AN ANALYSIS OF THE CENSORSHIP OF POPULAR MUSIC WITHIN THE

CONTEXT OF CULTURAL STRUGGLE IN SOUTH AFRICA DURING THE

1980s

A thesis submitted in fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

of

RHODES UNIVERSITY

by

MICHAEL DREWETT

March 2004
 ABSTRACT

The censorship of popular music in South Africa during the 1980s severely affected

South African musicians. The apartheid government was directly involved in centralized

state censorship by means of the Directorate of Publications, while the South African

Broadcasting Corporation exercised government censorship at the level of airplay. Others

who assisted state censorship included religious and cultural interest groups. State

censorship in turn put pressure on record ~ompanies, musicians and others to practice

self-censorship. Many musicians who overtly sang about taboo topics or who used

controversial language subsequently experienced censorship in different forms, including

police harassment. Musicians were also subject to anti-apartheid forms of censorship,

such as the United Nations endorsed cultural boycott. Not all instances of censorship

were overtly political, but they were always framed by, and took place within, a

repressive legal-political system.

This thesis found that despite the state's attempt to maintain its hegemony, musicians

sought ways of overcoming censorship practices. It is argued that the ensuing struggle

cannot be conceived of in simple binary terms. The works of Antonio Gramsci, Michel

Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu, in particular, are applied to the South African context in

exploring the localized nuances of the cultural struggle over music censorship. It is

argued ~hat fragmented resistance to censorship arose out of the very censorship

structures that attempted to silence musicians.

Textual analysis brought to light that resistance took various forms including songs with

provocative lyrics and titles, and more subtle means of bypassing censorship, including

11
the use of symbolism, camouflaged lyrics, satire and crdssover performance. Musicians

were faced with the challenge of bypassing censors yet nevertheless conveying their

message to an audience. The most successful cases negotiated censorial practices while

getting an .apparent message across to a wide audience. Broader forms of resistance were

also explored, including opposition through live performance, counter-hegemonic

information on record covers, resistance from exile, alignment with political

organizations and legal challenges to state censorship. In addition, some record

companies developed strategies of resistance to censorship.

The many innovative practices outlined in this thesis demonstrate that even in the

context of constraint, resistance is possible. Despite censorship, South African musicians

were able to express themselves through approaching their music in an innovative way.

111
 CONTENTS

Abstract 11
Contents iv
List of images V111
List of abbreviations X
Glossary Xl
Acknowledgements xiii
Notes on referencing xv
Map of South Africa xvi

PART 1: CONTEXTUALIZATION

Chapter 1: Introduction: Exploring the censorship of popular music in 1980s

South Africa
1.1 Prologue 1
1.2 The central aim of this thesis: contest over the censorship of popular music 2
1.3 A selective overview of previous work on the censorship of popular music 3
1.4 Previous work on the censorship of popular music in South Africa 7
1.5 Defining and analysing the censorship of popular music 8
1.6 The politics of censorship 14
1.7 Defining popular music 16
1.8 Locating this study in the 1980s 19
1.9 The focus on South African musicians 22
1.10 Race, class, sex and gender in South Africa 23
1.11 Race, class, sex and gender in the South African music context 26
1.12 The structure of this thesis 32

Chapter 2: Locating the censorship of South African popular music within a

theoretical context of cultural struggle
2.1 Introduction 36
2.2 Locating South African popular music censorship within a context of
hegemonic struggle 38
2.2.1 Conceptualizing hegemony in South Africa 43
2.2.2 Instances of counter-hegemony 45
2.3 Resisting censorship 50
2.3.1 Constraint and resistance 50
2.3.2 Creating spaces within which to resist censorship 55
2.4 Conclusion 59

Chapter 3: Researching the censorship of popular music in 1980s South Africa

3.1 Introduction 61
3.2 Researching and representing the subject 61
3.3 The adoption of a qualitative approach 66
3.3.1 Reflecting the subjects' voices 68
3.3.2 In-depth interviews 68

IV
3.3.3 Engagement in the interview process 69
3.3.4 Corroborating the remembered past 71
3.4 Songs as texts: superseding content analysis 74
3.5 Conclusion 76

PART 2: MECHANISMS OF CENSORSHIP PRACTICE

Chapter 4: State mechanisms of censorship

4.1 Introduction 78
4.2 Formal censorship: Publications Control Act and Customs and Excise Act 79
4.2.1 Categories of censorship 87
4.2.2 The role of moral and religious pressure groups in government censorship 89
4.2.3 Contest over liberalization of central government censorship bodies 94
4.3 Security laws 98
4.3.1 Illegal gatherings 100
4.4 Local authorities and pressure groups 103
4.5 Police repression and intimidation 107
4.6 General apartheid laws 114
4.7 South African Broadcasting Corporation Radio 119
4.7.1 Censorship procedures 120
4.7.2 Categories of censorship 125
4.7.3 Obscuring the extent of censorship in South Africa 132
4.8 South African Broadcasting Corporation Television 134
4.9 Conclusion 135

Chapter 5: Self-regulatory censorship

5.1 Introduction 137
5.2 Independent radio - Capital and 702 138
5.2.1 Censorship within a context of relative autonomy 139
5.3 Major record companies 142
5.3.1 The corporate priority of South African major record companies 143
5.3.2 Apartheid and the majors 145
5.3.3 Major censorship 147
5.3.4 The majors: an assessment 156
5.4 Independent record companies 158
5.4.1 Independent censorship 159
5.4.2 The independents: an assessment 162
5.5 Retail outlets and distribution companies 163
5.6 Live venues 164
5.7 Self-censorship: musicians' complete avoidance of controversial content 167
5.8 Conclusion 170

Chapter 6: Anti-apartheid censorship

6.1 Introduction 172
6.2 The boycott as a form of censorship 172
6.3 The call for musicians to perform politically relevant music ~ 174

v
6.4 The boycott strategy: the cultural boycott
t 185
6.4.1 The Sun City boycott 188
6.4.2 South African musicians and the cultural boycott 190
6.4.3 The censorial effect of the cultural boycott 195
6.5 The Bureau for Information song 200
6.6 Conclusion 205

PART 3: STRATEGIES OF RESISTANCE

Chapter 7: Recorded textual resistance in an age of censorship

7.1 Introduction 207
7.2 The emphasis on lyrics in censorship processes 207
7.3 Telling it like it is (overt lyrics) 208
7.4 Camouflaged textual messages 213
7.4.1 Obscuring the text 215
7.4.2 Symbolic and cryptic lyrics 217
7.4.3 Infusing resistant musical meaning 220
7.4.4 Obscuring resistant tracks and messages 222
7.4.5 Evaluating camouflaged textual resistance 223
7.5 Satirical and ironic messages 224
7.5.1 Evaluating satire and irony in music 232
7.6 Making use of studio technology 235
7.7 Lyrical resistance in response to repression 238
7.8 Conclusion 240

Chapter 8: Beyond recorded textual resistance

8.1 Introduction 241
8.2 Resistance through live performance 242
8.2.1 Political platforms and political concerts 244
8.2.2 Alternative venues as free spaces for resistance musicians 247
8.2.3 Exploring the other/crossover/non-racial performances 250
8.2.4 The Voelvry tour 254
8.3 Alternative airplay 259
8.4 Resistant visual imagery and information 262
8.4.1 Album covers 262
8.4.2 Posters, banners and concert programmes 273
8.5 Resistance from within the major record companies 280
8.6 Innovative independent record company resistance 282
8.6.1 Independent repositories of marginal South African music 283
8.6.2 F~reign funding, mobile studio and self-production 285
8.7 Resistance from exile 287
8.8 Challenging and undermining censors 290
8.9 Formal links with political organizations 296
8.10 Conclusion 301

Vl
 Chapter 9: Conclusion: resisting popular music censorship
9.1 Prelude 304
9.2 Reviewing the theoretical framework used in this thesis 307
9.2.1 A context of hegemonic struggle 307
9.2.2 Creative resistance out of repressive structures 314
9.3 Reflections on theory and methodology 316
9.4 Finale: a conclusion within a conclusion 319

Appendices
Appendix 1 List of interviews 323
Appendix 2 Brief biographies of interviewees and musicians quoted 326

Discography 340
References 345

I
i

Vll
 List of images

Image 1. 1 Map of South Africa xvi

Image 4.1 Prohibition of a cultural event in terms of State of Emergency
regulations. 101
Image 4. 2 Permit granting political activist and journalist Steve Gordon
permission to enter Langa township to meet with musicians. 102
Image 4.3 An excerpt from one of Paul Erasmus' casebooks indicating
that security reports (Codenamed SAP 67) on Roger Lucey
were sent to Security Branch Head Office on specific dates. 109
Image 4. 4 The South African Police disrupt a Dynamics gig. 111
Image 4.5 South African Police surveillance at a Corporal Punishment
concert. 115
Image 4.6 An SABC copy of Miriam Makeba's Welela album. 121
Image 4. 7 List of songs banned by the SABC one week in June 1988. 126
Image 4. 8 An SABC censor's copy of the lyrics to Flash Harry's "No
Football ll • 127
Image 4. 9 Part of the cover of a Badisa 'Sotho vocal' album and an SABC
advertisement for Radio Bantu. 129
Image 5.1 The censored cassette version of Peter Tosh's Equal Rights
album with the song "Apartheid" missing. The song
reappeared on a post-1994 CD version. 149
Image 5. 2 Chris De Burgh's missing song. 150
Image 5.3 Explanatory label on Mi-sex's Graffiti Crimes album. 152
Image 5.4 Letter from EMI to the SABC library. 154
Image 6.1 Gallo's memo to musicians warning them not to participate in
the Bureau for Information song. 203
Image 7. 1 Where's that bus now that I need it most? 228
Image 7. 2 Reaction to Kramer's political songs. 228
Image 8. 1 Posters advertising musicians appearing at political and
cultural events. 245
Image 8. 2 Subversive images from Flash Harris inner sleeves. 263
Image 8.3 Shifty's A Naartjie in our Sosatie cover. 265
Image 8.4 The Malopoets hear no evil, speak no evil , see no evil,
as do the Shifty stick men, and Edi Niederlander's Hear No
Evil cover. 266
Image 8.5 Shifty's Forces Favourites cover. 267
Image 8.6 The front covers of the Voelvry and Stimela's Trouble in the
Land ofPlenty albums. 267
Image 8. 7 Kalahari Surfers' Living in the Heart of the Beast booklet cover. 279
Image 8.9 Juluka's Universal Men "and African Litany album covers against
the backdrop of inner sleeve images from African Litany. 270
Image 8. 9 Mzwakhe Mbuli's Change is Pain cover. 271
Image 8.10 Political statements on albums by Phil Collins and The Spectres. 273
Image 8.11 Posters advertising musical performances in support of cultural,
political and economic issues. 274

viii
 t

Image 8. 12 Posters advertising music concerts at Eee and Women's events. 275
Image 8. 13 Canivalesque Aeroplanes gig in support of the ECC. 277
Image 8. 14 Shifty's anti-censorship logo juxtaposed with the corporate logo
it mimicked. 278
Image 8.15 Mapantsula at an Eee gig with a 'Stop the call up' banner
in the background. 279
Image 8.16 A May 1980 Rand Daily Mail story on the banning of
Pink Floyd's The Wall. 292
Image 8.17 The notorious blanked out edition of the Weekly Mail. 294
Image 9. 1 The Koeksusters protesting the absence of Karin Thorpe. 305
Image 9.2 Jonathan Handley's' Antics': James Ant has a run-in with the
SABC censorship committee. 313

IX
r
!

List of abbreviations

AAA Artists Against Apartheid

AAM Anti-Apartheid Movement
ANC African National Congress
AZAPO Azanian People's Organisation
BMU British Musicians Union
CASA Culture in Another South Africa (Dutch anti-apartheid conference, 1987)
CBS Columbia Broadcasting System (US-based record company)
CCP Clive Calder Productions (SA-based record company)
CNA Central News Agency (SA retail company)
CaSAS Congress of South African Students
COSAWR Committee on South African War Resistance
COSO Conscientious Objector Support Groups
Directorate Directorate of Publications
ECC End Conscription Campaign
EMI Electrical and Musical Industries Ltd (UK-based record company).
FAWU Food and Allied Workers Union
Freemuse Free Musical Expression (international non-governmental organization)
IDASA Institute for a Democratic Alternative for South Africa
JODAC Johannesburg Democratic Action Committee
MFP Music For Pleasure (SA distribution company)
NGK Nederduitse Oereformeerde Kerk (Dutch Reformed Church)
NP National Party
PAB Publications Appeal Board
PAC Pan Africanist Congress
PCB Publications Control Board
RAU Randse Afrikaanse Universiteit (Rand Afrikaans University)
RMR Rhodes Music Radio
SABC South African Broadcasting Association
SACP South African Communist Party
SADF South African Defence Force
SAMA South African Musicians Alliance
SAP South African Police
SWAPO South West African People's Organisation
UDF United Democratic Front
UN United Nations
VOA V oice of America
WEA Warner-Elektra-Atlantic (US-based record company)

x
..
Glossary t

South African words, song titles or expressions used frequently in this thesis or which are not defined
or translated in the text.

Amandla Power
Azania Black consciousness name for South Africa, reflects a desire for a black ruled
country
Bakgat There is no direct translation of 'bakgat', but it is a slang tenn meaning' great!'
A possible equivalent (to give a sense of the term) would be something like
'shithot'
Bantustan Reserves set aside for black South Africans, depriving them of South African
citizenship
Blerrie Bladdy, bloody
Boer Afrikaner (strictly speaking a farmer, but the word has developed a wider
meaning)
Boeremeise Afrikaans girl or young woman
Boeremusiek 'Traditional' Afrikaans music, usually a quickstep punctuated by a concertina
sound.
Braai Shortened version of 'braaivleis', South African barbecue
Braaied Barbecued
Braaivleis South African barbecue
Bubblegum music Township pop typical of the 1980s, involving synthesizers and drum-box
induced disco beats
Coon carnival Western Cape coloured minstrel carnival
Darkie Derogatory or affectionate slang for black person (depending on who is using
the term)
Dingaan A 19th Century Zulu king
Dorp Small town
Gereformeerde Reformed
Hou My Vas
Korporaal Hold Me Tight Corporal
Impi Zulu warrior
Ja Yes
Jo'burg Johannesburg
Jol A party (noun), to party or have a good time (verb)
Jolling Partying, clubbing or having a good time
Joller Someone partying, clubbing or having a good time
Kaffir Extremely derogatory word for black person
Kerkorrel Church organ
Kerkraad Church board
Koeksuster Traditional Afrikaans sweet confectionary
Kombuis Kitchen
Kwela South African pennywhistle music
Lamey Wealthy (usually upper middle class) person
Lekkerliedjie Nice/sweet (politically non-threatening) Afrikaans song

Xl
 t

Mbaqanga South African township music combining traditional and urban influences,
usually with heavy bass, clipped guitars and choral vocals
Mbube Zulu a cappella singing style. High lead vocals and bass-rich four part
harmonies.
Naartjie Tangerine
N ederduitse
Gereformeerde
Kerk(NGK) Dutch Reformed Church
Niemand Nobody
Niemandsland Nobody's land
Okes Blokes
Ossewa Ox wagon, traditionally associated with early Afrikaners escaping British rule
th
by trekking into the interior in the 19 Century
Ou Bloke or person
Ou's (short for ouens) Blokes or people
Piekniek Picnic
Shebeen Township pub or club (unofficial and strictly speaking, illegal)
Sit Dit Af Tum it off
Snor Moustache
Sosatie Kebab
Soweto South West Township - South Africa's largest township, on the outskirts of
Johannesburg
Staffrider Anti-apartheid cultural publication
Stimela Steam train associated with transporting migrant workers to and from the
mInes
Technikon Technical College
Tjoepstil Dead quiet (absolutely quiet)
Vastrap Quickstep
Vellies Short for veldskoene (field shoes) shoes associated with farmers and others
who spend time walking in the veld (open fields)
Voelvry Afrikaans for 'free as a bird' while sounding like 'Feel free'
Voortrekkers Early Afrikaners who escaped British rule by trekking into the interior of
South Africa in the 19th Century
Vrye Weekblad Free (as in liberated) Weekly Newspaper aimed at alternative Afrikaners
Waterblornrneijies Water flowers
Whitie Slang for white person. Can be derogatory or affectionate, depending on the
person using the term
Wie is Bemoldus
Niemand. Who is Bernoldus Nobody?
Woza Come (come to me)

Definitions for bubblegum music, kwela, mbaqanga and mbube have (to varying extents) been taken
from World Music: The Rough Guide, edited by Simon Broughton and others (1994: 372).

Xll
 Acknowledgements

Thank you, to my mother, who made many sacrifices along the way so that I could attend university.
I have been blessed with a supportive family who have put up with my trips away from home, when I
have conducted the research that went into this thesis, and attended related conferences - thank you
Fiona, Jessica and Emily, for your love, support and ongoing encouragement. Thanks too to my
siblings, Peter and Anne, who have also been supportive, and with whom I have shared long and
interesting musical journeys.
A special friend, David Selfe, has been part of this proj ect from the start, and has supported and
assisted me in this research process over the past five years. Many thanks. Thanks too to the group of
Grahamstown friends who have shared parts of this process with me, and who have always been keen
for a musical discussion.
My supervisors Dr Gary Baines and Professor Jan Coetzee have provided a delicate balance
between useful insights and advice, sympathetic ears, a fair degree of patience and important
friendships, which I treasure. The same is true of my two 'surrogate' supervisors, allocated to me
while I was based at the University of Birmingham Department of Cultural Studies and Sociology in
2000 and 2001. Dr Peter Symon patiently read through and responded in detail to the first drafts of
several chapters and was a welcome friend in a mostly cold environment. Dr Malika Mehdid
provided important feedback on my initial theoretical explorations and was always available for
discussion. I also appreciate the encouragement received from my Head of Department, Professor
Fred Hendricks, who has supported the various component parts of the work that has gone into this
thesis. A particular word of appreciation goes to Denise Wisch who, over the years, has assisted me
with many arrangements which in different ways have made the completion of this thesis possible.
And another thank you to Fiona Still-Drewett for much appreciated proofreading assistance at the
end.
There are numerous people involved in the International Association for the Study of Popular Music
and Freefnuse contexts who have assisted me through discussing my work with me. Special mention
must go to Martin Cloonan and Reebee Garofalo for the interest shown in my work on censorship,
and for the friendships which have developed out of our contact. Thanks too to Marie Korpe and Ole
Reitov of Freemuse. Freemuse is an organization deserving of widespread support.

Xlll
¥
r .

I appreciate the financial support provided by the Rhodes University Joint Research Committee,
which funded smaller projects related to this study and to the Commonwealth Scholarship
Commission who funded a very important year of study in England, where I was based at the
University of Birmingham's Department of Cultural Studies and Sociology.
Shifty Records, Tic Tic Bang, 3 rd Ear Music, the South African Film and Publication Board, Cory
Library, the South African National Archives and the SABC sound archives are all thanked for
various forms of archival assistance, all of which has usefully informed this thesis.
A special mention goes to all the musicians and other people I interviewed in the course of this
research. Thanks for making time available to be interviewed, often in the midst of busy schedules.
There are obviously too many too mention here, although all their names appear in the list of
interviewees at the end of this thesis. However, as always, there were some people who went out of
their way to assist me beyond my expectations and who deserve special mention. These are Jonathan
Handley, Roger Lucey, David Kramer, David Marks, Lloyd Ross, Gary Hertselman, Paul Erasmus,
Rob Allingham, Lee Edwards, Jimmy Florence, Sipho Mabuse, Steve Gordon and Gary Rathbone.

Thanks too, to Peter Gabriel, for it all started with your song.

You can blowout a candle

But you can't blowout a fire
Once the flame begins to catch
The wind will blow it higher

("Biko" (1980) - Peter Gabriel)

xiv
..

Notes on referencing

Albums titles are typed in italics, song titles are printed in Hdouble inverted commas" and book titles
appear in 'single inverted commas' . All direct quotes taken from my interviews are indented without
quotation marks, regardless of the length of the quote. All quotes from written sources appear in
double quotation marks and are only indented if lengthy. All my own interviews are referenced
simply by 'Interview' and year of the interview in parenthesis. The same applies to personal
correspondence with people quoted or referred to. Full details of the interviews are located in a list of
interviewees provided in Appendix 1, while brief biographies of musicians and interviewees quoted
in this thesis are provided in Appendix 2. It is hoped that the latter appendix will be of assistance as
an ongoing reference during the reading of the thesis.

xv
 ATlANTIES£ OS£AAN JNBIAN OCEAN

IN[}lfSE OSEAAN

Image 1.1 South African Map (1980s).

Additional locations (not printed on map)

1. George
2. Langa
3. Lichtenburg
4. Nigel (Daduza township)
5. Soweto
6. Springs
7. Sun City
8. Vereeniging

XVI
 CHAPTER ONE t

Introduction: Exploring the censorship of popular music in 1980s South Africa

I heard people shouting far away for peace

Singing revolutionary songs

("Mayibuye" (1991) - Vusi Mahlasela)

1.1 Prologue
This thesis begins with a story. It is a personal tale, comprising interwoven strands of
consciousness. I was a scholar in a well-to-do government high school in the northern
suburbs of white Johannesburg in the early 1980s. A friend and I were closely bonded in
our obsession with popular music. One of our many schemes for increasing the size of
our music collections was to order music from Cob Records in Porthmadog, Wales. We
took a catalogue to school and hassled our friends and teachers into ordering imports at
lower prices than in the local shops. We placed our orders without regard for import
regulations, waiting with anticipation for the albums to arrive in the post.
During this time I became aware that the South African government's Directorate of
Publications and the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) would, from time
to time, ban songs or entire albums. Although I did not agree with the reasons, they
seemed to make conservative, paternalist sense. The government had banned Chris De
Burgh's "Spanish Train" (1976) in the late 1970s because it was deemed blasphemous
and Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" (1979) was banned in 1980 because
children boycotting school in the Western Cape were singing it. The incidents of
censorship were reported in the liberal Rand Daily Mail and they made our ownership of
the records in question subversively exciting. But a turning point came when a university
friend asked us to order Peter Gabriel's 3rd album (1980) for him, because it was banned
in South Africa and he could not get it in the local shops. I ordered two copies, so as to
add one to my collection. I was keen to get a copy for myself as it included "Games
_Without Frontiers" (1980), a song with which I was familiar because it had been played
on Capital Radio earlier that year.
The album was banned because of the song "Biko". My friend and I knew nothing about
Steve Biko, so when the album arrived with our consignment we hurriedly listened to it,
wanting to know what the fuss was about. While our precise reactions are difficult to

1
r

recall, we were outraged at the banning of what seemed to be a perfectly reasonable song.
When given the task of presenting speeches in our English class we decided to jointly
present a speech questioning the South African government's approach to the censorship
of music. To do so we needed to find out more about Steve Biko. On the advice of our
History teacher we searched microfiche records at the Rand Daily Mail archives. What
we discovered was for Ine, a challenging revelation: the emotive coverage of the death,
by torture, of an innocent man because of his political convictions. Biko had never been
found guilty of a crime in a court of law. It suddenly became clear what censorship was
about: a government trying to hide things from the public, not for the supposed public
good, but for its own self-serving reasons. While my academic interest in the censorship
of music only surfaced years later (in 1998) the motivation for this thesis is somehow
rooted in that song by Peter Gabriel, and the path of discovery it brought about.

1.2 The central aim of this thesis: contest over the censorship of popular music
My experience of "Biko" by Peter Gabriel captures the essence of this thesis, concerned
as it is with some people's attempts to stifle undesired messages and images within the
terrain of South African popular music in the 1980s. However, this thesis is not solely
about repression. It also crucially focuses on attempts to resist censorship.
In focusing on contestation though, it must be noted that the focus is solely on contests
over censorship. While the content of many examples of South African music censorship
is political, this thesis is not about the impact of music on political transformation. It may
well be that resistance to censorship can lead to broader political change, but even if so,
this thesis does not explore that particular tangent. Rather, the task is to document,
contextualize and analyse all known forms of censorship and as many instances of
resistance to that censorship as have been discovered during the period of research. Many
areas of popular music studies are touched on in a project such as this, too many to
consider in depth. Where possible these have been included, as part of brief contextual
discussion, but for further detail the sources referred to should be consulted.
The analysis provided in this study is based on archival evidence and interviews with
musicians and others involved in the process of the censorship of popular music. It is
hoped that the drawing together of the stories recorded here and the collation of crucial

2
archival documentation to support these stories, will piece together a process which can
be preserved as an important insight into South Africa's musical past. It is also hoped that
the severe effects of censorship recorded here will act as a warning against resorting to
similar tactics in the future.

1.3 A selective overview of previous work on the censorship of popular music

Although censorship is one of the more contentious issues relating to popular music, with
serious repercussions for freedom of speech and creativity, it has not received a great deal
of specific and detailed focus within the ambit of academic writing. It often receives a
mention in books to do with the politics of popular music or in companions and
introductions to popular music, but there have been relatively few books on censorship of
popular music specifically. Martin Cloonan (1996) conducted one of the most detailed
localized studies into the dynamics of popular music censorship in his study of the
censorship of popular music in Britain. Through the presentation of numerous cases,
Cloonan provides an account of many forms of censorship of popular music in Britain
over a period of twenty-five years. These include government, record industry,
broadcasting, community and pressure group censorship. Cloonan's study offers
important insights into the operation of censorship in a developed country. However, he
fails to provide a theoretical context within which to situate the censorial practices he
outlines. Furthermore, the study does not include a detailed account of strategies of
resistance. While it must be acknowledged that little censorship of music takes place at
the level of central government in Britain, censorship of music occurs throughout society,
resistance to which is not explored although sometimes mentioned.
Cloonan is co-editor (with Reebee Garofalo) of a more recent book on the censorship of
popular music around the world entitled 'Policing Pop' (2003). The book includes a
variety of chapters dealing with censorship histories, case studies and issues. The book in
general is an excellent showcase for these various areas and is a useful resource book, but
as is usually the case with edited volumes, it lacks a systematic structure and argument.
The book does make progress in a number of areas, especially in defining censorship and
emphasizing the need to consider contexts when trying to understand censorship
practices. Cloonan (2003: 13-29) provides a state-of-the-academy chapter on defining

3
2

censorship (see below) while Keith Kahn-Harris (2003: 81-99) puts forward an
enlightened argument on the need to socially contextualize audience appreciation and
music censorship in terms of scenes and subcultural capital. Case studies on China and
Brazil by Jeroen de Kloet (2003: 166-185) and Jose Roberto Zan (2003: 205-220)
respectively provide interesting parallels with South Africa, on which there is a chapter
written by myself (Drewett, 2003: 153-165), a summarized preview of some of the
central forms and censorship and strategies documented in this thesis. These chapters
provide useful supporting documentation for some issues raised in this thesis.
A book of papers entitled 'Bleep! Censoring Rock and Rap Music' was published in
1999. The book focuses specifically on attempts within the United States to control rock
and rap music. The contributors explore how government statutes, agency regulations,
business controls and parents have attempted to censor music (Houchin Winfield and
Davidson, 1999: vii). In one chapter of note, Betty Houchin Winfield (1999: 16)
compares marketplace censorship to government censorship, showing that there are
important parallels. In general the book focuses in detail on specific cases, often
exploring relationships between central role players involved in battles over the
censorship of rock and rap music in the United States. These include the Federal
Communications Commission, National Endowment for the Arts, the Parents' Music
Resource Centre, Morality in Media and Congress. Much of the focus is on the legal
wrangles between these different groups with little application to contexts outside of the
United States. Very few chapters in the book are theoretically informed, and there is only
cursory discussion of resistance, to do with legal cases opposing attempts to censor.
Linda Martin and Kerry Segrave's (1993) 'Anti-rock: The Opposition to Rock and Roll'
provides an interesting account of "the history of opposition to rock and roll from its
beginnings up to the mid-1980s, written from a pro-rock point of view" (Martin and
Segrave, 1993: vii). This history turns out to be mostly American (United States)
I
I. although there are fleeting references to other countries, particularly the United Kingdom,
but also Russia, Mexico and there are two one-line references to South Africa. The book
usefully explores the arguments of those who have attempted to censor popular music.
However, the focus of the book precludes issues of resistance and is fairly journalistic in
style, not governed by a theoretical framework.

4
 •
The same is true of Eric Nuzum's (2001) more recent 'Parental Advisory: Music,
Censorship in America'. Nuzum's book covers many of the same incidents but does
consider some of the responses to the instances of censorship covered. It is a useful
reference on the controversies surrounding popular music in the United States, and serves
as a reminder to the many ways in which censorship of popular music is exercised, not
simply by government agents.
Four case study books published by Freemuse (Freedom of musical expression - The
World Forum on Music and Censorship) written by John Baily (2001), Garth Cartwright
(2001), Banning Eyre (2001) and Jean-Christopher Servant (2003) have usefully explored
the mechanisms and context of censorship in Afghanistan, Romania, Zimbabwe and
Nigeria, respectively. The books are written in the form of reports and conclude with
recommendations to the problems outlined. Once again, their strength is in detailing
mechanisms of censorship, but they do give some attention to resistance to censorship.
There is no theoretical paradigm. Freemuse, through its website, occasional world
conferences and regional workshops, has made an important contribution to documenting
instances of censorship and strategies of resistance. The conference proceedings from the
'lsi World Conference on Music and Censorship' published by Freemuse (Korpe, 2001)
considers numerous case studies of censorship in the form of papers and panel
discussions, but again is devoid of theoretical depth. The 'Index on Censorship' special
edition on the censorship of music brought out in 1998 is very similar in its content and
absence of theory.
Roy Shuker (1998; 44-48) provides a brief but useful summary of key debates on
popular music censorship within the United Kingdom and the United States (Australia
and New Zealand receive a brief mention). He considers the various arenas (government,
record companies, retail, live venues, pressure groups) in which censorship most often
takes place. The controversy surrounding rap music is given particular attention.
Douglas Kellner (1995b: 174-197) also takes up the issue of rap music in the United
States and is one of the few writers to place the censorship of music within a theoretical
context. Referring to rap as "black radical discourse", Kellner outlines why rap is radical,
and places the censorship of rap music within a context of hegemonic struggle. He argues
that it is a musical form of resistance to white supremacy and oppression. For Kellner

5
(1995b: 191), "the way rap music circulates and is disseminated through oppositional
communities, makes it an efficacious counterhegemonic form". Kellner's hegemonic
framework and neo-Gramscian approach have usefully informed this thesis, although the
discussion of music constitutes only a short section of his book and is restricted to rap
music within the localized context of American inner city struggle.
John Street (1997: 173-181) considers the censorship of music as part of the politics of
judgment. He is influenced by Pierre Bourdieu's writing on the sociology of judgment
and taste, as outlined in 'Distinction' (1984). Accordingly, Street argues that censorship
needs to be understood as political jUdgment, a product of political-ideology, interests and
institutions (Street, 1997: 181). Censorship forms part of a process of shaping or
reshaping the political landscape, supporting certain interests while marginalizing others
(Street, 1995: 179-80). In a later discussion Street (2001: 243-255) views instances of
censorship as an inevitable consequence of music's political character. Street's (2001:
246 and 1997: 181) argument that it is the ability of music to shape society that leads to
its censorship, as a reaction linked to the preservation of particular interests, is taken up
in this thesis.
Keith Negus (1996: 196-208) considers the way in which the "malevolent state"
attempts to control music. The malevolent state relies heavily on force and surveillance to
control internal dissent and protest. Yet Negus (1996: 201) argues that even under such
conditions, state attempts to erect cultural boundaries by making "people play and listen
to particular types of music have always led to resistance and opposition". Like Kellner,
Negus locates the censorship of music within the context of a hegemonic struggle, noting
the ability of the dominated to resist censorship.
Most of the literature discussed above has to some extent informed the direction of this
thesis. Discussions of the forms of censorship in other parts of the world have led to
questions being asked about similar practices in South Africa during the 1980s. However,
this thesis is not comparative, and does not overtly compare the South African situation
to that of other countries. It does, however, seek to comprehensively document forms of
censorship and resistance to that censorship within the realm of South African popular
music in the 1980s.

6
o

•
Those of the above works (at least those sections that focus on censorship) underpinned
by theoretical arguments, although useful, have lacked depth. This is to be expected,
given that they all form short sections within books on broader topics. Some of these
arguments and ideas are fleshed out in this thesis in an attempt to provide a more
comprehensive theoretical framework within which to locate popular music censorship,
and more specifically, South African popular music censorship.

1.4 Previous work on the censorship of popular music in South Africa

A comprehensive analysis of the censorship of South African popular music has never
before been undertaken. A fairly large body of work exists on censorship in general
during the apartheid era. Kobus Van Rooyen (1987) in his book 'Censorship in South
Africa' provides a detailed technical account of the censorship process during his period
as Director of the Publications Appeal Board. Christopher Merrett published a short
article in 1982, and then a comprehensive book on South African censorship (' A culture
of Censorship: Secrecy and Intellectual Repression in South Africa in1994'). The
censorship of popular music is not considered in either of these publications. Peter Hom
(1979), J. M. Leighton (1983), Christopher Hope (1987) and Peter Stewart (1990) are
amongst those who have also given the matter attention. Alex Hepple (1960), Gilbert
Marcus (1984 and 1987), William Hachten and Anthony Giffard (1984) explore press
censorship into the mid-1980s, as does Anton Harber in two 'Index on Censorship'
articles in 1987 (he also published many articles in various newspapers during the mid-
1980s). Miriam Tlali (1984), Andre P. Brink (1985), Nadine Gordimer (for example
1976,1988,1990) and J. M Coetzee (1996), amongst others, have provided extensive
discussion of censorship in relation to literature. However, the issue of the censorship of
popular music in particular has been given less attention. Muff Andersson (1981), Jeremy
Marre and Hannah Charlton (1985), Van Rooyen (1987: 114), Street (1986: 19-23),
Robin Denselow (1989: 186-202), Ingrid Byerly (1996) and David Coplan (2000) are
among those who have briefly alluded to the topic, while Barry Gilder (1983), Phillip
Page (1986), Ian Kerkhof(1986, 1989) and Ole Reitov (1998a: 1998b) have written more
detailed but nevertheless cursory papers on popular music censorship. This thesis is the
first attempt to explore popular music censorship and resistance to it in a detailed and

7
systematic manner, theoretically contextualizing the discussion so that it adequately deals
with the role of all major role players involved in the censorship of popular music in
South Africa.

1.5 Defining and analysing the censorship of popular music

An effective working definition of censorship as it applies to popular music has been
provided by Martin Cloonan (2003: 15) who defines it as "the process by which an agent
(or agents) attempts to, andlor succeeds in, significantly altering, and lor curtailing, the
freedom of expression of (popular musicians) with a view to limiting the likely audience
for that expression". This definition is an advance on an earlier definition (Cloonan,
1996: 23) in which Cloonan defined it as "the attempt to interfere, either pre- or post-
publication, with the artistic expressions of popular musicians, with a view to stifling, or
significantly altering, that expression" (Cloonan, 1996: 23). By changing "artistic
expression" to "freedom of expression", Cloonan has made it clear that censorship is not
solely about judging whether or not something is art in the first place.
Pierre Bourdieu (1984) argues that judgements of taste are part of an endless struggle
for classification engaged between classes. It is a struggle to convert economic capital
into symbolic capital "which produces relations of dependence that have an economic
basis but are disguised under a veil of moral relations" (Bourdieu, 1990: 290). For
Bourdieu (1984: 6): "Taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier. Social subjects,
classified by their classifications, distinguish themselves by the distinctions they make,
between the beautiful and the ugly, the distinguished and the vulgar". These distinctions
involve a power struggle over the imposition of "a vision of divisions" whereby implicit
social divisions are made visible and explicit (1990b: 138). A clear measure of the
organization of taste in this way is seen in the "aesthetic dispositions" (Bourdieu, 1984:
28-30) preserved in institutions such as the repertoires of symphony orchestras, the
ensemble of artists signed by specialist record companies and the play-lists of specialist
radio stations or programmes. Aesthetic judgements are thus a product of social
relations, "conditioned by material circumstances and class location, but the objects of
taste - what is acceptable, what is unacceptable - are not determined by economic
circumstances. This is the business of politics" (Street, 1997: 173-174). It follows that for

8
f

Bourdieu, struggles over artistic merit of cultural produ~ts are struggles over symbolic
power relations. The strategies of those engaged in these struggles, "depend on the
position they occupy in the structure of the field, that is, on the distribution of specific
symbolic capital ... and, through the mediation of the dispositions constituting their
habitus, ... on the degree to which it is in their interest to preserve or transform the
structure of this distribution and thus to perpetuate or subvert the existing rules of the
game" (Bourdieu, 1993 a: 183). As political as these struggles over categorization may be,
they do not normally constitute censorship, even though consumers regularly avoid
certain music based on judgements of taste. The censor's reason for censoring a piece of
music has to do with meanings and messages rather than with taste. The fundamental
difference between the categories 'censorship' and 'taste' is not one of mere semantics.
One person's censorship is not another person's decision based on taste. When
governments or other institutions ban music the decision is based on the content of the
message ("freedom of expression") rather than the aesthetics of the music alone.
Cloonan's substitution of "freedom of expression" for "artistic expression" places less
emphasis on taste and more strongly' emphasizes the political nature of censorship.
Indeed, this is the approach adopted by Marcus (1987: 8), who views censorship (in
general) as: "[a] wide variety of practices (both legal and extra-legal) [which] combine to
ensure that articulation of certain facts and opinions are curtailed and prohibited". This
underlines, first, the decision to silence or significantly alter the musician's intended
expression and, secondly, it focuses on information contained within the music. This
clarification of the issue is not itself without problems, but it does eliminate decisions to
exclude music based on mere musical taste. The problem that remains, however, has to
do with that terrain in which artistic taste and moral/religious/political choice overlap or
are integral. For example, cases involving religious fundamentalists who believe that the
very medium of rock music is evil or that all rai music is blasphemous and should be
prohibited. In these instances it is important to take cognisance of Arthur Schopenhauer's
(in Goehr, 1998: 23) argument that music, in a sense, has a language of its own. For some
listeners the inherent 'language' of certain types of music might be erotic or secular and
therefore deserving of censorship. This simply emphasizes the importance of context in
such cases. It could further be argued that the decision to censor certain lyrics itself is a

9
(

matter of taste based on one's political, religious or moral beliefs. Here the word 'taste' is
used incorrectly and this objection does not require further discussion.
A further aspect of censorship in need of consideration is self-censorship. Many
musicians interviewed in this study revealed that they had, on occasion, practised self-
censorship. The use of the term for these musicians clearly falls largely within the ambit
of a traditional view of self-censorship, resulting from state pressure on less powerful
individuals. In other words, this form of self-censorship can be understood in terms of the
panoptic process of self-surveillance outlined by Michel Foucault (1975: 195-228).
Government regulation through censorship boards is a form of surveillance applied to
musicians and their record companies. The penalties for those discovered not to have
complied with this external surveillance are potentially severe (especially involving the
financial costs incurred for example, by music which does not sell because it has been
banned for distribution or from airplay). The constraining influence of the panoptic gaze
- as a "relation of discipline" (Foucault, 1975: 208) -leads the musician (and often the
record company, too) to comply with the dictates of the external regulator during the
process of recording or even the very act of writing itself. Thus the process of external
surveillance ultimately subjects individual musicians, influencing them to engage in self-
regulation. In some instances this extends to where they perform. For example, the
politics of group areas, segregated venues and the acquisition of permits under apartheid
and homophobic attacks on gay venues might prevent or at least pressure musicians from
performing in certain venues or areas.
The musician's (integral) involvement in the performance of a song or, in the case of a
songwriter, the process of writing the song, entails an investment ofherlhis person in that
song. Musicians necessarily put something of themselves into the music they
write/perform (even if they do not like the piece in question). Deciding what to write and
perform is clearly a positional strategy. It contributes towards the meaning-production,
understanding and interpretation arising from song writing and performance, which in
tum impacts on the contest of discourse formation in society. The panoptical effect of
self-surveillance when applied to censorship is thus to coerce the individual musician into
self-censorship, a process which, if practised widely, is self-perpetuating, leaving the
dominant discourse intact.

10
T

However, it could be argued that self-censorship is a normal part of everyday life and
therefore should not be included in a study of the censorship of music as outlined thus
far. Bourdieu (1993b: 90) argues that the social conditions of the production of discourse
necessarily involve compromise. Any statement made involves "a combination of what
there was to be said, which 'needed' to be said, and what could be said, given the
structure of a particular field" (Bourdieu, 1993b: 90). A person entering a particular field
is situated in a specific structure which pressures the individual into saying only what is
appropriate or "sayable" (Bourdieu, 1993 b: 91). These social contexts, which pressure
individuals to censor what they utter before the utterance is made, form the basis for what
Judith Butler (1997: 130) calls "implicit censorship". Implicit censorship "refers to
implicit operations of power that rule out in unspoken ways what will remain
unspeakable. In such cases, no explicit regulation is needed in which to articulate this
constraint" (Butler, 1997: 130). For Butler (1997: 128) this form of censorship is not
understood simply in terms of juridical power. Because it precedes the text, it is in fact
somehow responsible for its production. It has to do not only with what it is that an
individual will be able to say but also constitutes the "domain of the sayable" (Butler,
1997: 133) within which the individual begins to speak in the first place. Accordingly,
every text or utterance is formulated through a screening process of selection. If this is
the case, why be concerned with instances of self-censorship practised by musicians,
when such practices are a normal part of everyday life?
There is clearly a difference between self-censorship that follows from following a rule
in an unconscious way, according to a tacit set of norms, and self-censorship according to
explicit rules (laws) out of fear of political andlor economic reprisals. In other words,
there is a difference between deciding to pre-edit what one utters because one chooses to
and doing so against one's wishes, because of explicit regulations and the fear of related
repercussions. Despite this distinction, a niggling doubt persists. This is because in the
former instance an individual nevertheless decides to make utterances within a context of
constraining rules, tantamount to a form of self-censorship. One need only to consider
Michel Foucault's (1976: 17-18) discussion of the subjugation of sex at the level of
language to grasp the severe level of censorship that takes place on a tacit level in many
fields within Western society. Indeed, for Foucault (1976: 17), modem prudishness

11
J involves "instances of muteness" which, by way of imp0sing silence, constitute
censorship. This muteness derives from the social setting within which the individual is
located, but also depends on the individual's compliance with the prohibition. There is
undoubtedly an element of "ambiguity of agency" (Butler, 1997: 129) in such
circumstances, but this ambiguity is similar to that which operates when individuals are
socialized into particular cultural norms. Although constraining, socialization does not
sentence individuals to life in an "open prison"(Cohen and Taylor, 1992: 30). Stanley
Cohen and Laurie Taylor (1992: 86) argue that the scripts of everyday life, far from
determining our behaviour, allow individuals
"to elevate routines, regularities and mere behavioural sequences in such a way
that we can assert our superiority over the everyday world. To say that there are
only a finite number of scripts is no more' deterministic' than to say that at any
one time an artist has only a limited range of forms, materials and techniques to
employ for self-expression".
The implicit censorship of everyday conventional dialogue falls into a similar category,
as opposed to self-censorship induced by threatening consequences from censors. For this
reason, self-censorship here is regarded as any decision to alter an utterance because of
perceived pressure from a formal censorial process, be it a state or private body.
Another issue to be considered is the part played by harassment in the censorship
process. Cloonan and Garofalo (2003: 3) distinguish between "the narrower concept of
censorship" and the broader concept of "policing", which they believe conveys "the
variety of ways in which popular music can be regulated, restricted, and repressed".
While Cloonan and Garofalo do not venture a clear definition of 'policing', the
indications are that they would include police harassment under policing and not "the
narrower concept of censorship". Clearly harassment of musicians as an act in isolation is
not, strictly speaking, censorship. Yet it is included in this thesis as an integral
component of the censorship process. The fact that harassment did happen in South
Africa, and was a threat to musicians, served as a part of the pressure to self-censor, and
also, on occasion, led to the disruption of concerts, the damage of musical equipment and
musicians' vehicles and the physical assault or even detention of musicians. As such, the
musician's attempts to sing unhindered are interfered with for the distinct purpose of

12
curtailing, or significantly altering, that expression, as stated in Cloonan's definition of
censorship. Christopher Merrett (1994: 2) definitely believes that it was necessary to
define censorship in this broad manner within the apartheid South African context. He
argues that censorship needs to cover:
"government interference with a wide range of political and social rights which
govern the communication of ideas and information: to publish, to speak publicly,
to organise collectively, to move freely around the country, and to gain access to
official information".
Certainly, as revealed in Chapter Four, the state's repressive apparatus collaborated with
the state's official censors in applying the Publications Control Act of 1974, apart from
being an ongoing real and perceived presence in all areas of recording, broadcast and
retail in South Africa. For this reason, Daniel Kunene (1986: 41) argues that it is crucial
for the repressive apparatus of authoritarian states to be included in a definition of
censorship. He argues that censorship is "any curtailment or total denial of an
individual's freedom to utter his or her ideas either orally or in writing, for any audience,
whether actual or potential" (Kunene, 1986: 41). However, in authoritarian contexts
censorship can "be further defined as a monopoly of propaganda enjoyed by a regime and
upheld by force" (Kunene, 1986: 42). The use of force is an integral component of
Kunene's definition of censorship, not a separate act that police also happen to engage in.
In repressive regimes the world over, artists have refrained from certain artistic
expression not simply because of censorship laws or the presence of censors, but because
of the repressive repercussions of failure to submit to government dictates. It is certainly
true of authoritarian states that policing gives censorship its teeth, enabling censorship to
be far more daunting than it would otherwise be.
Furthermore, repressive laws need not be directed solely at artists for them to constitute
censorship. Importantly, in agreement with Kunene, Brink (in Marcus, 1984: 17) located
censorship within a wider context of repression. He argued that:
"censorship represents all the repressive powers of society. If there is one
fundamental aspect of censorship that has to be grasped ... it is the fact that it
never operates in isolation ... censorship is an integral part of a much larger and
more complicated phenomenon".

13
Brink's assertion is based on the realization that "the distinction between artist as artist
and artist as person is untenable" (Kunene, 1986: 43). A wide range of repressive
legislation in South Africa impeded performing artists' freedom of expression, not only
legislation aimed specifically at restricting publications. Apartheid laws fundamentally
restricted (especially black) musicians through preventing them from freely participating
in core aspects of musical creation and performance. In particular, apartheid interfered
with three basic freedoms central to the work of any musician: freedom of association,
freedom of expression and freedom of movement. Freedom of expression has been
adequately dealt with in the preceding discussion, but a definition of censorship also
needs to include instances in which general laws in society prevent musicians from
collaborating with other musicians and from recording or performing in certain areas.
In summary, a more detailed definition of the censorship of popular music which takes
into consideration the ideas of those cited, and working with definitions put forward by
Cloonan (2003) and Marcus (1987) is adopted in this thesis. The censorship of popular
music is hereby defined as:
a wide variety of inter-related practices (both legal and extra-legal) which
combine to explicitly interfere with the freedom of expression, association and
movement of popular musicians to ensure that the articulation of certain facts,
opinions or means of expression are stifled, altered and/or prohibited.

