lifestyle, my mates, even the odd girlfriend, would be free to keep on jolling. And, mos, the disco scene was still humming that year, judging by some of the high-voltage hits. Probably the “disco hit” of all time was Le Freak (No 8) by Chic. I recall this thing going along with the flashing lights forever. You didn’t try to talk at these jols. It was drink, drink, kiss if you had a chick, and dance. If you could call it dancing. We just sort of moved to the music. Ironically, given all this disco hype, the No 1 song that year was by a coloured South African, Richard Jon Smith, with Michael Row The Boat Ashore. Surely not! I can’t recall him doing that old folksy, Boy Scouts type song. But that’s what the lists say. The Bee Gees, riding their wave, were at No 2 with Too Much Heaven and No 14 with Tragedy. There’s quite a lot here I don’t recall, but Billy Joel’s My Life was at No 10. There was even a breath of the New Wave that was sweeping Western music in the wake of the Punk Rock revolution of a few years earlier. The Boomtown Rats scored a commendable 11th with I Don’t Like Mondays. Suzi Quatro & Chris Norman were at No 12 with Stumblin’ In, Gloria Gaynor was at No 16 with I Will Survive (which I hoped I’d do when I eventually entered the army), Kiss were at 18 with I Was Made For Loving You, onse eie Laurika Rauch was at No 19 with Kinders Van Die Wind, and then the old kid on the block, Cliff Richard, was hanging in there were We Don’t Talk Anymore at No 20.
Among those songs selected by Peter Joyce for 1979 are YMCA by The Village People, and Bright Eyes by Art Garfunkel, the only real hit I can recall him having as a solo artist. Meanwhile, a man who I had seen as a youngster racing saloon cars around the Grand Prix circuit in East London, Jody Scheckter – I bought my first and only motorbike from Scheckter Harris Motors in 1975 – well, Jody became our first Formula One motor-racing champion for Ferrari. I’ve often wondered why I couldn’t recall the event. But of course it would have happened while I was doing three months’ basic training at 5 SA Infantry Battalion, Ladysmith,
So it’s 1980 and I’m, what, turning 24, and being chased around the veld and along dusty roads near
So I’m slap in the middle of the military in 1980. And what are all the good folk requesting on Forces’ Favourites, the SABC programme on a Saturday afternoon for “all the troepies in camp or on the Border”? Well it wasn’t a bad year really. Since I was in the media centre, we had access to a good couple of TV sets and video recorders. And we’d religiously tape all the Pop Shop shows on SABC, and watch them repeatedly. We also watched a couple of tapes by anti-apartheid people abroad exposing the horrors of apartheid forced removals and the like. These were not meant for our eyes, but were used by the leierskap to show them the nature of this thing called the “total onslaught”, “die totale aanslag”. There was a great song by a black South African group called Joy, called
Local band Ballyhoo were a decade late, but nevertheless made a great song out of Man On The Moon (No 10), while black as the ace of spades Diana Ross showed those white boys how sexy she could be with Upside Down (“boy you turn me, inside out and round and round” – No 11). While most of our testosterone-crazy minds were continually thinking one-track thoughts, Captain & Tennile didn’t help with Do That To Me One More Time (“I just can’t get enough of a boy like you” – No 14). And then, just to rub it in, we had Exile at No 15 with (“touch”) The Part Of Me That Needs You Most. Janis Ian’s Fly Too High (No 16) was another song which certainly didn’t lower temperatures. The top 20 ends with the great Don McLean’s Crying at No 19, and Leo Sayer’s More Than I Can Say at 20. Well what more can I say about 1980? I’ll deal with it in more detail later when I tackle all the stuff these charts omitted, but Peter Joyce’s book reminds me that this was the year that John Lennon released “Starting Over”, only for his second beginning to be snuffed out with a bullet on December 8. It was also the year that The Police, who had already made waves with songs like Walking On The Moon and Roxanne, had a hit with Don’t Stand So Close To Me. The reason I missed out virtually completely on the U2 phenomenon is probably because they released their first album, Boy, in 1980. I never heard it, and U2 simply failed to have any impact on me, although I’ve enjoyed the bits I’ve heard down the years, especially when Bono has performed traditional Irish music, as he did years later with The Chieftains. But more of that a little later, if you will.
I haven’t yet mentioned it, but at the end of 1979, while I was in the army, Capital Radio 604 burst upon the scene. I haven’t been able to retrieve much info from the Net, but I am told that it started transmitting on 604 kHz (ie medium wave) on Boxing Day 1979. It was, I recall, a momentous occasion. I was on a bit of leave from the military, and the jol was very much on at our home in
But it was the highly polished presentation that was the hallmark of the station. The transition from jingle, to presenter, to song, to jingle, to clever quip and so on kept one entertained, day and night. I can still recall many of those jingles, though I won’t try to sing them. One went: “Capital Radio, coming from the
So while on pass, or once ensconced at the media centre at
And what, according to Peter Joyce’s book, was happening in the world at the time? I see this was the winter when the Springbok rugby team were under siege in
By the end of the year I was gatvol of doing zilch, and managed to secure a low-paid job as an assistant to my brother Ian, who was the regional organiser for the growing Progressive Federal Party in the greater
But enough of politics. Since I was a relatively free agent for a while – pending my next call-up – in 1982 I gradually got back into civilian life, and with it the quest for a girlfriend, and the never-ending participation in the jol. Music remained a key player in the midst of all of this. Again, the hit parade stuff was almost unanimously superficial fare, like Baby Makes Her Blue Jeans Talk (No 1) by Dr Hook, Eye Of The Tiger (No 2) by Survivor and Get Down On It (No 3) by Kool & The Gang. I also remember Soft Cell’s Tainted Love (No 5) and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts’ I Love Rock And Roll (No 7). Men at Work’s Down Under (No 8) could be misconstrued as a sexual reference if read as one sentence. None of the rest stay with me, except perhaps Abracadabra (No 17) by the Steve Miller Band – “I can be your abracadabra”?
Joyce’s book reveals that things were getting nastier on the political front, with anti-apartheid activist Ruth First being killed by a letter bomb sent by security agents in
While no Michael Jackson fan, it was this year, at the age of 24, that he released his album Thriller, which succeeded the equally successful Off The Wall of three years earlier. Hit songs not mentioned in the lists include Fame by Irene Cara, The Lion Sleeps Tonight by Tight Fit (which was evidently written originally by a South African, whose descendants are seeking compensaton); and Come On Eileen, a great song by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Olivia Newton-John was still going strong with Physical.
By 1983 I had found a chick, got engaged, and in May got married. It was to last three years. We weren’t really suited. But, as they say, nothing venture, nothing gained. Experience is the best teacher. Once bitten, twice shy. I was toiling away for my pittance with the PFP, while the No 1 hit of the year, Words by FR David, passed me by completely. No 2 was I Don’t Wanna Dance by Eddy Grant which I obviously recall, as do most people the No 3 song, Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse Of The Heart. I see Jennifer Warnes & Joe Cocker (he of
Did I mention that in 1982 I did a one-month “camp”. Ja, it didn’t take my new unit, the Kaffrarian Rifles in
But, in terms of the Defence Act, they were entitled to four months of my life every two years. A one month camp one year, a three-monther the next. So 1983, the year of the great referendum on the new constitution, was to be the big one, on the real Border, there in northern SWA-Namibia. This distraction probably accounts for my knowing so few songs from that year, because, despite making every effort to get an exemption due to my working on the referendum campaign, and even trying to hand back my rifle, I ended up on that Flossie travelling into the heat in August – and returning without having fired a shot on November 11. The new constitution had been adopted, despite the PFP and CP opposing it for totally opposite reasons. The CP saw it as a relinquishing of white power; the PFP opposed it because it only included coloured and Indian people as junior parties while excluding the vast black African majority. The PFP had, in a sense, been echoing the sentiments of the United Democratic Front, which was formed on August 20 at a rally in
Joyce’s book reveals that I wasn’t perhaps as out of touch as I thought, music-wise. It cites as hits of 1983 the likes of Red Red Wine, a classic reggae-based tune by British outfit UB40, whose name derives from the official dole document; Uptown Girl by Billy Joel, Karma Chameleon by Culture Club, whose Boy George was one of the world’s first unashamedly camp pop stars, and Beat It by Michael Jackson.