1.6 The politics of censorship

The definition of the censorship of popular music accepted here, by including
interference with the freedoms of expression, association and movement, necessarily
raises issues about the politics of censorship. Absolute freedoms cannot exist for the
simple reason that we cannot all have the right to do whatever we want to do without
impinging on others' corresponding freedoms to do what they want to do and their rights
to be protected from harm. Clearly therefore, censorship, as defined above, will always
exist. Jim McGuigan (1992: 202) notes that many forms of restriction on freedom of
expression exist in order to protect certain rights of individuals, organizations and states
(the same can be said, to varying degrees, of freedom of association and movement). He
argues that both defensible and indefensible forms of censorship exist. Defensible forms

14
 of censorship are those which prevent expressions which undermine certain respected
freedoms of others. For McGuigan (1992: 203), "absolute freedom of expression is a
principle of intolerance", given that the notion of free speech "is used to justify all
manner of oppressive discourse, most notably sexist and racist discourses" (McGuigan,
1996: 157).
It is not difficult to sustain the argument that, in most part, the forms of cens~)!ship
discussed in this thesis would, in McGuigan's terms, be indefensible. State censorship in
particular, was often used to maintain fOlms of oppression. It is also not difficult to
understand why (in a society where racial mixing was restricted, movement of blacks in
particular was controlled, and protest against oppressive government policies outlawed)
opponents of censorship latched onto freedom of expression, freedom of movement and
freedom of association as guiding principles in their struggle. Yet this stance, if taken to
McGuigan's conclusion, would lead down a path to intolerance. It would allow, for
example, hate speech, stalking and harassment.
The problems related to advocating absolute freedoms are clear. Yet throughout this
thesis musicians have expressed their resentment of and resistance to restrictions placed
on them. At times they have seemed to advocate a form of absolute liberalism under
which conditions censorship ought not to exist. Musicians demanding the right to be
political or to be apolitical similarly appealed to their right to artistic freedom in their
quest to sing about whatever they wished to. It would appear that striving for absolute
freedoms was a consequence of and reaction to the totalitarian repression of the South
African state.
Yet there is a need for censorship, especially in the form of constitutive censorship
(Jansen, in McGuigan, 1996: 156), whereby "latent, subterranean and taken-far-granted
rules and operations of discourse" are established by human communities "in order to
function socially" (McGuigan, 1996: 156). There is also ongoing debate about the
necessity for manifest and state-sanctioned censorship if hate speech, for example, is to
be prevented. However, it is the contention here that these issues were not of immediate
interest to those struggling against censorship processes, simply because of the extent to
which they were censored, and the manner in which censorship was conducted during the

15

.1
I
apartheid era. Their immediate concern was in overcoming censorship practices which
prevented them from singing things they felt they had the right to sing about.
This thesis takes as its central focuses these very struggles over censorship practices. It
is concerned with musicians' struggles to be heard in a repressive context, and with their
experiences (and others involved in the censorship of popular music) in this struggle. In
exploring the life-worlds of musicians in this way, this thesis attempts to understand the
struggle as it was then, and refrains from undermining the experiences of those whose
approach to censorship might, in retrospect, appear to have been naYve. Reference to
musicians' refusal to self-censor or to euphemism as a form of self-censorship (as
discussed in Chapter Seven) are therefore not claims about a utopian society in which
censorship might not exist, but rather refer to particular stances adopted by musicians in
the process of political struggle, as they find themselves trapped between their need to
express their abhorrence at an unjust system on the one hand, and on the other hand, a
heavily repressive state hell-bent on stopping them from expressing that very abhorrence.
A determination not to self-censor needs to be seen in this light. It is not so much an
acceptance of the principle of intolerance as a vow to oppose injustice, despite state
repression and possible economic repercussions. As with the struggle against apartheid
generally, once the initial oppressive structures were overthrown, broader issues related
to the politics of censorship could be addressed, as indeed they have been over the past
ten years since democracy was achieved.

1. 7 Defining popular music

A precise definition of popular music is open to debate, so much so that many authors of
books on popular music do not even attempt to define it! Clearly, 'popular music' is not
easy to define. Chris Cutler (1991: 17) argues that the "truth is surely that music does not
consist of hard atomic categories, but is a continuum with, at any given time, specific and
'local' configurations. Like any seemingly hard edge, these configurations will dissolve
under high magnification". Cutler (1991: 16-17) suggests that 'popular music' is a useful
term so long as it remains vague, commonly understood but not contained within a fixed
set of parameters. Indeed, there does seem to be at least a fairly common agreement along
these lines amongst those who have attempted to define the term (usually the editors of

16
 popular music dictionaries and encyclopaedias). They note the complexity of the issue,
but nevertheless tend to regard contemporary 'popular music' as a collective term for
forms of music (instrumental and lyrical) loosely rooted in blues and similar non-
classical/traditional forms of 20th century music performed andlor recorded as a product
for a popular market. See, for example, Johnny Otis (1974: 1), Don Randel (1986: 646-9)
and Colin Larkin (1992: 9). But this does seem to be grounded in a Western conception
of music. Deanna Campbell Robinson et. al. (1991: 11, 12) have correctly noted that
often forms of non-Western music have different central features to Western music.
Many forms of Asian music, for example, may be based on very different scale and
performance practices. This would suggest that the form and structure of popular music
varies according to social context. In some contexts a clear distinction is not made
between popular and other forms of music. The contextual diversity in form and structure
of popular music stresses the need to consider other possible defining characteristics of
'popular music' , in partiCUlar the idea that it is performed and!or recorded as a product
for a popular market. .
Importantly, David Coplan (1985: 269), Donald Clarke (1995: 6), Johan Fornas (1995:
102) and Roy Shuker (1998: viii-ix) discuss 'popular' in relation to a mass media market.
Accordingly, 'popular music' is not only a stylistic term, but has to do with the
commodification of music (as a product in the market place). Closely connected to the
l
point of commodification, Phillip Tagg (1982) stresses the importance of the nature of the
I storage and distribution of popular music as distinguishing factors. The primary
commodity form of popular music is recorded sound, as opposed to oral transmission or
musical notation.
Some (Fiske, 1989; Burnett, 1996) argue that a crucial aspect of 'popular music' is its
popularity in a specific place at a particular time. For example, Robert Burnett (1996: 37)
argues that:
'~Popular music is directed at a self-selected audience. This audience essentially
chooses or elects what is popular with its listening time and money. Thus
quantitatively, popular music is measurable and observable. Numerous charts and
hit lists in various countries define what is being played on radio stations and is
selling in music stores".

17
However, it is argued in this thesis that reference to 'popular' is not necessarily an
indicator of the popularity of the music (and it certainly is not synonymous with the
narrower term 'pop music' although it includes such music). In agreement with this
contention, Roy Shuker (1998: viii) notes that some forms of popular music are quite
exclusive, for example thrash metal, while classical music is far more popular than such
marginal forms of popular music. In addition, censorship and other forms of control, such
as play-listing and government broadcast licensing policy, affect the ability of certain
music to become popular (in sales terms) in the first place. It is important, however, to
take heed of Campbell Robinson et. al.'s (1991: 12) point that in order for music to be
'popular' it does need to be (at the very least) appreciated within the musicians' own
communities. This could be a global audience, a national or regional audience or perhaps
even a local scene.
Overall the 'popular' in popular music therefore needs to be regarded as something
qualitative, not just quantitative. Certainly, Cutler (1991: 4) argues that a strictly
numerical analysis would fail to analyse "the travails of music as a struggle for affective
and aesthetic expression; unable too to uncover the dynamic which produces innovation
in, and refinement of, the expressive means in music". Placing some emphasis on
qualitative aspects of the music enables one to consider music which fails to achieve
widespread popularity for whatever reason, including a wide range of censorial practices.
Anahid Kassabian (1999: 117-118) has extended the definition of 'popular' to indicate
not only its commodification ('popular as mass') but also its liberatory potential ('popular
as populist'). Cutler (1991: 16-17) posits a similar distinction. However, it is argued here
that while popular music is indeed a contested terrain with the potential to give voice to
the interests of marginalized people, music does not necessarily have to be liberatory in
order to constitute popular music. The 'popular' in 'popular music' in this study,
especial!y given the implications of severe censorship, is taken to reflect both the general
style of music and its status as product in the marketplace.
Within the South African context this involves a wide range of styles including folk,
blues, mbaqanga, mbube, soul, kwela, marabi, rock, bubblegum, jazz and crossover,
excluding strictly classical, choral and traditional music (although at times these have
been infused with other styles to influence the sound of popular music). The boundaries

18
drawn are necessarily fluid. Ample allowance is made for complex musical influences
between musical styles worldwide. See for example Barber and Waterman's (1995)
discussion of creolization and Campbell Robinson et. al.' s (1991: 259-60) argument
recognizing the complex musical interchange between cultures which has taken place
over the centuries. Tony Mitchell (1996: 8) has argued that: "The history of popular
music is a constant flow of appropriations in which origins, and notions of originality, are
often difficult, if not impossible, to trace". Paul Simon's Graceland album effectively
illustrates this point. When Simon first heard the South African music which he later
incorporated on the Graceland album, he remarked that "it sounded like very early rock
and roll to me, black, urban, mid-fifties rock and roll" (cited in Garofalo, 1992: 5).
Garofalo (1992: 5) comments that: "This is hardly surprising since South Africa, like
many other countries, was the recipient of a steady stream of African-American music
styles in the 1950s and 1960s". Thus even seemingly traditional music has its popular
influences and is best regarded as a neo-traditional form of popular music.
In summary, the definition of contemporary popular music adopted here is in no way
definitive, but has been used to draw limits on the scope of this study, particularly
excluding strictly choral, traditional and classical styles of music as well as freedom
songs as sung at political rallies.

1.8 Locating this study in the 1980s

The 1980s was a crucial period in the history of South African music because of the acute
political tension in the country and the ability of music to provide a vehicle for emotive
and innovative means of protest. On the political front, various state reforms were
introduced, allowing musicians of different races to perform together openly, but other
pressures severely restricted the movement and creativity of musicians. Apart from
various direct censorship measures, these included the consecutive States of Emergency
imposed during the mid-to-late 1980s, allowing the police extensive control over South
African citizens. Being stopped at roadblocks and having concerts monitored and houses
searched became part of the norm for many politicized musicians.
However, the 1980s was not simply characterized by repression. One of the central
theoretical premises of this thesis is Foucault's (1976: 95) notion that where there is
power there is resistance. This was clearly manifested in South Africa both before and

19
 during the 1980s. The Soweto uprising of 1976 (which was to profoundly affect the
South African political landscape from then on) was a strong display of resistance to
·t years of Nationalist rule, especially the Bantu Education system and the introduction of
I the policy of 50% of school subjects being taught in Afrikaans in Bantu Education
schools - the other 50% being in English. The refusal of African school children to go
along with the Bantu Education language policy (in particular) led to changes in the
proposed system. The government's attempt to appease coloureds and Indians by creating
the tricameral parliament in 1983, whereby they were given unequal political rights (a
meaningless vote) was countered by the formation of the United Democratic Front
(UDF). The UDF was an umbrella organization initially set up to boycott the tricameral
elections of 1983. By the mid-' 80s it had become the unofficial internal wing of the
African National Congress (ANC), comprising approximately 700 affiliates and over 2
I

I\
million members (Davenport, 1987: 464). Under the direction of the UDF, stronger and
more widespread resistance was met by increased government repression in the form of
the States of Emergency already mentioned. This in turn led to further internal resistance
as well as international outrage and the stepping-up of international pressure in the form
of trade sanctions and the cultural boycott against South Africa. Ongoing pressure
ultimately led to the liberalization of the Nationalist government, as it increasingly
scrapped petty apartheid laws, allowed protest at the end of the decade, and finally
unbanned the ANC, Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) and South African Communist Party
(SACP), and released Nelson Mandela in February 1990. These fundamental changes in
early 1990 (leading to a democratically elected government in 1994), which were a
culmination of the events of the preceding decade, were accompanied by dramatic
changes in censorship laws. The struggle against censorship was an integral part of the
burgeoning resistance to the Nationalist government during the 1980s.
1980s South Africa is also significant for a study of music censorship for technological
and corrfmunicative reasons. During this period South Africa was severely isolated from
the rest of the world. Its geographical location meant that overseas radio broadcasts could
only be heard in South Africa if they were transmitted on short wave (and to a lesser
extent on medium wave) transmitters. This was not conducive to establishing a successful
foreign-based music station. Television was tightly controlled and only the government-

20
controlled SABC broadcasts could be received. Swazilal1d's television station and that of
the Bophutatswana bantustan were purely entertainment-oriented and posed little threat to
the government's ideologies. The relative (to the 1990s) backward status of technology in
the 1980s allowed the South African government power to execute whatever censorship
policies and broadcasting restrictions it wanted to put in place. The porous boundaries
made possible by the Internet and Satellite television and radio were not available to
ordinary South Africans in the 1980s, and so the sort of censorship policies discussed in
this thesis were easier to police, at least when it came to controlling broadcast of popular
music. Popular music was given low programming priority at the ANC-run Radio
Freedom, and in any case the station's poor short-wave quality reception reduced its
effectiveness as a music-playing medium for those few people who had short-wave radios
capable of reception.
Recording technology, a central component of popular music culture in the 1980s, was
also relatively unsophisticated and expensive and therefore controlled by a few powerful
record companies. Access to recording studios was possible for anyone with the money to
afford them, but there were only two pressing plants in the country, controlled by EMI
and Gallo. As discussed in Chapter Five, the pressing plants could be prosecuted for
pressing illegal material, and so instituted strict control over what was pressed. The only
alternative was to copy music onto horne-recorded cassettes. This is in contrast to the
computer technology of the late 1990s and the 21 st century, which allows individuals
working at home to produce good quality albums which they can bum onto compact disc.
Just as new recording technology is able to violate copyright through illegal reproduction
and the subsequent dissemination of recordings, it is able to violate censorship by
bypassing traditional centralized gate-keeping institutions. As Paul Theberge (1999: 223)
argues, sound technology is "a nodal point, a site for the playing out of a diverse set of
artistic, social and political tensions between industry and popular culture". Here it is
stressed that the tensions need to be viewed more broadly, as taking place between parties
with an interest in popular music, such as governments and censorial pressure groups.
The limits placed on musicians by centralized industry control of predominant recording
technology during the 1980s makes it an interesting decade to explore; especially given
state attempts to pressure the record industry into compliance. Musicians were restricted

21
from freely recording their music onto vinyl and (in the 'late' 80s) compact disc. Yet the
existence of independent record companies and cassette tapes potentially allowed
musicians to record and disseminate music through independent channels (see Chapter
Eight). Technological conditions in the 1980s certainly made it possible for censors to
exercise tighter control over the popular music industry than is possible in the more open
era of computer-based home studios, the internet, compact disc technology and MP3s. In
many senses, therefore, this is a study of a form of censorship control of popular music
which is no longer possible.

1.8 The focus on South African musicians

Clearly the censorship of popular music during the 1980s affected South African as well
as non-South African musicians. Yet this thesis focuses primarily on South African
musicians and other South African individuals and organizations involved in the context
of popular music censorship. The central reason for this has been to explore the specific
dynamics confronting South African musicians and others involved in the South African
recording industry, facing censorship obstacles in their home country. Censorship in this
context made it potentially difficult for musicians to be heard by local audiences. The
additional obstacles put in the way of musicians in the form of the cultural boycott makes
the focus on South African musicians even more pertinent. The focus on South African
musicians and recording industry thus provides for an exploration of an extremely
difficult music context, where local musicians truly had to struggle to be heard,
particularly if their message was deemed controversial by those with the power to censor.
Given the local focus of this thesis, most of the examples are South African. However,
in the chapters on mechanisms of censorship, a number of overseas examples are
nevertheless provided. These examples explore and illustrate the rationale of South
African censors and censorship processes, and are especially referred to when insufficient
suitable local examples are available. The discussion of the cultural boycott includes
considerable reference to overseas musicians, given that the cultural boycott was a United
Nations-orchestrated strategy and many examples of its effects involved foreign
musicians. The chapters on resistance to censorship hardly refer to foreign musicians.
This is not to downplay the role of foreign musicians in protesting injustices within South

22
Africa at the time. On the contrary, a large body offorei~ anti-apartheid resistance
music exists and played a role in encouraging counter-hegemonic activity and mobilizing
resistance to the Nationalist government (see, for example, Denselow, 1990: 186-202;
275-287). However, as indicated above, the focus of this thesis is specifically on
resistance to censorship of popular music. The central focus of foreign music was on
resisting apartheid more broadly, and was directed at a foreign audience. For this reason
little attention was given to specifically bypassing South African censors. On the
contrary, it was often good for publicity for foreign musicians to have their music banned
in South Africa. In addition, many musicians did not want to have their music released in
South Africa at all. The struggle against censorship, therefore, mostly took place on the
local (South African) level, involving South African agents. For this reason I have opted
to focus on South African musicians and others involved in the South African music
industry.

1.9 Race, class, sex and gender in South Africa

Any study of South African society needs to take into account the particular dynamics of
race, class, sex and gender which developed through the apartheid era. This section
begins by tracing early analyses of race in South Africa. These tend to focus on its
relation to class, but the discussion will lead into a consideration of sex and gender as
integrally important variables. It is not necessary to repeat established arguments here, or
to provide a detailed historical account of apartheid. This discussion will necessarily be
brief. More detailed analysis can be found in the sources cited.
In 1961 South Africa entered a peculiar post-colonial phase, which Patrick Fitzgerald
(1989: 163) refers to as 'internal colonialism' in which a white power bloc acted to
preserve white hegemony. This involved the Nationalist government's intensification of
racial segregation and inequality, begun under British colonialism and formalized when
the National Party (NP) came to power in 1948. Accordingly South African .citizens were
divided along the lines of government-defined race and ethnic groups. Political and
economic rights varied according to one's race. In order for the Nationalist government to
maintain dominance they needed to perpetuate the idea of those who were not whites as

23
'others', not permitted to represent themselves. Rather tney were "contained and
represented" by the dominating racial/racist framework of apartheid (Said, 1995; 40).
Racial separation was enforced from the petty-apartheid level of separate toilets and
beaches according to race, to the grand scale apartheid scheme of separate 'homelands'
for different ethnic Africans. In attempting to give credence to its policy of separate
development, the South African government established separate homelands for South
Africa's African ethnic groups. The plan was for these to be granted independence, so
that Africans could gain full citizenship in these 'independent states' only. In a
perpetuation of the notion of African as 'other' they were then treated as foreigners
within 'white' South Africa (which constituted 87% of the land). In the face of resistance,
just four of the nine homelands were ever granted 'independence'. These were Transkei
(1976), Bophutatswana (1977), Ciskei (1980) and Venda (1981). With the granting of
this independence by the South African government (not recognized internationally),
puppet governments were allowed to practice self-rule, but under the scrutiny of the
South African government who controlled the purse strings in the form of 'foreign aid'.
As discussed in Chapter Four, the SABC perpetuated ethnic and racial difference through
its introduction of different radio stations for different races and ethnic groups. When
television was introduced in the mid-1970s a similar (althOUgh not as extensive) policy
was pursued.
How to make theoretical sense of apartheid was the source of ongoing debate among
academics. For liberal critics such as Norman Bromberger (1982), Merle Lipton (1986)
and David Welsh (1987) racism was irrational, with independent roots. They argued that
apartheid went against the interests of capitalism because it interfered with a free market.
For example, it was argued that restriction on movement was detrimental to urban capital,
which needed free movement of labour.
In contrast, neo-Marxists such as Frederick Johnstone (1970, 1976), Harold Wolpe
(1972), Martin Legassick (1974), Dan O'Meara (1975), and John Saul and Stephen Gelb
(1986) argued that apartheid existed to meet the economic needs of capital. Capitalism
benefited from the reserves and controlled cheap labour. Apartheid (racist) laws were
therefore viewed as functional, based in the economy, passed in the interests of capital.
Racial oppression and capitalist exploitation were seen to "feed on" and "reinforce" one

24
.'

another (Saul and Gelb, 1986: 64).

Deborah Posel (1983) attempted to supersede the liberal/neo-Marxist impasse by
viewing apartheid, depending on context (for example, how laws affected different
sectors of capital) as both functional and dysfunctional to capitalism. As she points out,
"what is fundamental and distinctive about the South African case is the unity of class
and race as the source of structural differentiation in the society" (Posel, 1983: 62).
1 Thiven Reddy (2000: 62-65) is also critical of the functionalist and instrumentalist
assumptions of the neo-Marxist position. However, Reddy (2000: 63) argues for an
"analysis of white supremacy as a discourse on the 'Other' (which) opens up other
aspects such as the fear of miscegenation, the importance of protecting' civilization' and
the generalized world-view that different 'races' are destined to occupy differently
allocated positions in a social hierarchy; and we must not forget to emphasize the salience
.l
of 'white supremacy' in itself'. Peter Alexander (1987: 5-28) and Alex Callinicos
(1992: 6) argue that the origins of notions of white supremacy are intricately entwined
with the development of capitalism. However, whatever the origins of racist assumptions,
it would be mistaken to conflate the origins of racism with the reasons for its continued
existence.
Much of the writing and analysis on South Africa's politics during the apartheid era
focused on race and, as discussed, its relation to class and (to a lesser extent) ethnicity.
As is often the case, the issue of women's oppression was either ignored or simply
regarded as an issue of secondary importance. For Marxists and African Nationalists,
women's oppression was an issue to be dealt with after liberation. Until such time,
women were simply expected to support the liberation struggle, and not be divisive by
calling for an end to sexual oppression (see for example Ramphele and Boonzaier, 1988:
153). However, many (particularly feminist) activists did not regard women's liberation
as a separate struggle to other contests engaged in by South African women - black and
white. During the 1980s a broad conceptualization of feminism developed which
extended beyond the confines of struggles against gender discrimination alone, accepting
that sex and gender struggles were entwined with community struggles against racism,
poverty and other forms of marginalization.
South Africans had multiple identities and voices. De La Rey (1997: 7) stresses that in

25
 •
South Africa "we are simultaneously classed, raced and gendered. Hence, we cannot talk
about my experience of being a woman without talking about my race and my class for
how I experience the social world and others' responses to me are inextricably tied to all
these axes of difference".
Dominant discursive practices constituted different subjects according to varying
criteria. Just as the structures of white domination constituted subjects as 'the other' to
secure the assuredness of white identity (Reddy, 2000: 221), relationships based on sex,
class, ethnici!y, sexual preference, age and so on, similarly subjected 'others' to forms of
dominati9n. However, dominant discourses only partially and in a fragmentary way
represented dominated groups. The dominated groups, in resisting dominant discourses,
constructed alternative identities (in struggles) to represent themselves (Reddy, 200: 221).
Thus there were many contests over identity which took place in multiple sites, giving
~

rise to multiple identities or "diversity of subjective positions" (Hall, 1996c: 443). Based
on this understanding of multiple identities, Stuart Hall (1996c: 444) argues that "the
question of the black subject cannot be represented without reference to the dimensions
of class, gender, sexuality and ethnicity". Most definitely, failure to recognize differences
makes it impossible to understand the particular experiences of people subj ected to a
nexus of different dominating discourses.

1.10 Race, class, sex and gender in the South African music context
Although musicians considered in this thesis can be regarded as united in their struggles
to be heard, they did not share a common identity, given the interplay of different
discourses that affected them in divergent ways. This is true of race, class, ethnicity, sex
and gender. Apartheid meant that musicians of different races did not have a shared
experience of life in South Africa. Apartheid laws did, to a certain extent, restrict the
movement of white musicians (in accessing black areas), but the overwhelming affect
was on black musicians who were severely constrained by laws governing movement as
well as property and broader political rights. The psychological effects of being branded
the 'inferior other' and treated accordingly were a severe disadvantage for black
musicians which white musicians did not have to deal with. This was not restricted to
practising as a musician, but began with birth into a society of deep segregation and

26
inequality. Ray Phiri (Interview, 2001) spoke about the humiliation of growing up in a
two-roomed shack with no privacy, of having to lie in bed listening to one's parents
making love, because they had nowhere else to go:
You would grow up hearing funny noises, and you get scared. You think that
there's something wrong, only to fmd that nothing's wrong. You think that your
father is beating your mom to death or something of that kind, only to fmd that
they're coupling.
Restriction of movement also led to many instances of humiliation for black South
Africans, including musicians. Sipho Gumede (Interview, 1998) described how helpless
he felt when he, his girlfriend and child were arrested, driven around in the back of a
police van all night before being put into a police cell for breaking the pass law after
performing a gig in Cape Town one night:
We were charged with staying in a restricted area - coloured area - we were not
supposed to be there. And if you didn't have an ID you had to pay R5 5, so you
had to say you were guilty and then you paid R50 if you had your ID. And then it
was like: 'Guilty of what?' They said, 'You were found in the wrong area' ...
And that was ugly because I was looking at myself and saying, 'I'm really
hopeless here. My child is being put in the cell and there's nothing that I can do'.
Sipho Mabuse (Interview, 1998) revealed how police confronted him and fellow
musicians after a show in a white area late one night:
We played in a club in Highlands North. Probably very few, if any, black bands
played in Highlands North in these clubs. We were allowed to be on stage, and
the only other place we could be was the kitchen, where we had to dress up (and
we had our hamburgers) to go play on stage. It was called the Underground, but
we were not allowed to interact with the audience. And one of these nights we
came out and our car wouldn't start. And everybody had gone home. And we
started trying to push the car. And there was a police patrol with a black cop and
this boy who couldn't have been about eighteen if not younger. And he said to us,
what are we doing here? It's after three o'clock in the morning. And we said,
'We're a band, and we've just been playing in this club and unfortunately our car
could not start, so we've been trying to push the car'. Then he asked us for our

27
I passes and we showed him, and he looked at them and gave them back to us, and
eventually said, 'You're what? A band? What fucken band? A kaffir band. Who
did you sing for?' So we said, 'No we were paid to sing'. [Hesaid:] 'You mustn't
come with your shit here. You all look just like orang-outangs'. We kept quiet, we
did not want to laugh in his presence, you know. And he said, 'Get the fuck out of
town. Quick. Quick'. We said, 'Thank you boss, can we just start the car?' So we
pushed the car and fortunately we managed to start the carl.
The murky area of overlapping racial and class inequality is evidenced in Ray Phiri' s
discussion of growing up in a shack, and is again clear in the case of the Soul Brothers.
Moses Ngwenya (Interview, 1998) of the Soul Brothers related how he came from an
extremely poor family of ten children and whose mother died when he was young:

'1 I grew up at sisters' and brothers' places, and you know, when you grew up you

IIi
want to have sdme money to buy clothes and food and all that. So at first we did
have problems that we didn't have even money to catch a train from Soweto to
town. But we were lucky to produce a record which sold at the time. And from
there we didn't look back.
Ngwenya's story underlines the importance of class position for musicians. Many white
musicians came from middle class backgrounds and often even had university degrees
and/or other expertise and skills, which they could fall back on for financial security.
Although serious about music, these musicians could nevertheless treat it as a part-time
activity, to explore alongside their full-time employment or at the same time as studying.
For musicians from a working-class background (not only black, but mostly) music was
the sole source of employment and it was therefore far more important that they make a
living from it. This obviously had important implications for self-censorship. The risk of
having a song banned from airplay or distribution through retail outlets was far more
severe for a musician without a supplementary source of income.
The po'sition for white musicians was very different. To begin with, they tended to be
less political, as is revealed by Neil Cloud (Interview, 1998), of late 1970s band Rabbitt,
one of South Africa's most successful white bands ever:

1 In the interview Mabuse related the policeman's comments in Afrikaans. I have provided a translation.

28
 I don't think we realized the severity of the situation in the country, and just how
the whole situation had been handled. I think we did know. I think we knew about
the pass laws and what was happening, but I think we just got on with it. You
know. And it wasn't a situation of even thinking that Mr Mandela was in the right
or in the wrong. I don't think we'd been educated. You know we understood Mr
Mandela to be somebody who stood for terrorism and to blow up the country.
And I think we all grew and learnt a lot over the last twenty years with the Truth
and Reconciliation Commission. I think that Rabbitt was unaffected. I think we
missed that. It just missed it. It was just a happy band playing great music, having
great concerts, enjoying ourselves. You know, and then the reality struck ... We
were this white supremacist band.
As the previous accounts show, for Black South Africans the possibility that the harsh
realities of apartheid could simply pass them by was not an option. Not only were they
the daily targets of racist legislation and related economic deprivation, but the
implementation of racial segregation affected them more severely. Clout drummer Ingy
Herbst (Interview, 1998) related how:
Black friends were thrown out of my house. The black and white situation was
never an issue for me. But then again it was all very easy to say something like
that being a white person at that point and even although I suffered the indignity
of having police throw people out of my home, the indignity for the people who
were thrown out was far worse.
Herbst was opposed to apartheid segregation but she was not on the receiving end of the
harshest realities of apartheid laws. Consequently, she was able to feel affronted by the
indignity of the laws yet was never severely affected by them. Indeed, she does not recall
any politically related obstacles to the Clout's music success, other than finding it
difficult to procure overseas tours in places where the cultural boycott had begun to take
effect. The harshness of apartheid laws escaped the band, which performed light-hearted
songs that never sought to address South Africa's political problems.
Although white musicians were generally far better off than black musicians, a two-year
period of conscription into the South African Defence Force (SADF) for all white males
was a source of major resentment and opposition for many white musicians. It is not

29
, surprising therefore, that many songs of resistance to conscription and the activities of the
SADF were written during the 1980s. These tended to reflect the difficulties confronting
the white male experience, especially notions of militarized masculinity and the
expectation that white men should be prepared to kill and be killed for a system that some
believed was abhorrent.
However, it was most commonly women musicians who confronted the inter-related
issues of sex and gender. To varying degrees they suffered from widespread sexism in
South African society and the music industry. During the apartheid era African women
were often left to fend for themselves and their children in the impoverished rural areas
because their husbands were away for most of the year, forced off the land to attempt to
earn a living as migrant labourers in the urban areas. If women sought work in the urban
areas, they usually had to resort to poorly paid and oppressive domestic work (as was the
experience of many bhtck woman singers, including Miriam Makeba and Margaret
Singana). Within African culture girls were generally not encouraged as much as boys,
from an early age, to be musicians and learn to playa musical instrument. This is not to
say that African women were not encouraged to be musical. On the contrary, music was
an integral component of African culture for women as well as men. Mary Rorich (1989:
80) describes how music was an important part of many ceremonies and daily processes
in which women sing (such as singing of lullabies, work songs, educational songs, and so
on). As a result most black South African women musicians have been singers and not
instrumentalists. The most well known exceptions have been Emily Blackbird and Hope
Khumalo (who both played piano in bands in the late 1930's), Lynette Leeuw (who
played alto sax in the 1960's) and Nothembi Mkwebane (who played guitar). The
situation has not been a great deal better for white women. Most white woman popular
musicians have been lead vocalists. However there are far more exceptions amongst
white than black women musicians, such as Edi Niederlander as well as members of
Clout, Peach and Flux.
In a situation typical of women's position in the music industry globally, life in the
South African music industry was difficult. The music business is notoriously
competitive and ruthless, a harshness often exacerbated by apartheid in the South African
context. A clear example of the severity of apartheid-induced exploitation was the

30
 experience of veteran musician Madosini Manquina, who grew up and has continued to
live in a poor rural village in Transkei. She is a gifted songwriter, musician and
instrument maker and plays three traditional Xhosa instruments (the umrhubhe or

r
I

mouthbow, the uhadi or mouth harp and the isitolotolo or Jew's harp). In the 1970s a
f foreign film crew recorded her music and used it as the soundtrack for the film Xhosa
Macbeth. The film company took advantage of her illiteracy, her inability to speak
English and the low wages paid to black South Africans. She was paid a one-off sum of
I R8 for eight songs. The songs were also used extensively on radio without any royalties

\ being paid to her (Melt 2000, 1999).

In the music industry successful women performers generally fulfilled a stereotype of
women as backing singers or as attractive vocalists with a predominantly (if not fully)
male backing band. Women were seldom recruited as instrumentalists. Consequently they
were rarely portrayed as true craftspeople in the music business (especially in the singer-
songwriter mould). This correlates with Cynthia Lont's (1992: 243) observation that
mainstream music in Western societies (and clearly in South Africa, too) has been based
on the experience of males, "subsuming women's experiences within men's experiences
or ignoring women's experiences completely". Amina Mama (1997:79) agrees with Lont,
arguing that: "So far we have seen men appropriating and interpreting African 'tradition'
and 'culture' in selective ways that enhance their own power and authority over others".
Indeed, the history of women's relationship to the music industry in South Africa has
been one of a sexist record industry expecting women to be sex objects rather than just
performers. For example, Lara Allen (1997: 4) points out that in the 1950s:
"Drum and its sister publications provided ... a medium through which top
personalities in music, theatre and sport became Hollywood-type stars. Anxious to
grace their pages with pictures of beautiful women (so much more interesting if
they were also interesting and creative), pictorials like Drum gave women singers
a great deal of space, substantially bolstering their careers. Top singers like Dolly
Rathebe, Dorothy Masuka and Miriam Makeba became household names, no
longer just musicians but also cover girls and leaders of fashion, icons of glamour
and sophistication".
This view is supported by Rorich (1989: 90) in her discussion of black women

31
 performers in Sophiatown, who were, "(a)dored when y6ung and beautiful, (but)
forgotten when their looks and luck ran out". This emphasis on looks is further stressed
by the way in which "sexual titillation was generally considered the most vital ingredient
of a successful show or jazz performance; women were often chosen more for their
sexual attraction than for their musical talent" (Rorich, 1989: 90). Edi Niederlander
(Interview, 1998) agreed that women singers were often subjected to the male gaze in this
manner. In the 1970s and early '80s, despite being one of the top folk singers in the
country, she couldn't get a recording contract. As she explained:
Every woman at that point had to be Miss America. You still had to have that
kind of image before the music. So a lot of places basically turned me down with
that as one of the excuses.
The question of looks did not hinder male musicians in the same way. Certainly some
,1
! men had looks that were more marketable than others but few, if any, South African male
musicians have complained about record company pressure to have good looks.
The preceding discussion makes it clear that South African musicians during the
apartheid era cannot be regarded as a homogenous group. They certainly possessed
multiple identities, affected differently according to the interplay of dominating
discourses to which they were subjected, and to which they responded according to their
own symbolic capital. These subj ect positions shifted according to processes of
identification, which according to Stuart Hall (l996a: 2,3), involved an ongoing process
of construction, never permanent, but "conditional, lodged in contingency". Yet despite
these hybrid identities, South African musicians were nevertheless loosely united in
having to confront various censorship structures. Different forms of censorship affected
musicians according to their individual identities, which in turn affected their responses.
These will become clearer during the course of this thesis.

1.11 The structure of this thesis

This thesis is divided into three sections, each comprising three chapters. The first section
provides the conceptual, theoretical and methodological context for the rest of the study.
Building on some of the issues introduced in the first chapter, Chapter Two provides a
suitable theoretical framework within which to situate an analysis of South African

32
popular music censorship. Music censorship involves a contest over musical statements,
between the censors and the censored. This contest is explored through the works of
Antonio Gramsci, Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu. These theorists share a concern
with power relations in societies characterized by social inequality. Their social inquiries
share important features of relevance to this study. They were interested in how power is
exercised, why resistance to social inequality in their own societies was insignificant, the
relationship between structure and resistance, and they all posited theories which moved
beyond simple binary conceptions of struggle. The way in which they understood these
different areas varied, but they each offered important insights which have been
integrated into the ensuing theoretical paradigm. It would be mistaken to simply apply
these theories to South Africa without taking cognisance of local dynamics. For this
reason the ideas of these aforementioned theorists have been infused with those of post-
colonial and other writers who have written from the perspective of the subaltern. This
has allowed for a theoretical framework which accommodates the form and level of
resistance to popular music censorship in South Africa which evolved in the 1980s.
Chapter Three explains and justifies the research approach adopted in this research. It
questions my own position as a white male researcher in South Africa, explores the
dynamics of identity in South Africa and how this affects my research, and it briefly
traces the research process. A strong emphasis has been placed on in-depth interviews
with a broad range of people, particularly musicians. Consequently the chapter also
indicates how the various research methods were interpreted so as to provide an accurate
historical account of censorship while reflecting the experiences of those researched as
honestly and effectively as possible.
Section Two is concerned with mechanisms of censorship, while Section Three focuses
on strategies of resistance to the censorship of popular music. These two sections caused
me a great amount of anxiety as I attempted to provide a structure which accurately
c{iptured the ongoing spiralling relationship between structure and resistance in the
contest over censorship. Ideally each instance of censorship should be followed
immediately by discussions of resistance to it, but having unsuccessfully attempted a
structure which pursued this ideal, I settled for the current structure. This is because very
often the same form of resistance was adopted to overcome different forms of censorship,

33
 and thus a format which attempted to replicate the fluidity of the actual exchanges
between musicians and censors would be very repetitive and difficult to follow. The
current structure is therefore simpler to follow, but needs to be read as an ongoing
interaction between the two sections, which deal with censorship and resistance,
respectively.
Chapter Four provides an account of government mechanisms of censorship. This
includes the official (centralized) government censorship process, other laws which
allowed for censorship of popular music, SABC censorship and more repressive means of
silencing musicians, such as police harassment of musicians. It is revealed that some
members of civil society were complicit in government censorship and that there were
often contests and contradictions within the arena of government censorship itself.
j Chapter Five explores self-censorship practiced by various non-government institutions.

I, These include record c6mpanies (majors and independents), independent radio stations,
retail outlets and distribution companies, venues and musicians themselves.
Chapter Six considers a form of censorship practiced by anti-apartheid resisters. This
includes calls for musicians to play particular styles of music (for example 'authentic'
South African music) or to avoid certain forms of music, such as mbaqanga which at one
time was seen as a vehicle for apartheid propaganda. The central focus of the chapter is
on boycott calls, most notably the United Nations cultural boycott but also the boycott of
the Bureau for Information propaganda song of 1986. It is argued that despite the liberal
and progressive motives underlying these boycott strategies, their impact on musicians
was very similar to that of more conservative sources of censorship.
Chapter Seven is the first chapter to document and analyse resistance to censorship. It
specifically focuses on textual resistance to censorship. Music as text includes both lyrics
and the music itself. Censorship almost always focused on lyrics, but resistance to
censorship could occur on a musical level. Some examples of how this was done are
provided~ but this is not a musicological thesis, so in-depth musicological analyses of
songs are avoided. A variety of lyrical means of resistance are discussed in this chapter
including symbolism and camouflaged lyrics. While some of these constitute forms of
self-censorship they nevertheless allow for innovative and creative means of expression
which attempt to bypass censorship.

34
 Chapter Eight details areas of resistance to censorship Heyond the form and/or lyrics of
music. This includes live performance, printed resistance (in the form of record covers,
posters, fanzines and so on), legal challenges of censorship decisions, going into exile
and forging links with political organizations. Attention is also given to some of the
strategies adopted by the more innovative independent record companies, 3rd Ear Music
and Shifty Records in particular. These chapters reveal the extent to which musicians and
others resisting censorship were able to create spaces within which effective resistance
could take place.
The concluding chapter reflects on the theoretical framework adopted, and how this has
assisted in providing an understanding of the nuances and complexities of the struggles
over popular music censorship which took place during the 1980s. The chapter sum-ups
the ideas and arguments put forward throughout the thesis, emphasizing the manner in
which those involved in the contest sought to reposition themselves according to the most
suitable strategies available to them. Throughout the 1980s resistant musicians devised
means of overcoming censorship and making themselves heard. They proved that
resistance is possible, even in contexts of severe repression. Despite apartheid censorship,
creative and meaningful spaces of resistance were discovered and successfully
manipulated.

35
 CHAPTER TWO t

Locating the censorship of South African popular music within a theoretical context
of cultural struggle

Why don't you sing about the fish in the sea?

Why don't you sing about the blue sky?
Why don't you sing about the fantasy?
Because mister I've seen
Mud coloured dusty blood
Bare feet on the burning bus
Broken teeth and a rifle butt
On the road to Mdanstane

("Mdantsane" (1983) - Juluka)

2.1 Introduction
Censorship entails the attempt by some to silence others, involving the desire to prohibit
the expression of undesired views. Within the context of autocratic societies, rigid
mechanisms for practicing censorship are usually put into place by the state, in an attempt
to safeguard its interests as part of a struggle to maintain its hegemony. In the South
African context of the 1980s these mechanisms centred on the state's apartheid policies
and closely related religious-based legitimacy. Although the apartheid state was
intricately and deeply involved with the censorship of published materials, censorship
was only a minor strategy within its overall system of control, and furthermore, the state
was not the sole instigator of censorship within South Africa. Neither censors nor those
who resisted censorship constituted single monolithic bodies acting cohesively. Pressure
groups, particularly those of a religious nature, openly called for censorship during the
period in question. Those who opposed censorship varied from political activists to
individuals simply wanting their ideas to be recorded or published in their original form,
and som'etimes strategies of overc?ming censorship developed as an unintended
consequence of other musical_goals.
The central theorists whose works inform this chapter are Antonio Gramsci, Michel
Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu. Selective concepts from their work are employed in a
'multiperspectival' approach (Kellner, 1995b: 98), in an attempt to explore the nuances

36
and complexities of censorship struggles in apartheid South Africa. All three have in
common the objective of supplanting class reductionism and vulgar materialism without
entirely dispensing with a class perspective. They all grapple with the persistence of
social inequality without powerful resistance. Yet, importantly for an analysis of
censorship in South Africa during the 1980s, they believe that resistance is possible
despite oppressive structures. It is on this basis that the work of these theorists and of
others too (such as Ron Eyerman and Andrew Jamison, and Stuart Hall) is applied to
censorship of popular music in South Africa, developing a framework within which
resistance to censorship structures can be situated.
In the first section of this chapter it is argued that contests around the censorship of
popular music involved struggles over hegemony. Bourdieu's concepts of habitus and
fields are used to explore the operation of censorship. Fields, like hegemony, are
contested. A neo-Gra.r:hscian view of hegemony is adopted, one which places a strong
emphasis on the fluid nature of alliances that constituted hegemonic blocs as well as
instances of counter-hegemony. Certainly, spaces need to be found within which to
recognize that musicians were able to operate according to their own agendas and not
consistently (if ever) on behalf of a political movement. The argument here, informed by
the work of Michel Foucault, is against the use of binary positions in favour of a more
nuanced approach which takes into account the subtleties and complexities of cultural
struggles surrounding the censorship of popular music.
The second section of the chapter examines the struggle of musicians against censorship.
It focuses specifically on musicians' attempts to create spaces of resistance within which
they could overcome censorship. This section of the chapter explores the extent to which
musicians - through acts of resistance - articulated and transformed culture, opening
spaces in which particular forms of artistic expression emerged (Eyerman and Jamison,
1998: 160-5). It is argued that in direct response to censorship structures, musicians were
able to creatively combine culture and politics to produce new strategies for overcoming
censorship.
However, although a relationship between censorship struggles and broader political
struggle existed, the successful outcome of struggles against censorship was not the end
to apartheid, but something much less ambitious: simply registering dissent through

37
music or related activities despite censorship. It is for thi'S reason that the struggle against
censorship was fragmented and often isolated, with each musician or group developing
individual strategies of making him/her/themselves heard. A joint forum against
censorship was never specifically formed, and thus instances of success were isolated and
individual, and the final demise of apartheid censorship developed out of broader
political struggle rather than as a consequence of a direct musicians' struggle against
censorship. Different musicians, by positioning themselves in various ways, actively
participated in broader struggles against dominant discourses, only a small part of which
entailed the censorship of music. This chapter attempts to provide a theoretical
framework which focuses narrowly on censorship struggles, but does so within the
broader social-political dynamics of South African society at the time. Importantly, the
following discussion provides a theoretical framework within which to situate censorship
struggles, and does not'}attempt to provide a systematic theory of music censorship.

2.2 Locating South African popular music censorship within a context of hegemonic
struggle
In the discussion of censorship in Chapter One it was argued that discourse is dependent
on the social conditions of its production (Bourdieu, 1993b: 90). Culture plays an
important mediating role in the way discourses within class societies are produced and
reproduced. For Bourdieu (1977: 72), the structures constitutive of particular
environments produce 'habitus': the assimilated "social grammar of taste, knowledge, and
behaviour inscribed permanently in the body schema and the schemes of thought of each
developing person" (Giroux, 1983: 89). The habitus acts as a mediating link between
structures, social practice and reproduction in such a way that the dominant discourse (in the
South African context viewed more broadly than in narrow class terms) does not
automatically and systematically impose itself on oppressed groups. Instead, through the
process of mediation, it is partly reproduced by -them. As such individuals do not
automatically act out any attitude or dispositions which they have inherited, rather
individual actions are continuously adaptive (Robbins, 2000: 29).
Nevertheless, the power of the dominant group capacitates it with the ability to impose
its cultural framework on the other groups, so that its culture becomes the only one

38
accepted as legitimate (Bourdieu, 1977: 167-8). As such: discourse is controlled through
the positing of external rules. These rrues are an integral part of structural fields, which
strongly influence the trajectories of the groups within each field. Bourdieu's notion of a
field is "a partially autonomous field of forces, but also a field of struggle for positions
within it" (Harker, et. al. 1990: 8). While fields comprise institutions and rules, they are
also made up of the interaction between institutions, rules and practices (Webb, et. al.
2002: 22). An individual's power within a given field depends on hislher position within
the field, and hislher habitus. Within the field, one's habitus operates as a "strategy-
generating principle, enabling agents to cope with unforeseen and ever-changing
situations" (Bourdieu, 1977: 72). Those within a position of power are able to designate
what constitutes 'authentic' capital within a particular field (Webb, et. al. 2002: 22).
Within subcultures 'subcultural capital' (Thornton, 1995: 11) can be developed, enabling
subcultural positions of power to come into play in particular fields.
For Bourdieu (1993b: 91), entering a particular field positions an individual within a
specific structure, the discourse of which is dependent on the individual's economic,
social and cultural situation, but in addition, mediated by political alignment. The
regruatory power of that discourse subjects the individual, regulating what can be said by
whom under what conditions (Foucault, 1975). This means that "one needs an analysis of
the social conditions of the constitution of the group in which the discourse is produced,
because that is where one finds the true principle of what could and what could not be
said there" (Bourdieu, 1993b: 92).
The South African government certainly implemented censorship as an intended
limitation of discourse, part of a system of classification, order and distribution designed
to prevent "the emergence of the contingent" (Diawara, 1997: 457). The result of this
"discursive subjugation" (Diawara, 1997: 457) was that freedom of speech was curbed,
involving the construction of obstacles to be negotiated by anyone wanting to express a
published opinion or utterance. It can therefore be seen that publication and cultural
performance fields were set up which, apart from aesthetic rules, were governed by the
dominant political discourse according to the government's moral-political framework.
These fields were "force-fields" acting on all those who entered them, "and acting in a
differential manner according to the position they occup(ied) there". They were

39
simultaneously "fields of competitive struggle which tentl( ed) to conserve or transform"
the force-fields (Bourdieu, 1996: 232). In the'context of South African censorship, this
struggle was around popular music messages rather than aesthetics. Accordingly,
censorship created structures and challenges to be overcome by the censored or
potentially censored who, despite such constraints, wanted to be heard. The foremost
struggle for musicians against censorship during the apartheid era, therefore, was in all
instances a struggle to be heard, no matter the form of censorship. In this sense, struggles
over censorship can be conceived in terms of tensions over moral-political considerations
between production and reproduction. The habitus of musicians prevented "total
contingency" as musicians negotiated the "constant tension between the urge to create
and the urge to conserve" (Robbins, 2000: 40), where 'creation' is incorporated to refer to
writing and singing about issues which fall outside the ambit of what is acceptable
according to the dominant discourse.
In conceptualizing a framework for such struggle, Robin Balliger (1995: 13) asserts that
"music is neither transcendental nor trivial, but inhabits a site where hegemonic processes
are contested". This clearly was the case in South Africa during the 1980s. A Gramscian
model of hegemony and counter-hegemony views culture as a site of struggle between
hegemonic or ruling social and cultural forms of domination and counter-hegemonic
forms of resistance and struggle. While not focusing directly on music, in the Prison
Notebooks, Gramsci did consider the question of fascist and anti-fascist art and what kind
of literature should be supported and rejected in class struggle (Holub, 1992: 4). Gramsci
certainly expected writers to show their colours and take a stand in the cultural struggle
(Holub, 1992: 8). As such, Gramsci situated art within the struggle to support or resist the
status quo. Crucial to Gramsci's theorization of this struggle are his concepts of
hegemony and counter-hegemony. Hegemony is the power or dominance that one social
group holds over others, but does not simply deal with social power itself; it is also a
method for gaining and maintaining power (Lull, 1995: 31). Hegemony involv~s a
situation in which a provisional alliance between certain social groups exerts authority
over subordinate groups. This is not realised through force alone, but also through
winning and shaping consent so that the power of the dominant groups appears to be both
legitimate and natural (Hall, 1977: 338). As a concept, hegemony firstly assists our

40
 •
understanding of how political society, through the use of the institutions of law, police,
army and prisons, coerces society into consenting to the status quo. Secondly, and most
significantly, hegemony assists our understanding of how political and civil society,
through the use of institutions including education, religion and the media, contribute to
the production of meaning and values which in turn produce, direct and maintain the
consent of society to the status quo.
In Grarnscian terms, the apartheid state can be seen to have maintained the status quo
through a combination of force and shaping consent, with the police and military exerting
violence ~o maintain order, while other institutions such as components of the media,
religion and education attempted to induce consent to the dominant ideology. As such,
. the state - in both its overt and subtler attempts at control - appeared to constitute a
single oppressor against which resistance was mobilised. However, it is the contention of
" state nor resistance to it was a single unified force, rather the
this thesis that neither'the
entire terrain in which the musical scene took place was fragmented and involved
complex alliances and resulting frictions. The contests over South African music
censorship in the 1980s involved constant contests over power distribution, not narrowly
restricted to (economic) class struggle. The state's dominance was maintained through
provisional alliances between historic blocs and interest groups (white nationalists,
capitalists, Calvinists, bantustan leaders) who exerted authority over subordinate groups
(blacks, the working class, women). These alliances shifted according to crises of
legitimacy (whether political, ideological or economic) so that, for example, by the mid-
1980s, South Africa's entry into the stage of monopoly capital and the changed emphasis
from mining and agriculture to manufacture necessitated a relaxing of apartheid laws to
allow for the development of an urban-based stable and skilled black workforce. For
Tomaselli and Tomaselli (1987: 43) this resulted in the state's attempt "to establish a
coalition of interests between politically dominant groups and the white and black middle
classes". As noted in Chapter Four, this led to a concomitant liberalization of government.
censorship, which became less concerned with images of racial mixing and focused more
specifically on messages of political incitement and insurgence.

41
 Through the incorporation of Foucault's analysis of power, hegemony can be seen to
contribute towards a form of social cohesion achieved not only through force and
consent, but also by means of
"practices, techniques, and methods which infiltrate minds and bodies, cultural
practices which cultivate behaviour and beliefs, tastes, desires, and needs as
seemingly naturally occurring qualities and properties embodied in the psychic
and physical reality (or 'truth') of the human subject" (Smart, 1986: 160).
By focusing on the different modes by which cultures make subjects of human beings
(such as the family, school and media), it is clear that forms of power exercised
throughout individuals' everyday lives shape them into more docile individuals,
according to the dominant discourse.
A sophisticated nexus10 is created in which all the elements of alliances combine in a
collective will which functions as the protagonist of political action during the
hegemony's entire duration (Mouffe, 1981: 225). The hegemony is not fixed, it is
negotiated and renegotiated, or as Bourdieu (1990: 141) puts it, is "constantly broken and
restored", perpetuated or subverted. This hegemony is most susceptible to contest when
there is a "mismatch between the expectations of habitus and the opportunities offered by
the fields" (Swartz, 1997: 290). Hegemony's vulnerability to contestation makes
allowances for counter-hegemonic processes.
Barry Smart (1986: 170) notes that the forms of struggle and resistance that are the basis
of counter-hegemonic strategies develop around the very techniques that constitute
hegemony. In Gramsci's terms, counter-hegemony depends on intellectual and moral
reform: the transformation of the ideological terrain of the status quo and the creation of a
new ideology, which serves as the unifying principle for a new collective will. This
process of transformation involves a rearticulation of existing ideological elements. In
other w~rds, cultural struggle does not entail the complete rejection of the present system
and all its elements, but rather a rearticulation of the system, rejecting only those
elements which cannot serve to express the new situation (Mouffe, 1981: 230). The 'new
situation' which is the source of inspiration for counter-hegemonic struggle, is a complex
combination of diverse forms of resistance around a myriad of issues and identities, based
on race, gender, sex, ethnicity, nationality, class and other groups or ideas around which

42
individuals form identities. Alliances shift and are often temporal, whether hegemonic or
counter-hegemonic. Neither is ever totalizing or complete. Out of this incompleteness
arises the idea of a dual-consciousness, indicative of Gramsci's belief that complete
hegemony is never achieved and there is always basis for resistance. The subject thus
possesses the basic consciousness with which to resist, the foundation on which counter-
hegemonic struggle can be developed.

2.2.1 Conceptualizing hegemony in South Africa

Similarly to Italy at the time of Gramsci' s writing, the system of domination in South
Africa relied more heavily on rule (direct coercion) than on consent and there was no
universal franchise, which meant that "the most important means of general consent-
building (was) missing from the South African hegemonic armoury" (Tomaselli et. al.
1987: 16). However, class reductionist models of hegemony are not directly applicable to
South Africa of the 1980s, especially given the manner in which race and nationality
were important determinants of the social fabric. The history of white colonial rule in
South Africa meant that even the politically dominant Afrikaners were involved in a
struggle against the forces of British colonialism 1, including language preservation.
British colonialism had, to some extent, legitimized the ideology and culture of Britain
amongst black South Africans and English-speaking whites, whilst simultaneously
undermining that of the Afrikaners. The subsequent Afrikaner nationalist struggle to free
themselves from the political and cultural hegemony of English-speaking whites was
integrally related to the institutionalization of apartheid that followed the rise to power of
the Nationalist Party in 1948. Thus attempts to legitimize white Afrikaans culture were
strongly resisted by African South Africans who tended to fall back on the earlier
language and culture of domination - English - as a form of resisting Afrikaner
Nationalism. Furthermore, the role of indigenous African languages and culture within
the separate development policy of the Nationalist government complicated the
preservation of these cultures within the struggle against apartheid.

IMost strongly reflected in the Anglo-Boer Wars at the tum of the 20 th Century.

43
 Despite the rivalry between the two main white groups: they were drawn together in a
joint domination over black South Africans. In their political domination they drew upon
their common European cultural tradition - what Steve Biko referred to as an Anglo-Boer
culture (Kavanagh, 1985: 18). Accordingly black South Africans were constructed as
racial others to be dominated culturally (also economically and racially) through a
combination of (particularly) force and winning and shaping consent as indicated above.
At the same time the state attempted to indoctrinate both white Afrikaans and English
citizens into a culture of nationalist Calvinist racism. Such indoctrination, often crude and
oppressive in its implementation, inevitably led to some resistance within the ranks of
white South Africans, indicating yet another instance in which hegemony was
incomplete.
The complex and diverse nature of South African society in the 1980s necessitates the
adoption of a nuanced-conceptualization of hegemony and counter-hegemony. Kellner
(1995b: 58) advocates an approach that "involves taking seriously struggles between men
and women, feminists and anti-feminists, racists and antiracists, gays and antigays, and
many other conflicts as well". From this viewpoint, cultural struggle is heterogeneous and
necessarily subsumes reductionist meta-narratives, which rely on binary oppositions in
their conceptualization.
Yet cultural struggle must not be viewed in the opposite extreme, in purely individual,
completely fragmented terms. Frantz Fanon (1961: 93), writing about the colonial
situation in Algeria, importantly stresses that: "The settler's work is to make even dreams
of liberty impossible for the native. The native's work is to imagine all possible methods
for destroying the settler". In reifying the distinction between subject and object, Fanon
indicates the need to remember that in colonial contexts practices (such as censorship)
exercised in the interests of hegemony involve a dominant group exercising power in
their own interests at the expense of others. There were common forces of oppression,
common strategies of exclusion, stereotyping and stigmatizing of oppressed groups, and
thus common targets of attack. Commonalities as well as differences need to be stressed
(Kellner, 1995b: 97). Yet the ensuing struggle was not one in which subject and object of
power relations followed essentialist lines. As indicated in Chapter One, neither apartheid
policy nor Nationalist rule was solely about asserting racial domination. Neither was

44
 resistance to censorship during apartheid the sole domaiI~ of black South Africans.
Overlapping interests shared by musicians of different races, genders, classes and other
identities were constructed (either in terms of real practices or imagined through musical
style or lyrics) within the dynamics of creating music and resisting injustices broadly and
censorship specifically.

2.2.2 Instances of counter-hegemony

In arguing that the struggles around censorship of music in South Africa are best framed
within a context of hegemonic and counter-hegemonic struggle, one final note of caution
needs to be sounded. In using the idea of counter-hegemonic struggle, Eyerman and
Jamison (1998: 164) refer to musicians as members of counter-hegemonic movements,
referring to them as movement artists and intellectuals. However, in this thesis it is
argued that a more independent position should be granted to musicians. In this argument
\
it is maintained that musicians - intentionally or not - did sometimes involve themselves

\ in instances of counter-hegemony which were moments of resistance to censorship, but

that these instances themselves did not constitute membership of or strict allegiance to a
unified counter-hegemonic movement. It is argued that to do so would romanticize and
essentialize the part played by musicians as well as restrict their creativity to a mere
instrumentalist role within a particular movement, whereas their actions were far more
complex and intricate than such a reading of their actions implies. Furthermore, although
the apartheid state was a centralized force involved in a hegemonic struggle, it would be
fallacious to argue that there was only one social movement opposing it. The
overwhelming struggle was against apartheid, with much opposition consolidated around
the ANC/ UDF alliance. However there were other struggles waged by different
movements and individuals during the same period. To consider one example, there was
a war resistance movement opposed the South African Defence Force (SADF) and
conscription. By 1980 Conscientious Objector Support Groups (COSG) had sprung up to
support objectors. COSG raised national awareness about militarization and
conscientious objection through public meetings and a national publication, Objector
(CIIR, 1989:81). At the 4th national €OSG conference in Durban in 1983 the End
Conscription Campaign (ECC) was formed (CIIR, 1989:86). Resistance abroad was taken

45
up by the Committee on South African War Resistance (COSAWR), based in London
and Amsterdam. ECC and COSAWR both focused on raising awareness and providing
support for objectors. This broad anti-conscription movement took the fight to the SADF,
putting pressure on the Nationalist government to end conscription and the SADF's
activities both externally (especially in Angola and Namibia) and internally (in the
townships in particular). There were also organizations and individuals who protested
against the SADF and conscription who were not members of the ECC. While the SADF
was undoubtedly part of the coercive arm of the state, maintaining the apartheid system,
much of the resistance to the SADF was aimed at the SADF itself, by individuals
opposed to the conformity of the SADF or who simply did not want to serve in the SADF
for a variety of reasons not related to the SADF's role in supporting the apartheid system.
Acting within the war resistance context these individuals (including musicians) were
'/0
able to resist, and in tills moment the hegemonic status of the SADF was challenged.
These diffused occurrences of resistance are here regarded as instances of counter-
hegemony.
The idea of instances of counter-hegemony is important. The term' counter-hegemony'
is used to situate some of the actions of musicians (in this instance those actions which
attempt to bypass censorship) within a clearly political context. Not to realize the political
significance of a musician attempting to obscure a contentious message would be to
remove the song from an unavoidably political context. However, the error of placing too
much emphasis on the political (especially linking the political to a political movement)
also needs to be avoided if an accurate reflection of musicians' actions is to be achieved.
Very few South African performers wrote on behalf of a movement. Most wrote
independently of any political structures. Clearly there were times when such musicians
contributed towards political campaigns when performing at political rallies or festivals,
singing appropriate songs for the occasion. This emphasized the politicized nature of
these musicians, but nevertheless did not reduce them to one-dimensional political
beings, acting as organic movement intellectuals or artists. Rather, the performance of
political songs as a means of being heard despite censorship, together with other means
of outmanoeuvring censorship, were'moments in which musicians' aesthetic reflections

46
combined with political and social convictions to create instances of counter-hegemony.
In these moments the hegemonic status of the values of censors was being challenged.
The notion of individual counter-hegemonic instances follows Foucault's idea of
fragmented resistance (see Garner, 1996: 60). As long as power relations do not solidify
into a state of complete domination, resistance is possible. For Foucault (1976: 94),
"power is exercised from innumerable points, in the interplay of nonegalitarian and
mobile relations" in which individuals are simultaneously subjected to and exercise
power. As such people are the vehicles of power, rather than its points of application
(Foucault, 1994: 214). Power can thus be seen to be malleable and intricate, not confined
to the state, legislature or class. In fact, it is omnipresent in the sense that "power is
everywhere, not because it embraces everything, but because it comes from everywhere"
(Foucault, 1976: 93). It follows that "there is no binary and all-encompassing opposition
between rulers and ruled at the root of power relations, and serving as a general matrix"
(Foucault, 1976: 94). While occasionally there might be massive binary oppositions,
"more often one is dealing with mobile and transitory points of resistance,
producing cleavages in a society that shift about, fracturing unities and effecting
regroupings, furrowing across individuals themselves, cutting them up and
remolding them, marking off irreducible regions in them, in their bodies and
minds. Just as the network of power relations ends by forming a dense web that
passes through apparatuses and institutions, without being exactly localized in
them, so too the swarm of points of resistance traverses social stratifications and
individual unities" (Foucault, 1976: 96).
The situation in South Africa in the 1980s did tend towards one of mass resistance, but it
nevertheless involved a heterogeneous ensemble of power relations located at different
levels of society, manifested in localized struggles against the many forms of power
exercised at the everyday level of social relations. The exercising of power and resistance
to it was complex, and was certainly not centralized or fundamental, nor could all actions
be seen to be exclusively complicit or resistant.
Foucault has been criticized for his pessimistic notion of power, in particular the idea of
resistance to power never being in exteriority to it (see for instance, Best, 1997: 20-26;
Sawicki, 1991: 223-224; Said, 1986). In transcending simple one-dimensional notions of

47
 identity, Foucault exaggerates the shift from social wholes to focus "instead upon the
individual as dissolved in an ineluctably advancing 'microphysics of power' that is
hopeless to resist" (Said, 1993: 336). Nevertheless, the need to decentre the subject and to
conceive of identities as heterogeneous remains an important exercise for understanding
the dynamics of South Africa in the 1980s. Accordingly identities should be regarded as
"points of temporary attachment to the subject positions which discursive practices
construct for us" (Hall, 1996a: 6). Thus one's locality and role can affect one's
allegiances and interests. As Jana Sawicki (1991: 224) puts it: "There are no privileged or
fundamental coalitions in history, but rather a series of unstable and shifting ones". A
musician might have addressed different issues in different ways according to how s/he
positioned him/herself at a particular time. S/he for example, might have taken on the role
of (or identified with) the lover, conservationist, anti-racist, anti-sexist, or pacifist, but
this did not necessarily'ltexclude her/him from adopting an oppositional position in one
instance and a different position in another.
Foucault argued that in reality power is an open, more-or-less co-ordinated cluster of
relations, given that power relations are always fragmented, competing with each other
and operating in different sites along different lines (Simons, 1995: 83). Individuals are
'subjectified' or bound to particular identities around which conflicts are fought
(Foucault, 1982: 190) - for example, ethnic, racial, gender, national conflicts. However,
individuals can potentially refuse to remain tied to the identities to which they are
subjected, and assert multiple identities by struggling against the ways in which they are
individualized (Foucault, 1982: 216). In South Africa the act of state censorship was an
act of subjectification: classifying certain types of music and by implication, the
musicians who created the music, as 'undesirable'. For Foucault (1976: 85) the idea that
the censor enforces silence schematizes power in a juridical form, its effects defined as
obedience. Confronted by power in the form of a law, the subject is constituted as subject
(is subjected) through the act of obeying. But in refusing to be subjected the individual is

; I
able to resist this power.
However, power both subjects and produces, thus seemingly clouding the issue of
resistance, of refusing to be subjected. Individuals continue to accept power exercised
over them because that power is both repressive and productive. Not only does power

48
exclude, repress, censor, abstract, mask and conceal, butt it also produces reality,
'domains of objects' and 'rituals of truth' (Foucault, 1975:194). In this way productive
power produces individuals. For example, disciplinary power exercised on the body
increases the power of individuals but also makes them more docile (Sawicki, 1991:
221). When relating the positive notion of power to censorship in South Africa, it should
be apparent that for many citizens censorship was productive in the sense that it was seen
to rule out extreme ideas and forms of behaviour. As shown in Chapter Four, Christian
and Muslim religious groups legitimized the government's censorship board by calling
on it to ban pieces of music regarded as religiously offensive. When the board acted in
favour of these groups, they regarded the censorship board as empowering them, even if
through its very existence, it made them more docile. This reaction was mirrored in other
instances of extended surveillance and policing, as in the example of the presence of
..
'troops in the townships'. The justification (supported by significant sectors of the
population) for such surveillance/policing/control was always the public's interest,
despite the increased encroachment of liberties and consequent escalating exercise of
power over individuals which accompanied these actions. Importantly however, in South
Africa, the exercising of such power over individuals was never widely accepted. Within
the constraints of a highly repressive society it is difficult for disciplinary power to be
seen as productive by those suffering the effects of oppression. For this reason, the scope
for counter-hegemonic resistance in South Africa was always much stronger than
Foucault and Bourdieu imagined for Western countries, where governments have
invariably had greater degrees of legitimacy. Resistance in South Africa was therefore
always potentially greater than simply registering individual acts of transgression against
the dominant discourse. Resistance was always capable of achieving broader
transformation. For this reason, even though there were multiple points of resistance in
South Africa, a model which accepts the importance of a general struggle over hegemony
is crucial to a society suffering massive inequalities.
The importance of eschewing dualisms has been clearly argued. It is imperative to avoid
an approach which imagines cultural struggles to be dichotomous, yet there is also a need
to be wary of individualizing subjects in isolation of collectivities. There are clearly
differences (as opposed to dichotomies) as well as similarities. Conceptualizing struggles

49
over power in terms of both difference and similarity allows one to move forward with
the idea of the individual who is able to act both individually and collectively. Sometimes
slipping from one mode into the other, at other times overlapping or combining the roles.
Such a position explains the South African context of mass resistance, yet also of shifting
and unstable coalitions and allegiances.

2.3 Resisting censorship

This thesis is essentially concerned with struggles around structure. There was the
struggle to set up, maintain and police state censorship structures. Censors (on censorship
boards), those who supported them (moral and religious activists and members of
political parties who supported censorship bills in Parliament), and those who enforced
these laws (the police,. Customs and Excise staff) implemented censorship. The structures
of censorship were ostJnsibly put into place to empower the state but they also benefited
other associations such as religious and moral institutions. There was also a reaction to
the structure of censorship: the struggle to overcome, undermine, ignore, manipulate and
bypass censorship structures.

2.3.1 Constraint and resistance

The struggle to resist censorship, to get the better of the censors, can be seen to stem
directly from the structures put into place by censorship. Importantly, censorship rules
came into play at two points. In the first instance the rules were established. The passing
of the Publications Act Number 42 of 1974 established certain objective rules, as did the
setting up of an SABC re«ord committee with agreed zones of unacceptable lyrics (see
Chapter Four). These rules created a relationship between censors and censorship
subjects that bestowed certain causal powers on censors, which allowed the censors to
dominate censorship subjects. In the second instance, the positions of censor and
censorshlp subjects were "filled by actual incumbents" (Porpora, 1998: 352). The filling
of these positions by ac~ual censors, musicians an~ others involved in the field of
censorship contributed a personal dynamic to the established rules. In Bourdieu's terms,
those entering the censorship field interacted on the basis of cultural capital that they
brought into the field. Crucially, the established rules did not rigidly specify the manner

50
in which the rules should be applied. The application of rules was dependent on the
interaction of incumbents within the field. For one thing, the rules were open to
interpretation and were not uniformly applied. This was especially true given that the
bureaucratic nature of the censorship committees meant that the individual members of
these committees, each with his/her own interpretation of the rules and approach to
applying them, were to some extent interchangeable, allowing for various applications of
the rules. Secondly, some of the interaction was not even governed by the established
rules. For example, record company representatives who approached the head of the
SABC record committee for approval of a song before pressing copies of a single. Such
unregulated interactions can only be explained in terms of the record company
representative's recognition of the causal powers inherent in the position of the head of
the SABC record co~ittee.
The recognition that constitutive rules establish relationships in the first place indicates
that in the relationship between censors and those who are subject to censorship
processes, three things needs to be distinguished. For Douglas Porpora (1998: 352), these
are: Firstly, "the original constitutive rules" that establish the partiCUlar relationship of
authority and domination between censor and subjects of censorship process, secondly,
the actual relationships themselves, and thirdly, "the tacit, informal rules that emerge
when people enter those relationships and begin interacting" (Porpora, 1998: 352). This
allows for a conceptualization of structure and resistance in which the structural
4

properties of social systems constrain, enable and motivate (Porpora, 1998: 353). Unlike
Anthony Giddens' (1982: 30-32) "duality of structure", Porpora's understanding of social
structure introduces the crucial variable of motivation to the relationship between
structure and resistance. Porpora (1998: 353) argues that:
"many systems ... never reproduce themselves exactly; they are ever changing as
a result of the consequences of actors' actions. Consequently actors in those
systems are routinely responding in nonroutine, nonrule-like ways to altered
circumstances" .
This model facilitates a conceptualization of individuals as being at least to some extent
involved in their own regulation in ways not entirely determined by the structures
themselves. Structural constraints therefore necessarily provide the possibility of
resistance in the very instance in which individuals encounter a framework of constraint
such as censorship. Incorporating the personal motivation of actors, including for
example the actors' interests, supports Bourdieu's position that "action is generated by
the interaction of the opportunities and constraints of situations with actor dispositions -
the repository of past experience, tradition, and habit" (Swartz, 1997: 291).
Censorial structures, although administered by concentrated groups of censors, operated
at a fragmented and individual level throughout society. The principal sites of censorial
regulation were the musicians themselves, as they made choices about their creative and
musical output. Musicians' involvement in the process of regulation at a fundamental
level enabled them to transgress and resist censorship structures. In the face of social
structure, the constrained individual was able to respond differently, to refuse to be
subj ected in the ways intended by the censors, representing the dominant discourse.
Social structures do nol therefore necessarily bound individuals in predictable, intended
ways. Neither, as has already been established, do structures only affect individuals
negatively. Conversely, individuals require structure and order in order to act. On a
fundamental level, it is through the constraints put into place during the process of
socialization that we learn to become agents, able to act upon the world. The very process
which creates out of individuals' docile bodies, also enables them, gives them language
to express thoughts, moral frameworks within which to act, and so on. If we recall
Butler's (1997: 132) argument (outlined in Chapter One), censorship produces speech.
Censorship precedes speech, and for this reason is partly responsible for its production.
Weare raised to internalize the normative use of language to the extent that we police
ourselves, sometimes deliberately, sometimes unconsciously. What the speaker or writer
utters is formed and constituted by this normative use of language. The distinction
between implicit and explicit censorship is partly one of degree, especially if explicit
regulations that articulate constraints become implicit within a particular field over time.
The argument put forwar¢l here is that, just as individuals negotiate the constraints of
implicit censorship in order to creatively produce everyday speech, they are able to
negotiate the structures of explicit censorship. Explicit censorship can also precede
speech in a productive manner. The demands of explicit censorship become internalized
to the extent that they affect the utterances of the individual before and whilst they are

52
being formulated. For Butler (1997: 132), the productiveness of censorship doesnot
mean that it is positive or beneficial. Rather, censorship is formative of subj ects and the
legitimate boundaries of speech; it is not solely based on external exertion of control or as
the deprivation of liberties. Thus censorship is not simply a form of moral instruction
which the state bestows upon its citizens, but operates on a more fundamental level,
labelling certain citizens as desirable and others as undesirable. Censorship is therefore
not primarily about speech, but is exercised in the interests of deeper social and state
goals. Its productive capacity is in developing certain types of subjects rather than others,
or in achieving consensus.
Censorship can be seen to be productive because of the resistance to which it gives rise.
'Productive' here would be seen in a beneficial sense. Certainly, Lev Loseff (1984: 11) in
his book 'On the Beneficence of Censorship' has put forward the seemingly paradoxical
argument that censorsnip has long been a part of the creative process in Russian
literature. This is largely due to the pressure which censorship puts on the author to
develop what he refers to as an 'Aesopian' manner of metaphorical and symbolic writing.
The Aesopian approach develops the work's aesthetic value and heightens the
involvement of the reader in the psychological scheme. He quotes poet Joseph Brodsky
as saying that censorship is useful to literature because it "is unwittingly an impetus to
metaphorical language" (in Loseff, 1984: 12). Hertzen (in Loseff, 1984: 11) concludes
that "censorship is highly conducive to progress in the mastery of style and in the ability
to restrain one's words ... In allegorical discourse there is perceptible excitement and
struggle: this discourse is more impassioned than any straight exposition". For Herzen, an
utterance that has been checked has greater meaning concentrated in it and has a sharper
edge because hidden meanings increase the power of language, although it cannot be
assumed that the reader/listener necessarily infers such meanings. The powerful effect of
implied meaning is potentially enhanced when the utterance is made musically. Roland
Barthes (1991: 285) argues that perhaps the value of music "is its metaphoric power, its
ability to symbolize things unknowable by ordinary cognitive or logical means. Certainly,
Simon Frith (1996a: 166) asserts that songs are modes of expression. Music provides an
emotional context which accentuates the persuasive relationship between singer/musician

53
 and the listener. Rhythm, melody and harmony combine to empower lyrical messages in
a manner not available to other forms of text.
While the power referred to here develops out of the aesthetic value of the
writing/music, it is nevertheless a form of power which develops out of resistance to
censorship. It is often because of censorship that the writer uses Aesopian muses to put
across a dissenting message, to overcome censorship. In a well-known quote, Foucault
(1976: 95) has said that where there is power there is resistance, meaning that when
someone affects someone contrary to that person's interests, the person so affected will
resist that power which has been exercised over himlher. However, it is further argued
here that if the resistance is successful, then it too becomes powerful (affecting the
original executor of power contrary to his/her wishes). Hence the power ebbs and flows -
where power is exercised and is successfully resisted there is an exchange in the exercise
of power. This would seem to be especially true in situations where resistance contributes
towards significant change or (as in this study) successfully overcomes censorship
(where someone says what they want to go against the wishes of others), and is not
restricted to mere gestures of transgression.
It seems apparent therefore, that where there is structure there is the possibility of
resistance: resistance to that structure. In both the setting up and maintenance of structure
and in the resistance to that structure, power is exercised. And in both instances the
power is resisted, from hegemonic and counter-hegemonic positions. The contest over
censorship can thus be seen to be one of a spiralling 'wrangle' between the censors and
censored in a struggle for position in a cultural-political field. The one reacts to the other,
and the reaction in return evokes a response from the former and so on, both censors and
censored attempt to outmanoeuvre the other. In so doing they attempt to reposition

I themselves, in the hope that they might find a niche in which power can be exercised so

I
that it exemplifies the autonomy of the individual, very often outside of a strict
for/against framework of binary struggle. The strpggle between censor and musician is
captured in Bourdieu's (1998) analysis of the oPP?sition between "curators of culture"
and "creators of culture" in intellectual fields. The censors, as curators of culture, rely on
conservation strategies to reproduce ahd transmit the dominating discourse while resistant
musicians, as creators of culture, devise subversive strategies in an attempt to

.....
54
successfully transmit an alternative discourse. Importantly, "the two opposing strategies
within the field are dialectically related; one generates the other. Orthodoxies call into
existence their heterodox reversals by the logic of distinction that operates in cultural
fields. Challengers oblige the old guard to mount a defense of its privileges; that defense,
then, becomes grounds for subversion" (Swartz, 1997: 124). The defence is undertaken
through a range of strategies aimed at silencing subversive musicians, but these are
always predictable. Varied and creative opportunities for resistance develop out of these
strategies. The expectations implicit in the resistant censored musician's habitus come
into' conflict with the dominant discourse of the cultural (and broader) field(s). Out of this
conflict develops the potential for successful challenges and change.

2.3.2 Creating spaces within which to resist censorship

~

Indeed, resistance is certain because hegemony can never be complete. Individuals

involved in the music context in South Africa in the 1980s were constantly able to work
towards finding spaces within which they could resist censorship. Raymond Williams
(1979: 252) emphasized that:
"however dominant a social system may be, the very meaning of its domination
involves a limitation or selection of the activities it covers, so that by definition it
cannot exhaust all social experience, which therefore always potentially contains
space for alternative acts and alternative intentions which are not yet articulated as
a social institution or even project".
As the discussion of resistance to censorship (in Chapters Seven and Eight) indicates,
musicians, record companies and others involved in the South African music context
engaged in diverse forms of resistance to censorship. Some initiatives, such as crossover
music and exploring' other' ethnic identities on stage, successfully subverted censorship,
by articulating a vision of South African multiculturalism later to be identified with a
rainbow' culture, which developed in the 1990s, particularly after the formal transition to
democracy in April 1994.
Importantly, the way in which musicians envisaged future developments emphasizes the
need to develop a view of resistance which goes beyond simply resisting the power
relations underlying censorship practices. As discussed in Chapters Four and Five in

55
particular, censorship was not only about the freedom oespeech, but severely affected
musicians' ability to make a living from their music while remaining true to their political
and aesthetic convictions. Resisting censorship was thus not only indicating one's
disapproval of the dominant discourse or refusal to submit to authoritarian dictates. It was
also about transforming society, about altering power relations within society to put an
end to the injustices andlor restrictions which censorship attempted to defend. Street
(1997: 179-180) argues that censorship forms "part of a larger process of reshaping the
political landscape, organizing some interests and marginalizing other ones". Censors'
atta:cks on popular culture indeed indicated the ability of culture to embody an alternative
order. A cursory examination of music censored by the Directorate of Publications and
the SABC during the 1980s indicates that various censors (and those calling for
censorship) feared such an alternative order: one where political murders would not be
acceptable, Nelson Martdela would walk free, inter-cultural mixing and living would be
normal, sexuality could be explored, the government could be criticized, international
standards of human rights would set local standards and critical discussion of religion
would be allowed. These were some of the ideas that were regularly censored during that
time. Censorship marks the boundaries between what is acceptable and what is not. It is
about everyday living, what one can and cannot do, what one can and cannot dream of
and work towards. Resistance to censorship thus went beyond a simple refusal to submit
to censorship rules, but incorporated a broader desire to transform society, to exist within
an alternative order, redefme the boundaries of normal society.
To do this, musicians sometimes worked together with other musicians (beyond those
belonging to their immediate group or backing band), within the context of political
organization and broader political movements or individually depending on personal and
broader circumstances. They often "repositioned themselves differently" (Hall in
Grossberg 1996: 138) in order to foster new ways of conceiving cultural practice,
outmanoeuvring censors' attempts to restrict them in the process. Eyennanand Jamison
(1998: 164) have usefully conceived this repositioning as musicians taking up the role of
Gramsci's organic intellectuals. As such musicians - whether working in close
collaboration with a social movement 'or not - develop a political awareness which they
voice through their music, in the performance of their music and in their struggles to get

....
56
their music heard. As previously noted, Eyerman and Jamison place greater emphasis on
musicians' positions within social movements than is often warranted. A freer
conceptualization of the musician as agent is needed. Eyerman and Jamison (1998: 164-
5) are correct in arguing that social movements are the contexts of social change. They
argue that musicians acting as "activist-performers" creatively combine culture and
politics to produce social change. They argue that within movement space musicians
(including song-writers) are able to uncover a new dimension of their work and a new
identity for themselves and their music. Ultimately these activist-performers assist in
constituting the "cognitive praxis of social movements" by giving voice to the movement,
creating the possibility of transforming the hegemonic culture. Social movements offer
musicians opportunities within which to explore counter-hegemonic ideals. Within this
context the musician "can become a political as well as a cultural agent, and thus help
'I>
shape an emergent cultural formation" (Eyerman and Jamison, 1998: 165).
Framing the musician within a social movement context in this way effectively
underscores the potential for resistance in the struggle against censorship - the struggle to
be heard. The problem with this perception of musicians, though, has to do with the
relationship between musicians and the social movements of their time. Many musicians
who had to overcome censorship did not do so because they were overtly politically
motivated. For example they might have been trying wholeheartedly to devise ways of
simply (and safely) making a living out of their music. This is not to say that the struggle
around censorship in which they were engaged was not political. Indeed it was. But
certain musicians were not themselves politically motivated. For example, a singer whose
song was banned because of sexually explicit lyrics was engaged in a struggle over
sexual politics, and in this instance state censorship was clearly motivated by a desire to
uphold certain dominant (probably Calvinist) views about sexuality. Yet the musician
might have been completely apolitical in other areas. Certainly many musicians did
locate their music within the context of social movements - whether these were feminist,
anti-apartheid, socialist, anti-conscription, general human rights or even Christian
movements (see Chapter Seven). However, these musicians were not necessarily
members of political or other movements, or in any specific way related to a social

57
 movement. Their stance might simply have shared certain sentiments with particular
movement ideas and beliefs.
Musicians repositioned themselves to identify with such sentiments, often temporarily.
As Stuart Hall (1996a: 4) has argued:
"identities are about questions of using resources of history, language and culture
in the process of becoming, rather than being: not 'who we are' or 'where we
came from', so much as what we might become, how we have been represented
and how that bears on how we might represent ourselves".
It has already been noted that individuals do not possess static one-dimensional identities.
Even in South Africa of the 1980s multiple identities could be constructed. Resistance
certainly was not one-dimensional. Musicians actively explored their multiple identities
via their music on an o:qgoing basis. These identities were points of temporary
attachment, not fixed in a single point, but located in varying spaces within which
musicians situated themselves. Thus Karen Press (1990: 44) argues that even politicized
musicians wrote lyrics about their own experiences and desires, in which they explored
"the possibilities of aesthetic forms, the ability to identify ways of depicting social
experience that offer new images, new meanings for that experience, which characterize
the creative skills of the artist".
In relation to censorship this emphasizes the argument that structures of censorship
created constraints which were at the same time enabling and consequently allowed for

,
\ the personal motivation of musicians to develop instances of counter-hegemony.

1 Censorship was a challenge to musicians wanting to be aesthetically creative, honest in

I their exploration of meaningful themes and who nevertheless wanted to be heard. Yet
musicians were not powerless in this situation. Neither did their resistance simply
constitute rebellion as an end in itself, but sometimes could represent a transformative
counter-];1egemonic standpoint. It had the potential to represent a different way of being.

58
2.4 Conclusion
The most intricate part of placing this struggle in a theoretical context is in locating
censors (to some extent) and musicians (to a greater extent) as individuals within a
context of counter-hegemony, as multi-dimensional and changing individuals, often
acting from points of temporary attachment. It has been argued that all acts of censorship
and dealing with censorship were political and that some musicians approached the issue
of censorship from an overtly conscious political angle, feeding off the sentiments of
politically or morally charged social movements. Nevertheless, it would be incorrect to
limit musicians to the role of movement intellectuals, acting on behalf of or
representative of a social movement. This may have been true of some musicians, but
certainly not of many.
In this chapter it has been argued that struggles around the censorship of music need to
take into consideration the many nuanced positions from which a large variety of
musicians tackled censorship or simply lived with it. The argument has been towards
locating musicians and censors outside of one-dimensional identities, accounting for their
fluid and divergent locations within power relations and processes of identification. South
African musicians during the 1980s adopted a myriad of identities based on race, gender,
rural/urbanlquasi-rural background, generation differences, class and education, which
were reflected in each musician in a complex manner, in a multitude of ways. Musicians
constructed their identities in order to project themselves as performers in particular
ways. Musicians certainly positioned themselves according to strategies which
encompassed their creative, professional, social and personal convictions. None of these
categories remained fixed.
Also, those calling for and implementing censorship were not simple caricatures of
complicity. Such a view would not allow for resistance of any kind within the ranks of
the censors. As the discussion in Chapters Four reveals, such resistance did occur. The
struggle 'around censorship was indeed complex.
Importantly, struggles around censorship involved power relations where the censors'
initial exercise of power subjected musicians and the majority of society to an attempted
silencing of musical messages. But structure does not only curtail people, it also enables
them, not only in regulating them in constructive ways, but in forming barriers against

59

,.
which resistance can be mounted. Out of this structural dynamic developed the censored
individual's ability to create spaces from which to resist. These spaces represented
counter-hegemonic expressions forbidden by those in the powerful positions who decided
what constituted desirable and undesirable pieces of music. In Chapters Four to Eight
these struggles over the censorship of popular music are documented and analysed in
detail. As will be shown, musicians were indeed capable of resisting attempts to silence
their voices and expressions.

60
 CHAPTER THREE t

Researching the censorship of popular music in 1980s South Africa

Whose being doing what

For who and when for less and whose
Been left out there with
Dust on his feet
Shot down in the streets

("Shot Down" (1985) - Cherry Faced Lurchers)

3.1 Introduction
This study focuses on the manner in which the terrain of popular music was acted upon
and manipulated by a plurality of contesting forces. In setting about this study five
'~

general inter-related goals have been outlined. Firstly, to investigate and document
attempts by various groups to support hegemonic and counter-hegemonic forms of
censorship. Secondly, to explore strategies employed by South African lTIusicians in
successfully making themselves heard despite attempts to silence them. Thirdly, to
examine the reasons underlying the different forms of censorship (as documented in the
study). Fourthly, to analyse the meanings which South African musicians attached to
their position as creative performers within the social, political and economic dynamics
of the music industry at the time, including their experience of various forms of
censorship and related repressive interventions. Fifthly, to locate the analysis of the
censorship of popular music in South Africa within contemporary theoretical context as
outlined in the previous chapter.
In pursuing these aims a strategy of data collection triangulation (Denzin, 1970) was
adopted. This allowed for an account of censorship which is documented as well as
possible. In the ensuing discussion an epistemological and methodological account is set
out to provide an informed context of the research.

3.2 Researching and representing the subject

I met musician Tsepo Tshola at his Klerksdorp home one September Sunday morning in
1998. He invited me into his lounge where we sat down in preparation for my interview

I
j
61

I
1
 t
with him, as previously arranged. He had not had a good night because of a bad case of
toothache. Yet he insisted on going ahead with the interview because he thought it was an
important topic. Tshola is passionate about his music and has strong views about the
responsibility of musicians to promote local cultural heritage in the face of influences
which undermine what he refers to as traditional culture. During the interview Tshola
(Interview, 1998) directed his argument about social responsibility at me. He made the
point that:
1'd like you in your book to look more deeper into yourselves, you people who
write books because you do research. You go around, you ask us questions, but
nobody is questioning you. Why are you doing this? Do you think you are doing
the right thing? Are you going to be telling the truth? Or do you just want a thesis
that will make you pass your masters? Then you say: 'Wow, I've done it!' And
the next thing tHe book sells millions. Do I get anything out of it? Nothing. Do I
sign any contracts about that? Nothing. Have I given you enough information?
Yes. I've given you enough information. Have I given you my interview from the
bottom of my heart? I have given it to you! What comes back in return? Nothing.
So basically we are all to blame. Weare exploiting each other's minds.
Although some aspects of Tshola's point are overstated, he questioned my accountability
as a researcher to the musicians I interview and, importantly, to the history of South
African music in terms of how I use my research to strengthen the South African musical
heritage. This sort of challenge is an essential reminder to researchers of their
responsibility to interviewees: not simply to treat them as sources of information, but as
interested participants with a vested interest in the research findings.
Tshola's comments about accountability and truth also relate to issues of the
representation of subjects in the research process. It has already been argued (in Chapter
One), that racial, class, sex and gender identity were crucial variables constituting South
African musicians' identities and affecting their lives in the 1980s. Although popular
musicians shared a common bond in being artists, sharing at least some aspects that
performing music entailed, they did not constitute a homogenous group. Given this lack
of homogeneity, two important questions need to be considered, both to do with
representation. Firstly, how best to conceptualize musicians? Secondly, does my status as

62
 t

a white English-speaking male affect issues of research and representation? If it does,

then how best is this accounted for in the research and writing process?
On the first question, how best to conceptualize the musicians being studied, it is
important to begin by noting that during the 1980s South Africa was a place of multiple
identities. Given these "complex figurations" at the level of identity (Nuttall and Michael,
2000: 1), there is a need to account for the social context of musicians. It would be
problematic to speak about white and black musicians as similarly positioned vis-a.-vis
the state and other institutions in apartheid South Africa. An analysis that ignores class
and sex would be similarly flawed. These social variables affected musicians' experience
of growing up in South Africa, their journeys into and experience of musicianship, and
their approach to censorship based on the likely consequences of their possible actions.
For example, there were severe economic implications for poor musicians doing anything
~

to jeopardize record sales. Race affected the possible penalties musicians faced when
risking performances in particular places at certain times, such as negotiating roadblocks
and dealing with pass law restrictions. Given the pervasiveness of certain social variables
in the lives of South African musicians, these cannot and indeed have not been ignored in
this thesis.
However, although difference is noted, it is not essentialized. Cheryl De La Rey (1997:
6) argues that how we experience the world and others' responses to us are "inextricably
tied" to various "axes of difference" such as race, gender, class and sexual preference. An
awareness of these "axes of difference" has led many social scientists to reject
essentialism based on supposedly core differences such as gender and race. Indeed, Trinh
Minh-ha (1997: 418) refuses to "naturalize the I" rejecting the idea of the "essential core"
as a myth. After all, she argues, "where should the dividing line between outsider and
insider stop? How should it be defined? By skin color, by language, by geography, by
nation, by political affinity?" In any case, each of these positions is an imprecise,
constructed hybrid, and not what it might initially appear to be. Louise Meintjes (2003:
110) exemplifies the shifting nature of social variables in her study of the making of an
mbaqanga album in a Johannesburg studio. She explores how race, citizenship and
ethnicity are figured in an mbaqanga album through Africanness, South Africanness and
Zuluness respectively. These elements are collectively constructed to form an

63
"essentialized other" to white (apartheid), Western and cosmopolitan expectations.
Notions of core, naturalized identities are thus regarded as tropes of authenticity, "used
by social actors in specific local situations to erect boundaries, to maintain distinctions
between us and them" (Stokes, 1994: 6).
Certainly, the reification of difference as promulgated by the apartheid system was
intended to construct barriers based on naturalized identities. Although it is recognized
that variables of difference are tropes used to construct separateness, this does mean that
the differences are mythical or inconsequentiaL Rather, it is argued here that relative
contexts give rise to different experiences and meanings which should not be regarded as
fixed, rigid or essentiaL Indeed, some South African musicians were involved in a level
of ethnic re-positioning by exploring musical styles outside of their own ethnic
background: whether wJ1ite members of Juluka, Mango Groove and Hotline incorporating
elements of musical styles traditionally associated with South African ethnic styles or
black musicians such as Steve Kekana, Babsy Mlangeni and members of Harari adopting
Western pop and disco styles of music and singing in English. When confronting
decisions about how to achieve success and whether or not to make political statements,
many of these musicians were confronted with similar constraints yet, at the same time,
experienced them differently according to each one's specific identity make-up.
In summing up this first point, it is not claimed that all musicians went through the same
experiences or responded to threats of censorship in the same way. On the contrary, the
varying contexts of different musicians are noted, and both structure and resistance are
contextualized according to the complexities of South African life.
The second question, that of the effect of my identity vis-a.-vis my position as
researcher, author and main voice of this thesis, follows from the preceding discussion.
The issues of who may do research on whom and who may represent whom remains a
point of ,?ontention, involving consideration of interests and power relationships. Hall
(1992: 295) summarized the debate by acknowledging that ways of talking about,
thinking about or representing a particular subject or topic "always operate in relation to
power - they are part of the way power circulates and is contested". The issue of identity
and representation is particularly problematic if the researcher/author constructs a view of
the world based on an essentialist framework or in ways disempowering to those being

64
researched and written about (see Said, 1993; 1995 and Spivak, 1995). Based on
arguments about interpretative authority in maintaining racial domination, feminist
theorists like Dabi Nkululeko (1987) and Desiree Lewis (1993) have gone as far as to
argue that white women, in the process of researching black women, entrench racist
oppositions. De La Rey (1997: 7) and Allen (2000: 12) have argued that this argument is
based on the assumption of an essential identity shared by the insider researcher and the
researched. Conversely, an outsider researcher is assumed to represent an essential
'other' identity not compatible with that of the researched. In agreement with the likes of
Robert Merton (1972), Trinh Minh-ha (1987) and Lila Abu-Lughod (1990) Allen rejects
essentialist notions of identity for their "ghettoising effect" (Allen, 2000: 13) and opts for
a more nuanced approach which problematizes research methodology and theory but
does not curtail enquiry by reserving research areas for particular interest groups (Allen,
2000: 31). Partly basecl?on the opinions of black women musicians she interviewed,
Allen (who is white) concludes that essentialism is reliant on three untenable
assumptions. These have to do with giving preference to one particular identity variable
in the research process, assuming that people of different identity groups have little in
common, and assuming that shared identity is a crucial criteria in providing authority and
ability to carry out research (Allen, 2000: 29).
Following from the preceding discussion of multiple identities, it is argued that any
interview situation involves the interaction of two individuals with multiple identities, not
rigid representatives of particular identity groups (see also Allen, 2000: 29). Crucially (as
set out in the rest of this chapter), the research process adopted was designed, as far as
possible, to create interview contexts which encouraged the sharing of experiences and
knowledge on a non-discriminatory level, acknowledging the personal experience and
subjectivity of the interviewee in every situation.
However, there is one particular exception. My status as an English-speaking South
African" limited the choice of languages in which the interviews could take place. This
meant that interviews with musicians whose first language was not English nevertheless
had to be carried out in English. At no point was this raised as an issue by any of the
musicians, most of whom were used to being interviewed by the English press, and
seemed to regard my interview with them in a similar light. Nevertheless I did regret my

65
monolingualism (although with an ability to partially understand, but not fluently
converse in Afrikaans). However, Lara Allen, who was similarly handicapped in her
research, did salvage an important advantage in interviews being conducted in English.
She argued that it avoids the problem of re-presenting the musician's discussion into
English at a later stage, and running the risk of mistranslation (Allen, 2000: 25).
However, it is acknowledged that there is a drawback that those not fluent in English
might not always have been able to convey nuances of meaning. Importantly, the
interview process allowed for the opportunity for clarification if a question asked or a
point made was not clear. By the end of each interview a clear representation, in English,
was recorded onto cassette tape and later transcribed, preserved for accurate reference in
the later processes of writing-up and analysis.