Nou ja. By 1984 – think George Orwell, think dictatorship – things were getting fairly hairy in SA. My in-laws had given us a short coach-trip of Europe and a week in
Okay, so Joyce’s book pre-empted the hit lists, which had Red Red Wine as the top hit of 1984. Karma Chameleon too, which was placed at No 7. So what? It was Queen’s No 3 hit, I Want To Break Free, though, which probably summed up my predicament. I was stuck with a future of army camps in an apartheid state riddled with racism and in a marriage that teetered on the brink of collapse. But now in PE, as it is commonly known, I settled into my new role of reporter, having last done the job for those five months in 1975. After a few months I was reporting on the uprising which spread across the country, led by the UDF and its many, many affiliates. Among the other songs from that year I recall are To All The Girls I Loved Before by Julio Iglesias & Willie Nelson, Tonight I Celebrate My Love by Peabo Bryson & Roberto Flack, Say, Say, Say by Paul McCartney & Michael Jackson and Dolce Vita by Ryan Paris.
While all of us, black and white, revelled in the humour of a black American, Bill Cosby, on television, we remained poles apart within our own country, politically, socially and economically. However, the advent of the UDF did see a growing number of whites interacting increasingly with black leaders, among them those in the PFP who had always made such contact a sine qua non of their existence. So often when there was a massacre or if UDF leaders were detained, I would report on PFP leaders like Molly Blackburn, Andrew Savage and Errol Moorcroft holding the government to account for its actions. But I didn’t lose sight of the music, especially not songs like Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark and, a new development, a massed group of concerned artists jointly called Band Aid, who sang Do They Know It’s Christmas? to raise funds for good causes. Joyce’s book also reveals that that year Ray Parker Jnr brought us Ghosbusters from the popular film, and Stevie Wonder did the wonderful I Just Called To Say I Love You.
But if 1984 was to be the year of repression, then 1985 would see PW really flex his muscles, using the full brute force of his carefully constructed national security structure to snuff out, literally, anti-apartheid activists. And the
Meanwhile, my former bosses, Van Zyl Slabbert and Alex Boraine, quit parliament and the PFP that year to work for the extra-parliamentary opposition through a thing called the Institute for a Democratic Alternative for
While Kevin Curren narrowly missed becoming the first South African Wimbledon champion that year, losing to Boris Becker (aged 17) in four sets, the Boomtown Rats leader Bob Geldof underscored the concept of the global village with a 16-hour London concert beamed around the world (except SA).
And, Joyce’s book tells, us, this was the year that the compact disc (CD) first started replacing vinyl records. Among the hits in his book is the excellent Money For Nothing by Dire Straits.
In 1986 I got unmarried. The country was in turmoil, and so too was my life. The SADF attacked the ANC in several “Frontline States”, while at home the police and army cracked down on the ongoing UDF-led resistance campaign. In another too-little, too-late attempt to appease the masses, the government finally scrapped the hated pass laws, which gave de juro recognition to a de facto reality of black urbanisation which had been ongoing for decades, indeed over a century. But the Rubicon, which PW Botha had refused to cross, was encompassed in the demands made by the UDF: unban the ANC, SA Communist Party and PAC, free all detainees, allow the return of political exiles, abolish all apartheid laws, and engage in negotiations for a single, non-racial democracy.
I was unmarried and jolling again, sharing a flat in Central with a lesbian friend, which gave me an insight into a whole different sub-culture. But more importantly, as the UDF campaign continued, that little flat in
Significantly, perhaps, it was a black man who topped the list, Lionel Richie with Say You, Say Me. He was also at No 5 with Dancing On The Ceiling. Many of the songs escape my memory, but not the Bangles’ Manic Monday (No 6). The military was still on my case, and, since moving to the Bay, I requested a transfer away from the border-camp obsessed KRs. I landed up in a thing called Regiment Piet Retief, and, while doing no more border camps, I was called up another three or four times to do one-month camps. It was at a time when the SADF was increasingly being used alongside the police “riot squad” to crush the uprising in the townships. On my first camp, I gave the commanding officer a note saying I would only do non-combatant duty – and refused to carry a rifle. Miraculously, I got my way with it and ended up again painting logos and other signs on walls.