3.3 The adoption of a qualitative approach

Frank Bechhofer and Lindsay Paterson (2000: vii) have argued that research design
involves choosing "a set of procedures which enable your aims and objectives to be
realised in practice". Bearing in mind the aforementioned aims, a qualitative approach
was adopted. No attempt has been made to quantify the extent to which musicians were
affected by censorship or the extent to which any form of resistance was practised (for
example, making claims about what percentage of musicians practised self-censorship or
camouflaged lyrics). For this reason, the central quantitative research method, the survey,
comprising questions to be coded and quantified, was not deemed suitable to this study.
The emphasis has been on the practice of particular strategies, even if just by one
musician. The interest and significance of each strategy lies in its potential to
outmanoeuvre the censors. This relies on the intricacies and innovativeness of each
strategy rather than on the degree to which it was practised. The thesis has been
concerned with the underlying reasons for various strategies being adopted, what
musicians hoped to achieve, and what their experiences were.
Consequently strategic informants from a number of areas related to the research were
selected, instead of applying a general questionnaire to a sampled group deemed
representative of the general population. Strategic informants, who are prominent people
within principle areas of the research, were selected on the assumption that knowledge of

66
the subject area is unevenly distributed amongst those who were involved in the South
African popular music context of the 1980s. The interviewees were chosen on the
assumption that they were most likely to assist with the different areas of the research
(Smith, 1981: 278).
An initial list of interviewees was drawn up on the basis of their position in relation to
the South African music context in the 1980s. In a variation of the snowball technique I
asked the initial interviewees to supply the names of other people (who might be able to
provide newland or more detailed information) within their own network of contacts.
Sometimes a name of a musician would come up within an interview or the interviewee,
on reflection, might name a particular person who was involved in a certain event or who
did something in a particUlar way. Given that the initial interviewees were situated in
different areas of the research area, a single "chain of informants" (Burgess, 1982: 55)
within a particular area or musical genre was avoided.
The total number of people interviewed was partly dependent on available time and
resources, but the process was not complete until the initial strategic informants and their
recommended contacts were - as far as possible - interviewed. The final number
interviewed was determined primarily by the information acquired, ensuring that as few
gaps as possible existed in corroborated information. 77 people were interviewed (and
one person completed an open-ended questionnaire), covering all the important areas of
the research. There were some people who I initially wanted to interview, but was unable
to. These included people who could not be traced, were living outside the country, did
.
not return calls, did not want to be interviewed or who were too busy to be interviewed.
There were even some musicians who would only be interviewed for a fee. I did not
interview them. Unfortunately Simon Nkabinde (Mahlatini) was too sick to meet with me
at the arranged time (and he sadly died from his illness) while Mzwakhe Mbuli was in
prison, but very kindly replied to an open-ended questionnaire in nine pages of
haudwr.itten response. In all instances when initially intended interviewees were not
interviewed similarly positioned alternatives were found to take their place.

67
3.3.1 Reflecting the subjects' voices
Importantly, the research aimed to uncover not just the procedures, strategies and
measures adopted by social actors, but also the understanding and perception (in general
the experience) of those involved in the research process so as to "penetrate the frames of
meaning with which they operate(d)" (Bryman, 1998: 61). For this reason the voices of
those involved in the censorship process have been of central interest. These voices are
particularly important because of the tales they tell about those times: their experience of
censoring, of being censored, of practising self-censorship, and of attempting to find
spaces within which to be creative despite censorship.
However, the voices of musicians appear in this thesis as selective quotes. Thus
musicians speak for themselves only so far as their experiences substantiate claims I
make about forms of censorship and resistance to that censorship. In other words, the
interviewees are not a1l6wed to speak for themselves without any editorializing. Meintjies
(2003: 15) acknowledges that:
"Transcriptions have long been upheld as the authorial material of ethnographic
research for their seeming transparency. Yet the recording of an event and its
subsequent transcription, translation, editing and final representation in analysis
involves multiple steps of mediation and forms of interpretation".
Certainly the words quoted are at my discretion, so that in a sense I can be seen to have
played the role of a producer in a recording studio, recording more than is needed and
later drawing out the parts that make the narrative fit together. In a sense I have weaved
together the relevant quotes, choosing those which best capture the topic under
discussion. The narrative which is presented, though, is at least depicted through the
interviewees' own words, often capturing a mood, an atmosphere, a personality, not
otherwise possible. This is regarded as a crucial product of the qualitative ,approach
adopted in this thesis.

3.3.2 In-depth interviews

Given the exploratory nature of the proposed study, especially in accessing the point of
view and frame of reference of the informants, the core method used in gathering data
was the ethnographic interview. Harvey and MacDonald (1993: 199) note that this form

68
f
of interview attempts to uncover the meanings that informants construct about aspects of
their social world. The specific form of ethnographic interview used was the in-depth
focused interview which provides "the opportunity for the researcher to probe deeply, to
uncover new clues, to open new dimensions of a problem and to secure vivid, accurate,
inclusive accounts that are based on personal experience" (Burgess cited in Walker,
1985: 4). The focused interview allowed the interviewee to talk about his/her
involvement in the research subject area in terms of his/her frames of reference. Tim
May (1993: 94) notes this facilitates an understanding of the meanings and interpretations
that individuals attribute to events and relationships while also providing a greater
understanding of the interviewee's point of view. The interview process also enabled me
to meet the musicians I was studying, and to establish valuable, more personal contacts
with them. In some instances this allowed me to access their archival records, providing
.~

an important means of corroboration. Furthermore, if during the process of transcribing,

reading through transcribed interviews or writing up chapters, I picked up issues which
needed substantiation, the established contact with musicians made it easy to go back to
them (usually by means of a phone call or via e-mail) to clarify the issue.
Although one of the advantages of the interview process (as opposed to questionnaires)
is a higher response rate, a disadvantage is that usually the breadth of the study suffers
because of the lack of resources to conduct broad-based interviews. This I attempted to
alleviate by choosing strategic informants from each area and then interviewing people
fromJhat area until that area seemed to have been adequately researched (little or no new
information was being gained and little corroboration was needed to back up existing
research). This meant doing a lot of interviews and weeks of transcribing, but it has
provided both breadth and depth to the research.

3.3.3 Engagement in the interview process

The approach to carrying out interviews with which I was most comfortable did not
follow traditional textbook prescriptions that are almost exploitative in the one-way
process through which information is extracted from the interviewee. Perhaps given the
easy-going nature of many musicians and the genuine interest most of them have in the
music industry (archiving and preserving the musical past), the relationship which

69
 developed when I met with musicians was often one of mutual interest. They were
interested in what I was doing and asked me questions about my work. As in Ann
Oakley's (1979) research on women's transition into motherhood, disengagement was
not an acceptable or useful stance to adopt in this research.
In reflecting on her research, Oakley (1979: 309-317; 1992: 14-17) argued that not
answering questions posed by the interviewee was not conducive to establishing rapport.
For her, a refusal to answer questions (in her case these had to do with concerned
mothers-to-be asking about the dangers of epidurals and the like) or to provide evasive

I answers breaks down rapport. May (1993: 103) argues that "(t)o expect someone to
reveal important and personal information without entering into a dialogue is untenable.
For this reason engagement, not disengagement, is a valued aspect of feminist research".
However, it would be mistaken to view engagement of this type as a solely feminist
enterprise. The atmosphere that exists within the generally marginalized South African
music context is one in which even now musicians are involved in a struggle to have their
stories, as well as their music, heard. Musicians who were part of the 1980s music
context do not want their music to be forgotten and many are still attempting to come to
terms with their musical past. Having participated in a music context subject to
censorship and shrouded in secrecy, musicians often asked me about my research
findings. They have been interested - if not fascinated - to hear that I have found archival
evidence dealing with the censorship of their music. Lee Edwards, Sipho Mabuse, Roger
Lucey, David Marks and Jonathan Handley all expressed an interest in archival evidence
t
about censorship of their music and I posted copies of archival documents to them. Other
musicians have borrowed music and video footage or have asked me for assistance in
tracking down material.. In all of these instances the least I could do was reciprocate in
what has turned out to be a collaborative project, so that in some ways this thesis
represents many individual efforts to come to terms with the past. This has been an
important means of giving something ba~k to musicians, of replying to Tsepo Tshola's
critique of researchers who merely exploit interviewees for their own gain.

70
 3.3.4. Corroborating the remembered past
The importance of data triangulation is fully revealed when corroboration of information
provided in the interview process was required. In the interviews musicians would
sometimes make claims, remember events or state things as categorically true which were
incorrect. This is a common problem. For example, Irwin Stambler (1974: ii) warns that:
"Artists and even expert observers often disagree or even change past history
either on purpose, because the past doesn't fit a current image or involves material
the p~rformer feels is below his later creative achievements, or, as is more usually
the case, accidentally, because of the frailty of human memory".
For Allen (2000: 36) popular musicians are "constantly involved in identity fabrication
and myth making, for they need always to be conscious of their image and the possible
professional repercussions of certain kinds of publicity". This could result in omitting or
')

downplaying certain information or over-emphasizing and even making up data. This was
certainly Meintjes' (2000: 33) experience in her interviews with musicians and producers
in the early 1990s. She was confronted with many instances of "obfuscation, omissions,
and chronological elisions" by music-makers who mobilized "the past and the imagined
in their narratives to serve the present". She cites examples of a producer who claims to
have used a particular type of studio equipment when in fact he had not, and another who
claimed to have received platinum awards at a time when platinum awards had not yet

I been introduced. Meintjes (2003: 33-34) views these "trickstering discursive moves" as
part of a process of cultivating the interviewee's enigma, keeping themselves
unknowable, constantly slipping out of the frame. Certainly, "moving through these
zones of ambiguity" (Meintjes, 2003: 66) was a useful and necessary ploy during the
apartheid era when the presence of a white woman in a vehicle of otherwise black
musicians was best explained by saying that she was the group's manager. It is important
here, however, to check all claims where possible based on a critical realist understanding
which insists on the reality of events and discourses (Bhaskar, 1989: 2). Triangulation
was the key strategy here, although at times an attempt to clarify issues took place in the
interview itself.
If a factual irregularity or implausibillty was picked up in the interview it was usually
dealt with immediately. For example, when Gary Rathbone claimed that Wendy Oldfield

71
had participated in the Bureau for Information song I informed him that she had not.
Sometimes I did not realise the fabrication until after the interview, when corroborating
information from other sources. For example, Anton Goosen told me that one of his
songs had been 'Gazetted' (meaning banned by the Directorate of Publications and
reported in the Government Gazette), but I later found this not to have been the case.
These sorts of incidents made me ever more cautious of the information provided by
interviewees. For whatever reason, interviewees occasionally remembered things
incorrectly or falsified information, deliberately or by mistake and sometimes even for
effect. Take for example the following statement made by musician Alistair Coakley
(Interview, 1998):
We had certain songs that we used to internally vet as well, the lyrics of, because
we knew that if it went to radio they would have been bombed out the water, so
we were very cal-eful how far lyrically we pushed the stuff out ... So as much as
we had a social conscience, none of us fancied a long stay at Vlakplaas, being
braaied or something like that because that was a reality at that stage.
Two incidents to which Coakley refers - being taken to Vlakplaas (a security branch
'dirty tricks' task force base) and being braaied (barbecued) by the police - only became
known to the general South African public as a result of the Truth and Reconciliation
Process during the mid-to-late 1990s. Coakley thus remembered long past fears in terms
of more recent information. Clearly he used 'Vlakplaas' and 'being braaied'
metaphorically to symbolize his fears about the possible consequences of being overtly
politi~al. However, the metaphors he used were not available to him at the time of the
events he describes. Thus _his memories have been coloured by subsequent events which
make it difficult to know what he actually felt at the time. What was it, precisely, that he
feared? Clearly not being sent to Vlakplaas and being braaied. Perhaps he feared
detention. Or was it having his music banned by the SABC? This issue may seem of little
importance given that the main point is clear: what he does kno.w is that he wanted to do
more but was afraid of doing so. Yet it does illustrate the way in which memories are not
always clear and accurate.
The researcher also needs to be aware that it can be in the interviewee's interests to
sensationalize his/her past. Musicians for example, might claim to have had their songs

72
banned when they were not, to give themselves political credibility. Norman Denzin
(1970: 244) tackles the issues raised here as one of internal validity. He argues that:
"Given the stage any person has reached in a career, one typically finds that he
(sic) constructs an image of his life course - past, present and future - which
selects, abstracts and distorts in such a way as to provide him with a view of
himself that he can usefully expound in current situations".
The possibility that subjects might manipulate the retellings of their past in this way
emphasizes the importance of corroboration of data in the research process. Denzin
argues that the subjectivity of the interviewee is itself important (even if the objectivity of
the recalled event is in doubt) given that the perceptions of the person are fundamental in
interpretative research. However in this research an important emphasis has been placed
on uncovering what happened to musicians and what they did in response. To this end the
accuracy of many details needs to be confirmed. Denzin (1970: 245) therefore argues that
"as many different perspectives as possible must be brought to bear upon [each] specific
event and situation". This form of methodological triangulation combines two or more
different research strategies in studying the same subject matter (Denzin, 1970: 308) In
this study the different research strategies adopted were the in-depth interview, archival
research in the form of a broad array of documentary research and an analysis of recorded
music related to the study.
To illustrate this, an initial literature and music review informed some of the interview
questions. The interviews were thus in part an attempt to corroborate some of the
information previously drawn together and also an attempt to gain new information and
insights. This multi-method approach was taken further by asking interviewees for any
archival evidence they might have to support their claims or to provide additional
information which they had not provided. Photographs, music, album covers, newspaper
clippings, posters, concert flyers and programmes, magazines, books, album and concert
reviews~ video footage and recordings of radio interviews were all part of the archival
material musicians made available to me as a result of these requests. Further archival
research was undertaken after interviews to confirm information provided in interviews.
These additional sources included archival collections of radio stations and record
c<?mpanies; Government archives including the Film and Publication Board (formerly the

73
 Directorate of Publications) archives, Government Gazette·s (where the banning of music
was listed) and Hansard (House of Assembly Debates); prominent national newspapers
and a variety of magazines.
Furthermore, corroboration did not simply operate between the different research
methods but within each one as well. For example, checking one interviewee's version of
events against that of another interviewee or comparing information in a newspaper
article with information contained within Directorate of Publications files. It is important
to note therefore that evidence provided in this thesis has passed through a stringent
process of corroboration and has been accepted as an accurate reflection of the events that
happened. In particular, statements made by musicians are not quoted at face value, but
have been carefully considered and analyzed before inclusion. In using all possible
sources of information, instances of re-remembered pasts as outlined here have been
clarified so that the theot'etical underpinnings of this research are not based on false
memories, errors o! deliberate attempts to manipulate the past.

3.4 Songs as texts: superseding content analysis

In this thesis critical textual analysis has been used to go beyond a simple objectified
reading of the lyrics, "emphasizing the structure of listening, in which meaning is
J mutually produced in different contexts" (Balliger, 1995: 17). Focus on musical texts has
ranged from debates concerning the extent to which abstract music is able to
communicate ideologies and ideas (Rhodes, 1962: 14) to debates concerning the

, indisputable meaning of particular lyrics: to what extent are specific lyrics open to
varying interpretation? In terms of the former, Veit Erlmann (1985: 187) talks of

It
I

I
examples in which one and the same tune have been sung to different words by
diametrically opposed political groups while, in a demonstration of the latter, Simon Frith
(l996a: 165) discusses how Tory Party members joined hands for John Lennon's
"Imagine" (1971) at a pre-election rally in the 1980s and the Republican Party attempted
to use Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" (1984) in the 1984 presidential election.
Indeed, "Born in the USA" (1984) was very popular amongst army recruits in South
Africa, as were Gang of Four's "I love a man in uniform" (1982) and Bob Marley's
"Buffalo soldier" (1983). Radio listeners sending dedications to army recruits on the

74
 'I

'Forces favourites' SABC propaganda request programme repeatedly requested these

songs. In each instance the element of protest in the songs was lost: it would be mistaken
to argue that these were examples of musical meaning being subverted, appropriated or
reclaimed by the dominant culture. These instances of "lyrical drift" (Frith, 1996a: 165)
are not restricted to political songs. Rey Chow (1993) provides an interesting analysis of
popular music in China where light-hearted and frivolous music creates a discourse of
resistance against the dominant discourse with its rhetoric of class struggle. For Chow,
popular music strikes notes of difference from the single official ideology, and as such
the cassette Walkman potentially creates a sonic barrier of resistance.
These cases, and many others, demonstrate that musical meaning needs to be located in
extra-musical processes and that textual analysis cannot be effective without integrating
music and lyrics. For Frith (1996a: 166) the key to lyrical analysis is not simply the
words, but words in performance. Lyrics are regarded as a form of rhetoric or oratory and
consequently need to be treated in terms of "a persuasive relationship between singer and
listener". As such the song does not exist to convey the meaning of words, but the words
exist to convey the meaning of the song. As Frith (1996a: 164) puts it, "song words are
not about ideas ('content') but about their expression." For this reason we must guard
against separating the words of songs from their use as speech acts - "words to be
analysed in performance". For example, he claims that protest songs do not convey ideas
or arguments but slogans, as was the case with Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA"
(1984) referred to earlier (Frith, 1996a: 165). Similarly, in South Africa, white South
.
African youth would triumphantly join in to sing the chorus of Juluka' s "Impi" (1981)
when it was performed at .concerts - the chorus paid tribute to the strength of the Zulu
warrior, sung in Zulu. If these songs solely affected listeners through their words, the
likelihood of misappropriation would be minimal. Songs thus act as a vehicle for
expression, as words, rhetoric and voice combine! to create a mood that the singer
conveys to the listener. These elements, combined with the persuasive power of the
. .

actual musical setting and performance, produce a total meaning which·cannot be

I Frith (1996a: 159) notes that when we listen "to the lyrics of pop songs we actually hear three things at
once: words, which appear to give songs an independent source of semantic meaning; rhetoric, words being
used in a special, music way, a way which draws attention to features and problems of speech; and voices,
words being spoken or sung in human tones which are themselves Imeaningful' signs of persons and
personality" .

75
 I
discovered through content analysis alone. As Balliger (1995: 16) argues: "Reading
didactic lyrics as literal and complete in the communication of meaning ignores the many
subtexts and levels of meaning occurring in the production and performance of music".
The discussion of the Kalahari Surfers' subversive covers of popular songs (in Chapter
Seven) best emphasizes this point: using the same lyrics and tune but performing songs
differently is able to dramatically change the meaning of songs.
Despite the importance of songs as texts, it needs to be made clear that this is a
sociological study of a process involving musicians and their struggle against the
censorship of their music. It is not a musicological study. Some song texts are considered
in relation to their musical setting to exemplify the processes which musicians were able
to incorporate in saying more with their music than mere lyrics reflect. This is why music
lyrics cannot be treated equally to poetry. Even Mzwakhe Mbuli' s spoken poetry cannot
be approached in exactly the same manner as his poetry (even the same poems) when put
to musical accompaniment. But this study is not an in-depth consideration of
musicological issues concerning the music examples discussed (for example detailed
consideration of form, notation and such like). Rather a sociological study is interested in
the social meaning of music, without necessarily going into musicological depth. As
indicated, aspects of the music itself are important, and are given consideration to make
relevant points when needed.

3.5 Conclusion
The triangulated use of oral and textual evidence that have formed the basis of this thesis
shed light on factors at play in both supporting and undermining the censorship of music
in South Africa during the 1980s. Every attempt has been made to discover as much
information as possible and to corroborate the memories and views of musicians as they
recalled events and processes. I have made a special effort to go beyond simply
documenting what was censored and what escaped censorship. I have focused on the
musicians and other role players and the stories they have told about their experiences.
This is why these voices are quoted extensively throughout this thesis, so as to accurately
capture the sentiments expressed by interviewees. The subj ects' experiences are

76
important to the struggle which took place, and they are best expressed in the words of
the respondents themselves.
This thesis now moves on to reveal the information gathered through the research
process. The information gained is analysed in terms of the theoretical considerations
outlined in Chapter Two. This is intended to provide a clearer insight into the cultural
dynamics surrounding the censorship of popular music in a complex society.

77
 CHAPTER FOUR t

State mechanisms of censorship

And you know it's so damned easy

To turn and look away
And you only need say nothing
To have nothing at all to say

("You Only Need Say Nothing" (1979) - Roger Lucey)

4.11ntroduction
A core component of the Nationalist government's apartheid system was the enforcement
of its policies of racial inequality and separation and narrowly interpreted Christian
morality through the statute books and state repression. It put into place structures of
control in an attempt tb regulate the individual's cultural and political conditions. Acts
such as the Suppression of Communism Act 44 of 1950, the Riotous Assemblies Act 17
of 1956 and the Internal Security Act 74 of 1982 were passed to enforce a narrowly
defined and oppressive form of law and order. An important area of political, moral and
religious control involved published material, including books, magazines, film, music
and pamphlets. A host of general apartheid laws (for example, the Post Office Act 44 of
1958) and security acts (including those mentioned above) prohibited freedom of speech
or free access to publications (see Hepple, 1960 and Marcus, 1987 for further discussion
of these laws).
The Entertainments (Censorship) Act 28 of 1931 was initially intended to deal with film
censorship, but was later extended, in conjunction with the Customs Act 55 of 1955, to
deal with imported printed matter. In 1963 government censorship was centralized and
consolidated according to apartheid ideology when the Publications and Entertainments
Act 2 of 1963 was promulgated. Peter Stewart (1990: 17) argued that: "By placing the
advent 6f'coherent' censorship in1963 one adjusts it to coincide with the development of
apartheid: it becomes an integral part of the apartheid order".
Although the Publications and Entertainments Act was initially used to deal with
literature, over the years it also dealt with and was used to ban recorded music. Some of
the earliest of these included An Evening with Harry Belafante and Miriam Makeba

78
(1965), the musicals Jesus Christ Superstar (1969) and Godspell (1971) and Don
McLean's "American Pie" (1971). Musicians were also victim to more general apartheid
legislation (for example to do with racial mixing) and police action.
The 1963 Act was eventually replaced by the Publications Act of 1974, the Act which
was in place during the focus period of this thesis. This chapter begins by outlining the
implications of the new act and considers in general the mechanisms of censorship
practised by the Nationalist government in its attempts to minimize the impact of
musicians and their music. Censorship was framed by and took place within an
incr~asingly complex state institutional system. This system included the judiciary, the
civil service, the church and the police, all of whom co-operated at different times in
various ways to uphold its policies. As argued in Chapter One, overt forms of repression
were an integral comp?nent of the censorship system, and therefore warrant attention in
this chapter. )
Notwithstanding the government's attempt to maintain its hegemony, musicians fought
back in a multitude of ways. Strategies of resistance employed by musicians are
specifically dealt with later (in Chapters Seven and Eight), and this chapter should be
read with an awareness that instances of contest often arose directly from specific state
action outlined here. Failure to do so would lead to an overly structuralist view of
government censorship not justified by the evidence at hand. In the period under scrutiny
government censorship was continually adjusted and altered according to resistance.
Despite a heavy artillery of laws, mechanisms and available force, it is argued in this
thesis that the apartheid state was never able to achieve hegemony. This chapter therefore
needs to be read as a reflection of a braided process of actions and reactions from all
involved rather than as a polarized struggle between two forces, one supporting and the
other opposing apartheid. As argued in Chapter Two, this would simplify a compound
process involving a wide array of actors with an equally diverse set of motivations.

4.2 Formal censorship: Publications Control Act and Customs and Excise Act
Prior to 1974, procedures for direct government censorship were outlined in The
Publication and Entertainments Act 2 of 1963 (and two subsequent Amendments - the
Publications and Entertainments Amendment Act 85 of 1969 and Act 32 of 1971). Under
Section 8· of the 1963 Act, provision was made for the appointment of a Publications
Control Board (PCB). The PCB was appointed by the Minister of the Interior who also
designated both the Chairman and Vice-Chairman of the Board. For the first time a
centralized group was appointed to oversee the structuring of moral and political
discourse in South Africa. The Board consisted of no fewer that nine members of whom
at least six had to be persons with a "special knowledge" of art, language and literature or
the administration of justice. The appointed Board was invested with the power to
det~rmine whether, in its opinion, any publication was 'undesirable'. J. M Coetzee (1996:
viii) concludes that the government censor used the term 'undesirable' to mean "that not
ought to be desired". In other words, the desire of the object in question was undesirable
according to the state's political-moral framework, or in Bourdieu's terms, the particular
discourse did not com~1iY with the structural limitations of the government's prescribed
political-moral field.
According to Section 4 of the Act, the Board could appoint committees to examine and
report on material submitted or public entertainment reported to the board. Such
committees had to be chaired by a member of the Board and consist of at least two other
people appointed as members of the Board from a panel of people designated by the
Minister of the Interior. In general, if the Board declared a publication 'undesirable' it
was a criminal offence to print, publish, distribute, display, exhibit or sell or offer to keep
for sale any such publication (Suzman, 1972: 1). Clearly this was intended to prevent the
"emergent of the contingent" (Diawara, 1997 :457) in the form of publications which
threatened to undermine the state-protected dominant discourse.
An additional aspect of state censorship was set out in The Customs and Excise Act 91
of 1964, which made it an offence to import "goods which are indecent, obscene or on
any ground whatsoever objectionable, unless imported under permit issued by the
Publicat~ons Control Board". According to Section 113(3)(a) of the Act, if any question
arose as to whether any goods were indecent, obscene or objectionable, the article in
question was to be forwarded to the PCB whose decision would be final (in those
instances where a decision had not previously been made). This meant that the deciding
authority in relation to both the Customs and the Publications and Entertainments Act
was the PCB.

80
 The Publications Act of 1974 replaced previous Acts and became the central
mechanism for the direct censorship of publications, visual images, theatre, films and
recordings in South Africa. The central factor distinguishing the Publications Act of 1974
from earlier versions had to do with the right to appeal. In terms of Section 14 of The
Publications and Entertainments Act of 1963, decisions of the PCB were subject to
appeal to a provincial or local division of the Supreme Court, and a further appeal could
be made to the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court. The 1974 Act abolished the
right to appeal to a court of law. The Minister of Interior - Mr S L Muller - argued that
this was a necessary step because the provisions of the 1963 Act were unsatisfactory,
given that the Board was a body of specialists, thus more competent than the courts at
deciding the country's morals. In May 1969, during the second reading of the
Publications and Entertainments Amendment Bill, Mr Muller argued:
"My modest oplnion is that there is no one in South Africa, from the Chief Justice
down - and I say this without detracting from anyone's good judgement - who is
better able to decide on these matters than the Publications Board itself'(Hansard,
1969: 5872, 5874).
Arthur Suzman (1972: 3) strongly contested this assumption. To begin with, he noted
that:
"Of the ten members of the Board and the fourteen members of the panel, it
would appear that but a single member has specialized knowledge of the
administration of justice, namely the Vice-chairman, a former magistrate, who
holds the Public Service Higher Law Certificate. The chairman is listed as having
passed the preliminary LLB".
~uzman (1972: 3) argued that the judiciary was better equipped to deal with appeals
because its members had special training and office to discount their own subjective
viewpoints in favour of the rule of law. However, Van Rooyen (1987: 5) argued that the
. slowness of the judicial process, together with the reluctance of the courts to pass a
judgment of guilty before it was clear that particular criteria had been reached, hampered
the criminal law route. Furthermore, he noted that prior to the 1974 Act judges often
indicated that making moral decisions (according to South African standards) was

81
"foreign to the judicial process,that they could bring the courts into controversy, and they
also indicated that they would rather not perform this function".
As a consequence of arguments of this sort, and despite objections such as those made
by Suzman, the new Publications Act was passed in 1974 and came into effect on 1 April
1975. The Act made provisions for the establishment of The Directorate of Publication
(hereafter referred to as 'the Directorate') which, according to former Director of
Publications, Braam Coetzee (Interview, 1998), acted as the:
administrative arm of the whole control machine.
It was linked to the Department of Home Affairs, but answerable to Parliament. The
Minister of Home Affairs intended the Directorate to be independent, but sometimes he
did question its decisions, as did the Minister of Law and Order. However, the
Directorate was not answerable to any government ministry. Decisions were carried out
by a committee appointed by the Minister of Internal Affairs, and objections were
referred to the Publications Appeal Board (P AB) which was also a government-appointed
committee designed to set aside or confirm decisions of the Directorate. The State
President appointed the chairman of the P AB for a period of five years.
The process of banning a publication began with a submission to the Directorate. Braam
Coetzee (Interview, 1998) explained that:
Publications were only examined when somebody - and it could be anybody; any
person had the right - asked the directorate that a particular publication be
submitted to a committee for examination and a finding. You had no option if you
were requested by whoever no matter how insignificant or important ... you had
to submit it to a committee and the committee had to make a finding.
However, the Directorate did not act in isolation and often relied on members of civil
society to bring pUblications to its attention. The Directorate itself did not go in search of
material to ban, it only responded to complaints received. Braam Coetzee (Interview,
1998) revealed that:
What we made clear to all and sundry is that we are not a police force. Weare
not going out like sniffer dogs, trying to look for things. Weare there just as an
administrative body to whom people who have any particular request or
complaint can submit things and then according to the Act we have got to react.

82
 But I have always resented it if people come to me and say, 'Why don't you go
and look for this? Why don't you go to the record shops? Why don't you go and
look there and see what is going on?' That is not my job. If it is anybody's job
at all, it is the narcotics bureau who have got to do those things and if they send
something to us we will look at it and we will submit to a committee but we are
not going to do that ourselves.
This was in contrast to films and videos which all had to receive a certificate of approval
before they could be shown. The Customs and Excise Division and the police did
regularly forward items to the Directorate for decisions, but so too did members of civil
society in the form of moral and religious pressure groups (see discussion below).
Furthermore, by employing the notion of 'the likely reader/viewer/listener' in its
judgements, the Direc~orate of Publications did not act entirely autonomously of existing
power relations to do WIth, for example, moral and religious standards. Thus relations of
power extended beyond the limits of the state. In this way the Directorate operated on the
basis of, and slotted into, "already existing power relations" (Foucault, 1980: 122),
working with certain members of the public to perpetuate the dominant discourse.
The reliance of the Directorate on other (outside) agents to affect censorship procedures
is noteworthy because it debunks the common perception during the apartheid era of the
Directorate as a mere instrument of the apartheid state's whims and desires concerning
published material. All censors were seen as bad and wholeheartedly pro-apartheid,
government agents. In the setting-up of and adherence to these binary positions, the polar
regions themselves were exaggerated in an attempt to fix the boundaries as rigidly as
possible. Many commentators portrayed the Directorate as omnipresent surveyors of all
material, with all-encompassing surveillance powers and acting independently of the rest
of society. Nadine Gordimer (1976: 44) set the tone by describing censorship as an
"octopus of thought surveillance". J. M Coetzee (1997: 199), in a typical overstatement
~f the position, claimed that the censorship laws involved "the construction of a
bureaucracy of censorship entrusted with the task of scrutinizing every book, every
magazine, every film, every record, every stage performance, every T-shirt to appear in
the land" in what he called a "manifestation of total-onslaught paranoia". This flawed
view of an all-powerful Directorate was shared by many academics writing about popular

83
music. For example, Charles Hamm (1995: 210) observed that the 1985 Shifty Records'
FOSATU Workers' Choirs release which contained a number of freedom songs "was
somehow passed by the censors" when in fact it was never submitted to the censors to
begin with. Similarly, Gwangwa and van Aurich (1989: 155) refer to the record
companies' "need to clear the statutory Publications Control Board". Likewise, Gilder
(1983: 19) argued that the lyrics of' Another brick in the wall' "managed to escape the
attention of the censors until an adapted version of the refrain became the rallying song of
black schoolchildren during their mass campaign against apartheid education in 1980.
Then the song was banned". As many others have done, Byerly (1998: 33-34) even
attributed the Directorate with the banning of a song which it never banned. In discussing
Bright Blue's "Weeping" (1987) she erroneously states that: "It was a long time before
the message was received by the authorities and the song was banned immediately when
the subversive content was recognized". Likewise, Coplan mistakenly (2000: 353) claims
that Sipho Mabuse's album Chant of the Marching (1989) was banned in South Africa. In
yet another example, Timothy Taylor (1997: 176) claims that Juluka's song "Africa"
(1979) was "a number one hit before being banned". In fact the song was number one on
independent Capital Radio and was banned by the SABC, which had no bearing on the
song's status on Capital Radio. Both Taylor and Jeremy Marre and Hannah Charlton
(1985) to whom Taylor refers, fail to distinguish between central government censorship
and that of the SABC, creating the impression that the Directorate of Publications was
banning music that was in fact banned only by the SABC. Analysis of South African
music is riddled with these sorts of errors, many of which seem to emanate from the
clear-cut boundaries of political and ideological polarization, where facts are at worst
manipulated, at best misconstrued, according to the place they seem to fit most
comfortably. Indeed (and paradoxically), Byerly herself (1996: 12) argues that the
positing of two opposing positions presents useful poles within which people conduct
their discot.ITse, _but that "the tendency to conceptualize and speak within the constraints
of this polarizing terminology has resulted in numerous over-simplifications and
inevitable stalemates".
Once music was submitted to the Directorate for review, the procedure was the same as
that with other (non-film and video) pUblications. On receipt of material the committee

84
 would decide whether a publication was either 'desirable' or 'notundesirable' and if
'undesirable' could ban the record. For Braam Coetzee (Interview, 1998) the lyrics were
central. He explained that:
One must differentiate between music and what accompanied the music. I think it
was mostly lyrics. I think music as such can never be harmful really. So it was
just the lyrics that were coupled to the music. So it concerned the lyrics.
Whenever a ban was placed it was because of the lyrics.
Coetzee (Interview, 1998) believed that:
The police would have been interested in the music in so far as music coupled
with certain lyrics was used to work on a particular confluence of people, groups
of people influencing them to get out of hand, or rowdy or violent or something
like that. I think we know that music is quite a potent factor in that direction. It
could sway the emotions of people ... and then coupled with particular
stimulating lyrics it could be powerful. I think that was what they were interested
in.
This is an important difference from the situation in Nazi Germany where jazz as a
musical form was prohibited because it was regarded as Jewish and Negro music (Negus,
1996: 204). Similarly in Afghanistan during Taliban rule most forms of music (and all
musical instruments) were outlawed for religious reasons (Baily, 2001: 7). In South
Africa there was not a musical form regarded as undesirable per se, although certain
sounds were regarded as problematic in conjunction with 'undesirable' lyrics. Even the
government's separate development did not make it undesirable for whites to play
traditional African music or for blacks to play music traditionally associated with whites.
The problem - as will be discussed below - had to do with the political constraints placed

I
on performance in terms of who could perform together, where and when. These were not
matters of concern to the Directorate.
In addition to bannin.g music because of the lyrics, the Directorate sometimes banned
albums because of their covers. Although banning album covers is strictly related more to
rules concerning printed publications than music, album covers are an integral part of the
commodified popular music package. As a result, a ban placed on an album cover
outlawed the album: music and all. Only a change to the design of the album cover could

85
 reinstate the album as a legal commodity. This involved additional cost and affected the
artistic integrity of the entire package.
It is clear from the discussion so far that the government's system of censorship was
about controlling spaces, both figurative and real. For Bourdieu (2000: 9), existing within
a social space, occupying a point or being an individual within a social space, involves
difference, being different. Agents' positions within this space therefore gave rise to
"variations of perception" (Bourdieu, 1987: 132), dependent on agents' habitus, and the
extent to which they took their habitus for granted. Bourdieu (1977: 18) argued that
agents "are inevitably subject to the censorship inherent in their habitus, a system of
schemes of perception and thought which cannot give what it does give to be thought and
perceived without ipso facto producing an unthinkable and unnameable". Those granted
the power to censor use the censorship process to draw the boundaries of acceptable
discourse (the dominant" discourse) within their field of jurisdiction.
To begin with, the state censor launched attacks on controversial material from a self-
created and imagined centre, "an arbiter between contending social forces" (J. M.
Coetzee, 1996: 186) attempting to obscure the manner in which, as state censor, it was an
integral 'component of the most powerful contending social force, policing the boundaries
~ of the dominant discourse. Director of the PAB, Van Rooyen (1987: 3) admitted this
much when he suggested that the role of the state censor was to provide "for a framework
within which the arts may be performed". This constituted the state's duty to maintain
"order in society" (Van Rooyen, 1987: 3). Van Rooyen (1987: 20) literally envisaged the
state censor ensuring this order by patrolling the country's geographic borders: he
claimed that amongst other things "the aim of legislation is to keep pornography and
blasphemy out of the country" (Van Rooyen, 1987: 20) as though pornography and
blasphemy only came from the extreme margins, off the country's map to be precise. Van
Rooyen (1987: 106) imagined a space in which the state censor's duty was to "strike a
balance between opposing intere~ts" in an attempt to serve the supposed "general
interests" (Van Rooyen,1987: 3) of the public. Operating from what was clearly the
political centre (a position of centralized political power), the state censor hoped to foster
conditions favourable to the dominant discourse. According to the Publications Act this
discourse comprised six areas as outlined below.

86
 4.2.1. Categories of Censorship
Section 47(2) of the Publications Act defines the meaning of the term 'undesirable',
which was used by the Directorate and P AB in deciding the status of material submitted
to it. According to the Act, a publication or object, film or public entertainment, or any
part thereof is deemed to be undesirable if it:
"a) is indecent or obscene or offensive or harmful to public morals;
b) is blasphemous or is offensive to the religious convictions or feelings of any section
of the inhabitants of the Republic;
c) brings any section of the inhabitants of the Republic into ridicule or contempt;
d) is harmful to the relations between any sections of the inhabitants of the Republic;
e) is prejudicial to the safety of the state, the general welfare or the peace and good
order;
f) discloses with refer~nce to any judicial proceedings -
(i) any matter which is indecent or obscene or is offensive or harmful to public
morals;
(ii) any indecent or obscene medical, surgical or physiological details, the
disclosure of which is likely to be offensive or harmful to public morals."
These six clauses provide an interesting summation of the apartheid state's moral-
political framework or field within which they expected all South Africans to exist. These
were the limits of desirability. Failure to conform would place individuals on the outside,
to be brought in line by coercive state power. However, the values embodied by these
clauses were also upheld by a system of institutions within civil society, including
schools, religious groups, the media and cultural organizations. These institutions,
together with the state's coercive institutions, worked to establish the moral leadership of
the apartheid state. The moral-political framework as outlined in the Publications Act can
therefore be seen to form the parameters of the dominant discourse, integrally connecting
moral, religious and political criteria so that~he promotion of anyone of these areas
implied an attack on the entire hegemonic project. This can be clearly seen in Van
Rooyen's suggestion that pornography and blasphemy entered South Africa from outside
the country. His claim implies, for anyone familiar with the government's 'total
onslaught' rhetoric, that pornography and blasphemy were part of a communist

87

,I
onslaught. Such rhetoric was typical of the state's attempt to rally the support of
divergent sectors within South African society, who ultimately constituted a significant
historic bloc.
Of the categories of censorship listed above, the Directorate only ever cited four as
reasons for the banning of music (Jacobsens, 1991: XLIX-LIV). The categories most
often cited dealt with obscenity (clause a), blasphemy (clause b) and political threats
(clause e), but on occasion songs were banned because they were judged to be harmful to
the relations between sections of the South African population (clause d).
During the 1970s songs like "Take Off Your Clothes" by Peter Sarstedt (1975), "Love
to Love You Baby" by Donna Summer (1975) and a number of Frank Zappa albums had
been banned by the Directorate because of obscene lyrics. In May 1980 Marianne
Faithfull's Broken English was banned because of obscene language in the song "Why
D'ya do it". The main single from the album, "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" (1979) had
been the number one song of the year on SABC' s Radio 5. In 1986 a series of letters
were sent to the Directorate protesting the lyrics of George Michael's "I Want Your
Sex"(l987). It was subsequently banned.
In the early-to-mid 1970s as previously indicated, the musicals Jesus Christ Superstar
(1969) and Godspell (1971) were banned for religious reasons, as were Don McLean's
"American Pie" (1971) and Chris De Burgh's Spanish Train and Other Stories (1976)
because of the song "Spanish Train". In the 1980s albums banned because of blasphemy
included Dollar Brand's Africa - Tears and Laughter (1979) as a result of the track
"Ishmael", Christ the Album by Crass (1982) and Bigger Than Jesus by the Kalahari
Surfers (1989).
The most common reason for banning music during the 1980s was for political reasons,
when the music was seen to pose a threat to the security of the state. Prior to the 1980s,
albums by Miriam Makeba and Peter Tosh were amongst those banned for political
reasons. 'The 1980s saw a number of overseas songs similarly banned. These· included:
"Another Brick in the Wall" by Pink Floyd (1979); "Biko" by Peter Gabriel (1980); "Free
Nelson Mandela" by Special AKA (1984); and "Sun City" by Artists United Against
Apartheid (1985). South African musician Roger Lucey was also victim of the
Directorate. His debut album The Road is Much Longer (1979) was banned for

88
distribution and possession in 1982, after police had forwarded a copy to the Directorate.
Four of the tracks on the album were regarded as "definitely dangerous for the safety of
the State and create a climate of protest against the Police and the present order of the
State" (Directorate of Publications, 1982: P82/91115). These were "Crossroads", "Lungile
Tabalaza", "You only need say nothing" and "Thabane". On appeal, the PAB decided to
set aside the ban for possession but upheld the ban for distribution. It particularly
objected to the lyrics of "Thabane" which it felt constituted "a direct or indirect call to
action, to the battle ground, to revolution" (Directorate of Publications, 1982: P82/91115).
In 1986 Mzwakhe Mbuli's Change is Pain (1986) album was banned because:
"its uplifting music and dramatic recitation will fmd great appeal amongst
revolutionary groups and mass gatherings in the RSA. It has the ability to sweep
up the masses and in the current revolutionary climate it will motivate the masses
to participate WIth the forces that want to make the RSA ungovernable. It
encourages violence and supports the ANC's struggle to overthrow the
government by means of violence. It is thus harmful to the security and general
peace of the state and also threatens the upholding of law and order" (Directorate
of Publications, 1986: P86/12/24).
As far as can be ascertained (Jacobsens, 1991: XLIX-LIV), only twice was music
banned because of its harmful effects on relations between sections of the South African
popUlation. These were the soundtrack to the film Hair (1969), various versions of which
were banned in the 1970s (with indecency as an additional contributing factor) and
William Dube's Take Cover (1981) banned in 1981 (with the safety of the state cited as
an additional reason). Supporting documents for these two cases could not be located,
thus elaboration on the reasons cannot be provided.

4.2.2 The role of moral and religious pressure groups in government censorship
As indicated earlier, in many instances moral and religious pressu~e groups were
integrally involved in the state's formal censorship process. The involvement of these
groups took a variety of forms: bringing music to the attention of the Directorate;
lobbying through petitions and sometimes a flood of letters; directly advising the
Directorate; and in some instances thanking the Directorate for their decisions. Given the

89
 additional calls for boycotting of music internally within particular religious groups, the
actions of these groups should not be understated. Through their actions they legitimized
the state's role as censor, not only requesting its assistance and supporting instances of
state censorship of 'offensive' religious material but in some instances calling for the
banning of music for political reasons, thus choosing to align themselves with the state,
even politically.
Braam Coetzee (Interview, 1998) indicated that sometimes these pressure groups would
take a more conservative line than the Directorate itself:
I have had more pressure from some of these new born again Christian groups,
the Pentecostal, more charismatic people ... they have been endlessly, endlessly,
problematic and they have given us a hard time. They linked up with groups in
America, obviously very well offpeople, they have got lots of money, and they
engage lobbyists in senate and congress nagging the people all the time and
bringing pressure to bear on them. They have had success there, and they, in fact,
If

were in communication with groups that were founded in South Africa all the
time ... They were getting well organized and they were tremendously powerful
pressure groups .
. While some religious groups (Christian and Muslim included) did oppose the state, the
relationship which some of these groups had with the Directorate emphasizes that the
state did not operate alone in censoring music (as well as other publications). In this
instance religious groups, working according to their own agendas, were quick to support
the state, bringing about censorship of music which otherwise would not have been
censored.
The conservative church group, the Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk (NGK), involved
itself at the highest level in censorship in South Africa. In 1971 the General Synod of the
NGK passed a resolution calling for the abolition of the right to appeal to the Supreme
Court as provided for in the Publications and Entertainments Act of 1963. In~tead they
called for the establishment of a "special court of appeal" which consisted of "authorities
in various fields". The Deputy Minister of the Interior at the time, Dr S W van der
Merwe, promised to consider this representation (Suzman, 1972: 2). Indeed this
representation was adopted by the government in the Publications Act of 1974, which (as

90
outlined above) did away with the right to appeal to the Supreme Court in favour of
setting up the P AB.
In the 1980s Christians linked to the NGK were strongly involved in protests leading up
to the banning of songs like Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" (1979) and George
Michael's "1 Want Your Sex" (1987). The latter was banned after a successful campaign
involving the submission of many letters of complaint to the Directorate. A letter
submitted by Mr Van Heerden of the NGK in Welverdiend was typical. He wrote that:
"The Kerkraad (Church Board) had requested that I submit an objection to the
pop singer George Michael's song, 'I want your sex'. It is shocking to hear such
songs. It is used to influence our young people, the pride of our country, in such a
way that it corrupts their morals. Our Country needs good citizens, and the
Communists cannot handle this. They only want to bring us to a fall. We rely on
you to put and end to such songs and to prohibit it from being broadcast on the
television and radi~;' (Directorate of Publications, P87/08/160).
The song was subsequently banned because the censors believed the song to be harmful
to public morals.
"Another Brick in the Wall" was banned after a complaint was received from Mr W
Erasmus, Chairperson of the N. G. Student branch of the Pretoria Teachers Training
College. The album had already sold 39 000 copies and the single 90 000 copies when
the single and album were banned. The students argued that:
"We listened to it in detail and considered its consequences. In the long term it
will undermine the authority of our schools. The type of music, the words and
singing style must have an influence on the children, which will result in
disorder.... Weare convinced that this record cultivates an environment for
communism. In fact it forms part of their program" (Directorate of Publications,
1980: P80/4/49).
The Directorate of Publications agreed with the sentiments expressed in this letter and
. .

decided to ban both the album and the single. It was noted that the lyrics of the song
were:
"undesirable insofar as they amount to a protest song against education and school
discipline, at a time when there is so much student and pupil unrest and protest

91
 against the education system for coloureds and blacks" (Directorate of
Publications, 1980: P80/4/49).
Not only did Christians submit records for assessment, but after music was banned they
often vindicated Directorate decisions by writing letters of appreciation. For example, in
a letter to the Directorate in response to the banning of "Another Brick in the Wall" a Mrs
Aylwand wrote:
"I just want to express my sincere thanks to you for the way you are helping to
build SA up into a better world, and not allowing everything to just pass by. I
thank God for people who are still willing to make a stand. May God bless you,
because this record called 'Brick in the wall' will really bring the wrong ideas into
children's heads. Look at the trouble we are already having with the young people
of SA. After all, it is them that will rule in the long run. Praise God for your stand.
I as a mother or two small children am really concern (sic) for what we allow our
children to hear and 'see. May we see that with the grace of God more records like
.j'

'Brick in the wall' by Pink Floyd get banned.

Thank you for your concern in this matter, without you we cannot do a thing, but
you can. We as the family of God will keep praying for you; and once again out
of the debt of our heart a sincere thank you, we stand behind you.
May God really bless you abundantly" (Directorate of Publications, 1980:
P80/4/49).
Some people even went as far as to alert the Directorate to instances where their bans
were not being effective. Mrs Venter, President of Clean World, an organization linked to
the St James Church, Kenilworth branch of the Church of England in South Africa,

I submitted a newspaper article to the Directorate. The article informed readers about
loopholes in the Directorate's ban of Pink Floyd's The Wall (1979) which would allow
them to acquire a copy of the album (Directorate of Publications, 1980: P80/4/49).
The Kalahari Surfers' Bigger Than Jesus (1989) was banned after complaints were
received from representatives of a Pentecostal Christian pressure group. One of the letters
of complaint received from a member of a religious group stated:
"I send the cover of a new record, which was apparently produced by a South
African pop group. The record is called Bigger than Jesus. The name alone is

92
 enough to make any Christian furious, not to me:dtion the words. We as reborn
Christians object to the publication of this record and also the distribution of it.
You will find more than 600 signatures which I gathered very quickly, I can
assure you, however that we are hundreds of thousands that object to this record.
We call upon you, as a respected organization, to prohibit these records and tapes,
which slanders our King and Saviour" (Directorate of Publications, 1989:
P89/0S/S1 ).
The album was found undesirable in terms of two criteria: firstly, the cover of the record,
with the title Bigger Than Jesus, was found to be undesirable as were the lyrics of one
particular song - "Gutted With the Glory". The song used a cut-up of 'The Lord's
Prayer' condemning an SADF raid on Maseru.
Christians were not the only religious pressure groups to get involved in the call for
government censorship"ofmusic. In 1980 The Muslim Judicial Council called for the
banning of Abdullah Ibra~lin's "Ishmael" off the Africa: Tears and Laughter (1979)
album. Sheikh Najaar, President of the Muslim Judicial Council, submitted a letter of
complaint to the Directorate, declaring that:
"at a Supreme Council meeting of the Muslim Judicial Council held last night (26
November 1980), the following resolution was unanimously adopted: This
Council being the authoritative body of the Muslims, hereby request the
Directorate of Publications to ban the record ... because, a) It seriously offends
Islamic sensitivities and is an attempt to commercialise the Holy Quran (Islamic
book of law) in that the record has as one of its cuts 2 verses of the Holy Quran,
viz The Fatiha and Ayatul Khursi, being sung to jazz music. b) It will create ill-
feelings amongst the Muslim community as this sacrilegious act lowers the
dignity of our faith" (Directorate of Publications, 1980: P80112111).
In response, on the advice of two members of the Muslim Judicial Council appointed to
assist the Directorate, the latter decided to ban the album. The decision to ban the album
was explained as follows:
"After thorough consideration the Board have decided that the record is
undesirable by virtue of section 47(2)(b) of the Act, within the light of the
following considerations: The specific Muslim prayer that is worded on the track,

93
 plays an important role in the Muslim religion. The believer is supposed to recite
the prayer seventeen times a day. In the more than 1400 years of the existence of
the Muslim religion, the prayer has never been put to music, because putting it to
music will transgress the holiness of the prayer. On the record the prayer is not
only accompanied by music, but is presented in a way that belongs in the home or
in the dance hall, and this while the Muslim religion is strongly opposed to
dancing. In essence it is a highly unworthy manner in which the Muslim prayer is
presented on the record. It will give offence to the religious convictions and
feelings of the Muslim community. This record is undesirable, because of its
harmful influence on Muslim religious sentiments" (Directorate of Publications:
1980: P80112I1l).
These cases highlight the role of outside religious pressure groups in bringing about the
banning of music whiCh otherwise would probably not have been banned. The political
nature of"Anoth~r Brick i~'the Wall" is also important, revealing the NGK as a political
ally of the State, not restricting its objections to religious and sexual concerns. The
Muslim Judiciary Council's willingness to be co-opted onto a Directorate advisory
committee (albeit over a religious issue) indicates clear support for a state structure. This
support emphasizes Foucault's (1976: 93) conception of power as a multiplicity of force
relations. Importantly for Foucault, power does not have a single originatory source, but
is dispersed throughout society (Foucault, 1976: 94). Even in terms of official
government-sanctioned censorship practice, acts of censorship were not confined to a
centralized state operating autonomously, nor was control located solely in the offices of
the Directorate of Publications and the Publications Appeal Board. The support of a
various non-government bodies was central to the operation of formal state censors.

4.2.3 Contest over liberalization of central government censorship bodies

An important trend towards the (relative) liberalization of the Directorate and PAB began
in the early 1980s (Stewart, 1990; Interviews with Coetzee and Van Rooyen, 1998} It
began to take stronger effect (in terms of decisions) in the mid-1980s. As noted in
Chapter Two, this trend towards liberalization paralleled economic and political
developments in South Africa more generally. The need to ensure (in the urban areas) a

94

..~
 •
more stable workforce and to establish a black middle class necessitated a change in the
dominant discourse and a consequent change in the censors' interpretation of the
'undesirable'. To accommodate the state's attempt to establish a coalition of interests
which included the black middle class, a liberalization of the Directorate and PAB was
essential, so as to avoid alienating conservative members of the black middle class. A
change in hegemony thus resulted in a shifting emphasis within government institutions
charged with the execution of policies related to the dominant discourse. This is
evidenced in the way in which both the Director of Publications, Braam Coetzee, and the
Chairman of the PAB, Jacobus Van Rooyen wanted the Directorate and PAB to reflect a
more liberal attitude. Coetzee (Interview, 1998) explained:
When I came in at the beginning of 1981, we were just on the verge of changing
into a more enlightened age, so to speak, because Professor Van Rooyen was the
'" the Publications Appeal Board. He succeeded old judge
new Chairman of
-..
Lammie Snyman -Who was avery, very conservative and a hard-boiled man.
Indeed, in 1980 Van Rooyen (cited in Stewart, 1990: 19) commented: "If you look at the
early decisions by the Board and compare them to our very recent findings you will see
that there is a difference. This trend will continue".
The basis of many aspects of Section 47/2 of the Publications Act was 'public opinion' .
In 1978 the Act was amended and one of the changes included the introduction of new
criteria for 'public opinion'. The 'likely audience' took the place of the 'public at large',
making the situation easier for more liberal decisions to be made. Braam Coetzee
(Interview, 1998) explained that:
As public opinion developed, by way of evolution in the whole political process,

t
l
f
so things got more easy. The process was ongoing and as that process developed,
decision-making also became more liberaL
Th~. personal situation and philosophy of the censors was important in this liberalization
of the government censorship apparatus. Braam·Coetzee (Interview, 1998) explained that:
I felt that I could exert a bit of independence because I came here having wanted
to retire. I wasn't looking for ajob. I was different because my two predecessors
were part-time civil servants. They had to look after their job. If they were
required by somebody [to ban something] and that person would bring pressure to

95

..~
 t
bear on the minister, they would say: 'You do this'. But they couldn't do that
ever since the time I was appointed. They tried it, and I don't want to go into
details. They often tried it but I said, 'No, I am not going to do that. I am not
going to do your dirty work. If you can't do it, don't push it on me. Do it if you
want to do it'. So they had to do it by themselves. They were covered by law, it
was only when people took them to court that sometimes they fell foul of the
thing.
The contest over liberal values within the Directorate and PAB also affected the
Chairman of the PAB, Kobus Van Rooyen. He described his appointment to his position
as Chairman:
I never regarded myself as a representative of government. I thoroughly believed
in the independence of the PAB. It is meant to be independent. Where one did
."
ban some of the songs, you would find it was more or less in the earlier days of
--.,:
the' 80s, if you 10QJ<: at the developments over the years. Take a thing like a Rat in
the kitchen was found to be not undesirable. The songs had to be in a sense pro-
violence or pro-revolutionary. In fact that is why we dealt with so few of these
songs because we were so open-minded and there weren't many appeals on this. I
think "Another Brick in the Wall", had it come before us again, we would have
unbanned it. But it was unbanned at the first level when it was resubmitted.
You always have that resubmission. So, how does one feel? Well, obviously
you feel sad about it when looking back but you must be realistic here. You have
just started as a new Chair of a system in 1980. You are quite young. You are 37.
You have got so many problems on hand. You have got a long list of banned
books: black writers/white writers, classics ... So you are so busy trying to
develop and [unban this material] when you have made errors you are sad about
.~

it, but you are so happy that you are getting on and passing 'Staffrider' and 'New
Nation' and 'South' that you may not lie awake about having then made a mistake
on 'Another Brick in the Wall'. It was such a huge mistake because in law you
must look at the pUblication itself.
However, Marcus (in Coetzee, 1996: 194) was sceptical of Van Rooyen's claim to
impartiality. Marcus claimed that decisions were often inconsistent with Van Rooyen's

96
stated guiding principles. He aptly described the censorsl!l commitment to the guiding
principles as "fragile". J. M Coetzee (1996: 195) agreed, arguing that in different
instances the South African censorship system acted in an authoritarian and impartial
manner, making decisions that were clearly not those of an arbiter mediating between
competing interests.
Despite the state censors' inconsistent and conservative decisions, there was certainly a
trend towards leniency in at least some of its decisions. Consequently, the Directorate and
PAB were the sites of frequent contests between the censors and the police and
government, a situation indicative of the Directorate and Board's relative autonomy. A
clear example of this was the decision by the Directorate not to ban the film Cry Freedom
(1987). Under appeal, Van Rooyen decided not to ban the film. Consequently the film
was banned under the Internal Security Act, and Van Rooyen received death threats, his
house was set alight ana he was the victim of a variety of other dirty tricks (Interviews
with Van Rooyen, 1998 and
;f
Erasmus, 2001).
By the late 1980s the Directorate and P AB had become increasingly reluctant to ban
material such as Shifty Records' anti-conscription Forces Favourites (1985) compilation
album forwarded to it by the police. The Board argued that all the lyrics were similar to
items one could read about in liberal newspapers (Directorate of Publications, 1987:
P87/04/63). In 1988 and 1989 very little music was banned at all (Jacobsens, 1991). Most
albums submitted to the Directorate by the police in 1989 were declared 'not
undesirable'. These included the controversial Voelvry (1989) compilation album, Sipho
Mabuse's Chant of the Marching (1989), Koos Kombuis' Niemandsland (1989), and
Simple Minds' Street Fighting Years (1989).
These contests around what to censor and what not to censor once again reflect the
complexity of the official censorship terrain. As outlined in Chapter Two, Foucault
(1976: 92) does not assume the sovereignty of the state nor does he accept that it
dominates by means of an over-all unity. Rather he views state power as operating
through ongoing struggles and confrontations within the state sphere. These struggles
throughout the state sphere are "embodied in the state apparatus, in the formulation of the
law, in the various social hegemonies" (Foucault, 1976: 93). Furthermore, a neo-
Gramscian approach "presents culture, society, and politics as terrains of contestation"

97
(Kellner, 1995b: 101). The testimonies of various govenllnent censorship agents,
including Coetzee and Van Rooyen (discussed above, as well as others discussed below)
clearly reveal that no area was exempt from contestation. Oppressive structures certainly
led to resistance, even by some of the agents whose brief it was to uphold those
structures. These examples reveal a complex terrain, in contrast with simplified binary
views of struggle whereby state censorship officials operated unquestioningly and
consistently according to the state's dictates.

4.3 Security laws

Central to Gramsci' s concept of hegemony is the relationship between coercion and
persuasion in the maintenance of the dominant discourse. This is clearly borne out in the
apartheid state's reliance on the state security apparatus. In addition to the Publications
'j,

Control Act, the goveniment made use of several security laws (such as the Internal
.... :
Security Act 74 ~f 1982 a:t4d Protection of Information Acts 84 of 1982) to ban
publications. The Internal Security Act 74 of 1982 was a consolidation of various older
Acts such as the Suppression of Communism Act 44 of 1950 and the Riotous Assemblies
and Suppression of Communism Act 15 of 1954 and the Riotous Assemblies Act 17 of
1956 (Williams and Hackland, 1988: 114). Section 5 of the Act contained sweeping
provisions for the prohibition of various publications. It allowed the Minister of Law and
Order to ban publications according to a range of criteria. These included publications
that were deemed to be a danger to the security of the state or threatened law and order,
which promoted or furthered the aims of communism, and which were published or
disseminated by or expressed the views of an unlawful organization (Marcus, 1984: 20).
Other Acts such as the Protection of Information Act 84 of 1982 and the Defence Act 44
of 1957 also prohibited the pUblication or recording of certain information. Braam
Coetzee (Interview, 1998) explained that:
Under the Internal Security Act, organizations like the ANC, SWAPO (South
West African Peoples' Organization), PAC, and many other parties became
banned organizations and under the Act all writings or publications emanating
from those organizations were automatically banned. So we never looked at them.
They were not sent to us but were automatically banned under those laws.

98
 •
However, any banning not executed through the Directorate had to be defended in a court
of law in the case of an appeal. In a court of law proof of evidence was required whereas
this was not the case with the PAB. Consequently, to make matters easier, the police
often used to try to off-load material onto the Board, which, as indicated, did not
automatically ban items submitted to it by the police.
Faced with increased militant resistance, the government declared a State of Emergency
in July 1985, effective in parts of the country, especially the Transvaal and the Cape. The

t Emergency was lifted in March 1986 (Merrett, 1994: 113). However in June 1986 a
nati'onwide State of Emergency was declared, and renewed annually for the next three
years. The States of Emergency further empowered the state to ban material and restrict
musical performance. The 1986 emergency regulations:
~~made it an offence for any person to make, write, record, disseminate, display,
,.
utter or even possess a 'subversive statement' ... The most awesome power of
",:

censorship was vested in the Commissioner of Police. He was empowered

'without prior notice to any person and without hearing any person' to issue an
order ~prohibiting any publication, television recording, film recording or sound
recording containing any news, comment or advertisement on or in connection
with any matter specified in the order'" (Marcus, 1987: 9).
According to Braam Coetzee (Interview, 1998) the government did make use of these
regulations as a 'parallel system' to ban material completely independently of the
Directorate. Newspapers particularly suffered under the emergency regulations.
Newspapers, given their wide readership, were under the constant scrutiny of the police.
Recorded music was of less concern to the police, although they frequently submitted
copies of controversial albmns to the Directorate if they came across them, sometimes a
lon& time after the initial release (Interview with Paul Erasmus, 2001; Directorate of
~

Publications archival files). Reports of censorship always drew more attention to

published material than might otherwise have been received, so if something was
unlikely to reach more than a marginal audience, the police tended not to draw attention
to it. Indeed, the government tried to downplay the extent of censorship in South Africa.
For example, in June 1986 in an instance of typical doublespeak, a government

99

I
spokesperson pronounced that: "We do not have censorsnip. What we have is a limitation
on what newspapers can report" (in Merrett, 1994: 115).
The scope of the emergency regulations extended beyond published material. The
regulations also curtailed freedom of movement (especially in and out of townships) and
public gatherings. In terms of Regulation 7 of the Emergency Regulations, events could
simply be declared illegal by police authorities without justification. Music concerts and
other cultural events were often prohibited as a result. For example, a cultural festival
planned to take place in the Western Cape entitled "Towards a peoples culture: Arts
Festival '86" was prohibited (see Image 4.1). Acquiring a permit to enter an area and to
perform was a difficult and frustrating task, especially given the ad hoc nature in which
permits were granted. Individl:lal police officials could decide whether or not an event
was acceptable without necessarily having to provide a reason (see Image 4.1). But even
'" they would often be very vague. Willem Moller (Interview,
when reasons were given,
1998) of the Gereformeer~ (Reformed) Blues Band described the frustration:
To have a concert somewhere, you'd have to get a permit from somebody and it's
now Emergency regulations, so some police captain has to approve that this will
not disturb the peace. And he says 'no, we think it will disturb the peace', so you
can't have your concert in whatever place. That kind of thing happened a lot.
The emergency regulations put police at a localized level in an important position of
power over musicians who were at their mercy if they wanted to receive permission to
perform. The arbitrary nature of many of the refusals made the regulations very difficult
and frustrating to negotiate.

4.3.1 Illegal gatherings

In terms of the Internal Security Act (and also according to the emergency regulations),
cone.erts which did not have a valid permit could be declared illegal gatherings and thus
be,closed down. Any meeting between two or more people with a common purpose could
be declared an illegal gathering. This was part of a nation-wide prohibition on the holding
of outdoor gatherings (other than bona fide sports meetings) of two or more people
(Marcus, 1987: 9). Emergency regulations also included indoor gatherings. Many live

100
 PROHIBITION OFA GATHERING IN TERNS OF REGULAnON 7 PROMULGATED
:r.N TERMS OF nm PUBLIC SAFETY ACT, 1953 (ACT 3 OF 1953), BY
PROCLANA7ION RiOe OF 1986
(GOVERNNENT GAZETTE NO 10280 DATED 12 JUNE 1986 AS AMENDED)

A State of Emergency has bee'. decJ.ared in the Republic of

SOUTH AFRICA in teJ'nls of Proclamation TUb8, 1986 ( Gov'Srnmont
Gazette No 10279 d·"ted 12 June 1986).

By V.l.r-tue of the powers ve6t~,d in me by Regul lilt.ion 7 of the

.... :
.Reg!Jlat~f)ns, in terms of ProcJ.nma"t.lon Hl09 of 12. ,rU~)e :986)
as amended, I Christcrffel Anth(Hlie StvART, Di.v1.sional Commis~iion~r
of th.e S,~uth Afr'ltan Police ,for tht? WESTE.RN PHOVINCE DIVISION

~'ny pl.ace wi thin the \)!ESTERN PROVINCE DIVISION of thn South

Africa,n Fc-lice at- any time- from 12 Dec,errJ:;el" 1986 urlttl

22 D-ecemb$.p 1ge6~

MM-GEN
DIV U3IONAL CONtNr.SSJONEH WESTE'RN PHOVINCE D:'JISION
C A Si.I'Al':r

Image 4. 1 Prohibition of a cultural event in terms of State of Emergency regulations.

101
performances were consequently declared illegal gatherings and were not allowed to take
place. For example, when the progressive South African Musician's Alliance (SAMA)
planned the non-racial Human Rainbow Concert to mark the launch of SAMA, the
concert was banned under the Internal Security Act (Anti-Apartheid News, April 1989:
10). Roddy Quinn (Interview, 1998) was the concert promoter. He explained that the idea
was to:
put a whole lot of South African acts together, black and white. And called it the
human rainbow. And put very progressive acts on the bill. There is no doubt about
it, it was stopped by the government.
Not only were music performances affected by permit requirements, but even meetings to
plan musical events or band practices (if held in the townships) could be declared illegal
gatherings. It was ce~ainly illegal for white people to enter a township without a permit
and blacks always had to carry a pass when in a white area, and were not allowed in the
streets of white areas after ~urfew time (ten 0' clock in the evening) when curfews were in
place. Image 4.2 (below) is ~ copy of a permit granted to cultural activist and reporter
Steve Gordon, allowing him to enter Langa Township simply to visit musicians at a
particular venue at a specific time.

,." '~""':'~"'~'~"'''~ .~. ~ .,' ""., .

• /1:<../("'<'-
,,;I"r, ',,"1

;.:, ~.

-.~

Image 4. 2 Permit granting political activist and journalist Steve Gordon permission to enter Langa
Township to meet with musicians.

102
 •
Most musicians viewed as political by the police, were at one time or another affected by
permit requirements, an overt method of controlling the movement and mixing of people
of different races. Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) provided an example of the difficulties
experienced by musicians who did not have permits. He related how his group, Juluka,
often experienced difficulties when performing at township concerts without pennits:
Shows were closed down by the police. You know, you had to get a permit as a
white person to go into townships. So they would ask us for a permit, we had no
permits, so then the promoter would get into trouble and they'd close the show
down. We had some really rough moments. Some of the shows were closed down
with dogs and tear gas. We had one thing in Nigel, in Daduza Township, in the
middle of the songs - we were playing the stage in full cry. Three policemen with
shotguns came onto stage in camouflaged uniforms and stood there. And then a
'j,

guy came out and grabbed the microphone and said 'that's it, the shows over' .
,,:
And we 'Yere reallM angry because it was just such a provocative and scary
moment for everybody.
Security legislation undoubtedly led to many instances in which musicians were silenced
by being prevented from performing in particular areas under certain circumstances. On
occasion the bureaucratic wrangling involved in organizing a concert put musicians off
even trying to arrange performances in certain areas. At other times, as Clegg's account
reveals, musician~ who decided to go ahead and perform without a permit were prevented
from performing or had their performances stopped midway. It was very unlikely that
local police officials would grant permits for performances that they suspected had any
political links.
".

4.4 Local authorities and pressure groups

Natfonallegislation was not the only means by which live performances could be
prohibited or interfered with. Local.~ouncils could also pass legislation at a municipal
level, dictating the terms on which performances were allowed to take place. Certainly,
local authorities did occasionally step in to prevent music from being performed,
emphasizing the need to consider the local in conjunction with the national (centralized)
level (Foucault, 1976: 93). Given that local political dynamics were paramount in such

103
cases, conservative councils almost always put restrictiorls into place. An extreme
example once again involves Juluka who were banned from performing in Pietersburg, a
town run by a right-wing town council. The group comprised members of different races,
wearing animal skins, beads and bangles, doing Zulu dance and stick fighting to heavy
drum beats, singing in Zulu and English, offering a strong image of what white band
leader Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) refers to as 'the secret of Zulu masculinity' . Clegg
in particular created a fascination for a conservative audience, as a white who had crossed
over to 'the other' .
The' effect of Clegg's otherness on the 'civilized' local audiences obviously shocked the
elders of Pietersburg. Clegg described how:
the issue of cultural mixing came to a head for us when we were banned from
Pietersburg. The Pietersburg Town Council banned Juluka. And they said that we
were engaged in~bastardizing Western culture by mixing it with African culture,
and the two culture~: should not be allowed to be promoted. And that became a
theme of some of th& more. ~onservative attacks against what we were doing. And
it was clearly a political thing for them. For them what we were doing was down
the line a political act against cultural segregation, against the whole idea of
separate cultures and all that stuff.
In a similarly bizarre circumstance, the white crossover band, Hotline were informed by
the right wing Lichtenburg Town Council that they could only perform to a mixed race
audience (a precondition of the band) if the audience was segregated. A fence was placed
down the middle of the field with whites on one side and blacks on the other. The band
moved their gear over to the black side and went ahead with the gig! (Interview with
Alistair Coakley, 1998).
In November 1980 Jonathan Handley of the Radio Rats and editor of the Palladium
F~!ne organized the 'Power of Youth' charity concert comprising black and white
bands for a multiracial audience. However, the ,Springs Town Council applied local by-
laws to ban the concert unless the audience constituted whites only, although bands of
different races were permitted. In the council's defence Mr Tonk Meter, Chairman of the
management committee, said that:

104
 •
"We've gone as far as we can at present. If Handley wants to hold a multiracial
concert then let him hold it in the Kwa Thema halL The Black people have their
own facilities there and should use them" (Sunday Express, 1980: 12).
Handley cancelled the concert on principle. He explained that:
"I have no intention of entering into some political wrangle with the Springs
Town Council- if they don't want me to hold a multiracial concert then so be it.
But I'll be damned if I'm going to embarrass the Black performers by asking them
to perform in front of a wholly White audience" (Sunday Express, November 16
1980: 12).
He added that: "It would be difficult for white fans to get permits to go to K wa Thema
and in any case, it is too late to book the hall" (Sunday Express, 1980: 12). In a
despondent and angry Palladium (December 1980: 3) editorial after the council decision,
~

Handley commented that:

.... '

"Power of,Youth 1980 has been cancelled. Reasons? Politico-personal. However,

all the field marshalls (sicYhave gathered in the tatty tent, and decided to postpone
the desert campaign until 1981. Venue: Springs Civic Centre. Still in aid of
T.E.A.C.H.E.R. and S.P.C.A. Still hoping for a multicultural cast and audience-
permits permitting. It's still only rock and roll- nothing else. Won't they
understand this?"
The point was tha~. such events were not just rock and roll for authorities determined to
protect the sanctity of racial separation and Nationalist rrue. The politics of the events
meant that music performances needed to be stopped. This also happened in 1983 when a
~.

concert entitled "Rock for a reason" was to be hosted by JODAC (Johannesburg

Democratic Action Committee) on the 1st December at Selbome Hall in Johannesburg.
The ...concert was cancelled because the Johannesburg City Council refused permission to
\..
use the halL The planned concert line-up included Sakhile, Malombo, the Bosmont Trio,
Jessica and Badire" (Poster Collective, 1991: 164).
A significant case of local politicians throughout South Africa reacting to music in a
similar fashion occurred in 1988 when the anti-establishment Afrikaner Voelvry tour
travelled around the country. The organizers and performers made a point of going to
small as well as large urban areas. Apart from experiencing right wing intimidation in

105
general, they ran into problems with some town councils and university administrations
who would not allow them to perform in council, school and university venues
(Interviews with Kerkorrel, 1998 and Moller, 1998). These included the Rand Afrikaans
University, the University ofPotchefstroom, the Vaal Triangle Technikon, the University
of Stellenbosch and Frans Cronje Hall in Bloemfontein. The grounds of refusal were that
the music was too subversive and dangerous. Johannes Kerkorrel (Interview, 1998)
believed that the fact that the tour was an Afrikaans tour was the main threat to
authorities:
I thought that the greatest threat we posed at the time was the fact that we
protested against the state and against policies of the National Party. And
especially the Apartheid policies and because we did it in Afrikaans that is why
they reacted so violently against us. Like sending the Security Police to our gigs
and sabotaging us and banning our concerts and banning the records. I thought
that was because we idared to voice our opposition in Afrikaans.
'f
Local Afrikaans authorities d~id notwant Afrikaans youth to realize that there were
Afrikaners opposed to the apartheid system and Nationalist government. Indeed some
Afrikaans schools in the Orange Free State forbade attendance of the Voelvry concert on
·the basis that it was 'evil' and 'communistic' (Financial Mail, 1988: 11).
The various ways in which national and local politics led to musicians being barred
from performing unhindered in many venues emphasizes once again the manner in which
censorship has to do with controlling spaces. Physical spaces were controlled in an
attempt to prevent South Africans from hearing and seeing musicians perform music
undermining of apartheid discourse. By sometimes referring to 'subversive~·music as
'communist', the connection between apartheid politics and Christianity was once again
evoked, in line with the hegemonic coalition between the government and religious
groups. Accordingly, protective borders (physical and symbolic) had to be erected to
keep the communist menace from infiltrating local and national spaces and challenging
Christian values. Indeed, former security branch policeman, Paul Erasmus (interview,
2001) revealed that some of their mentors at training college linked South Africa's moral
and political problems to communism:

106
 They linked everything to communism. The corruption of moral fibre of the
Western world was the communists - who were behind it. Pornography was
communist, drugs was communist, long hair was communist, everything was
communist.
Communism was seen to be behind the struggle to end apartheid, and so any attempt to
break down apartheid barriers was viewed as communist. The fight against communism
can therefore be viewed as the cornerstone of the government's attempt to lend
legi~imacy to its hegemonic project. Any activity that undermined the dominant apartheid
discourse was prohibited as (at least indirectly) supporting communism. In contrast
apartheid was maintained at all costs. The SADF protected South Africa from the 'total
communist onslaught' on the geographic borders of the country, trying to protect
apartheid space. In the l}leantime, racial segregation forged a division between white and
black spaces: whites could. occupy spaces that blacks could not. Whites could only
!
occupy black spaces with apermit. Blacks could only occupy white spaces at particular
-( <. i
times under certain conditions. Otherwise people could only occupy such spaces illegally,
thus making them dangerous spaces. Dangerous spaces were dangerous largely because
of the police. Kerkorrel's quote (above) integrally links venue restrictions and album
censorship to police harassment. This link is crucial if one is to grasp the power of South
African censorship.

4.5 Police repression and intimidation

Indeed, repression was used alongside legislative measures to prevent musicians
",.
from
recording or performing controversial music. Sometimes this was done overtly, as
happened to Roger Lucey, who was targeted by the security branch. Security police
mo~itoring Voice of America (VOA) heard an interview with Lucey and some of his
songs performed live on a VOA programme. They forwarded a recording of the
programme to Security Branch Head Office who assigned security policeman Pa.ul
Erasmus to the case. Erasmus was instructed to put an end to Lucey's career. Lucey's
music was banned, his record company, 3rd Ear Music, was threatened, as was the
distributing company, WEA. Erasmus set about disrupting live shows by pouring teargas
powder into the air-conditioning system and threatening venue owners, telling them not

107
 to renew their contract with Lucey. The security police bugged Lucey's phone and
intercepted his mail, thus finding out about future gigs, and putting an end to them in a
similar manner (Mail and Guardian, July 1995, Interview with Erasmus, 2001). Roger
Lucey (Interview 1998) recalled how:
We were playing and we were just getting harassed. We would arrive at a gig and
the manager would say to us, 'No, you're not playing tonight'. And we'd say,
'What are you talking about?' and he would say, 'No, there seems to be some
misunderstanding, you're not on tonight', And that would be it. That would be the
end of the story. We'd arrive at a festival we were booked to play at. And the
guys would say 'You're not on', You know we'd have a contract. And you'd try
to find the guy who's contracted us and everyone's just scuttling around and
nobody's there to take responsibility. And it happened over and over and over
again. And wheh we did get little gigs ... they basically shut us down ... They did
a couple of nasty t~ings like the teargas in the air-condition systems and that sort
of stuff. And I mean: eventlJally we just got shut out. [But] I think the worst was
the invasion of my private property - my house, my home. And that happened on
a number of occasions, where I'd wake up in the middle of the night and my
house would be full of fully armed policemen.

I Paul Erasmus (Interview, 2002) concurred with Roger Lucey's versions of events. He
related how in Lucey's case:
The whole security monitoring apparatus came into effect. Firstly, we had the
informer network. Most anti-government organizations were totally infiltrated so
we'd get information from human intelligence sources. Secondly, ~'.. Roger's
telephone was monitored, as were other people in the industry or in the segment
that he was part of. So we knew after that if there were shows coming up or he'd
~_ been booked or he was going to appear at whatever place. It was a simple matter
then, of ushig this incident as a sort of threatening stick with the next venue. I
can't even remember how many places I've phoned and said, 'Look, I understand
that so and so is booked to perform here, Roger Lucey. I'm from Scorpio ... ' (the
organization that we used for all these activities was a body that I constructed

108

\?
 called Scorpio) .,. 'If you let that bastard, Lucey, 'that terrorist, Lucey, play we're
going to blow the place up!'
Erasmus has kept his casebooks and they include numerous entries involving Roger
Lucey. These include monitoring a concert at His Majesty's theatre in Commissioner
Street, Johannesburg and noting an article about Roger Lucey in the liberal Rand Daily
Mail newspaper (see Image 4.3).
'.
O(l1UITt
Oil wYll" va:tl QfhundllHl\g
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R~rl!lft'''~>:! numbflr Pro,.. where IIf!,:""jlfeu

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Image 4. 3 An excerpt from one of Paul Erasmus' casebooks indicating that security" reports
(Codenamed SAP 67) on Roger Lucey were sent to Security Branch Head Office on specific dates.

Erapmus's casebooks also reveal that he was assigned the task of checking up on a
number of musicians during his time in the security branch, these included
,
Umfondosa,
eVoid (who were dismissed as being apolitical), Juluka, Savuka and Manalala.
Sometimes all Erasmus needed to do was attend a concert and write a brief repOli
(Interview with Erasmus, 2001).

109
Another musician to be severely harassed by the police was poet Mzwakhe Mbuli who
put his poetry to music. He was the victim of even more serious attacks. Mbuli (Postal
questionnaire, 1998) explained that:
Besides the fact that my music was banned, I was also detained, tortured and my
home hit with hand grenades. I survived assassination attempts and was shot at by
white occupants of unmarked motor vehicles. Refused to travel abroad, my
passport applications often turned down by Home Affairs Department.
An Index on Censorship (1987: 38) report confirmed that Mbuli was detained in 1987
after being forced to live underground for many months prior to that. He spent six months
in detention but no charges were brought against him. It was also reported (Index on
Censorship, 1989: 39) that on the 3rd of August 1989 a hand grenade was thrown at his
house. His wife and three-year-old child were at home but were not injured.
!'
In Grahamstown, a riot policeman shot and killed seventeen year old Mngcini Mginywa
.... :
at a funeral because, accor~ing to the policeman, the people "were singing in their own
language and this causes ri6~s" (~angwa and Van Aurich, 1989: 146), while in 1983
two members of the reggae group Splash - Joseph Charles and Rufus Radebe - were
sentenced to effective four-year prison terms (later reduced to 17 months) for singing
'revolutionary songs' at a Wits Free People's Concert in 1984. One of the songs was a
cover of Steel Pulse's "A Tribute to Martyrs", which included a reference to Nelson
Mandela (Index on Censorship, 1983: 47 and 1984:43; Kerkhof 1986: 29).
The police closely monitored the Voelvry tour. One of the central musicians involved
in the tour, Johannes Kerkorrel (Interview, 1998), discussed how:
We had a gig in the Town Hall in George and that is the constituertcy ofP. W.
Botha. While we were playing there, even before we started playing there were
stink bombs. Somebody had thrown two stink bombs and a very itchy kind of
~
~ powder which made people sneeze. It was very difficult for us to play there but
we went ahead and we played. It took a while for the hall to clear and then when
we got outside we saw that the tyres of the Kombis was slashed. Then we kind of
thought, well, if he (P. W.) didn't intervene, certainly then his Lieutenants or
those people ... I will never know for sure. I never had that confirmed that it came
from him but we had lots of problems with the Security Police.

110
Musician Keith Berelowitz (Interview, 1998) related a further story about police
intimidation. He remembered:
playing at Durban at Kings Park Stadium where the police actually attacked the
drummer of the Asylum Kids while he was on stage. I mean they actually went
onto the stage with batons ... and the police charged the stage and I remember
seeing Steve Howells running up the back of the stage which was empty with the
police after him. And I actually couldn't believe this. To me it was absolutely
indescribable ... that incident with Steve being chased by the police, it will be in
my mind forever. It was actually quite a frightening thing to see.
In the mid-' 80s the police barged in on a Dynamics performance at a digs in
Johannesburg, putting an end to the concert (see Image 4.4). According to band member,

~
Image 4. 4 The South African Police disrupt a Dynamics gig (Photographer unknown, Jimmy
Florence a'rchives 1983-4).

Jimmy Florence, the police said that the concert was too loud. However, the group
included black and white members and were firm in their political stance, so the reasons
were hazy. However, what is clear was that the police were available and willing to
intervene when necessary, something that musicians were very aware of.

111
 III
i

Depending on local circumstances, police would also specifically target mixed and/or
alternative venues like Scratch in Cape Town, which was open to all races and played a
lot of resistance and other alternative music. Journalist Steve Gordon (Interview, 2001)
described how numerous:
regulations and statutes were thrown at that venue, that ranged from orderly
movement and settlement of black persons (which was being used to physically
stop people coming into Cape Town station to go the venue. People were
physically being put back on the train, in '79-'80), to obviously narcotics,
obviously the immorality act (because you had mixed couples or people just
getting down together, or whatever), to security branch who would try to
investigate lyrics. It varied. I remember on one occasion at twelve 0' clock on
Saturday hordes of police came storming into the venue and said that it was the
'\0

Sunday's ObserVance Act. And if it wasn't the Sunday's Observance Act it was
',,'
something else ... ~J translated to disruption at the level of charges and court
proceedings on really pettYJhings like trading after twelve o'clock on a Saturday,
normal bureaucratic blocking and stalling, to brutal assaults on people, you know
beating up people, plain clothes cops around the corner snatching people and
riding them off in a police van and roughing them up, baton assaults ... coming in
and pulling records off turntables and jumping on them. Jumping on records with
great relish!
Yet not all police were out to harass musicians or prevent performances. Even within
police ranks there was not a complete willingness to regard musicians negatively. Dizu
Plaatjies of Amampondo (Interview, 1999) experienced situations in whicn sympathetic
policemen assisted the group in avoiding harassment because they were fans of their
music:
"
~
We were friends of everybody - police and so on. I remember in the roadblocks
sometimes, when we had to travel with our instruments, and the people when they
asked 'Who are you?' and so we said 'Amampondo'. 'Oh, let Amampondo go'.
Black and white, policemen ...
Likewise, Renee Veldsman of Via Afrika (Interview, 1998) revealed that:

112

. .... - - -- /
 We did have quite a few policeman fans though. They used to get us out of a
sticky situation every now and again which was quite great ... Via Afrika were
very protected when we went into Soweto.
Also referring to the police in a positive manner, Brenda Fassie (1998) claimed that:
They loved me. Fortunately or unfortunately for me. I don't want say bad things
about white policemen, really, some of them they loved my music and I never had
a problem ... I had friends amongst them.

I These experiences indicate that even within the ranks of the repressive apparatus of the
apartheid state there were police who did not systematically take a hard line towards
liberal musicians. Although it needs to be noted that the musicians discussed above were
not severe critics of the state through their music, but at times they did engage in mild
protest. Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) summed-up the situation, pointing out that
There were small little cultural spaces that did exist in South Africa at that time,
but they were all b~nd the scenes, and if you were prepared to go and dig them
out. And there was atkind of an attitude by some of the security police, that if you
did it in the townships, you know, and you weren't causing trouble, and you
weren't making fiery political speeches from the stage, they would turn a blind
eye.
Indeed Lee Edwards (Interview, 1998) of the Cherry Faced Lurchers thought that the
influence and impact of the band on a potential audience was also important in
determining the extent of police harassment. As he suggested:
I think we certainly were not big enough to be perceived as a huge threat. They
must have looked at the lyrics. But I think by the mid to late eighties that they had
come to a decision of letting smaller things happen, and not making a huge thing
out of them, because the pUblicity they knew was more adverse to their cause than
~ good.
Certainly~ Paul Erasmus (Interview, 2001) indicated that in the mid-to-late 1980s even a
popular band like Savuka was left alone, rather than overtly interfered with, because of
the international attention state repression would attract. Erasmus (Interview, 2001)
explained that:

113
 Their profile was too high. Can you imagine? When were they so popular in
France? Est Zulu Blanc, I remember. That would have caused a huge stink. I think
then the security establishment were moving away from the heavy-handed type of
approach of maybe the late '70s or early '80s and being more sort of circumspect,
you know, rather leave these okes.
Erasmus's insights certainly confirm Lee and Clegg's view that there was space between
a forceful confrontational approach and complete silence, which could be exploited by
musicians. The issue of resistance through performance is dealt with in Chapter Eight,
but for now it is useful to consider performance spaces as contested terrains (quite
literally) where an intricate struggle took place over what could be said, what would be
allowed, what was forbidden, and what would be stopped. The police were waiting in the
wings, ready to step in when the need arose (see Image 4.5).
'}

The extent and nature of police repression of popular musicians and their music in the
.... :
South African context con~Tms the argument posited in the second chapter that the extent
of direct coercion in South Africa Was far greater than that of the western democracies
Gramsci considered. For example, the antics of the police discussed here are in stark
contrast to the far more limited police involvement in Britain between 1967 and 1992
(see Cloonan, 1996). Furthermore, police repression here is far more obviously concerned
with racial inequality and segregation than with solely maintaining capitalism. This
becomes even more obvious when considering the racist laws which formed the basis of
apartheid legislature (see discussion below).

4.6 General apartheid laws

While the focus so far has been on fairly direct mechanisms of government censorship
and ,.harassment, Brink (in Stewart, 1990: 17) crucially argued that in South Africa:
'F, "Censorship is only one part of an overall strategy which also expresses itself in
such forms as detention without trial, arbitrary bannings, job reservations, the
Group Areas Act, ... influx control, the frustration of black solidarity and stripping
9 million black South Africans of their citizenship through the creation of a
mosaic of 'independent homelands', the web of legislation controlling the press,
and all the awesome secret activities of the Secret Police".

114

j
 •
The police used an array of apartheid laws to harass South Africans, blacks in particular.
Many of these laws were concerned with protecting spatial segregation: keeping blacks
out of white spaces, whites out of black spaces and discouraging places of racial
integration. Apartheid discourse was so engrained in the thinking of the police and
military that they could just not make sense of black and white South Africans mixing
together socially or travelling together in the same vehicle. Apartheid thinking perceived
racial separation as so natural that any integration was regarded as abnormal, a threat to
'normal life' . This inability to grasp racial integration is patently captured by Johnny
Clegg (Interview, 1998) who described how, in his youth, he was apprehended by the

Image 4. 5 South African Police surveillance at a Corporal Punishment concert (photograph: Robbie
Bishop, late 1970s). "t

police while frequenting a mining hostel for migrant workers:

:~-. I was arrested at about fifteen at Wemmer Hostel in the middle of a room of
dancers: sixty or seventy dancers with upturned beds so that they could make
space to dance. And the police raided the hostel on that Sunday, and they came in.
They thought I'd been kidnapped: 'Are you alright, are you alright?' I said, 'No
I'm fine. I'm here learning to dance'. And they couldn't actually put it together.
They couldn't get their heads around it.

115
 Apartheid laws were often applied to musicians, sometimes deliberately because they
were musicians but most of the time as a part of abnormal life under apartheid. The most
common of these were arrests for pass law offences and being stopped at security
roadblocks. Accounts provided by Sipho Gumede and Sipho Mabuse referred to in
Chapter One illustrate the humiliating and difficult circumstances faced by musicians
trying to perform in the context of pass laws and curfew restrictions. If a vehicle was
stopped at a roadblock and there were black and white occupants travelling together it
caused great consternation for officials. Such racial integration was an affront to the
officials' apartheid beliefs; they could not understand or tolerate it. The police would
harass musicians at roadblocks, taking hours to search musicians' vehicles at roadblocks.
Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) described how:
The police would stop us at roadblocks and they would see it was us. And then
they would say 'emijty out the truck' because we had a three and a half-ton truck
lof
with all the sound equipmen\. So we'd empty out the truck and they'd make us
-( ~-
late for the gig. You know, all that kind of stuff, which we put up with because we
didn't know better ... You know, because you must realize that to be a rock

, musician or a musician in the '60s and '70s in South Africa, you were one step
away from being regarded as a communist. If you had long hair then you were a
communist!
Living under these conditions made it difficult for musicians who had to be constantly
aware of possible police roadblocks while travelling to concerts. They had to learn how
to deal with the constant harassment. Jimmy Florence (Interview, 1998) of.\the mixed
racial group The Dynamics, described how roadblocks played on their minds:
If you went on tour, you had to keep your eyes peeled because now there were
~ black and white guys in a kombi with musical instruments, and you were driving
through the Free State to get to Cape Town. I mean it was aperve-racking ordeal,
having to· deal with shit that's unnecessary and created by someone else's
paranoia.
Musicians of different races travelling together always caught the attention of police at
roadblocks. Sipho Mabuse (Interview, 1998) recalled that in the early 1980s their all-
black group Harari had a white woman as manager. She used to travel to concerts with

116
 . .
them. Her presence was often met with apprehension by the police. Mabuse described
how:
One time we came back from a show and we had to drop some of the musicians in
Soweto, and I took her into town. And there was a roadblock just as we were
coming out of Soweto. You should have seen how all these cops just converged
on the car. And they asked me, 'And you're with the madam at this time?' I said
'No, I'm taking her to her place. We were just going in there to drop off some of
the musicians. It was naturally this direction we had to take'. And they went to
her and said 'Do you realize that you have just broken the law?' And she kept
quiet. I remember she took out a cigarette and started lighting her cigarette. And
he said, 'Do you know that you could be arrested for this?' She said, '1 was not
even aware that I had broken the law because I didn't sleep in Soweto, I was just
."
driving out'. And these guys said 'Next time you come here, we'll lock you up
.....
and maybe even thnfw the key away. Are you aware that there's a war in this
country?' -( <.j

Jannie van Tonder (Interview, 1998), as the only white member of the African Jazz
Pioneers experienced similar reactions when they were on toUT, especially on entering or
leaving a black township at night:
With the Pioneers we weren't really causing trouble ... We used to make a living
out of playing at birthday parties at larney white country club kind of events, with
fancy bouquet five star dinners, and we'd eat in the kitchen. And then afterwards
you'd go home and you'd have to drop people off in Soweto and in Alex.
Particularly at the time when I was in the band which was about '86'"going into
'87 we'd be virtually guaranteed every night on our way to get harassed,just
because we were on the road. Like going into the township or coming out of the
t
~ .. township there'd be a roadblock. And then the question would be, 'Who're you?
. where're you going?' ... And then they'd stick their head in the car and check
everything out, or they'd ruk [drag] everybody out the car and the next thing
they'd want to know is 'What the fuck is this young whitie doing with you okes?
You must be up to something'.

117
In 1979 Lesotho-based band Sankomota were actually banned from performing in South
Africa after being stopped at a roadblock. Band member Tsepo Tshola (Interview, 1998)
i'
discussed how:
We got banned in South Africa after about four concerts because we were
scheduled for twenty concerts. On the fourth one they told us to quit. We were
actually blocked on a road towards a show that was going to be in Vereeniging.
On the road from Soweto to Vereeniging we were stopped. It was a roadblock and
they stopped the whole concert, the whole tour.
Apartheid laws directly affected performances, especially laws to do with racial
segregation. The problem of mixed racial audiences has already been considered, as has
the situation of groups with members of different races travelling together. In the 1970s it
had even been illegal.for musicians of different races to perform together on the same
."
stage. In a bizarre case of controlled spaces under apartheid, Julian Laxton (Interview,
..... '

1998) revealed how in the $r1y 1970s his multiracial band Hawk were affected:
Before we went to EfilglandJor our very last series of concerts the band, the black
guys who were with us - you know there were four of them - had to perform
behind the curtain. You know, literally they had to perform behind the curtain,
they weren't allowed to play on the stage with us.
This was even a problem for some bands into the 1980s. Keith Berelowitz (Interview,
1998) of Flash Harry explained that:
We had a black keyboard player at one stage, but he could only do the university
gigs with us. I mean what a terrible situation to be faced with, especially when
you're in your twenties and you're pretty young and you're influen<;ed by things
and you can't understand this. You want to go for a drink with the guy after the
gig and you can't, etcetera. So I think it was rough. It was very, very rough,
~
~
because all we wanted to do at the end of the day was make music.
General apartheicl laws affected musicians in a myriad of ways. On~ one occasion Harari
arrived late for a gig in Gabarone after battling to get travel documents so that they could
perform in neighbouring Botswana (Interview with Sipho Mabuse, 1998). Steve Gordon
(1997: 5) illustrates what was a common form of police harassment of black musicians
whereby they were told to play music to the police to prove their musicianship. In one

118
instance, jazz musician Kippie Moeketsi was arrested for being in a venue where illegal
alcohol was being sold. At the police station he was asked to playa piece of music. In an
act of subliminal defiance he played 'Don't fence me in'. They responded: 'Jy speel
lekker, man. Hardloop!' (You play well man, push offl).
Madala Kunene (Interview, 1998) revealed how the combination of police racism and
intimidation severely affected his band in the mid-1980s:
One time when we were rehearsing inside in the room ... the police come and
they say, 'You make noise here'. We say, 'No we don't make noise here, you will
hear the music, because we like music'. And then the police say, 'You can't play
here, you are making noise because other people don't like what you're doing'.
We say, 'Oh, it is the daytime, it is not in the night'. And then that time another
one say, 'You, you got cheeky'. We say, 'No, not cheeky'. And then they just
."
break, and just demolish the instruments. We just end up with no instruments ...
..... :
You can't do nothi$, you can't go and report. Where are you going to go and
report? -( ~J

Relentless police intimidation and application of apartheid laws to black musicians (in
particular) emphasizes the state's constant attempts to contain South Africans within the
framework of apartheid segregation and inequality. Black musicians were treated as
inferior by paternalistic police who arrogantly 'put them in their place', framing them as
the inferior other according to the dominating discourse.