Which brings me back to
A band called Starship (no relation, I’m sure, to Jefferson Starship), did a thing called We Built This City (on rock and roll), which was at No 10. And, adding a touch of class, Dire Straits came in at No 14 with Walk Of Life. In another example of cross-cultural co-operation, Dionne Warwick & Friends (Elton John, Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight) produced That’s What Friends Are For, which made it to No 17. The rest basically passed me by. In Peter Joyce’s book, it becomes clear the rosier future which was to be post-apartheid
It’s 1987 and the madness continues. I’m still at the mercy of the military, and the country’s at the mercy of it too. But my former bosses, Van Zyl Slabbert and Alex Boraine offer some hope via Idasa. They organise a massive meeting between mainly Afrikaner academics, professionals and business leaders and the ANC in exile, on July 12 in
Since I was very much embroiled in the alternative cultures mobilised around “the struggle” in PE, pop music played little role in my life at this time. But several other songs from that Top 20 stick in my memory. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (No 4) by Whitney Houston lingers, as does The Final Countdown (No 7) by a group called
These were long years in
I don’t recall anything by Rick Astley, so the number one hit that year, Never Gonna Give You Up, remains unknown to me. I did, however, know Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes’ song, (I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life ( No 2), from the film Dirty Dancing. It’s hard to believe this film came out so late. I seem to associate it with the disco era of the late 1970s… Other easily recalled songs from that year include Heaven Is A Place On Earth (No 4) by Belinda Carlisle, I Think We’re Alone Now (No 6) by Tiffany, You Win Again (No 12) by those tireless campaigners, the Bee Gees, and Simply Irresistable (No 19) by Robert Palmer, formerly of a great trio whom I’ll discuss later. Then there was Pseudo Echo with the dreaded Funkytown (No 18) – “Let me take you to … Funkytown!” Ja nee, as they say.
Peter Joyce’s book tells us that in 1988 the imprisoned Nelson Mandela has TB and is looking very thin and old. He turns 70 that year, and is later moved to a small house in the grounds of the Victor Verster prison n Paarl. When Mandela starts moving, you realise something must be afoot. But what the future held for us, no-one could guess in 1988. Certainly, with Mikhail Gorbachev introducing bold reforms in the Soviet Union and
The lists of hit singles in
Globally, as Joyce’s invaluable book recounts, it was a time of global upheaval, with the forces of freedom making major advances throughout the totalitarian states of Eastern Europe, and even in solidly communistic
In
As you can imagine, with all this upheaval under way, the pop music of the time sort of passed me by. The only song I can readily recall from the Top 20 is the nonsense thing from Bobby McFerrin, Don’t Worry Be Happy (No 5). I suppose it offered us something to laugh about at a time of tremendous opportunity, and of course uncertainty. There were other songs, but they seemed to be reworkings of older stuff, like The Twist (No 10) by The Fat Boys and Chubby Checker and Forever Young (No 9) by Rod Stewart, which must surely have been a cover of the Dylan song. No surprisingly, the Joyce book finds no space for hits of the year in 1989. There was really just too much else going on. Oh, and I had been chosen to serve for two years as the
Just a last thought regarding all the songs and performers mentioned thus far. While I might sound dismissive of many of these tunes, I believe the world would have been a far poorer place without them. The great outpouring of creativity which characterised the 1960s, ’70s and even to an extent the ’80s will probably not be repeated, ever. I know there are still good groups coming through, but sadly for them, and their fans, it is really a case of finding out that what came before is an impossible act to follow. Play me anything from the ’90s and 2000s and I’ll trace its roots back to the real McCoy from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. What follows, God willing, is an in-depth look at some of the many, many musicians who made those decades great. Many, as I’ve said before, were born in the ’40s and ’50s. Some have died, many are old, and some are still churning out stuff, some of it still good. But I have special memories of most of these musicians from the ’60s and ’70s, when they were just starting out and at their prime. I can go on a website and look up the discography of a group like Little Feat, whom I last heard probably 30 years ago, and instantly recognise the covers of two of their earliest albums as those that I listened to with such joy all those years ago. But who were Little Feat? Thanks to the Internet I am able to garner information about hundreds of musicians, composers, singers, guitarists who together have produced a body of work which is irreplaceable. People will look back, say in 50 years’ time, and say this was truly the golden era of modern music.
Hopefully, this very personal look at those heady days will serve as a humble tribute to the men and women who devoted, and sometimes gave, their lives to the cause of music.
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