4.7 South African Broadcasting Corporation Radio

Despite the direct government censorship measures discussed so far, fewer~tthan 100
pieces of music were banned in the 1980s by the Directorate of Publications or by other
government agencies through the use of alternative security mechanisms (Jacobsens,
199 f: XLIX-LIV). In general, most local recorded political music was not very popular
and sales very rarely reache4 more than one or two thousand copies. Lloyd Ross
(Interview, 1998), who ran the oppositional independent Shifty Records, commented that:
Ifwe'd been selling more records we might have had more response.
In agreement with this sentiment, Warrick Sony (1991: 115) argued that:

119
 "One of the key reasons that the state unbanned my fourth LP 'Beachbomb' was
the fact that I never sold more than one thousand copies of any of my records. If
the system works on its own there is no need to ban records or anything".
The system to which Sony referred was a combination of radio play, record company and
retail support. This was where the role of the state-owned SABC came into play. In the
1980s virtually all radio stations were owned by the SABC, which gave it extensive
control over what South Africans were able to listen to. The SABC made use of a
rigorous system to vet all music played on any of its stations. As prominent SABC
announcer and deejay Chris Prior (Interview, 1998) simply commented about SABC
policy:
Censorship was a fact of life.
"
It was a way of life take1J1 very seriously by the SABC censors, protecting the dominant
discourse. For apartheid-eraSABC music censor, Cecile Pracher (in Reitov, 1998: 85)
apartheid discourse had be2tme "a frame of mind; it was comfortable", promoting a
( ~J
society in which different races "were totally separated, each of us on our own little
island". In line with this way of thinking, the SABC censors took it upon themselves to
protect their racial superiority, preventing music from threatening that separation. They
scrutinized records, in an attempt to regulate what could be heard on SABC radio by
whom and under what conditions. Many songs were barred from airplay, thus preventing
them from becoming mass media (Cloonan, 2003: 19).

4.7.1 Censorship procedures

An all-white SABC committee regularly held 'record meetings' to scrutinize the lyrics of
all music submitted to the SABC for airplay (lyric sheets had to be submitted with
music). This committee prohibited thousands of songs from airplay. Sometimes the entire
repertoire of a group or solo artist would be restricted from airplay\ for example the
Beatles because of John Lennon's 'More popular than Jesus' -statement and Stevie
Wonder, after he dedicated his-Oscar award to Nelson Mandela. However, during the
period of Wonder's ban on SABC (which lasted about six months), Wonder appeared on
the USA for Africa 'We are the World' single. Disc jockeys were allowed to play the

120
song, but were told not to mention Wonder' s contribution (Sunday Times, 1 September
1985).
Once a song was denied airplay on SABC, 'Avoid' was written or a 'To be avoided'
sticker was placed alongside the song title on the sleeve of the SABC's copy or copies of
the album (see Image 4.6). Former Music Manager of the SABC Commercial Services,
Tinus Esterhuizen (Interview, 1998), described the process involved in a song being
played (or not being played) on SABC radio:
Number one they (the record company representative) would sample the record
library. Number two they would sample the individual compilers and also they
would sample the individual announcers who were on their list at the time. In

Image 4.6 An SABC copy of Miriam Makeba's Welela album.

121
 t

those days there was a committee. What happened was when a record was
submitted, if there was anything objectionable it would be referred to a listening
panel who would let's say once every two or three weeks listen and then approve
or not approve the particular track. It was then marked. When there was doubt at
the beginning they used to mark 'Do not play'. And then when the official thing
came down, then we just changed the 'Do not play' to ' Avoid' .
On the AfrikaanslEnglish bilingual station, Springbok Radio, rigid control over what
presenters played was enforced through the submission of play-lists. Tinus Esterhuizen
(Interview, 1998) revealed that:
You had to give your details in before the time so that a change could be made if
the music was not suitable or a banned record slipped through or something in bad
taste ... so we always knew in advance by about two or three days what was going
'I.

to be played.
.....
If disc jockeys nevertheless1-played a song marked ' Avoid' Tinus Esterhuizen (Interview,
1998), explained that they: ( <.,\

were reprimanded. In Springbok Radio days they were verbally reprimanded

usually, they were very strict in those days.
In addition to the 'avoid' labels and scratched out title, the vinyl itself was defaced:
obscenely neat diagonal crosses were often scratched into the vinyl in the middle of
condemned tracks, so that the needle would jump if a deejay were to disobey the
intention behind the ' Avoid' stickers on the cover. A black producer who at the time
preferred to remain anonymous (sited in Marre and Charlton, 1985: 46) described the
process in detail:
"They use a thick pen on the cover of the records they send us to obliterate the
title itself so we can never see what the original title was. On the actual record,
~
they scoop out the title so it is just not there. On the track, they use a sharp
instrument like a knife or razor and cut across it so that when you play it the
needle jumps from track to track and you will never understand what it was all
about".

122
•
The practice of gouging records was most commonly executed on records destined for
play on Radio Bantu Stations because black deejays were the most likely to disregard
record committee orders (Interview with SABC archivist Cecile Pracher, 2000).
Musicians who came across evidence that their music had been censored by the SABC
were shocked by what they saw. Jonathan Handley (Interview, 1998), of the Radio Rats
recalled the first time he came across the practice:
I was interviewed by John Berks who was at the time working for Radio 5. But it
was when Radio 5 was nothing more than a little hole underground in Auckland
Park. And John Berks played "ZX Dan" and I was horrified to see that the rest of
the album had been struck out by a grease pencil. So John Berks couldn't play
anything else from Into the Night We Slide [1978]. He couldn't choose to play
another track., You know, he had no freedom of choice.
Likewise, Johannes Kerkorrel (Interview, 1998) found himself in an SABC studio for an
interview:
We made an album. ~fter~t)1e tour we started recording the album and we put the
album out. Then the album was banned for airplay. I think there were two tracks
on the album that were allowed. I was in the SABC for an interview and I saw on
. the back of the album that everything on the album was marked with avoid, avoid,
avoid, avoid, avoid.
The censorial act of mutilation was symbolic of the music's position outside the
dominant moral/political framework. The authority and will of the censor was indelibly
marked on the album, overriding and simultaneously defacing the groove space
previously occupied by music deemed to be offensive. Gouging the vinyl e:nsured that the
censored music could never again be played. It is an extreme form of censorship, similar
to the burning of Beatles albums and paraphernalia in the bible belt of the United States
in th~ late 1960s (Nuzum, 2001: 225-7), the ritual burning of 'evil' recorded music in
churches worldwide, including South Africa (for example the Stirling Full Gospel Church
in East London in the early 1980s) and, more recently, the Taliban's physical destruction
of musical instruments and music cassettes in Afghanistan (Majrooh, 1998). Indeed,
destruction of objects involves a complete denial of space as censors deem particular
objects unworthy of occupying any space at all. Furthermore, the black SABC

123
 announcer's description of the censored records (above) teveals that mutilation was also
an attempt to deny the existence of musical messages that did not conform to the
dominant discourse.
By eliminating the forbidden image, the censor hoped to regulate society through a form
of sonic warfare, rigidly setting up cultural boundaries. However, censorship is a sinister
display of power:
"that only has the force of the negative on its side, a power to say no; in no
condition to produce, capable only of positing limits, it is basically anti-energy.
This is the paradox of its effectiveness: it is incapable of doing anything, except to
render what it dominates incapable of doing anything either, except for what this
power allows it to do " (Foucault, 1976: 85).
Censorship is certainJy a negative, unproductive act. The destructiveness of the act for
some might be a triumphant act, symbolic of an ideological victory, but for most the
effect is that of futility. E~f~ the censors themselves could not escape the darkness of
their actions. SABC recormcomrnjttee member Cecile Pracher (in Reitov, 1998: 85)
, confessed that it was sometimes painful to ban music, like songs by David Kramer and
Anton Goosen. She revealed that she used to censor records at work and then enjoy
listeniFlg to them at home. On reflection she said that:
"It was playing one role in one place and another somewhere else and not feeling
schizophrenic about it. It angers me. The whole conflict of morality and the way it
was enforced angers me" (Pracher, in Reitov, 1998: 85).
Paul Erasmus (Interview, 2002) recalls coming home from security branch work and
getting pleasure from listening to the very-same Roger Lucey music he was so actively
repressing through his dirty tricks campaign. He described how:
I secretly became a fan of his, transcribing his music. Sitting for hours, especially
~~
after that first V oice of America tape. The quality was very bad. I sat for many,
many hours listening, with the rewind button, over and over and over and
eventually the music started to get to me.-So I enjoyed it and then later on, when I
confiscated the batch of records and tapes, I used to play it regularly. Especially I
think in sort of depressing moments. You know what was happening in the
country wasn't lost on all of us. I mean we weren't totally immune to it.

124
 t

These moments of public critical self-reflexivity by representatives of the state involved

in repressing musical messages are fairly isolated. However, when these moments of
reflection did occur, the boundaries erected by the censor began to crack, revealing the
destructiveness and ideological instability of their work.

4.7.2 Categories of censorship

Regardless of the professed personal reservations of at least one of its censors, the SABC
persevered with a strict form of censorship. Like the Directorate of Publications, the
SABC was concerned with political and rebellious messages, blasphemy and overtly
sexual lyrics, but it went even further. In supporting the government's system of separate
tribes with their independent homelands and separate and pure cultures, no slang or
mixing of languages was allowed. The most common categories of censorship are listed
below with examples of music banned according to each.
.",'

Firstly, many South Afri~ songs were banned from airplay because they were deemed
rebellious, too political or pfomote-d political struggle (included here were misuse of the
national anthem, lyrics which might inflame public opinion or songs which unfairly
promoted a political party or movement). Songs that fitted this category included:
"Schoolboy" (1981) by the Asylum Kids - it included the chorus "Do you want to be a
schoolboy?" with the response being "No"; "Sit Dit Af' ("Tum it off', 1989) by
Johannes Kerkorrel and the Gereformeerde Blues Band, an anti-Po W. Botha song; "Shot
DoWJ;t" (1985) by The Cherry Faced Lurchers, "Struggle" (1986) by The Genuines,
"Chant" (1989) by Sipho Mabuse, "Jail to Jail" (1989) by Brenda Fassie,
~l

"Asimbonanga" (1987) and "One (Hu)man One Vote" (1989) by Savuka, "Behind the
bars" (1986) by Mzwakhe Mbuli and many others with similar sentiments (see Image 4.7
for an SABC list of prohibited sings, with further examples).
~."'
Secondly, there were also many South African songs banned from airplay for reasons of
~

blasphemy or because the censors decided that the songs were religiously offensive .
(including promotion of the occult, glorification of the devil or if the lyrics created the
impression of a Christ-figure different to Christ). "No Football" (1980) by Flash Harry
was an ironic reggae song that protested the fact that it was against the law to play league
football on Sunday. The song was banned by the SABC, particularly because of the line

125
 S18
,/ CONFIDENTIAL ~a.11I~
~
~
~4tlllttl
Ons Verw.:
HUISHOUDELIKE KORRESPONDENSIE/INTERNAL CORRESPONDENCE Our Ref.: JRJ!rjo!HB 2. 11
U Verw.:
Your Rer,:

AAN:
TO: SUPERV ISOR: CENTRAL RE_~,Q~~",~,!~~..;....AR~Y_ _ _._ __
ONDERW12RP: RESTRICTED RECORDS; MEMO N..:..O.:--=25..:..3=--_________________'"'"--"'_
SUBJECT:

Kindly note that the undermentioned vocal items MAY NOT BE USED IN ANY
PROGRAMME OF THE SABC1s SERVICES:

1- TITLE: DEFENDERS OF THE FLAG (B.R. HORNSBY/J. HORNSBY)

ARTIST: BRUCE HORNSBY AND THE RANGE RCA RCAC 1078
LP TITLE: SCENES FROiv1 THE SOUTHSIDE

2. TITLE: CAKE S@llfE~'~··~ r\ '; (J. FERGUSDN)

ARTIST: JENNIFER FERGUSON SHIFTY SHIB 23
LP TITLE: HAND AROUND THE HEART
'"
3. TLTLE~ ..:trf JUD ITH ROAD (J. FERGUSON)
ARTIST; JENNIFER FERGUSON SHIFTY SHIB 23
LP TI TLE: , HAND AROUND THE HEART
4. TITLE: ~t---.' THE BEST
THINGS IN LIFE (J. FERGUSON)
. COME F~EE SI-! I FTY Sl-ll B 23
/\RT 1ST: '~JENNlr't.R FERGUSON
LP TITLE: HAND AROUND THE HEART
5. TITLE: SUBURBIA HUH (J. FERGUSON)
ARTIST: JENNIFER FERGUSON SHIFTY SHIB 23
LP TITLE: HAND AROUND THE HEART
6. TITLE: SET iHEr"l FREE (FORDE/GAYE/ROBINSON/FORDE)
ARTIST: AS~4AD ISLAND ILPC 29895
LP TITLE: DISTANT THUNDER

The undermentioned LP MAY NOT BE USED IN ANY PROGRAMME ,OF TH~SABf2

SERVICES:

7. LP TITLE: SEVENTH SON OF A SEVENTH SON (EMI EMCJ(L) 7902581

ARTIST: IRON f.1AIDEN

ROELF JACOBS
CHAIRMAN: RECORD Cor'l~lITTEE

Room 601
Ext. 2700

Image 4. 7 List of songs banned by the ~ABC one week in June 1988 (from the SABC archives).

126
"More people watch me than go to church" (see Image 4.8). Falling Mirror's "The
Crippled Messiah" (1981) was also prevented from being played on the suspicion that the
song was blasphemous. In a further incident Julian Laxton remembers how a Freedom's
Children song was also banned for religious reasons:
One song that I did with Freedom's Children - it was called "The Kid from
Nazareth" - and when it was submitted to radio for airplay, and they heard that
track they refused point blank. They said, 'we can't do it because it's
blasphemous '. So we had to change the lyric to 'The Kid from Hazareth'! Which
was ridiculous.

..
"

(;if'l7
.------
ARTIST: FLASH H.AR RY
TIT LE; NO FOOTBALL
CO~1POS E R KrTTH-lfr'IfET-
RECORD NO ,'0 " • •.. . . ?

~E.~ ~ ).;R
.{.~ ~
4-+ -S~~
YOU SAY MY HEAD IS LIKE A FOOTBALL
(KICK IT)
YOU WANT TO CCK IT 'GAINS: or WAL L
[ WAS A DRISBlER IN MY BABY PRAM
BUT [ DON'T BOO ~DO ANYMORE
(NOH YOU SiH)
! CAN' T PLAY FOOTBALL Dt A SUNDAY
DEY GONNA KICK ME OUT CA TRIBE
I LEARNT TO SHOOT BEFORE 1 LEARNT TO WALK
YOU WA~T TO TAKE MY LIFE AWAY - HEY
! LEARN DA GAME FROM MY DEAR rAJA - PELE.
HE WAS A SUCKER FOR DA SPORT
FRIENDS SAY H~ PLAYED DA GAM E ALL ~'i EEKE ND
GUT HE NEVER GCr HrM CAUGHT
(Nth! YOU S,c,y)
I CA~'T PLAY FOCTBALL ON A SUNDAY
I THINK YOU TOO OLD FOR DA GAME
MANAGE~ HE SAY D£R GON 3£ T~OUBLE
WHAT YOU 'TINK DA FAN S DE Y CONNA SAY - HEY

SONE SAY THE GAME IS IR~ELIGrOUS

SOME THINK THE RULES AI~ T UP TO MUCH
ITT ~I. l< y aU H 1.:4 E D U PI N CON F US ION
M0RE PEOPLE WATCH ME PLAY THA N GO TO CH URCH
N0 F 0 0 T B!\ L L . .,..... .. .. , .. .

Image 4. 8 An SABC censor's copy of the lyrics to Flash Harry's "No Football" (1981).

127
 Thirdly, an overwhelming number of songs were affected by the SABC's prudish
approach to sexuality, drug use and swear words and offensive words in general (no
qualification was provided on this last category). "Mucking About in the Dungeons All
Day" (1978) by the Radio Rats was banned in part because of the word 'Mucking'. The
censors also objected to the phrases and lines "Mixing up junk", "He inhales vapours that
warp his brain" and "Sin is his principal tool". Other songs to be banned for the above
reasons were Bemoldus Niemand's "East Rand Blues" (1984) because of the words 'zol'
(marijuana) and 'bliksem' (Afrikaans derogatory slang) and Neil Solomon's "Little
Friend" (1981) about a pervert who spied on girls from behind bushes. Also affected
were Sipho Mabuse's "Room of Horror" (1989) about a man visiting a prostitute and Edi
Niederlander's "Mabyl" (1985), a love song for her same-sex lover.
Fourthly, some songs were banned for referring to the brand name of products. This was
presumably because such s~hgs constituted free publicity or perhaps sometimes might
have led to charges of libel. .;[he GS{reformeerde Blues Band had two songs - "BMW"
(1989) and "Hillbrow" (1989) banned for this reason. The latter included a number of
shop names. The "Worldswagen Medley" (1988) performed by the W orldswagen Cast
, was also prohibited by the SABC, as were "We are All Castle Drinkers" (1987) and "Ode
to Charles Glass" (1987) by Leprechaun, two songs which promoted a local beer.
Fifthly, performers such as Sankomota, David Kramer and Juluka who sang in a variety
of languages suffered as a result of the SABC's cultural purity policy. This policy dated
~
back to the Broadcasting Amendment Act 49 of 1960 which almost immediately
impacted on the SABC through the establishment of a Bantu Programme Cbntrol Board
in 1960. It was the task of this whites only Board to set up separate radio stations for each
of the major black languages of the South African homelands. The idea was that of
~

"brirlging home to the Bantu population that separate development is, in the first place,
self-development through the medium of their own language and tImt, by this means,
there will be progress in all spheres of life" (SABC Annual Report of 1967, cited in
Hamm, 1995: 194). The SABC was divided into numerous stations which each catered
for particular language groups. For example there was an English service, an Afrikaans
service and seven Radio Bantu stations, each catering for an 'indigenous bantu' language.
A 1980 Radio Bantu advertisement (in Frederikse 1986: (5) best demonstrates this policy
(see Image 4.9), as do the numerous 'ethnic' albums released by record companies to
comply with the SABC's format, an example of which is also provided in Image 4.9. In
it in my language,
so Ican understand
you best

RADIO BANTU
Image 4. 9 Part of the cover of a Badisa 'Sotho vocal' album (left) and an SABC advertisement for
Radio Bantu (right), taken from Frederikse (1986: 65).

129
the former instance, the SABC promoted the idea that RatHo Bantu's different ethnic-
based stations were a community service, giving everyone the chance to listen to a radio
station in one's own language. The divisive and racist (hegemonic) nature of Radio Bantu
was literally glossed over. In the latter instance, record companies were able to secure
radio play more easily by restricting recording artists to one language only, and then
clearly reflecting this information on the album cover. This was done for financial
reasons (more of this in Chapter Five) but it also had the effect of perpetuating a central
tenet of the government's apartheid policy as practised by Radio Bantu.
SABC language policy was not restricted to Radio Bantu stations. As previously
indicated, Springbok Radio broadcast in Afrikaans and English. The station's policy
towards black musicians had to fit in with the station's language policy. This meant that
only black musicians, who sang in English or Afrikaans, such as singer Margaret Singana,
could receive airplay. Esterhuizen (Interview, 1998) stated that:
We played her (Si~ana) because she was a popular act. But we didn't play
ethnic music sung irua bla~ language. But she sang English music and it was
popular music of the time.
However, Patrick Van Blerk (Interview, 1998) of independent Jo'burg Records,
remembered that to begin with things were not that straight forward. He visited the
SABC to promote a Margaret Singana record, and entered through the front door as he
always did when promoting a record for airplay on Springbok Radio. Van Blerk revealed
that ~en it became clear that he was promoting a Singana album he was not allowed
automatic entry:
I was ordered out of the front door of the SABC and told to go around the comer
into Kruis Street and go in through a tiny little single door, which was the Bantu
Radio station entrance because she was a black artist. And I went absolutely
't
~.. ballistic and I was called in to the powers that be at that time and I said get out
your most recent Springbok Radio Top Twenty. And I prov~d to them that there
was not one but a number of black artists in their charts at that time. The one I
remember very distinctly, was Diana Ross. And I said, 'What on God's earth is
the difference? There you have a black lady singing a beautiful pop song and she
is on your charts. What I have here is a black lady singing a beautiful pop song

130
 who should be on your charts. Why do I have to go in that door and not this
door?'
Juluka was one of many groups to suffer under the SABC's quest for cultural purity and
separateness. Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) related that:
If you used a word in a song which didn't belong to the language of the station, it
was thrown out. So we had a hit song called 'Woza Friday' and it said 'Woza,
woza, Friday my darling.' Which is adopted from English, you know: 'Friday my
sweetie'. And they sat and they said, 'look, you know, these are adopted, you
could have used a Zulu word for this, and this is an insult to the Zulu people. '
And they gave a whole explanation. White people were telling me this! White
people in the Zulu radio, that they couldn't play it because it would insult the
Zulus. The sopg became a hit without radio play in all the drinking shebeens
during the Soweto riots in 1976.
This policy was maintaine~ :into the 1980s so that performers such as David Kramer (in
particular), who often combined Etlglish and Afrikaans lyrics in their songs, repeatedly
had songs banned from radio play. Kramer's manager, Andy Darlington (Interview,
1998) remembered how:
".. The SABC banned the first album. They restricted it from airplay, which was
terrible. He was this wonderful talent and they wouldn't have it. And I think that
one of the reasons was that no one had ever combined English and Afrikaans on

, song, and they couldn't deal with this.

Sankomota were also victim to the language purity policy. Lloyd Ross (Interview, 1998)
of Shifty Records recalled how: tv

In the early days we couldn't get anything played on the radio, not even
Sankomota because they didn't sing in pure Sotho or pure Zulu or pure anything.
""-

4,. They sang in the language which people speak of course, and because they mixed
songs on the record - they had songs in Swahili, Zulu, Sotho, English - they
weren't allowed to be played on the radio.
Another affected musician was Anton Goosen with his "Boy van die Suburbs" (1979).
Goosen (Interview, 1998) objected to the narrow-mindedness of the SABC. He
explained:

131

-... ------~~
 The title track of the album got banned for a short·while because it was street
language - Afrikaans and English mixed and not pure.
The rationale behind the separation of all languages, even within music lyrics, on SABC
was clearly to serve the government's apartheid ideology. Radio Bantu in particular had
been set up to achieve this aim. Merrett (1994: 71) argues that:
"Radio Bantu promoted white hegemony, traditional culture, and homelands and
black ethnicity, and was underpinned by the technical limitations ofFM
broadcasting which favoured regional reception and the targeting of apartheid's
ethnic groups".
These factors made it clear that the SABC's separate stations, its language policy and its
music censorship combined to foster imagined sonic spaces in line with the government's
division of South Af\icans along ethnic lines involving group areas and separate
'homelands'. Just like blacks living in white areas were forcibly removed, songs sung in
one language could not be ~layed on a different language radio station and songs sung in
more than one language co:mplete~ broke down the strict divisions, so could not be
allowed. Moving beyond policies promoting racial and ethnic separation, the SABC' s
general censorship guidelines, like those of the Directorate, supported the dominant
moralfpolitical framework, attempting to keep the airwaves free of lyrical messages and
ideas deemed to be marginal. In this way the SABC's rigorous censorship practice
perpetuated the Nationalist government's agenda, often without the public being aware of
how~uch they were missing out on, and how much the missing music challenged the
reality that was being presented on the SABC's radio stations.

4.7.3 Obscuring the extent of censorship in South Africa

The SABC's relentless attack on the freedom of musicians obscured the extent to which
the iovernment was in fact banning a lot of music. The general public was unaware of
the extent to which radio play was controlled in this manner, whil~very little was being
directly banned by the Directorate. Indeed, the SABC tried to conceal the fact that it was
effectively banning music on the government's behalf, considering that the restriction of
a song on the SABC was more or less the death-knell of that song. The attitude of the
SABC was aptly captured in a 1989 Sunday Times article which reported that "an SABC

132
records committee member, Mr Roelf Jacobs, denied that the SABC 'banned' songs. 'We
just don't play them' he said" (quoted in Maclennan, 1990: 152). In a documentary film
interview in 1981 SABC's Radio 5 Station Manager, Pieter Human (Johnson, 1981), also
argued that the SABC did not ban music, because it did not have the power to do so. He
said that the SABC simply restricted songs from airplay. This use of government
doublespeak to deny censorship practices, as with government statements about
emergency regulations, was an attempt to obscure the setting up of boundaries in support
of the government's supposedly Calvinist-informed apartheid policies.
As with the Directorate and P AB, the case of the SABC Record Library censors
emphasizes the importance of the individuals involved. Whereas the Directorate and PAB
were attempting to liberalize the system, the SABC record library censors went to the
opposite extreme. As'" Cecile Pracher, manager of the SABC record library (in Reitov,
1998: 84) stated: "":
"Many other sectiO'ts in the SABC, especially the news departments, were highly
~ . .J
politicised and often had visits from intelligence, but we did our work so
efficiently no-one had to interfere, neither intelligence nor the publications board
... bothered us".
The effect of the SABC record committee was to ban thousands of songs from the
airwaves. Though the use of a card system and regular memos to staff, the committee
made it abundantly clear when pieces of music were not to be played. They even went to
the tremble of transcribing all songs before censorship meetings, in case musicians or
record companies had deliberately submitted incorrect lyric sheets in an attempt to avoid
~

censorship. If an album was submitted to or acquired by the SABC, record library

personnel would listen to the entire album. Only controversial songs were actually
cOr:l'fJidered at record library meetings (Interview with Cecile Pracher, 2000). This entire
system, ~der the control of obsessive censors, prevented South African radio audiences
~

from hearing a large quantity of South African music and an even greater quantity of
overseas materiaL Given the SABC's dominance in broadcasting (the only two
independent stations are discussed in Chapter Five), the pressure to meet with the
censors' approval, or to somehow bypass censorship, was immense for musicians
wanting to get airplay, be heard and thereby achieve exposure in a small market. The

133
effect of the stringent censorship policies outlined here therefore, was to place heavy
demands on musicians and record companies to keep musical messages within the
straight and narrow dictates of approved moral and political discourse and thereby
reinforce the dominant frameworks of control in South African society.
Furthermore, the SABC even went as far as to regularly send their list of censored music
to the Directorate of Publications who would look through the list out of interest
(Interview with Braam Coetzee, 1998). The submission of the SABC lists did not
constitute a formal submission, and so consequently the Directorate did not as a matter of
procedure convene a censorship committee around any of these songs, even though many
of them were clearly controversial and potentially fell within the ambit of the
Directorate's mandate.

4.8 South African Broadcasting Corporation television

......
SABC television followed f1i similar
.
procedure to the radio stations in terms of censoring
the very little music coverage that-was provided. For example, when SABC imposed a
ban on Stevie Wonder's music, the ban immediately affected the next evening's Pop
Shop music video programme. Another Wonder song, "Love Light in Flight" (1984) was
scheduled for Pop Shop, but the entire programme had to be scrapped and was replaced
by a hastily compiled 'golden oldies' alternative (Rand Daily Mail, 27 March 1985). A
case of over zealous censorship followed in an incident where even his name was
censq~d out of a programme. The presenter of the American music show 'Solid Gold',
shown on SABC, mentioned a list of personalities including Stevie Wonder, but when
~
she came to his name, it was censored out of the programme (Eastern Province Herald,
16 September 1985). Jennifer Ferguson (Interview, 1999) remembers how a part of her
video for the song "Angel Fish" (1986) had to be edited out because it intimated that a
unio~"had taken place between her and a black man with whom she had been dancing.
.she recall~: ~

You could dance with a black man if you danced with your back to him, but if
you danced facing him that wasn't allowed.
However, in general SABC television only play-listed music on its music video shows
(such as 'Pop Shop', 'Easy Beat' and 'Fast Forward') if the music had already received

134

.~
 airplay on one or more of the SABC radio stations. Contrbversial songs were generally
not considered in the first place. Given the monetary investment involved in producing a
music video, record companies who were seriously attempting to get a South African
music video onto SABC television would ensure that it complied with SABC
requirements. For this reason very few cases of music video censorship (in particular)
were reported. But quite clearly a large number of music videos were not aired, simply
because the music had already been banned by the radio services.

, 4.9 Conclusion
This chapter has systematically worked through a host of key areas in which censorship
of South African music took place on an official government level - whether directly
though government l~gislation or less directly as in the actions of local councils, the
police or the SABC. It is significant that government agencies sometimes required the
support of others (in civil spciety)
t1
to legitimize and carry out many instances of
censorship - for example the relig;i~us groups who pressurized the Directorate of
Publications. Censorship was not carried out in a monolithic manner by the state,
independent of, and completely against the will of the entire pUblic. It is clear that for
some areas of censorship practice to operate at least partial public support was needed.
A further indicator that censorship was not pursued in a rigid and cohesive manner was
the extent to which inconsistency and moments of contest arose between the different
gove~ent institutions. Certainly, there was scope for individual discretion within the
broader field within which each institution operated. There was resistance to extreme
forms of censorship within government institutions, as in the liberal agend%ts of some of
the official government censors and the policemen who gave some musicians a helping
hand in avoiding harassment. Yet the SABC censors with their strict criteria and the
~

police who over-eagerly submitted music to the Directorate reflect a zealous support for
censorship. process. These differences indicate a complex and intricate set of social
relations which impacted in varied ways on the South African music context.
These social relations certainly support Foucault's (1976: 93) contention that power is
fragmented, exercised from innumerable points. Power was clearly malleable and not
strictly confined to the state or legislature. State censors and those who supported them

135
attempted to use censorship process to draw the boundaries of acceptable discourse (the
dominant discourse) within their field of jurisdiction. In terms of the dominant forms of
censorship discussed in this chapter, anyone recording or performing music entered a
field established and (to various extents) monitored by the Directorate of Publications,
the SABC and SAP. Musicians and others entering this field were subjected to censorship
processes which ruled out deviant discourses, and which pressured them to utter only
what was sayable (Bourdieu, 1993b: 91). In this sense the censors attempted to control
the space at the centre, restricting musicians with deviant discourses to the margins.
Bourdieu (l993b: 92) argues that "one of the most effective ways a group has of reducing
people to silence is by excluding them from the positions from which one can speak". In
the terrain of South African popular music censors indeed attempted to operate in this
way. The Directorate~excluded 'undesirable' music from the shelves of retail outlets and
on occasion even from individuals' own shelves at home, while the SABC excluded
.."

deviant discourses from ai:q,lay and the police attempted to exclude deviant perfonnances
from platforms throughout the coudtry. The censors thereby formed part of the state's
attempt to present the dominant discourse as desirable, and emergent discourses as
undesirable. As revealed in the preceding discussion, the consequences of exclusion
varied Irom personal danger to loss of income, so that songwriters, musicians, record
companies and others with a stake in the music industry felt pressured to conform to the
parameters of the dominant discourse. The focus of the following chapter shifts towards
the illl,£act of state pressure and censorship practices on participants in the music context
within the private or corporate sector.

136
 CHAPTER FIVE

Self-regulatory censorship

I'm music, pop music, I'm a vehicle of the state

Big business approve me, their policies dictate

("Hey where's the jol" (1986) - The Aeroplanes)

5.1 Introduction
The discussion in Chapter Four outlined and analysed state censorship in South Africa,
including SABC censorship policy. By virtue of the Directorate of Publications and
security laws, the state attempted to control what South Africans heard, read and saw.
The state's attempt to control discourse was most visibly evidenced in the way the SABC
operated, censoring music ....to the extreme. In this chapter it will be argued that state
censorship in tum placed ptessure on the private sector to regulate music. The
independent radio stations ~ere iminediately affected, given their dependence on the
South African state for access to the airwaves. Also affected were the record companies.
The relationship between record sales and radio play meant that the SABC' s (and to a far
lesser extent independent radio stations ') approach inevitably affected the record
companies. Immense pressure was placed on record companies to ensure that albums
fitted into the dominant discourses supported by the censors. Failure to do so was likely
to resThlt in music either being banned outright by the Directorate and/or not receiving
airplay on the SABC and independent radio stations. The buying public would be
\.'

unlikely to hear the music, almost definitely resulting in financial loss for the record
companIes.
As~ consequence of the maze of formal censorship to be negotiated, record companies
~,~

(especially the majors) were cautious about what they would record and, in turn, placed
. It

pressure on musicians to tone down their lyrics if they wanted to be contracted.

This chapter considers the forms of censorship and control e~ercised by independent
radio stations, record companies, venue owners and musicians. To begin with, Capital
Radio and Channel 702 are considered, the two independent radio stations that began
operating around about 1980. This discussion follows directly from that of the SABC in

137
 the previous chapter. State and broadcasting censorship provides a context for
understanding the self-regulatory censorship that occurred within the record industry,
both amongst the majors and independents. A brief discussion of venues as sites of self-
censorship precedes a consideration of the impact of institutional censorship on the
musicians themselves. Although musicians sometimes reacted through creative strategies
of resistance (discussed in Chapters Seven and Eight), the final section of this Chapter
focuses on the negative impact of censorship on some musicians, leading in particular to
pressure to self-censor.

5.2 Independent radio - Capital and 702

Apart from the SABC radio stations, two independent radio stations operated in South
'"
Africa in the 1980s. Capital Radio and Radio 702 were commercial music radio stations
based in two of South Afri a's 'independent homelands', Transkei and Bophutatswana
4
respectively. Capital Radio was established in late 1979, broadcasting on 604 KHz
~ .l._.i
Medium Wave (hence the common reference to the station as Capital 604) and also on
Short Wave radio. It originally broadcast from Port St Johns on the Transkei Wild Coast.
Radio 7..02 began transmission in 1980 on 702 KHz Medium Wave. It transmitted from an
area of Bophutatswana situated near Pretoria, but also had a studio in central
Johannesburg. This allowed 702 to successfully focus on the large PWV (Johannesburg,
Pretoria and surrounding areas) audience, adopting an American-styled hit radio
appr~h, with a conservative and adult-oriented stance towards music and politics
(Wrench, 1985: 68-69). In contrast Capital Radio prided itself on its indep~ndent status,
and for the first few years it fostered the idea that it was politically and musically
alternative to SABC stations. It based its format on Capital Radio in London, relied
heavily on British disc jockeys and was especially innovative in its choice of music and
news items. Although questions concerning Capital's sovereignty were raised, Keyan and
Ruth Tomaselli (1989: 139-143) nevertheless regarded Capital as the only South-African
- based commercial radio station attempting to provide an alternative voice to that of the
SABC.

138
5.2.1 Censorship within a context of relative autonomy
The major constraints for the independent stations paradoxically, could be traced to their
lack of independence. Both were either owned or partly owned by their respective
bantustan governments of whom they were rarely critical. They also had licensing
problems, as was most clearly demonstrated in the case of Capital Radio. The station was
plagued by transmitter problems from the onset, and never established a broad audience
outside of its immediate surrounds in the Transkei and Natal region (Capital Radio 1980;
1989). In the early 1980s Capital's studio was moved to Johannesburg, and a landline
link was established with the transmitters in the Transkei (Wrench, 1985). Transkei was
not recognized by the International Telecommunications Union, and therefore could only
operate under the discretion of the SABC and the SA Department of Posts and
Telecommunications..(Tomaselli and Tomaselli, 1989: 141). This put pressure on Capital
(and 702 who were similarly affected) to conform to South African government dictates .
.....
Indeed former Capital Mu~c Supervisor and Promotions Manager, Andy Darlington
(Interview, July 1998) recalled thattthe issue of Capital's desire to acquire an PM licence
was consistently used to persuade the station to tow the government line:
We were trying desperately to get FM, and they wouldn't give it to us ... At one
"stage the government said that one of the things was that if we toned down our
news they would consider giving us FM. But our news was the news, you know.
It was how it was happening, not like we were being told by the SABC. And we
,wouldn't tone down the news, but musically we didn't really have any problems.
Although not strictly bound by South African government legislation (given that the
South African government had supposedly granted the homelands 'indepe~dence') these
radio stations generally kept in line with Directorate of Publications decisions. They did
not, however, carry out the form of rigid internal censorship practised by the SABC.
'l!>

When it was established in 1980, Radio 702 opted for an album rather than singles chart.
This allowed them a broader range of choice in chart play-lists vyhich could vary from'
. '

week to week, and politically controversial songs could be avoided.

Capital Radio Dee Jay of the early 1980s, Chris Prior (Interview, 1998), recalled the
immense musical freedom in the early years:

139
 At Capital there were no restrictions as such - no restrictions whatsoever - quite
the opposite. I mean it was a true rock station ... that was a nice place to work for
the first two years.
According to Andy Darlington (Interview, 1998), play-list selection was a relaxed and
open affair at Capital Radio:
We'd meet with all the deejays and play the stuff to them and get their opinion.
So unless something was really terrible we'd vote on it. And obviously take into
consideration how well it's done overseas and where it's been and who it is, and
so on .... At one stage we tried something different. We used to go to a different
deejay's house once a week with all those new songs in the evening and we'd
play them and each week we'd invite a different record company person to come
along. So one'week we'd have the EMI representative and the next week we'd
have the Sony repre~entative or whatever, so it was quite interesting because then
~

they could see how \te did it.

~t._ i
To begin with, Capital Radio establlshed a strong sense of autonomy from South African
government dictates. This was most clearly demonstrated in May 1980 when Pink
Floyd's "Another brick in the wall' (1979) was banned by the Directorate and Capital
... ,
Radio continued to play it. Jimmy Cliffs "Give People What They Want" (1981) which
charted on Capital, was later banned by the Directorate. In 1986 Latin Quarter's political
"Radio Africa" (1986) charted on Capital Radio even though the song criticized the
effect~f colonialism and South Africa's political policy. The song was not played on
SABC. South African musicians with cultural-political messages such as Jll.!uka and Via
Afrika who were not played on SABC (in the early 1980s in particular) were played and
charted on Capital. In fact Juluka's "Africa" (1980) was banned on SABC because of its
politi£al
..:., message, but charted on Capital Radio, reaching number 1. The charts were

- .
based on Capital's own selection criteria, compiled by the Station Manager who liased
informally with the disc jockeys and took note of the listeners' 'Hit Line' da.ily top ten
. -

songs voted over the phone (Interview with Darlington, 1998). The official Capital Top
Forty therefore did not directly reflect listeners' preferences, but rather reflected the
stance of the station.

140
 Where financial considerations were significant, a different course of action was
pursued. Radio 702 and Capital Radio did not play-list The Artists United Against
Apartheid song "(Ain't gonna play) Sun City" (1985) because the former was partly
owned by Southern Sun, owners of the Sun City Holiday Resort, while the latter received
advertising revenue from Southern Sun (see Chapter Six for further discussion of this
song). This was in contrast, however, to the two stations' responses to the SABC ban on
Stevie Wonder's music in 1985 (as discussed in Chapter Four). Radio 702's programme
director, Gary Edwards (Rand Daily Mail, 27 March 1985), said that the station took
Wonder's comments very seriously and that the issue would be discussed. However, the
station did not ban Wonder's music from airplay. Capital Radio were clearer on the
matter. Head of music at Capital, Anthony Duke (Rand Daily Mail, 27 March 1985), said
that the station would'not adopt the same policy as the SABC because Capital did not
have a political policy regarding music.
'I

Even if formal censorship ~ommittees did not exist at Capital and 702, the stations
nevertheless practised a relati;'ely strict form of political control in determining their
play-lists. This might have had more to do with the hegemony of the dominant discourse
than overt systems of control, but whatever the process, explicitly political songs about
"
the South African situation were generally not played on the two stations. According to
Dave Marks (Interview, 1998) of 3rd Ear Music, in its first two years capital played some
3rd Ear Music artists. For instance, Flash Harry's "No Football" (1981) banned by the
SABe~Colin Shamley and Roger Lucey (the apolitical song "The Road is Much Longer"
[1979] was played by Alan Pierce and Chris Prior on late night shows) but overtly
~

political songs pertaining to the South African situation were avoided. Lloyd Ross
(Interview, 1998), of independent Shifty Records confirmed that while Capital were
frien~lier to deal with than the SABC, they nevertheless avoided Shifty's music, probably
because it was regarded as more political and was not always as commercially-oriented.
l)

This might have been the consequence of the sort of view expressed by long"'!standing.
Capital Radio DJ, Kevin Savage (in Carroll, year unknown) who regarded much South
African protest music as "white-guilt rock". He argued that:

141
 "I'm not saying they shouldn't make statements. But I find their opinions almost
a student-young musicians type protest. It has no wisdom. It can be very sincere-
but you can't say you've attained wisdom until you're older".
This confused sentiment goes some way towards explaining the amount of airplay given
to apolitical bands like City Limits, Clout, eVoid, Falling Mirror and Stingray in contrast
to more politically overt South African musicians such as Roger Lucey, Mzwakhe Mbuli,
Jennifer Ferguson, Sankomota, the Kalahari Surfers and the Cherry Faced Lurchers. This
latter group of musicians were simply not played, whatever the reason.
Capital Radio did however play-list songs with risque lyrics and sexual connotations.
The station play-listed George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" (1987). The song spent 12
weeks on the Capital Top 40, peaking at number one, but the station took it off the air
after the Directorate ,of Publications banned it (Interview with Andy Darlington, 1998).
South African John Ireland's sexually suggestive "I Like" (1982), was banned on SABC,
but played on Capital. It sp~nt 13 weeks on the Capital Top 40, peaking at number seven.
The choice of controversial songs .that Capital Radio (and to a far lesser extent 702) were
prepared to play is significant. General protest songs such as those by Pink Floyd, Jimmy
Cliff and Latin Quarter as well as contentious songs of a religious and sexual nature
allowetl Capital to stamp a form of independent authority without drawing a strong
response from the South African government. However, overtly anti-apartheid songs
were avoided, especially ones banned by the Directorate.

,
5.3 Major record companies
The conservative approach of South African radio stations impacted on recbrd companies
who relied heavily on airplay to promote their music. This led to self-regulation within
the record industry, particularly amongst the majors. In considering the censorship
lY

pracfices of the major record companies, a brief context needs to be provided. Firstly, for
corporate"reasons, the relationship between South African major record companies and "
overseas music has been one in which the South African majors have primarily focused
their attention on distributing overseas music within South Africa, with negative
consequences for local music. Secondly, the majors have readily exploited local
musicians in order to cut costs, particularly making use of existing social inequalities (in

142
the form of apartheid and its effects, such as illiteracy, on·black musicians) to minimize
costs through ultra-exploitative contracts. Attempts to maximize profits necessitated
moulding their music according to the requirements of the SABC's different stations. The
major record companies thus mass-produced songs which, musically and in terms of
language, complied with Radio Bantu and other SABC music programme formats for
South Africa's different 'tribes'. Within this context the majors adapted to the SABC's
(and the Directorate's) demand for acceptable lyrics which would not offend overly
cautious censors.
The ensuing discussion concentrates on the most significant dynamics within major
record company politics. Given that the focus of the study is on censorship practices (and
on the 1980s in particular), the fascinating history of the majors cannot be dealt with
here.

....
5.3.1 The corporate prio~~ty of South Mrican major record companies
In Chapter One it was posited that-.an important aspect of 'popular music' is that it is
performed andlor recorded as a product for a popular market. David Laing (1969: 7)
argues that the formalization of a cash relationship between performer and audience
"signified the arrival of popular music. This relationship was the essential basis upon
which the complex development of popular music and its industrial apparatus took
place". The roots of South African popular music can be traced back to the
mechanization and commodification of traditional music. European record companies
sensed the potential for expansion into the African market. English record companies
began to set up branches in Johannesburg in the 1920s and 1930s. While they were
chiefly set up to distribute imported records, they did record traditional music (both in
SOllth Africa and in England) and sold it to an increasing urban market (Coplan, 1985:
135).
Robert Burnett (1996: 17) notes that the transnationals' involvement in local contexts
was double-edged, distributing overseas music and attempting to identify local trends to
exploit internationally. In South Africa it was more lucrative to act as distributors of
overseas music, releasing it onto the South African market. Rob Allingham (Interview,
1998), archivist at Gallo, certainly felt that:

143
 It was a hell of a lot easier for them to make money out of something that was
pre-recorded, pre-packaged. They just got the master shipped over here, they got a
nice little press kit that they just cranked up for local consumption. All they really
had to do was suss which of these golden pears from America or the UK could be
transplanted here, and they could make money out of it. And that definitely
diverted their attention away from the tougher business of having to actually
create something here.
Local context was an important factor in the majors' approach. Roger Wallis and Krister
MaIm (1984: 105-108) argue that the transnationals' pursuit of extra sales of international
product varies from time to time according to finance and politics. It certainly is not a
foregone conclusion that overseas distribution is lucrative. However, the cultural boycott
in South Africa in the 1980s, together with tight copyright controls and a local fascination
with Western culture ensured that it was most profitable for local record companies to
market overseas music. R~b Allingham (Interview, 1998) argued that:
Part of the problem Mias th~t at that period of time, except for those very few
independents out there like Shifty, you had a very few companies that controlled
not only the market for local music here, but also overseas licenses. And the
reason they controlled the overseas licences was because those overseas licensees
at that point couldn't afford politically to admit that they were very involved here.
For these companies, scouting for, recording and promoting local music (especially on an
over~eas basis) was not a priority when such alternative lucrative pickings were on offer.
llI.
However, overseas majors based in South Africa were suitably placed for talent-spotting
purposes in case "the next big trend" emerged in South Africa (Wallis ana MaIm, 1984:
105). Majors certainly attempted to promote South African talent overseas in the early
1980s (Neil Solomon and Via Afrika for example) but it soon became clear that the
~

cultural boycott made overseas promotion futile. The situation for many musicians in the
1980s was so dire that musician Willem Moller (Interview, 1998) felt that the major
record companies:
Were very happy with apartheid. It suited them fine. You had cultural isolation
which created a bigger demand for imported stuff which suited them fine because
that's where their money was. They were probably very happy with the situation.
The result was that locally produced (particularly) white pop/rock suffered severely.
Albums usually sold less than one thousand copies and seldom sold more than a few
thousand copies within the predominantly minority white (and generally English) market.
The rewards and incentives for musicians were thus minimal (Chapman, 1988: 80). In
turn, pressure was placed on the musician in the recording studio to produce radio-
friendly (in every sense of the term) music. Knowing that the market was small, the best
way to increase sales was to have music played on the radio, particularly the SABC. The
temptation to censor lyrics accordingly was therefore immense. As indicated in the
previous chapter, this was true of all musicians wanting to promote their music. The
constraints upon musicians whose music only appealed to a marginal audience was
clearly much more severe.

5.3.2 Apartheid and the majors

....
The approach of most record companies (certainly all the majors) towards musicians was
to record their music at the minimum of cost. This is the basic approach to any profit-
making organization, in maximizing profits. Furthermore, employers typically seek to
utilize existing social inequalities to further exploit employees. R. Barron and D. Norris
(1976: 57) argue that severe exploitation of this sort is obscured and justified because it
coincides with broader social divisions. As in the United States, the South African majors
made use of racial inequality in broader society to exploit black musicians as far as
possi1ale (see for example Szatmary [1996: 24-28] and Nuzum [2001 :102-103] for details
,
concerning exploitation of African American musicians prior to tile 1960s). Roddy Quinn
(Interview, 1998) former Director of EMI Music South Africa, explained tow:
In the black market once you got a hit formula you just kept churning them out, at
the cheapest possible price. And got them out into the market as soon as possible.
That's why some of those artists just burned out at the end of the day. There was
no guidance or planning of their career. It was just sell as many records as you
can as quickly as you can.
Harvey Roberts (Interview, 1998), who headed CCP (Clive Calder Productions), the
black division of EMI in the late 1980s, saw the unfair practises in the music industry as
being profit-driven:
 r
,I

J
~ ,

The music industry is a business, like any other business, and there will always be
people who come into that business for their own motives who maybe do not have
very strong moral viewpoints about what they are doing. They are in it to make a
quick buck and make as much money as possible and they don't really care who
they tread on. I think that happens in any business. It certainly does still happen
in the music business. I can only say that, yes, I hear horror stories from artists
who have been exploited and who have definitely been badly exploited.
Unlike white musicians, who operated within a small and generally lukewarm (towards
local music) market, successful black musicians could potentially sell tens or even
hundreds of thousands of albums within the large African market. Musicians such as the
Soul Brothers, Mahlathini, Harari, Brenda Fasssie, Chicco and Ladysmith Black
Mambazo achieved high album sales. However, in order to do so, they needed to conform
to the record industry's agenda, which included tried and tested music formulae. From
the outset, racial and langqlge differences within South African society and the record
buying market beset the rec@rd ind!ilstry. In terms of racialized audiences, the industry
reflected broader social inequalities and differences in a way similar to the United States
(see for example Tagg, 1989; Keil, 1994; Potter, 1999; Shank, 2001). Operating within
South Africa's fragmented society, the major record companies divided their efforts
along the lines of black and white markets rather than according to musical styles,
assuming that almost totally separate markets existed for musicians of different races.
This~arket segmentation was reified with the more sophisticated apartheid infrastructure
at the SABC with the introduction of the various Radio Bantu serVices in the 1960s (as
outlined in Chapter Four). ~~

However, as was intimated in the previous chapter, some musicians of different races
did perform together. One of the earliest bands to do so was Hawk. Johnny Clegg and
I!-

Siplib Mchunu formed a duo, which went on to become Juluka. When Juluka became
popular amongst whites and blacks some record companies realized the commertial
potential of crossover acts and began to promote such groups. With the relaxing of petty
apartheid laws aimed at keeping races apart, mixed-race performances were no longer
illegal, opening space for bands such as Zia, Juluka, Savuka and Mango. Groove to
perform without the obstacles which earlier bands - like Hawk - had to face.

146
 For financial reasons, record companies were prepared to follow the formulaic
requirements of the SABC and market their music accordingly, rather than to attempt to
set trends by cultivating cross-racial appreciation of different forms of music (or just
merely music performed by people of different races). By the 1980s the music industry
was virtually divided into two markets - black and white. Chris Chapman (1988:80)
noted how the split between black and white markets was such that each had its own
support structure, media, record outlets, concert venues and record companies servicing
it. The split was so marked that the major record companies, particularly EMI and Gallo,
were themselves actually split into black and white divisions. For example, once EMI had
bought out CCP, all their black artists were allocated to CCP, while EMI itself was seen
to deal with white musicians and some crossover acts such as Juluka and Savuka.
Management structures were not necessarily racialized but depended on people's
expertise. For example, as mentioned above, Harvey Roberts, a white South African,
headed CCP in the late 19&ps. Within the black divisions record companies further
promoted the ethnic divisions of apartheid by encouraging multi-lingual musicians to
release albums in different languages to exploit different ethnic markets, rather than
encouraging a multi-ethnic audience. For example, CCP released Babsy Mlangeni's
albums under such titles as Babsy Mlangeni Sings Sotho Vocal and Baby Mlangeni Sings
Xhosa Jive (Kerkhof, 1986: 31). Although there were additional costs involved in
producing the same (or similar) album in different languages, the ploy guaranteed
additi~nal airplay on the different ethnic radio stations, and it bro~dened the potential
album-purchasing audience.

5.3.3 Major censorship

As has been shown, the virtual monopoly of the South African airwaves by the
conservative SABC and reluctance of the independent stations to play controversial
music, put pressure on record companies and they in turn on musicians, to practice self-
censorship so as to receive airplay. Rob Allingham (Interview, 1998) explained how the
majors:
Would be totally unwilling to record anything that they knew was not going to be
saleable ... beginning in the 60s when you had that Bantu Radio system set-up at

147
 the same time as the royalty system came in. You Know this is one of the ironies
ofthe·situation, that the royalty system reinforced the self-censorship here.
Because all of a sudden if an artist was going to get any financial reward out of
his work, he better not record something that wasn't going to be played on the
radio because then he wasn't going to make any money out of it. Whereas in the
old days, of course, it didn't matter whether it sold ten copies or ten thousand
copies, he still got his five pounds or whatever. I've been told by many musicians
that recording something that was not going to be played was just futile. Why
bother? And certainly the companies had exactly that same attitude as well. The
bottom line was that they wanted to make money.
As a result, record companies often made changes to songs or albums both prior to initial
release and sometim€s as a result of songs being banned by the Directorate of
Publications or the SABC. For example, when the Directorate banned Peter Tosh's Equal
.....
Rights (1977) album becallfe of the song "Apartheid", CBS re-released the album
without the banned track on~it (see.lmage 5. 1), and when Pink Floyd's The Wall (1979)
was banned by the Directorate because of the single "Another Brick in the Wall" (1979),
CBS re-released the album without the 'undesirable' song. Similarly, when the
Directorate banned Chris De Burgh's Spanish Train and Other Stories (1976) album
because of the title track, A&M re-released the album as Lonely Sky and Other Stories
(1976) without the banned track. After appeal, the ban on the album was lifted on the
pro"\?~on that an acceptable explanation of the song's meaning be provided on the album
:t"

cover. Subsequently the album, as well as Chris De Burgh Live in~. A. (1979), included
a front cover sticker which stated:
"Featuring Spanish Train, the song about the endless struggle between good and
evil and why good must win".
~

In a pre-emptive act, without any state intervention, EMI omitted "Burden of Shame"
from UB40's Signing OjJ(1980) album. The song criticized Britain's supportive\ole of
the apartheid government.
These examples emphasize the way censorship impacts on space. In cases where songs
originally included on albums were left out, an interested spatial dynamic occurred.

148
 PETER TOSH
EQUAL RIGHTS
ill :GET up, STAND UP
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ill APARTHEID ............... 4:29

1P.1c'Sh) Palel Tosl; M~~~:l~~: ...............,.........
All iJ"dC',,·published by Cossh J PotetToGh MusiG. • • • • • •.• • • • • • • • • • • 5:22

Image 5. 1 The censored cassette version of Peter Tosh's Equal Rights album (left) with the song
"Apartheid" missing. The song reappeared on a post-1994 Cri""version (right).

149
This is best borne out through the example of Chris De Burgh's Spanish Train and Other
Stories (1976) album. With the banning of the song "Spanish Train", a reconstitution of
space occurred, replacing the original album title with Lonely Sky and Other Stories.
Furthermore, the spaces occupied by the listing of "Spanish Train" on the back cover and
vinyl label of the original version were blank on the second (censored) version (see
Image 5.2). The production of censored space by omitting songs from albums happened
repeatedly during the apartheid era, reflecting "an injunction to silence, an affirmation of
non-existence, and, by implication, an admission that there was nothing to say about such

Image 5. 2 Chris De Burgh's missing song.

150
things, nothing to see, nothing to know" (Foucault, 1976: ·4).
Apart from the omission, in print form, of the banned song, a corresponding amount of
vinyl space also reflected an absence: a shorter album with one less recorded song.
The banning of "Apartheid" by Peter Tosh, however, involved a different spatial
dynamic. Simply removing the song "Apartheid" from the Equal Rights (1977) album
would not just have left a blank space, but would have caused a very noticeable
imbalance in the length of the two sides of the record (and cassette). The re-released
version of the album therefore involved a reconstitution of space, a reordering of the
songs. Of the remaining tracks, the four shortest appeared on the first side, while the
longest three were placed on the second side (see Image 5.1). In this instance the missing
song was not simply dropped, leaving blank spaces where it had previously been listed
and cut into the vinyl. The blank spaces were almost hidden in the re-mix, lost within the
reconstitution of space.
~

Not all censorship was alifected because of actual or potential Directorate of

Publications intervention. With t1ret importance of airplay on SABC as a motivation,
record companies often made changes to ensure airplay. Given that all songs play-listed
on SABC had to be approved by the SABC censors, the censors' approval was regularly
soughfbefore a single was in fact pressed and released. This is clearly revealed in a letter
from a representative of Trutone Music to the SABC. In the letter the Trutone
representative discussed a proposed single release of the song "Severina" (1987) by The
Missi~n. Referring to the lyrics, she says: "I am sure they are fine, if so we can release
~

that single which is the next one planned" (Letter from Trutone Music to Cecile Pracher
of the SABC library, dated 5 August 1987, located in the SABC radio arcliives).
E.M.I. cut out a line from the seven single version of Olivia Newton John's "Physical"
(19~1) to appease SABC censors. The line "There's nothin' left to talk about unless it's
....,
horizontally" was cut from the single release. The unedited version was released on the
Physicai (19.81) album. Wanting to avoid SABC censorship, WE!-\. censored Rickie Lee
Jones' "Chuck E's in Love" (1979) editing out the expression 'By Christ' after getting
permission from the singer to do so (Interview with Benjy Mudie, 1998). Anticipating
problems at the SABC over Mi-Sex's name, CBS released the group's "Computer
"'-
Games" (1980) under the band name 'M.S.' However, given that the Directorate were

151
unlikely to ban an album on the basis ofMi-Sex's name, the album Graffiti Crimes
(1980) was released under the band's full name. So as to avoid confusion amongst
potential purchasers of the album, CBS affixed a sticker to the album, drawing attention
to the fact that Mi-Sex was M.S. who had released the single "Computer Games". (See
Image 5.3)

,
Image 5.3 Explanatory label on Mi-Sex's Graffiti Crimes album.

The extent of the SABC censors' ability to influence changes is again expressed in a
letter from the Managing Director of Priority Records to Cecile Pracher. In the letter he
discusses one of the songs off the South African District Six - The Musical. He notes
that: 't ~

"Whilst we are not all unhappy with this decision (sic), we would appreciate it if
you could indicate to us exactly the parts of the song you find offensive. The
reason that we are asking this is that we think the song is probably the best track
on the album and we would, if possible, re-recor'cl it leaving out the offensive

152
 parts so that we can obtain airplay on that number: We would appreciate it greatly
if you could assist us in telling us exactly what we need to omit or change in our
revised version." (Letter from Priority Records to Cecile Pracher of the SABC
library dated 11 December 1986, located in the SABC radio archives).
The readiness of record companies to make changes to songs in order to ensure airplay is
revealed in a letter from an EMI Label Manager to the SABC record library (and member
of the record committee), Cecile Pracher, about Hot Chocolate's "You Sexy Thing"
(1987) which had not been passed by the committee (see Image 5.4).
The threat of commercial failure was repeatedly used by the industry to persuade
musicians to tone down their lyrics. This even went as far as controlling what albums
could be pressed at their pressing plants (of which there were only two in the country) by
independent labels. 1ndependent Shifty Records pressed their records at the EMI
pressing plant. According to Lloyd Ross (Interview, 1998) of Shifty, EMI:
."

inflicted a kind of 4elf-censorship on a few of our records which I thought was,

and I still think it is, iComple'tely reprehensible.
In fact Warrick Sony (Interview, 1998) had to resort to pressing his first three Kalahari
Surfers albums overseas because EMI refused to press them, and he only managed to get
his fourth album pressed at EMI by taking the recording to the pressing plant himself and
distracting the technician while he was mastering the album so that he did not hear the
lyrics!
MaQ...-X South African musicians who worked with the majors experienced pressure to
t"
censor their albums. For example, Neil Solomon, whose debut albUm The Occupant
(1981) was released by WEA, (Interview, 1998) recalled how: ~~

One (song) was called "The Stranger Within You" but it was actually "The
strangler within you", and the record company said 'Well if you want airplay,
change it'. Which I suppose looking back I shouldn't maybe have changed
strangler to stranger, but stranger was still a good enough word for me. tt
Solomon (Interview, 1998) proceeded to provide an insight into the necessity to conform
to record company dictates. He argued that:
I would rather write a love song that I know was intact as a song and got airplay .
.....
Because if you said a swear word or if you said something political, they would

153
 KS/$SS
3rd April 1987

M/sCec j 1e Prather
5~~perv i sor - Record Lib ra ry
SASe
AUCKLAND PARK
JOHANN ES6URG
, ~j

~ ,(.,.'
Dear Cae il e.

HE : YOU SEXY THING by HOT CHOCOLATE :

Due to p rob I ems ad s- i ng f roroce na in sec t ion 5 or the
iyric content or this 50ng, we have received are-mixed
and ad i ted ve.iS i on bf whi ch I enclose a cas'sette dubbTng
plus revised lyrics.

This is to confirm that no further copies of the original

veTslon are aval1able o~ will be Dressed and distributed
by this Company, and thatthls will be the only version
avai lable for Radio play i:.H1d Retai I Sale in South .A.frica.

Thank you for your co-operation.

Yours sincerely,
£/>11 NUS-Ie SOUTH AFRICA (PTY) LlHITED.

~A~n&t
K1M~;LLE
INTERNATIONAL LA8EL HANAGER
Ene 1 s :

Image 5.4 Letter from EMI to the SABC library (lo'cated in the SABC radio archives).

take a whole chunk of a song out, a verse, and just splice the tape together and the
song would be shortened, so that they could still...., get the airplay. That's what
record companies were doing. So I think in a way I was just looking after myself

154
 because I hate chopping up songs. I mean the only thing I ever did was change
'strangler' to 'stranger', but besides that I would just rather give a bunch of songs
that I know would get airplay rather than damage those songs that I had written.
Roger Lucey (Interview, 1998), has very sour memories of his only recording experience
with a major company - WEA:
The second album was a complete compromise because at that time we were with
WEA, and sort of unbeknownst to me at the time, but I was getting an inkling of

, it, the security police were starting to threaten all around. HalfAlive was just a
compromise. It was them coming to me and saying 'Listen, just tone down this,
make another album and then we can try and get it in'. And you know, that whole
thing of working the system from the inside, which I thought was a pile of shit.
But I did it nonetheless. I needed to keep working you know!
Heather Mac of Ella Mental (Interview, 1998) spoke in similarly scathing terms of the
way EMI dealt with their l~rics:
When EMI finally got their.~claws into us and started almost driving where we
should be going, and 'be careful we can't use those lyrics because we're going to
land up having the song banned on the radio, let's think a little bit more broadly,'
[The band relented] ... because at the time we were so desperate for success and
we were working so fucking hard. I mean I was waitressing, airbrushing, making
leather shoes. Tim was running on movies just to survive very basically in Berea
, In a commune.
In terms of the SABC's rationale, EMI's concern was justified as~pointed out by Heather
Mac (Interview, 1998): ~~

They warned us with our last single that was released, "Mad Man", which was
dedicated to P. W. They warned us, 'Okay we'll go with it' because we started
~. putting our feet down, but they said, 'You do realize that there's a strong
probability that it's not going to be play-listed'. And one -week after it ha~ been
play-listed it was taken off.
Juluka recorded their first album, Universal Men with CBS in 1979, a few months before
Zimbabwe's independence. When recording the song "Sky People", Johnny Clegg (in
Pithouse, 2000:40) recalls how: ""

155
 "There was a huge fight in the studio. I wanted to use the line 'The drums of
Zimbabwe speak, they roll across the great divide' but everyone was convinced
that would lead to the album being banned so we changed it to 'The drums of
Zambezi speak"'.
It was felt that the actual reference to changes in Zimbabwe rolling into South Africa was
too overt. Changing the reference to the Zambezi River, from whence the liberating army
had fought for Zimbabwean liberation, was regarded as a safer, cryptic alternative.
As a result of these sorts of dynamics within the majors, many politically overt
musicians with a protest message bypassed the majors altogether. Lee Edwards
(Interview, 1998) of the Cherry Faced Lurchers explained that:
We didn't try to work with the majors at all. I think we always knew they would
not be interested in us, and I think we also knew that whatever we were saying,
the majors would want to tone down ... The [Asylum] Kids were signed, and
immediately Peter Wuman said "Schoolboy" was not allowed to be played on
Radio 5. He did not think it.\was a positive song for kids. So I think that the majors
had had bad experiences with anything that was slightly controversial. So I don't
think the majors were going to look at us anyway.
This is where the more progressive independent record companies played a crucial role in
South African popular music history. By not always operating primarily according to the
principle of profit-maximization, they could afford to record more controversial music (as
is di~ussed in the Section on independents in Chapter Eight).

5.3.4 The majors: an assessment ~~

t Although the majors clearly towed the state (including SABC) line to a great extent, it
would be wrong to view them simply as state agents, manipulating music to support the
".

apartheid system and Calvinist values of the government. Coplan (1979: 9) slipped into
this form of binary approach when he interpreted the supply of appropriate musi~ by
record companies to the SABC to fit their Radio Bantu formats as one of collusion with
the apartheid government. He argued that the growth of mbaqanga in the 1960s paralleied
the major record companies' pursuance of a policy of 'cultural retrenchment'. Similarly
Valmont Layne (1995: 65) argued that "the political cHanges which accompanied

156
industrialization helped to put in place White cultural hegemony with its foundation in
large institutions such as the SABC and the markets of its entertainment allies - the
record companies". In locating the actions of record companies within narrow political
parameters, Coplan and Layne ignored the record companies' primary motivation of
profit making. Indeed, Allingham (Interview, 1998) argued that the stance taken by the
record companies was economically and not politically driven. He stressed that:
The record companies in no way took it upon themselves to reinforce whatever
machinations the state had in mind as far as directing culture, but the bottom line
for them was, and always is, and always probably will be, that they want to make
money.
Radio Bantu certainly provided the record companies with new audience and markets
with a potential avenue for vast profits, which the record companies exploited. Yet at the
same time the major record companies did not steer clear of protest music, as is seen in
..,
their furious promotion and1distribution of reggae music. Reggae music was profitable. It
was one of the few forms ofmusiC'-popular which appealed to a cross section of South
Africa's racially diverse society. It did not matter to the majors that it had a strong protest
element, but rather that it would sell. As has been shown, when the message did upset the
goverruhent sufficiently to lead to a banning (as in the case of Peter Tosh) some
companies were quick to make changes in the interest of sales. Most likely for this
reason, Ingrid Byerly (1996: 118), unlike Coplan and Layne, located record companies-
also i~binary terms - on the side opposed to the government when she spoke of
t'
demarcations of insiders and outsiders with "the process of govermnent censorship (on
the one hand) and the South African musicians and music industry (on the ~bther hand)".
Yet she too overstates the position of record companies. Syd Kitchen (Interview, 1998)
refe:ved to the politics of the industry as sometimes being even more sinister than the
... '

government. Record companies, while rarely openly colluding with the government's
apartheid rationale, were often over zealous in their self-censorship, very rarely' t~ok a
stand against Directorate decisions and were all too keen to make use of existing racial
inequalities to severely exploit black musicians. The majors' manipulation of any
profitable opportunities, sometimes in the interests of apartheid ideology, sometimes not,

157
emphasizes that their actions cannot be explained by means tof an oversimplified binary
approach, whichever side one adopts.

5.4 Independent record companies

While the profit-making motives and generally cumbersome nature of major record
companies limited their ability to mount a serious challenge to censorship (especially that
of the SABC and to a lesser extent direct state intervention), independent record
companies proved more able and capable of offering resistance to these forces. To some
extent this corresponds with an international pattern whereby, "independents operate less
conventionally than the majors through a network of independent, often short-term
contacts and contracts [balanced] between the need to operate within a commercial
market, and a desire to> innovate" (Burnett, 1996: 59). Syd Kitchen (Interview, 1998)
went as far as to argue that it is:
..,
The periphery indus.,ries are where people fight hegemony, where people try and
break the hegemony of the intlustry and of the constraints around them.
Whereas Frith (1983) and Negus (1996:43) have argued that the relationship between
majors and independents is one of symbiosis rather than tension, in 1980s South Africa,
Kitchen's point was particularly apt. The operation of independents such as Shifty and 3 rd
Ear Music throughout the 1980s varied significantly from the majors. With many
independents, musicians were not only given far greater freedom with respect to the
produ~ion of their material, but often found themselves working with companies who
were themselves working at ways of outmanoeuvring state controf~nd various forms of
censorship (for detailed discussion see Chapter Eight). I{~

However, not all the independents were progressive. Some of the independents, like
Jo'h~rg Records, which closed down at the end of the 1970s, were in many ways just
smaller versions of the majors, with the exception that they tended to deal with all their
artists without reference to race and style of music as opposed to the majors who~s has
been indicated, tended to streamline musicians according to race and corresponding
market appeal. As was shown in Chapter Four, Patrick van Blerk of Jo'burg Records
marketed Margaret Singana for a mixed audience despite this not being acceptable to the
SABC at the time. He persevered and in 1977 her song ~'I Never Loved a Man" (1977)

158
 t

was one of the top songs of the year on Radio 5, SABC's predominantly white (and
coloured) commercial music radio station.

5.4.1 Independent censorship

Bands who recorded with Jo'burg records were often persuaded to censor their music.
Rabbitt (1972) recorded a cover version of Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath" (1971) for
airplay, and changed the line "got him by the balls" to "got him by the horns".
Encouraged by the promise of radio play on SABC's Radio 5, another Jo'burg Records
band, the Radio Rats, cut a full verse from their single "ZX Dan" (1979). The verse
referred to the grotesque features of a space alien who fell in love with a sixteen-year-old
girl. The edited single went on to peak at Number 2 on the Radio 5 Top Twenty. As
indicated in Chapter Four, the Rats were also persuaded to change their song "Fucking I I
Around in the Dungeons All ..,Day" to "Mucking Around in the Dungeon All Day" . !

Of the independents operat4g in the 1980s, 3rd Ear Music, Mountain Records and Shifty
Records were the most innovative aild resistant to dominant discourses in signing
musicians and recording their music. Gary Hertselman (Interview, 1998) explained the
contrast between a typical major's approach and that of independents like Shifty Records.
He viewed Shifty's contribution as crucial:
Essentially I think the major record companies have let most of South African
musicians down and in different ways ... I think Lloyd [Ross, of Shifty Records]
~eally stood up for those guys and helped them. People like the Lurchers would
t'
never have been heard, Sankomota, Mzwakhe Mbuli. The first Tananas album
was made by Shifty Records. You know the record companies couldn't even see
these people. They were completely blind. And I'm still, I hate to say that I'm an
~ enemy of the major record companies, but I just don't accept the way they work.
They're all run by accountants, that kind of thing. They feel nothing for the
music; most of them don't even know what music they're selling. All it m~ans to
most of those reps is whether they can improve their car next month, or get a
better car and that kind of thing.
Despite their strong stand against apartheid and their strong belief in the independence
.....
of the bands they recorded, the independent companies referred to here did occasionally

159
 1

practice self-censorship. When Roger Lucey recorded his first album The Road is Much
Longer (1979) 3rd Ear Music had problems with the management at the pressing plant
who refused to press it in its existing form. 3rd Ear then received legal advice to the effect
that, in terms of security legislation, some of the statements on the album could lead to
long-term prison sentences andlor heavy fines for both Roger Lucey and Dave Marks of
3rd Ear Music. As a result two versions of the album were released. In the commercial
release, the most controversial track on the album, "Lungile Tabalaza", was omitted and a I.

verse of "You Only Need Say Nothing" was left off the album. A number of trivial songs
such as "Pay Me the Dues on the Bottles" were included on the album to lessen the focus
of those which were overtly political such as "You Only Need Say Nothing" and
"Thabane". Roger Lucey was opposed to the changes, but conceded out of concern for
Dave Marks and 3rd Ear Music. Lucey (Interview, 1998) recalled that:
I was of the opinion at the time, and this is where David and I disagreed, that fuck
..,
them, let's just go wi~ it, I'll take what's coming to me. But, you know, that was
a typical thinking-for-myself-Attitude, because David had a publishing house that I
supposed they could have closed down. They could have really harassed him as
well.
Once the album was released and subsequently banned, Lucey was particularly annoyed
because he felt that they should have just put it out as they had wanted to in the first
place. The compromises had not prevented the banning.
At M~ntain Records, David Kramer's first album, Bakgat (1979), had been a cult
success, but the entire album was banned by SABC. Consequently Mountain Director,
Paddy Lee Thorpe, encouraged Kramer to record some commercial songs Which could be
played on the radio. However, Thorpe only encouraged Kramer in that direction and
certa~ly was not insistent (Interview with Kramer, 1998). Kramer agreed to release a
short album of songs written around the theme of a retired rugby player, Blokkies
Joubert, looking back on his career. The album The Story of Blokkies Joubert (l9gtl) was
a big success, selling over 70 000 copies.
At Shifty Records, Lloyd Ross's approach was to allow the musicians to express
themselves as they wanted to, provided they fitted into Shifty's prescribed framework. As
he said:

160
 t

I was only really interested in music that had some kind of social comment in it,
because it was very difficult to live in this country with the kind of shit that was
going down, and ignore it. And as far as I was concerned, if people didn't actually
have some kind of reference to that in their music, and I'm not talking about like
heavy political songs or protest songs even, I'm just talking about some kind of
conscience in their album, I'm not talking about every song either. I just felt it
was dishonest, you know, it was difficult to create in this country without having
some kind of awareness thro~gh your art of what was going on.
Given this understanding of what 'South African' ought to be about, Shifty did not censor
their musicians although, as indicated earlier, this was occasionally done for them
(without permission) by the EMI pressing plant. On two occasions Shifty, along with the
musicians themselves, was directly involved in self-censorship. The first involved an
album by Bernoldus Niemand.... (James Phillips) recorded in the mid-'80s. According to
Lee Edwards (of Phillips' barld the Cherry Faced Lurchers, Interview, 1998):
The truth of the whole EernoI-dus thing as far as I see was that James and Lloyd
decided to make this record which was to get airplay on Radio Highveld to make
money, it was a commercial venture. It was a tongue in cheek commercial
venture. It grew, it became something else in the studio, because it was recorded
over a year, and it did become something else. But James's initial idea, at the time
there were all these albums called on Hooked On: Hooked on Guitar and Hooked
' n Classics. So James's title for that album was Still Mostly Hooked on Dagga
t'
(marijuana) Volume 3, which I thought was a fantastic title~'13ut obviously Tinus I

I
(Esterhuizen of the SABC) was not going to be happy with that, so tllen at the I

j
time there was the Cavalier that played in disguise, so it was decided to do this
Wie is Bernoldus Niemand incognito thing.
I
Already having compromised over the title of the album, Shifty submitted the track "Holl jl
I

My Vas Korporaal" (Hold Me Tight Corporal) to the SABC for airplay_ They felt'hat the
song would be a big hit amongst the army troops as a good piece of irony_ However,
despite spending a lot of time mixing and remixing the song so that it would not offend
the SABC censors it was nevertheless rejected by Tinus Esterhuizen on the grounds that
- ~
It provided a pessimistic view of the army. Warrick Sony (1991: 114) who was working

161
 n
t
i
with Shifty at the time felt that in the end it was not worth the compromise. He I

complained that:
"We were behaving like the rest of the industry because we were still slaves to
Radio. We were losing the joy of being independent record makers. We had lost
the power to say fuck you to the SABC".
After this unsuccessful attempt at a commercial breakthrough, Shifty did not make the
effort again. Some of their songs did receive airplay (for example Jennifer Ferguson and
Tananas) but in the end Lloyd Ross (Interview, 1998) said that:
It was very frustrating trying to get stuff played on the radio. Eventually I just
gave up. I didn't take stuff to radio anymore.
The second instance in which Shifty was involved in self-censorship was more coercive.
As indicated in Chapter Four, in 1989 the Directorate banned the Kalahari Surfers'
Bigger Than Jesus album. On appeal Shifty was allowed to release the album on the
..,
condition that the title be ch~ged. Shifty re-titled it Beachbomb and simply stuck a
sticker with the new title ovet the ptevious title. Again this involved a compromise, but
did not affect the actual album and allowed the original songs (unscathed) to be sold to
the South African pUblic.

5.4.2 The independents - an assessment

South African independent record companies operated within the same constraining
goverllij,lent and broadcasting context as the majors. Yet despite the occasional
t'
compromise, some of the independents showed that a stronger stand against censorship
could be taken than the stance adopted by majors. However, many indepenaents tended
to simply operate as small-scale majors. Examples that fit this mould include Jo'burg
recor~s, Tusk and the sort of quasi-independent set-up formed by the Soul Brothers, who
....
retained strong creative and financial independence whilst working through a major
throughout the production and distribution process. Depending on the dynamics ol
specific independents, self-censorship was practised at different levels~ but generally to a
lesser degree than in the majors (see Chapter Eight for further consideration of the stance
adopted by the independents).

162
 'Inl
i .I

;1

5.5 Retail outlets and distribution companies !I

Distribution of records in South Africa in the 1980s was monopolized by a few

companies. Benjy Mudie explained that:
Retail in the' 80s was very tightly controlled by MFP and the CNA group, but
mainly MFP - the OK Bazaars and Checkers group. If you didn't get a record in
to them, you weren't in the game. In the late '70s there were still a lot of indie
stores, but by the mid-'80s the indie stores had almost disappeared, so it was a
real struggle.
To exacerbate matters, when an independent company did get one of the majors to
I'
distribute an album or even sometimes when a South African artist was recorded through
a major, the sales reps did not necessarily promote it adequately. Gary Hertselman
(Interview, 1998), whc)" worked at Johannesburg's biggest independent record shop
(Hillbrow Records) for part of the 1980s described a rather depressing scenario, fairly
""
common within the industry!}
Independent record cdmpantes would set up a distribution deal through the major
companies. So that means that the major companies would distribute their
records, the major companies would offer their records to all the shops, to all the
retailers. And often I would have to ask. They would come and say, 'Well this is
the new Lionel Riehle, this is the Phil Collins, this is the Sade'. And I'd go, 'Is
that all you've got this week?' And I would know, having been in touch with
~hifty, and I'd say, 'Haven't you got a new girl caned Jennifer Ferguson this
~

week?' And they'd go, 'Ohja, ohja!' It's kind of in the borlom of their bag. So,
no thanks to them for that.
In addition, retail outlets were careful not to import copies of albums or singles banned
by the Directorate of Publications, given that they would face prosecution were they to be
"'"
caught doing so.
More problematically, the workings of some of the major record company reps $ithin
apartheid South Africa were inefficiently racist. Mike Maswanganwa (Interview, '1999)
of the black division of EMI (CCP) related how in the apartheid days:
There were no black reps. You couldn't become a representative. But you could
become a driver. And drive the white rep with y'ou. And what you do, you take

163
 him around, you take out his cases, his sample~, you put them on top of the table
at the shop or wherever, you play samples to the person. And when you leave in
the evening, you go to the hotel. The driver will go the backroom and he would
have his food there, his breakfast there but in the morning he has to wake up,
wash the rep's car and wait for the rep to come with the key and move. But now if
you look at that, it was costly. Apartheid was really costly because it's taken two
experienced people to do the same job.
It was within this context that South African musicians recorded their music and relied
on distributors to get their music into the shops. It was at best unlikely that music
recorded through independents would ever make it into the shops. Even local music
released by the majors could possibly be relegated to the bottom of the recommended pile
in favour of the latest release by popular overseas musicians. The struggle for musicians
working through independent.., companies, in getting their music heard, usually involved
doing a lot of marketing and Jelling personally, at gigs and through the post. Shifty
regularly advertised a mail order service in fringe magazines and had people selling on
their behalf in the main cities. But this approach only ever realized a slow trickle of sales.
As a result most of the independent releases by Shifty and Third Ear, and some of those
-
by Mountain, did not cover the costs of recording.

5.6 Live venues

An impertant outlet for musicians within a context of censorship as hitherto outlined, is
('

live performance. Yet during the 1980s even live performances wer~ sometimes severely
restricted. In Chapter Four it was revealed that the police and local authorities often
closely monitored live performances, so that the conditions under which live
perfo.!111ances took place could be severely constrained. Pressure was placed on venue
owners to monitor the sort of music and musicians promoted within their venues. Many
live venues and festivals were private operations, with venue owner1i themselves nable
for alleged law breaking within their venues. Acting within the restraints of apartheid
legislation, venue owners who enforced many of the restrictions did so on a self-
regulatory basis.

164
 On occasion venue owners prohibited performances as a result of direct threats from the
police. In the most extreme instances, the police would directly threaten venue owners.
For example, (as outlined in Chapter Four) when police put teargas into the air-
conditioning system at a Roger Lucey performance, security branch policeman, Paul
Erasmus (Interview, 2002) explained that the police followed-up by using an informer
network to determine Lucey's future performances, and used the teargas incident to

threaten other venue owners.

An informer network also seems-to have played a role in the cancellation of many
(especially campus) venues originally scheduled for the alternative Afrikaans Voelvry
performances in 1989. Willem Moller (Interview, 1998) of the Gereformeerde Blues
Band related that many of their gigs were cancelled:
You know, yoil rent the hall and suddenly the people say, 'No, we can't rent you
the hall, you guys ar~ too political' .
Lead singer of the Gereforrri~erde Blues Band, Johannes Kerkorrel (Interview, 1998)
explained that:
We just started with the tour and we played two gigs. I think the one we played
was at RAU. Immediately after we played at the Rand Afrikaans University,
most of the tour was banned. We had several gigs lined up on campuses all over
the country and all the Afrikaans campuses and technikons immediately banned
the show and let us know that we cannot play on their campuses. Immediately
'fier that we went ahead and just organized alternative venues in every town or
~
'.".
city where we were banned. ~.

The most notorious clash over cancelled V oelvry venues was at Stellenbosch University
where a large group of students protested the refusal of the University Administration to
alloV{ the V oelvry concert to take place on campus. An alternative venue was found in
town and the concert went ahead, despite having to set up in a hurry (Doxa, 1989).
~ .tt.
Reacting to pressure from the Directorate of Publications and some public pressure, the
organizers of Chris De Burgh's concerts in South Africa in 1978 persuaded De Burgh to
provide an explanation of "Spanish Train" (see above) before performing the song live.
Far from responding to pressure from the police, the owners of the Johannesburg venue,
....
Thunderdome, alerted the police when musician Steve Howells handed out End

165
Conscription Campaign (ECC) leaflets in their venue. Gary Rathbone of the Spectres
(Interview, 1998) explained:
Steven (Howells) was playing with Khaki Monitor at the time and during the
breaks he would start handing out ECC campaign leaflets. Now the Thunderdome
was a sort of upmarket club at the time, and Lucky Gelakis ... saw this and he got
a complete fit about this whole thing. He took Steven and locked him up and they
called the police down there. So the police came down. The ECC wasn't strictly a
banned organization so ther~ wasn't anything they could really do except to
harass him a bit. And then ... they kicked Steve out the club, and another friend of
ours, Steve Bassier, went with Steve Howells. They started walking back to
Yeoville, and then two bouncers came after them when they were about three of
four blocks away from the club, and they beat the shit out of them.
Throughout the 1980s various venues remained racially segregated, even though petty
..,
apartheid laws had been relru¢d. The stringent segregation of the 1980s no longer
applied, yet many venues continued to discriminate against blacks. Jimmy Florence of
the multi-racial Dynamics (Interview, 1998) described how:
When we played at the Chelsea Hotel on our record launch, they wouldn't let
btack folk dance on the floor. They were barely letting them into the place, and
this was 1984. No man, that was just not acceptable really.
Musicians were therefore often put into the position of having to compromise their values
in orde-~o perform, or refuse to perform altogether.
Even when musicians performed live and could feasibly make a p6fitical stand or
challenge their audiences politically, they often did not do so, for fear of repnsals. Danny
De Wet (Interview, 1998), of pop band Petit Cheval, wanted to put a string of ECC chain-
links ~cross his drum kit as a display of support for the ECC (whose symbol was a string
of chain links), but his friends persuaded him not to do so, because of likely police
reaction. In a very honest act of self-reflection, singer David Kramer (Interview, 1~98)
summed up the element of fear which could beset any musician performing controversial
songs before a broad (probably conservative) audience:
I think I've always been quite a cautious person. Again I think I'm not physically
built for fighting. Let's put it like that. I'm a sman guy and in a fight I'm not

166
 going to come out the winner. So, I've always avoided confrontation with people
and I suppose I've used my song-writing or my singing as a kind of a weapon,
and the power that I feel on stage is psychologically related to that in any case, so
being on stage gives me a tremendous thrill and I really like an audience to like
me. I'm aware of that. So, I think that what I used to do in those years was try
and read the audience as carefully as I could, to try and understand who I was
playing to, and not become sort of silly about the songs I would choose to sing to
people. So I had a large enqugh repertoire to be able to go out into the country and
probably sing mainly Afrikaans songs, and then a few days later play in
Johannesburg and, say at the Market Theatre, sing quite a different sort of a
repertoire.
Kramer's selectivity in. . 'Choice of songs in relation to the nature of the audience was also a
means of being subversive, as he tried, by means of constantly repositioning himself, to
..,
find a balance between keepifhg to his own moral framework yet not alienating his
audience. Within the latter resj:>onse'texisted an element of fear, of having to deal with a
hostile audience reaction, different and clearly more direct than the reaction of an
audience to one's recorded material (see Chapter Seven for a more detailed analytical
discussio'n of David Kramer's musical message).
Kramer's balancing act is indicative of the problem that was faced by musicians trying
to bypass pressures to censor without being detected, reprimanded and suffering some
form o1Jetribution. They became entangled in a battle over external censorship which
-t'
constantly threatened their creative process by virtue of self-censot~ip. What to write
about and how and when to perform songs became central issues in the song writing,
recording and performing processes.

5. 7. Self-censorship: musicians' complete avoidance of controversial content

The l11ulti-faceted manner in which censorship of music occurred in'South Africa,ttrrom
government regulations to broadcast and record company level, ultimately impacted on
individual musicians in a very personal way. Although censors were not Ubiquitous, their
paranoia pervaded society, affecting musicians wanting to avoid censorship, whatever the
reason. Operating from what was clearly the political ce'lltre (a position of centralized

167
 I ~: ~I

II
political power), the state censor hoped to foster conditions favourable to the dominant I

discourse. If all worked according to plan, songwriters would not wander outside of the
prescribed framework. After all, for the state censors: "Self-control is, of course, the ideal
form of control" (Van Rooyen, 1987: 4). On this most fundamental level, where
censorship is manifested in the form of self-censorship, it pierces that most private of
spaces, the writer's very body. In these instances the censor, according to J. M. Coetzee
(1996: 10), operates "as a parasite, a pathogenic invader of the body-self' who attempts
to penetrate that most personal of spaces, the self, in an attempt to infiltrate and pollute
the very creative expressions of the writer. When this occurs, power exercised in favour
of the dominant discourse is no longer centralized but is exercised on an individual level
through self-policing. Musicians and writers who censor themselves do so on behalf of
the censor, avoiding tlle necessity for external discipline.
Accordingly, censorship became self-censorship and external surveillance became self-
surveillance. This was not ajanoptical form of self-surveillance al a Foucault (1975:
195-228), constantly monitoring one;s behaviour, but awareness that one's creative
~ .t. .••

products would in all likelihood be scrutinized by a board of censors at the Directorate of

Publications or SABC. The effect was to make the musician "not only a repressed
person, -but also a self-repressed one, not only a censored person, but a self-censored one,
not only watched over, but one who watches over himself (sic)" (Reinaldo Arenas in
Ripoll, 1985: 36).
The<ti!essure to avoid being banned and to receive airplay often resulted in musicians
deciding to avoid political and other controversial messages altog~lher. For example,
Dizu Plaatjies explained how Amampondo: ,,~

Were a very fortunate group. We've never been arrested because of the politics
and the messages that we were putting across to the people, because we didn't
want to put ourselves in the position whereby we were right deep in politics. We
had to be neutral. We had to accommodate the politicians avd also we hault to think
of where we came from, because the country, we were not free you know, and
you couldn't just say anything that you wanted.

168
It was common for musicians, especially black musicians, to silence their political voice
so as not to jeopardize their career or even safety. David Marks (Interview, 1998) of

Third Ear Music explained that:

Black guys were guarded for a good reason. The most they would do to a white
guy is, which they often did, was fuck him up, slash his car tyres, drive him
around a bit in the back of a van, like they did with Roger [Lucey]. But with black

dudes it was life and death, you know.

Indeed, at least two black musicians were killed by the apartheid state. They were
Vuyisile Mini, executed for sabotage acts and the murder of a police informer in
November 1964, and his daughter Nomkhosi Mini, a founder member of Amandla, killed
in a raid on Maseru, Lesotho in December 1985 (SACP homepage). However, neither of
<'.

these deaths was directly related to the deceased's musical involvement. Yet the fear of
death, arrest, and a long speU in detention, where one might be tortured, was very real.
Also, in economic terms, forfmany black musicians there were few alternatives to turn to
'to \
if their music careers were put to an end through censorship. Sipho Mchunu, for example,
was a gardener in a white suburb in Johannesburg before becoming a successful musician
with Juluka. Jabu Khanyile (Interview, 2001) of Bayete explained the necessity of some
form of self-censorship for musicians lacking alternative sources of income:
I said to the guys, 'Guys, we are struggling. You can't live on rallies. Political
organizations don't have money to support us. We play for free; they only give us
'hat they can give. And we have families to support. I think
t'
that we can still keep
, .l'I:

the messages, but very harmless, but still the message is the same. So that you can

do it to survive as well' .
While there were many white musicians who did not grasp or confront the problems of
apartheid, the majority of those who did, and who sang about it, were able to fall back on
alternative means of support (especially in the context of a middle class upbringing and
" .~
sometimes a university education). As beneficiaries of apartheid, whites did not have
anything immediate to gain by opposing apartheid (unless they were completely
committed to and believed in the advantages of a post-apartheid society). To incorporate
a phrase used by Heidi Hartmann (1979), they had more to lose than their chains.
"""

169
 . Ii
I

Nevertheless, even for white musicians, to be commercially successful it was best to

avoid controversial content.
There were many musicians who completely avoided political content in their lyrics.
For some, avoidance of political content reflected an acceptance of the dominant
discourse within South African society. For others, such as Ladysmith Black Mambazo
(see Chapter Six for more detailed discussion), this was a strategic act of self-regulation,
aimed at avoiding the consequences of censorship. Joseph Shabalala, leader of Ladysmith
Black Mambazo (in Andersson, 1981: 87), declared that: "We keep the radio in mind
when we compose. If something is contentious they don't play it, and then it wouldn't be
known anyway". Timothy Taylor (1997: 82) hailed Ladysmith Black Mambazo's success
as a victory, given that it took place within the severe constraints of apartheid. Yet the
group's decision to silence themselves by avoiding 'the contentious' overshadowed the
victory.

5.8 Conclusion
The threat of censorship from above and related repercussions clearly permeated the
South African music industry and entire music context, impacting on the creative process
on many levels. This chapter has considered avoidance of controversial content as part of
a self-regulating censorship process practiced by independent radio stations, record
companies, retailers, venue ovvners and musicians. In some instances institutions were
both vfu:tim and perpetrator, as their decision to respond to pressure to curtail particular
-C'
messages impacted on others. The independent radio stations' fear <:>f government
reprisals made them reluctant to play music with politically overt lyrics, whrch in turn
impacted on record companies, retailers and musicians. Similarly, record company fears
of ce~sorship often led them to make cautious decisions, a response which impacted on
musicians, as did decisions by retailers on what music to stock.
The issue of self-censorship is admittedly complex. What some musicians regarcThd as
creative resistance to· censorship others regarded simply as self-censorship. For this
reason, the issue of musicians' self-censorship is closely linked to innovative lyrical
resistance. A distinct dividing line between the actions cannot be conclusively drawn. It
is argued that to do so would be to frame the action of ~usicians within the very sort of

170
complicit/resistant dichotomy this thesis wishes to discard. Self-censored music which
includes protest, even obliquely or mildly, is a form of resistance, even if not overtly so.
Strategic attempts to self-censor in order to slip contentious messages through the
censorship maze are discussed in Chapter Seven.
Interestingly, not all calls for censorship came from government and conservative
pressure groups. The next chapter considers calls for censorship from anti-apartheid
groups. Musicians found themselves having to deal with political and moral arguments
about what not to play or where not to perform in the interests of transforming South
African society. Once again the debate opened up an area of contestation, in which
musicians increasingly battled to get their music and message heard.

-t
, "S:

171
 :\1 :

I ~,

CHAPTER SIX

Anti-apartheid censorship

Sing no more love songs to me baby

("Love songs" (1993) - James Phillips and the Lurchers)

6.1 Introduction
The previous two chapters documented and discussed instances of government and self-
regulating censorship. This chapter focuses on pressure placed on musicians to adhere to
anti-apartheid political demands. The chapter begins with a discussion of political
obligations and boycotts as forms of censorship, before considering particular calls for
"'.
musicians to adhere to political demands. These calls dealt with the political stance of
musicians, through lyrics ~ the adoption of a particular musical style. Thirdly, the call
for a cultural boycott against ,South ~frican music from anti-apartheid organizations and
• .to .••

individuals is considered. Other instances of the boycott strategy as an anti-apartheid

form of censorship are examined, particularly the government's Bureau for Information

propagar-da song.

6.2 The boycott as a form of censorship

There are two types of strategy regarded here as censorship although they have
tradit~al1y been distinguished from censorship because ~n a surface level they appear to
• "S:

involve different dynamics. The first of these strategies is that of the call for musicians to
~~

fulfil certain political and musical requirements - for example, to perform or avoid a
particular style of music. The second of these strategies is the boycott - not to allow
certaln music to be distributed in parts of the world and/or prohibiting musicians from
performing in certain places. In both cases a core aspect of censors~ip is present:'i?e
monitoring and control of creative work and, crucially, deliberation over whether or not
pieces of music will be allowed to be listened to or performed in certain contexts,
involving particular people. In other words, they entail restrictions on expression,
movement and association.

172
 The affect on the musician of the two strategies outlined is the same as that if censored.
J. M. Coetzee (1996: 150) argues that the "censor's office creates a force field that affects
all those working in proximity to it, whether or not they try to ignore it". Once cultural
demands and boycotts are put into place they have an affect on the songwriter. They have
some affect on the writer - putting pressure on him/her to conform, to submit to or at
least consider the political and cultural considerations in question. Even the act of
ignoring such constraints is different to writing completely outside of this context - it
becomes an act of defiance, it is framed within the political dictates of those who made
the call. Hence the musician becomes a 'boycott-buster' or is labelled 'conservative' and
so on. There is no doubt that the cultural boycott and similar boycotts had this sort of
impact on musicians - sometimes resulting in pressure being placed on the dissidents to
make an official apolQgy for not adhering to the demands of the boycott.
Perceiving boycotts as censorship is not new. Indeed, it was a concern of the ANC
during the 1980s and was a jriticism levelled at the strategy. For example, in a debate on
the cultural boycott at the Fit~st CO:Q~erence on South African English Literature in Bad
Boll, Germany in 1986 one participant asked:
"If we are going to ... continue to tell people not to come and continue to tell
'people you are allowed to go there, aren't we then playing the role exactly that
which is currently happening at home? Being sort of censors? ... Aren't we going
to that danger of being censors?" (in Kriger (Ed.), 1987: 199).
Lewi~kosi (in Kriger (Ed.), 1987: 200) acknowledged this perception. In response he
said he was: ~s:

"extremely worried about any idea of setting up a board of censor&~or whatever

we want to call it, that says so and so should not go; and if he/she goes, we are
going to arrange solidarity groups to boycott the person abroad".
;:.

Yet tills is exactly what happened. Karin Press (1990: 39) noted the UDF attempt to
control cultural projects explicitly linked to the UDF's 'people's c-y,lture' campai~. For
Press, the corollary of the UDF's sanctioning of 'people's culture' was a rejection of
anything that did not fit in with the people's culture conception of culture or did not ally
itself to the UDF. She argued that:

173
 "The UDF, following the logic of its claim to be the only legitimate representative
of that community, has asserted its right to make this decision on behalf of 'the
people"'.
Press likened this policy to that of the South African government's refusal of passports to
its political opponents.
It is evident that the practices outlined fit into the general definition of censorship as
interfering with the freedom of expression, association and movement of musicians.
There is no doubt that the blacklis~s, committees and other forms of pressure used by
organizations such as the UN, British Musicians Union (BMU), Anti-Apartheid
Movement (AAM), AZAPO, ANC and UDP comply with this description and that the
cultural boycott therefore constitutes a form of censorship.

6.3 The call for musicians to perform politically relevant music

....
As from 1983 the UDF was 4he foremost political organization in South Africa. It served
as the internal wing of the exiled ANC and political struggle was generally framed within
the anti-apartheid struggle engaged by the UDpl. Sarah Nuttall and Cheryl Ann Michael
(1999: 56-57) argue that within this framework cultural studies was dominated by three
major assumptions. These were "[1] the over-determination of the political, [2] the
inflation of resistance and [3] the inflections given to race as a determinant of identity".
Accordingly, culture making was imagined in instrumentalist terms as cultural work
unde~en on behalf of the community in opposition to the apartheid state. Within this
approach almost exclusive precedence was given to race as a "vecmr of segregation"
(Nuttall and Michael, 1999: 57), ignoring (or at least downplaying) other crucial areas of
inequality/segregation. Other spaces of interaction within everyday life were ignored,
with.,.the corresponding ambiguities of "being together" and "shared epistemologies"
;;-.

(Nuttall and Michael, 1999: 57) that developed amongst South Africans. The
dichotomous context within which the dominant political struggle was framed pe'lmeated
the conceptualization of cultural studies in South Africa.

lather resistance political organisations such as the PAC and AZAPO also focused on apartheid as their
central target.

174
 Peter Stewart (1986: 4) noted that in the early-to-mid 1980s both the ANC and AZAPO
indeed advanced instrumentalist conceptions of culture: to be used either as an instrument
to maintain the hegemony of apartheid interests, or progressively, in the political interests
of the masses. In elaborating on this view he quotes Keorapetse Kgositsile (in Stewart,
1986: 4) who argued that:
"The artist finds that he (sic) must choose sides, He can use his talent to entertain
the rich and comfortable in places such as the Baxter, the Space, the Market, etc.
Or else he can devote his .talent to the many struggles of the poor and voiceless
masses".
By the mid-1980s organizations operating under the umbrella of the UDF began to put
forward a counter-hegemonic viewpoint, calling for a 'people's culture' which insisted
that the task of progressive artists should be defined according to the paradigm of the
ANC and UDF. For example, in a keynote address at a 'People's Culture' Symposium in
"
1987, cultural activist Jol1n4y IsseI stressed the need for artists to "record the people's
experience of struggle" and warnecl~against "dabbling with the abstract", He argued that a
true cultural worker refused to be a "weirdo" or a "gypsy" but worked instead in a
"disciplined way" within the broad democratic movement (cited in Press, 1990: 27).
MzwaKhe Mbuli, a strong advocate of the people's culture position, spelt this out more
clearly when he argued that:
"If we are poets, the beauty of poetry won't be determined by its rhyme and
,rhythm but by the way it inspires the masses by its revelation; if we are painters or
t'
sculptors we won't be producing landscapes or figures of a'Dstraction, but we shall
and can paint portraits that symbolise important aspects of our liberhtion struggle"
(in Press, 1990: 40),
Vice-President of the South African Musicians' Alliance, Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998)
"
explaIned the implications of this standpoint when he noted that:
The political implications of cultural activity were always at the forefront~ ':' So
you never had love songs. They'd say well, you can write a love song; but you·
must write about a love song in South Africa. How does love happen in South
Africa?

175
Here Clegg's use of pronouns (in particular his reference to the movement in the third
person) indicates a distancing of his own position from that of the movement. 'They'
clearly come across as an autocratic cultural bureau (this becomes even more obvious in
the discussion of the cultural boycott below). Failure to comply with 'their' approach to
resistance placed you outside of that frame, on the other side, not for but against.
In terms of the dominant anti-apartheid discourse, musicians were located within one of
two opposing sides around the struggle to either uphold or resist apartheid. Muff
Andersson (1981: 176) best typi~es this position when she argued that progressive
songwriters needed to be responsible, by "not writing anything that in any way gives
credence to the status quo". For example, it would be wrong to write about the glamour
of fast city life when there are millions of starving people in the country. She argued that
the choice of the lyri(;'ist is either "to view culture as something special with no political
links, or to recognise that song as a cultural form must reflect the atmosphere of its
"
society and let this be appal;~nt in the content". Likewise, Robert Kavanagh (1985: xv)
maintained that the revolutionary artist should "determine as far as possible that what he
(sic) is creating becomes in fact an effective contribution to the revolutionary struggle".
Similarly, Kgositsile (1982: 3) argued that "literature is a site of struggle; it must serve
the interests of the people in their fight against a culture which insists that they should not
be robbed". Gilder (1983: 22) drew a distinction between apartheid forces and "(a) new
cultural resurgence ... in which progressive workers in all fields are beginning
consQ:~usly to place their art in the camp of the national liberation struggle". Along
similar lines, Jonas Gwangwa and Fulco van Aurich (1989: 146) cdnceptualized a
"struggle for black South African musical identity against the poison of apartheid, and
against the exploitation of white promoters and record companies, against the divide-cmd-
rule policy of South African radio". Their approach was influenced by a resolution passed
at the 1987 Culture in Another South Africa Conference (held in Amsterdam). The
resolution recognized that "there has developed a vibrant people's lhusic, rootedi'n South
African realities and steeped in democratic values, in opposition to the racist music
associated with the apartheid regime" (cited in Gwangwa and van Aurich, 1989: 157).
Kerkhof (1989: 10) proffered a dichotomy between music as a tool in the hands of the
oppressor and as a voice for the majority struggling for liberation. Accordingly, strategies

176
 t

used by musicians were viewed as "fulfilling their task of producing art which is
committed to the struggle for national liberation, and which thus reflects the aspirations
of the oppressed people of South Africa".
Importantly for this thesis, musicians who avoided political content were not simply left
alone to do their own thing. A certain amount of pressure from within anti-apartheid
lobby groups (depending on the musician and the context) was placed on musicians to
make their stance concerning apartheid clear, especially through their lyrics. An example
which demonstrates this tension involved the white pop-rock group Sweatband whose
lead singer, Wendy Oldfield (Interview, 1998), was notoriously apolitical (or "politically
naIve" as she termed it). She explained that:
(lead guitarist) John Marre was writing social awareness songs, I was the one
writing all the10ve songs.
In response James Phillips of the Lurchers wrote "Lovesongs" (1993i which, according
~
i
to band member, Lee Edwaitls (Interview, 1998) was:
Written for Wendy Oidfield/but I guess it was a general thing for South African
music about: why are you all singing these happy little, loving couple songs all
the time? Why aren't you singing about something more?
Charles Hamm's (1989) attack on Ladysmith Black Mambazo is characteristic of the way
the issue of avoiding political lyrics was approached by academics opposed to apartheid.
Hamm's contestation forms part of a critique of Paul Simon's Graceland (1986) album.
Hamffi%criticized Ladysmith Black Mambazo' s involvement on the album as well as their
t'

earlier career moves in wholeheartedly oppositional terms. To beg!h with, he notes that
't~

the group:
"first performed on the SABC's Radio Zulu, one of the radio services established
~ in 1960 to promote the neo-apartheid (sic) ideology of separate development, by
:;-.

stressing the tribal identity of each black ethnic group within the country as a
deterrent to black unity" (Hamm, 1989: 299). "tt.

He interpreted this early exposure as collaboration with the system of apartheid, accusing
them of benefiting:

2 Recorded in 1993, but written in the 1980s.

177
 "handsomely from collaboration with the SABC arid South Africa's internal
domestic recording industry; they are aligned musically and politically with
conservative black elements within South Africa,,3 (Hamm, 1989: 300).
Moreover, Hamm criticized the band for making money out of its endeavours. He noted
that:
"Simon's patronage has helped them accumulate even more wealth, but it is
difficult to imagine that either the group or its music will have any positive impact
on the black struggle for liberation" (Hamm, 1989: 300).
The use of binary positions in Hamm' s critique is clear: as a black band performing in
South Africa during apartheid, Ladysmith Black Mambazo should have "played and sang
for the direct benefit of the liberation movement" (Hamm, 1989: 304). To do so, of
course and in all probability, would have involved far less commercial success, but in
Hamm's view this was necessary in order to avoid the only alternative available to them,
alignment with conservativ~ political forces and collaboration with the SABC.
Timothy Taylor (1997: 78-82) provides a useful (Foucauldian) critique of the sort of
binarization employed by Hamm. Taylor argues that to define musicians in terms of a
resistance/complicity binarization is to accept "the very grounds of the
oppresser/oppressed paradigm that European colonialism imposed" . Taylor (1997: 81)
defended Shabalala, arguing that the inequality of apartheid presented many obstacles to
aspirant black musicians, and to succeed despite these difficulties (lack of education,
pove~ urban squalor and so on) was a form of resistance since it "defies the subservient
position which whites made for blacks". Taylor points out that La~smith Black
Mambazo's musical accomplishments indeed defied simple categorization ~s either
complicit or resistant. To celebrate all aspects of human life despite apartheid also formed
part of a struggle to live the kind of life to which all people ought to have a right.
;;

Shabalala's success - in a sense - involved a refusal to engage with apartheid, a refusal to

.~
allow it to infiltrate every comer of their consciousness. ".
Taylor (1997: 83) argues that despite existing in a highly political environment,
Shabalala transcended the system's analytic categories by attaining the high standards of
art which Ladysmith Black Mambazo achieved and by characterizing this quest "as a

3 My emphasis.

178
powerful desire to make the best music possible while never mentioning politics"
(Taylor, 1997: 83). Taylor (1997: 83) maintains that "Shabalala's efforts to conceive and
realize a music based on his dreams and desires appear to be a way of operating outside
of the political,,4. Importantly, in an interview quoted by Taylor (1997: 84) Shabalala
revealed that there were other areas of power to be explored outside of the immediate
complicit/resistance binary. For example, the fact that they sang in Zulu so that many
whites could not understand what they were singing and the celebration of their cultural
and musical roots could be regarded as a way to empower themselves through their
music.
However, the SABC did exploit Ladysmith Black Mambazo's music in promoting the
I'it!•
notion of separate development. Furthermore, Shabalala's statement concerning radio I i
, I
play points to a delibe.rate decision to silence his own political voice in the face of
censorship by the SABC. Despite all that is triumphant about his music and success, his
silence points to defeat. Butlthis does not mean that he was a supporter of apartheid, or
that he was a collaborator with the.g()vernment.
Situating musicians in the binary framework adopted by Hamm stemmed from the fierce
contest that developed as a result of the essentialist (in terms of race and ethnicity) and
politically conservative stance of the SABC in promoting the apolitical songs and
indigenous styles of music preferred by the Radio Bantu services. Some anti-apartheid
politicians and cultural workers called on musicians to avoid compliance with the
apartheid regime by avoiding traditional styles that they began to label 'conservative'.
y et ~se arguments took place during the simultaneous process df acculturation in
which neo-traditional South African musical styles were influenced by those of
(especially) Britain and the United States (see Frith [1987: 71] for further discussion on
this process of acculturation). This was a broader part of the process that began with
colorrlzation, whereby indigenous music, language, customs, dress, beliefs and other
aspects of culture were "mummified" (Fanon, 1970: 44), derided as~inferior, barb&ic,
uncivilized and in need of civilization. Indeed, this is precisely why the SABC courted
traditional African music on its Bantu Radio services: to promote the cultures of black I
:1

4 Shabalala's position was paralleled by that of the Plastic People of the Universe who neither participated
in Czechoslovakian state propaganda nor protested. Popular musici~ns throughout communist countries
adopted similar approaches in the 1970s and 1980s (see for example Street, 1986: 25).

179
 I

South Africans as inferior and different. Despite state attempts to promote indigenous
music in this way, many black musicians nevertheless felt that it was important to
promote neo-traditional styles in order to preserve their musical heritage (see discussion
below). A complex debate ensued concerning politically and culturally acceptable music.
It did not help that the state capitalized on any opportunity it thought would further the
cause of racialized separate development, causing the debate to be continually shrouded
in fears and accusations of 'selling out'.
An example of this sort of critique is found in Christopher Ballantine's reaction to the
demise of the 1950sjazz era and a rise in the simpler mbaqanga style of music.
Ballantine (1997: 2-3) criticized this transition by arguing that:
"musically it was nearly impossible to open up any creative spaces within the
rigid, anodyne, formula-based styles fostered by the SABC's black radio stations.
African musicians soon coined a term for the bouncy new popular music, mass-
produced by the st~fios with the help of able but guileless musicians from the
countryside: derogatorily, th.ey called it msakazo ('broadcast'). As if to symbolize
the new musical order, Mahlatini - one of its first commercial products -
appeared in animal skins, and sang of the virtues of tribal life. Music had become
ideology" .
The problem with Ballantine's position (which is similar to that put forward by Charles
Hamm discussed above) is that it conflates a plethora of issues into a single political
issu~~n arguing that "music had become ideology" he suggests that record companies,
"guileless" musicians, the SABC and state colluded in supporting~ttpartheid's policy of
separate development. Mass produced music was thus seen as a political product rather
than related to shifts in recording technology elsewhere in the world. Furthermore, the
fact that some musicians expressed their identity through rural, tribal ties is seen solely as
~

polifical, on the lines of a simple for-or-against-apartheid dichotomy, rather than as a

complexity of issues related to personal, cultural, social and political identity. So%gs in
favour of family bonds and ties to the land sung by the likes of the Soul Brothers,
Mahlatini and Ladysmith Black Mambazo took place within a context of increased
proletarianization. This involved the withering away of the extended family and the
breakdown of family ties as a result of the government""s influx control laws and a

180
 deterioration of the rural economy. City life began to erodb these more rural traditions.
Many of these musicians were concerned with the erosion of traditional life. For example
Moses Ngwenya (Interview, 1998) of the Soul Brothers explained that the group mostly
performed:
love songs and family songs, like telling the children to respect the elders and the
elders to respect the children as well.
Clearly the problem was one of context. Very few would criticize such sentiments in
present day South Africa or in any other postcolonial society. But given the system of
apartheid with its political separation of rural and urban economies and tribal ideology,
musicians whose music fitted into this scheme had acted in a way which could be
~

referred to as 'unstrategically essentialist' (as opposed to Gayatri Spivak's [1993] term

1 'strategic essentialisTP:'), where to advocate core tribal values at a time when such values
played into the state's hands was not politically strategic. Ballantine's view (one shared
I by Charles Hamm) can be s»en to have been in favour of the adoption of George Lipsitz's

iI 'strategic anti-essentialist' PQsitio1l.)vhereby musicians "become 'more themselves' by

appearing to be something other than themselves" (Lipsitz, 1994: 63). Unlike Spivak's
notion of 'strategic essentialism' according to which, under certain circumstances, people
might choose to emphasize their common history and interests in order to build unity
around common needs, Lipsitz argues that it is sometimes strategic~lly important for
groups to emphasize their links to a broader community as a means of strengthening their
position. For Lipsitz (1994: 64) it is important "not to collapse the complex and plural
pract~s of people's lives into one-dimensional ethnic or racial id~tifications". This was
certainly true for opponents of apartheid who did not want South African s<Yciety to be
viewed in the ethnic and racial terms propagated by the apartheid state.
It is most likely for this reason that Ballantine saw the strongly American-influenced
township jazz of the 1950s as being qualitatively superior to the mbaqanga that followed
it. Notice that Ballantine's criticism ofmbaqanga (as compared to jazz) is both p61itically
and (integrally) musically based. For Ballantine (1997: 1-2), the South African jazz of
which he speaks was forged by countless black bands
"who flourished in the cities and ghettos, modelling themselves at times on jazz
bands and jazz styles of the United States, but ultimately - through a synthesis of

181
 -rr
\

indigenous musical traditions with American ones - producing a kind of jazz that
was uniquely black South African".
The strength of this music, for Ballantine, is emphasized in an excellent discussion by Vlf
Hannerz. According to Hannerz (1994: 192), the people of Sophiatown incorporated
aspects of world culture, such as novels by Joyce and American jazz and films, into their
own culture, partly as a means of resisting the apartheid government's attempts to insert
"barriers of discontinuity into the cultural continuum of creolization". Thus aspects of
overseas culture were used by the residents of Sophiatown to foster a "cosmopolitan
esthetic" which acted as a form of local resistance and as a yardstick (of the best of the
, :'

world) against which "the mediocrity of virtually everything South African" could be I'
\

measured, displaying a level of (subversive) sophistication. Importantly, in terms of

strategic anti-essentiaHsm, the incorporation of American jazz drew symbolic links
between South African and American black musicians. In the mid-to-late 1980s South
....
African musician Lucky Duh/e drew on themes of liberation evoked by reggae music to
forge links between the experlencest.and antecedents of blacks the world over. Likewise,
. I
Sipho Mabuse (Interview, 1998) indicates how one of his bands, Harari, used music to
express their political sentiments as black South Africans:
The black consciousness era was an exploratory era for us in that there was this
self-realization, self-discovery of who we were and what we needed to do with
our music. We started exploring quite a number of sounds, and different types of
.1
~usic.
t"
Harari incorporated both African and Western influences in their mttisic but did feel a
resistance towards Western music, instilled in them through their acceptance of the
message of black consciousness. Harari's stance emphasizes the group's active role as
cultural producers, creating something qualitatively new out of Western influences. The
importance of the Western influences was dependent on the new context, rather than on
the meaning attributed to these influences in their original context. "In walking a lfghtrope
between 'musical conservatism' and loss of cultural identity, Harari avoided the
antagonism of members of anti -apartheid groups who attacked the likes of Mahlatini. It
surely was a time in which strategic anti-essentialism was strategic! And it would

182
certainly be convenient to sum up the conflict over musical styles as one of mere strategy.
But it has been argued, the problem was more complex, involving conflicting contexts.
The strategies adopted by musicians (not only in terms of musical style, but also lyrics)
were the result of their own entangled sense of identity, allegiance and past influences.
For example, the Soul Brothers had grown up with and admired the mbaqanga sounds of
Mahlatini and thus wanted nothing more than to do the same. Johnny Clegg was
enchanted by the Zulu culture which he encountered on the mines in Johannesburg and
explored it further, linking it to the Celtic folk influence of his colonial upbringing.
Abdullah Ibrahim was influenced by the Western Cape 'Coon carnival' music of his I'
!
youth and the jazz of the likes of Ellington, Monk and Coltrane with whom he interacted , I,

when he was living in exile. The styles adopted by these musicians stemmed naturally
from their experiences'as they developed as musicians. All of these hybrid styles of
music are now regarded as being important parts of South Africa's musical heritage.
"

Once again this seems to p~int to the complexity of the cultural/political context and all
the elements which make up the individual performer. This is borne out by the position of
Gwangwa and van Aurich who expressed the cultural and political importance of
mbaqanga while Ballantine strongly attacked it. Gwangwa and van Aurich (1989: 146)
viewed inbaqanga music as "non-biased and authentic South African music expressing
the pride and the intransigence of black South African musicians". Similarly, Kerkhof
(1989: 15) argued that South African musicians needed to play "a form of music
indi~us to South Africa" (such as mbaqanga 5) with lyrics "of relevance to the local
t'
situation". For Gwangwa and van Aurich and Kerkhof, it was sufficient that mbaqanga
was black South African music, in some way reflecting black African rootS'; rural and
township life. Not only was mbaqanga moulded into something that suited the SABC, but
it in turn was moulded by audiences, who gave it a different meaning which reflected
their lives and their struggle to survive.
During the apartheid era, the question of cultural autonomy was aft important oJe,
reflecting the local interests of a diverse array of South African musicians. This was
crucial in a society where many voices were silenced, or where voices were drowned out
by the more powerful voices of others. Although the process of imperialism was not a

5
Kerkhof s example.

183
one-sided, one-way relationship, it challenged the culture of the colonized on all fronts.
And although the link between music and locality is a fairly nebulous indicator of identity
and difference, this link "is a vital one, which serves as an increasingly important means
of describing popular music produced outside the dominant Anglo-American modes and
trade routes" (Mitchell, 1996: 89). There is therefore a place within local culture for
music (and other areas of culture) to voice local interests and concerns, and to forge an
identity which reflects a community's lived experiences and struggles.
Situating themselves within the .context of an unequal relationship between the local and
the global was never going to be a simple matter for South African musicians, and
therefore, as Best (1997: 19) contends "contemporary theorizing of popular culture must
recognize the contradictory nature of popular cultural products, in that they can be the
site of both hegemonic and counter-hegemonic ideological production depending on the
context of their reception or production".
"

Black musicians in South ~frica particularly felt the contradictory nature of this
struggle. Not only were they'involv~d in a struggle to reflect their own cultural interests
and heritage in the face of cultural domination, but sometimes the very cultural interests
they sought to express simultaneously fostered the interests of the apartheid state. This
contestation inevitably resulted in contradictory demands being placed on musicians.
Ultimately, it was up to the musicians themselves to make known their credentials,
especially when sceptics labelled the style of their music as conservative and complicit
with th:~ very system that oppressed them. As is indicated in Chapters Seven and Eight,
t'

musicians explored various ways of doing this, primarily through 'fyrics and live
1'(.-

performance. Many musicians opted for particular paths because it was what they in any
case wanted to do, but there were others who felt compelled to follow the directives of
one pressure group or another. In these instances it is clear that a form of censorship took
place in which musicians did not feel free to record or perform the music they might have
" rt
wanted to. Although the consequences of failing to adhere to the directives of anti-
apartheid groups were different to those of the apartheid state and co-operating
institutions, they nevertheless could be severe. This is clearly borne out in the ensuing
discussion of boycott strategies.

184
6.4 The boycott strategy: the cultural boycott
In 1954 Anglican clergyman and anti-apartheid activist, Father Trevor Huddleston, made
a call for a cultural boycott of South Africa according to which cultural performers would
refuse to play in a racist South Africa (Nixon, 1994: 157). In 1957 the BMU followed the·
lead set a year earlier by the British Actors' Union - Equity - who decided that its
members would not perform before segregated audiences in South Africa. The effects of
BMU's stance was clearly seen in 1964 for example, when the Rolling Stones called off
their scheduled tour of South Afr~ca (Braam and Geerlings, 1989: 174) and in 1968 when
Gram Parsons quit the Byrds when they refused to call off their planned trip to South
Africa (Dense10w, 1989: 58-59). The boycott began to gain international recognition
when, in December 1968, the United Nations General Assembly accepted Resolution
2396, according to which all member states and organizations were asked to cut "cultural,
educational and sporting ties with the racist regime" (Willemse, 1991: 24). Attempts to
"
actually impose the cu1tural~oycott intensified after the Soweto uprising of June 1976.
The ANC (externally) and AZAPO~internally) were the primary advocates of the cultural
boycott (Stewart, 1986: 4). By December 1980 the call had been stepped up (in terms of
UN General Assembly Resolution 35/206E) through the establishment of a 'Register of
Artists; Actors and Others who have performed in South Africa'. In the early 1980s the
strongest support for the boycott within South Africa came from AZAPO who facilitated
the drawing up of a list of visiting musicians and entertainers in 1981. Although AZAPO
was ~inority oppositional group in South Africa, it was the most influential
representative of black consciousness orthodoxy, and it did, to some extent, influence the
political landscape of the early 1980s, especially through its wholehearted support of the
cultural boycott (Lodge, 1983: 344-346).
The issue came to the fore in October 1980 when Ray Charles proposed a concert in
:

Soweto on the third anniversary of the banning of a variety of black consciousness

organizations, which took place in the wake of the Soweto uprising-in 1976 and t~e death
of Steve Biko in 1977 . The Congress of South African Students (COSAS) and AZAPO
called for the concert to be cancelled. A spokesperson said, "We are not willing to accept
Ray's noise. We are in mourning" (Anti-Apartheid News, June 1981: 11). Interestingly
CaSAS and AZAPO's stance illustrates Balliger's (199'5: 13-14) point that defining

185
 II
I I'

certain sounds as noise is an ideological decision. This illustrates the power of naming.
Charles' music was derided, was not regarded as music, because of his perceived political
position (this fits in with the dogmatic political categorization of acceptable/unacceptable
music discussed earlier in this chapter). In this instance, the site of the performance - the
stadium - became an ideological battleground, as to whether or not the performance (and
what it symbolizes) took place. Jacques Attali (in Balliger, 1995: 14), in arguing that
"music and noises in general, are stakes in games of power" emphasizes the importance
of music in political struggles. He.re Charles was seen to be at the very least

I unsympathetic to the cause of black South Africans. His actions were seen to support the
apartheid regime, and consequently COSAS and AZAPO did not stop with their criticism
of him, but also belittled his music, the essence of his musicianship, as an integral part of
their attack on his political insensitivity. The act of defining his music as noise was
integral to their attack: his music was noise because and only because of his alleged
political insensitivity. ~~
AZAPO's approach was to seek meetings with artists planning to tour South Africa in
an attempt to dissuade them from doing so while apartheid still remained in tact. For
AZAPO the boycott strategy was one of the few strategies available to anti-apartheid
activists'. In a press statement AZAPO called upon black South Africans "to make the
sacrifice of boycotting performances by foreign artists", arguing that" no nation has or
ever will achieve liberation without lifting a finger. Certain pleasures must thus be
sacrit~ed for the greater goal of liberation" (Anti-Apartheid News, June 1981: 11). And
in an appeal to overseas musicians in April 1981, AZAPO (in Aniil!:Apartheid News,
September 1982: 6) stated that: ,,~

"Weare doing our spring cleaning and we do not want people to be moving in
and out of this country. We want our black brothers in America to come back
when we have cleaned the house. Right now the country stinks, it is full of muck
and filth. Granted, most of them are talented in the field of music and are rpegarded
as heroes by our people, but must they stoop so low by siding with the enemy of
humanity?"
Overseas organizations (most notably the AAM) were eager to embrace any South
African anti-apartheid organization which endorsed and' thereby legitimized their own

186
support for a boycott strategy. Therefore AZAPO' s stance was promoted and supported
by pro-boycott organizations, regardless of AZAPO's support base within South Africa,
The form of cultural boycott that developed out of the efforts of lobby groups including
AAM, AZAPO, the ANC and PAC in the early 1980s was a blanket one. It prohibited
foreign musicians from playing in South Africa and prevented South African musicians
from performing, recording or releasing their music outside of South Africa unless they
I
went into exile or no longer performed in South Africa. The AAM was one of the I

organizations to call for a total b~ycott, based on the argument that the success of total
boycotts lies in their very consistency. Selective boycotts required the adoption of criteria
that are not easily understood by the pUblic. Furthermore, selective boycotts would lead
to political wrangling over who was permitted to perform and under what conditions.
Interestingly, the AAM thought this would lead to "numerous accusations of political
censorship" (Anti-Apartheid News, April 1987: 11), as if a blanket boycott somehow was
not a form of political censQ}-ship. Nevertheless, the AAM's underlying argument, held
by most proponents of a total boyc~:tt, was that a selective approach would lead to a
weakening of the campaign to totally isolate apartheid South Africa (Anti-Apartheid
News, April 1987: 11). In further support of a blanket boycott, Lewis Nkosi (cited in
Hanlon and Omond, 1987: 124) argued that overseas musicians should not be allowed
into South Africa, even if they were prepared to challenge the apartheid state. Nkosi
seriously doubted the ability of music to affect change. He argued that: "It is difficult to
see hQ~ a state as powerful as South Africa can be brought down by a rhyming couplet"
(in Hanlon and Omond, 1987: 124). ~lIi·

This negative view of the ability of music to foster change is different to that which the
apartheid state evidently held. Stewart (1986: 3) noted that the boycott and state
censorship were similar in the sense that both led to restrictions on the distribution and
:;

reception of culture. However, he argued that they emanated from contrasting

conceptions of the value of culture. While state censorship tacitly acknowledged ~e
power of culture by censoring, an important implication of the blanket boycott posits the
futility of culture to affect political change. This futility was ·not intrinsic to culture in
general, but it was within the South African context where culture's capacity to critically
challenge the status quo (in the face of state repression 'and the intransigence of white

187
 .1 r

South Africans) was limited. This view is clearly extremelytnegative, downplaying the
potential for resistance in the face of state repression. Nevertheless, unti11987 the blanket
boycott remained in place, as it was easier to administer and simpler to explain.

6.4.1 The SUD City boycott

Support for the boycott in the West grew with the release of the Sun City (1985) album
released in 1985 by a collective of musicians calling themselves Artists United Against
Apartheid. Given that most top musicians were not prepared to perform in South Africa,
the Sun City holiday resort in Bophutatswana exploited the homeland's 'independence'
to attract a host of international musicians to perform in South Africa. The album was an
attempt to create awareness about apartheid and in particular to call for a boycott of
performances by musi~ians at the Sun City holiday complex in the 'phoney homeland' of
Bophutatswana.
The significance of the S~ City resort to the apartheid government must not be
downplayed. With the growi1)g intelJlational isolation of South Africa the resort became a
crucial tool in the fight against the cultural boycott. In the early 1980s when it was
increasingly difficult to attract musicians to South Africa, Bophutatswana's fake
independence and Southern Sun Hotel's large sums of money were used to lure overseas
musicians to perform in a part of South Africa. The regular appearance of top
international musicians at Sun City in the early 1980s prevented complete isolation of
South~frica and was a serious blow to the effectiveness of the cultural boycott.
Musicians appearing at Sun City between 1980 and 1985 inc1uded:;J2:lton John, Leo Sayer,
Cliff Richard, Gloria Gaynor, Chicago, Rick Wakeman, Cher, Kenny RogeJ's, Dolly
Parton, George Benson, Frank Sinatra, Queen, Shirley Bassey, Barry Manilow, David
Essex and Rod Stewart (Wilkinson, 1990: 12-13). In an attempt to stem this flow, (Little)
.!

Steven Van Zandt initiated the Sun City album. The purpose of the album was to educate
and conscientize musicians and audiences, particularly through the Jitle track "(I ain't
gonna play) Sun City" (1985) on which a variety of top international singers participated,
including Bob Dylan, Pete Townsend, David Ruffin, Bruce Springsteen, Bobby Womack,
Nona Hendryx, Miles Davis, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Peter Gabriel, Kurtis Blow and
Jimmy Cliff. The first verse introduced its purpose: ~..

188
 We're rockers and rappers united and strong
We're here to talk about South Africa we don't like what's going on
It's time for some justice it's time for the truth
We've realized there's only one thing we can do
I ain't gonna play Sun City
The album included other anti-apartheid songs performed by the likes of Peter Gabriel,
Bono and Gil Scott-Heron. Following the release of the album, and to add to its
momentum, Dali Tambo (son of the then ANC President, Oliver Tambo) and Jerry
Dammers (of the Specials and Special A.K.A6) founded a United Kingdom-based
organization called Artists Against Apartheid (AAA) in April 1986. The purpose behind
AAA was to specifically focus on the role played by those working in the entertainment
industry in propping up apartheid. AAA pushed for the complete cultural isolation of
South Africa. This was based on an awareness of how desperate the apartheid regime was
'-.
to win the acceptance of the rest of the world, and wanted to use international artists to
prove this acceptance. An iTPortant part of AAA' s work was to dissuade artists from
performing at Sun City. Ta~bo
. .was
. .' quoted as saying:
"White South Africans are desperate for things like European pop records which
make them feel that their way of life is normal. Pop music and similar leisure
products help keep the minority's heads in the sand. Don't help them keep their
morale up" (Anti-Apartheid News, June 1986: 11).
The effect of the Sun City (1985) title track and album and related initiatives was almost
immediate, with far fewer musicians playing in Sun City in the latter half of the decade,
and ~y of those who previously had done so pledged not to do ~lI'0 again (and thereby
had their names removed from the list). For example, in early 1986 Anti-Apartheid News
(January/February 1986: 10) reported that:
"The trickle of boycott-busting stars applying to have their names removed from
the UN cultural register is likely to become a flood now that Elton John has made
a clear statement that he will never return to South Africa ~hile the apartlieid.
system remains".

6In 1984 Dammers wrote The Special A.K.A.'s "(Free) Nelson Mandela" (1984), which became a number
one single in the U.K. charts.

189
Others to have their names removed after making similar piedges included Dolly Parton,
Rod Stewart and the members of Queen (Anti-Apartheid News, May 1987: 11;

Denselow, 1989: 193).

Those who did perform at Sun City were heavily criticized, even by the South African
press, as was the case with South African band Ella Mental. Ironically, VanZandt had
worked on the production of an Ella Mental single when he was in South Africa finding
out about the political situation. In late 1985 Ella Mental were to be the support act for
Bucks Fizz, but when Bucks Fizz. pulled out after pressure in the wake of the Sun City
album, Ella Mental were approached to headline the show. Under intense pressure from
their manager and in the midst of personal issues (the lead singer Heather Mac had just
given birth to her first child) they went ahead with the concert. Lead guitarist Tim Parr
(Interview, 1998) was-particularly upset. Admitting to being politically naIve, he was
annoyed that VanZandt had not even phoned them to warn them not to play. Lead
vocalist Heather Mac (Inter~iew, 1998) revealed that their manager persuaded them to do
"

the show, arguing that they were South African, and therefore the boycott did not apply

to them.
Black Sabbath were banned from a Dutch concert hall in Tilburg when the owner heard
that they had played at Sun City in 1987 (Anti-Apartheid News, December 1987: 15). In
1988 Modem Talking and Laura Branigan were the only overseas musicians to perform
at Sun City, and in 1989 the only musicians to do so were Irene Cara and (once again)
Laur~ranigan. The Sun City campaign, with the support of groups like AAA and the
Special Committee Against Apartheid of the United Nations had ~tlccessfully ended the

steady flow of musicians to South Africa.

6.4.~ South African musicians and the cultural boycott

Although some South African musicians (including Ella Mental and Leslie Rae Dowling)
performed at Sun City, many supported the boycott insofar as the~refused to pePform at
Sun City. For example, in a slightly exaggerated recollection, Wendy Oldfield (Interview,

1998) explained how:

Nobody went to Sun City, none of the musicians. We all stood by sanctions and
supported them. We didn't go to see artists when they came out. It was quite hard

190
 £

Magazine in 1981.
The general attitude therefore was to not even bother. Tom Fox (!nterview, 19~) o~the

successful band (within the South African rock scene), Bright Blue summed upthis
position 'when he said that they:

191
 t
never even contemplated it really. I think the record companies at that point
would occasionally speak to somebody overseas but they were treated like lepers.
So there just really wasn't a chance.
One of the effects of the cultural boycott was indeed to isolate white South African
musicians. The theme of being the outcasts, the lepers of the music world, was felt by
many white musicians. Jonathan Handley (Interview, 1998) expressed the bleakness of
the situation most severely:
We were white apologists: Definitely. Going overseas, going to England, if you
said you were South African it was immediately a sort of unclean thing to say,
you know: 'I've got leprosy or I've got a contagious disease and I'm a white
South African and we oppress blacks'. And DJs couldn't play our music, so the
one trend was"towards increasing isolation.
This was even the case for a white band like the Cherry Faced Lurchers who were
"

strongly anti-apartheid in t~ir stance, in terms of supporting anti-apartheid festivals and

in their overt lyrics - and they reco-r:tled on the progressive Shifty label. Band member
Lee Edwards (Interview, 1998) explained how:
Shifty were connected with the Swedes who were interested in a lot of the Shifty
stuff, but I think there was a definite sense because of where the struggle was at
that time, that people weren't very interested in a white band coming over from
South Africa.
The~erry Face Lurchers were hoping to perform at the Culture in Another South Africa
(CASA) anti-apartheid conference in Amsterdam in 1987, but wete turned down in
favour of black bands like the Genuines and the less politically overt African Jazz
Pioneers. Despite the fact that black performers were preferred to white performers for
the S:ASA conference, Gwangwa and van Aurich (1989: 157) described the event as:
"an avalanche of sounds against apartheid, and it did not matter whether you were
white or black, came from South Africa or had been in exile for years. Tflis was
South African music for you, the way it was meant to be, without apartheid
having a grip on it any longer".
However, this was not the message that got through to white anti-apartheid bands like the
Cherry Faced Lurchers. Black musicians and crossovetbands had easier access to

192
 •
overseas performances than did white bands. Sipho Mabuse even secured a recording
contract with Virgin Records in the mid-'80s, while some of Shifty's black musicians (for
I
I.
example Mzwakhe Mbuli) were released by overseas record labels, including Rounder i
I

Records. Musicians such as Savuka, Mango Groove, Steve Kekana and Amampondo

performed overseas regularly.

Some white musicians, although frustrated by international rejection, nevertheless
accepted their situation. Gary Rathbone (Interview, 1998) outlined the pro-cultural

, boycott position in the strongest terms:

Sure it was a shit deal for us. But the bigger picture was much more worth it than
any sort of problems that we might have had, like some people whining and
saying 'Oh I lost my career because of it'. You say, well jeez some people, a lot
of people, lost their lives and their families. Never mind your bloody career for
God's sakes. Most of those people who whined about how they lost their music
"

careers are probablg now comfortably ensconced in comfortable advertising

executive jobs and tliings liRe that. So I don't know what the fuck they were

whining about.
Similarly, Steve Louw (Interview, 1998) of All Night Radio and Big Sky, in discussing
the lack of success experienced by South African bands in South Africa made the point

that:
There were millions of people letting the government murder people and not
" doing anything. So you can't really moan too much because they didn't buy your
t'
record! You know, there was organized murder going onf'! mean, apartheid was
happening with the white people's stamp of approval. So, those ar~ the people

j
~.
we're dealing with. You can't really say' AND they didn't buy my record!'
Alt~ough the bigger picture was undoubtedly more important and far more sobering,
musicians looking for creative outlets did feel frustrated and at times hard done by when
they were deprived of opportunities to at least perform overseas. This was especlally the
case for musicians who were opposed to ap'artheid. Carl Raubenheimer (Interview, 1998) -
spoke about how his band at the time, Teenage Botha and the Blacks, were invited to
perform at an anti-apartheid concert in Austin, Texas:

193
 They were looking for South African bands to go and play anti-apartheid songs,
and we had anti-apartheid songs. And so we were very, very keen and we had
some guy come around to listen to us, who wanted us to go and do the thing. And
then we heard later that he'd been told in no uncertain terms by Steve Gordon -
who had then made himself into God - that the cultural boycott was still in place
and that no South African bands were going to play in Austin Texas. So we
seriously thought about breaking Steve Gordon's knees, but we didn't get a
chance. The other guy chickened out because of course PC's much stronger than
rock 'n' roll.
The fact that some anti-apartheid bands were prohibited from performing outside the
country, and overseas protest musicians were prevented from performing in South Africa,
essentially removed an important aspect of cultural struggle from the political contest.
Musician Warrick Sony (Interview, 1998) argued that:
I didn't really supp~ the whole idea of a cultural boycott ... I supported the
sports boycott because I think that hurt, but ... I think of how much I've learnt
from listening to records and so on. For people like Billy Bragg not to have had
their records available in South Africa is ridiculous. It is. He's not a huge seller
but his ideas needed to come here.
SAMA President, Mara Louw (Interview, 2001) agreed that overseas musicians should
not have been unilaterally shut out;
" I would have preferred if any artist who came over here, would come, go into the
township and go and teach, spend a month at a school an~ontribute somehow,
but not come here and take the bucks and go like Millie Jackson, you know, 'I've
just come for the gold'. But people like Jimmy Cliff. He went to Soweto. He went
right inside the township and he wanted to perform for the people in the township,
not in some posh theatre in town. So that's why I thought something's not right.
Notwithstanding Nkosi's views about the inefficacy of rhyming couplets (above5\- Stewart
(1986: 5) agreed that the critical challenge of culture was important. He argued that the
potential for culture to challenge the state had not been entirely eradicated by state
repression and censorship, but that there was a danger that the additional effects of the
cultural boycott could cripple South African culture. Stewart (1986: 5) argued that;

194
 t

"While there can be no doubt that South African artists can only rise to their full
stature once the shackles of apartheid have been removed, one must not, in one's
haste, jeopardize what one seeks to preserve ... to hold culture on a leash is to
strangle our visions".
The sentiments expressed by Sony and Stewart are reflective of debates concerning the
release of records and live performance of overseas musicians in South Africa and South
African musicians overseas. For musicians engaged in counter-hegemonic struggle it was
believed that a blanket cultural boycott was counterproductive. It was felt that spaces
needed to be found within which cultural struggle could take place, rather than simply
close doors on musicians.

6.4.3 The censorial effect of the cultural boycott

As a result of increased de bate about the strategic purpose of barring anti -apartheid
"

musicians from performing?overseas, changes in the blanket nature of the boycott were
introduced. Johnny Clegg (Ifiterview, 1998), himself a victim of the cultural boycott (as
discussed below), was among those who argued that there was:
A difference between the culture of the oppressed masses and the culture of the
ruling elite.
Accordingly, it did not make sense to apply the boycott to the culture of the masses.
Clegg argued that only the culture of the ruling elite should be boycotted. This position is
itsel~ot without problems. For example did the music of Peter Gabriel (who sang
"Biko"[1980] and "No More Apartheid" [1985]) and U2 (who saAg the anti-apartheid
"Silver and Gold" [1988]) belong to the culture of the masses or the elite? ft~Certainly
when U2 performed in South Africa in the late '90s the audiences comprised
preqominantly middle class whites. This would not have been different in the 1980s.
However, if allowed to perform in the country (and assuming they would have wanted to)
these musicians could have directly challenged the audiences, tran§forming the c~ncert
arena into a contested terrain. However, it is doubtful whether the 'government would
have permitted this. This point is interestingly illustrated by an incident involving Cliff
Richard, who repeatedly performed in South Africa, "to bring Jesus into people's hearts
....
and thus change them and society" (Anti-Apartheid News, October 1984: 10). At a

195
 protest against Richard's boycott breaking in England in Jaly 1986, one protester asked
him ifhe could introduce P. W. Botha to Jesus. Richard ignored the question. Asked if he
would ask for the release of Nelson Mandela during his forthcoming visit to South Africa
in January 1985, Richard responded, "I couldn't do that because then I wouldn't be
allowed to return to South Africa any more" (Anti-Apartheid News, October 1984: 10).
Paul Simon's decision to record part of his Graceland (1986) album in South Africa,
was highly controversial, and led to a rethinking of the total boycott strategy. Simon was

I
.~
criticized for going to South Africa without clearance from the relevant monitoring
organizations such as the UN and the ANC (although he did consult prominent anti-
apartheid musicians such as Harry Belafonte). He argued that he had not strictly broken
the boycott because he had not performed in South Africa. Simon's refusal to condemn
apartheid in the lyric~,or in a message on the album cover further angered many anti-
apartheid activists and academics (see for example Hamm, 1989). Simon tried to squirm
his way out of his apolitical:ftance by arguing that:
"I am not a South Afrjcan ap;p cannot choose, as a public personality, a specific
political party in South Africa. There are so many that I cannot really endorse any
one in particular. The only sentiment I really feel I should express on the issue is
that as far as all political parties are concerned ... they should not tell me how I
should play or write my music" (Rathbone and Talbot, 1987: 6-8).
Simon's response demonstrates his attempt to dismiss political pressure. He blocked out
the protests, the image of the political censor, and did what he wanted to because of his
privil;ged position, both as a wealthy musician and as an Americaf'N The option of
breaking the boycott in this way was not readily available to most South African
musicians.
Whatever the problems with the Graceland album, it further added to the chaos
assocIated with the implementation of the cultural boycott. It allowed South African
musicians like Stimela and Ladysmith Black Mambazo to receive international ai~lay,
something not supposedly possible under the terms of the cultural boycott. Yet it was the
very nature of the blanket boycott that made it necessary for South African musicians to
rely on such collaborations for their exposure and economic survival.

196
 r
I

Although Simon continually insisted that he had not broken the boycott, the UN Special
Committee Against Apartheid announced that anyone buying the album was violating the
embargo on South Africa (Meintjes, 1990: 65). A clear sign of the anti-apartheid lobby's
ability to keep musicians in line is seen in a statement released by Stimela and Ladysmith
Black Mambazo in which they apologized:
"F or anything we may have said or done which may be construed as a slight,
insult or disregard for the cultural boycott, the people's movement and their
leaders ... After consulting with the mass democratic movement it became clear
that the differences that have arisen were clearly as a result of our own
interpretation and understanding of the boycott itself. We reiterate our
commitment to consulting and working with democratic and progressive
structures in the community and being accountable to these structures" (Anti-
Apartheid News, December 1987: 15).
There is no doubt that Ray:jPhiri (of Stimela), Ladysmith Black Mambazo and others
who participated on the Graceland ,albumlor and subsequent promotional tour benefited
from their involvement, but the debate concerning Simon and the South African
musicians who participated in the album and/or subsequent tour emphasized the
controversial nature of the total boycott strategy. This led the ANC in particular to
reconsider its position.
Despite reservations from the likes of BMU and AAM who wanted to preserve the
bla~ boycott for reasons previously discussed, some organizations (for example the
ANC, by 1987) did agree with the argument put forward by JollnAy Clegg. The ANC and
UDF believed that the political credentials of each South African group/performer should
be taken into account when deciding whether or not they should be allowed to perform
outside of the country. The interpretation of this, as well as other aspects of the boycott,
j

was nevertheless shrouded in disagreement. For example, in 1988 Johnny Clegg and
Savuka were barred by the BMU from playing at the Nelson Mandela 70th birthct'"ay
tribute at Wembley despite being given the go ahead by the UDF, the internal wing of the
ANC. The BMU banned Clegg because he lived and worked in South Africa (Bell,
1988:12).

197
 IIIf
!I

Within South Africa a cultural desk was set up in 1988 to deliberate over the
application of the boycott. But the desk was soon regarded as a more severe censor than
the state itself. As Rob Nixon (1994:169) noted, "Ironically, it was the easing of the
boycott that brought about the charge of censorship to the fore". Many musicians , !
I

resented the style of the desk, believing that it was trying to promulgate culture by
decree. Amampondo, for example, were boycotted in South Africa after performing at
Mandela's 70th birthday concert at Wembley without the desk's clearance. Band
member, Dizu Plaatjies (Interview, 1999), expressed the band's position:
That really frustrated us because you do a gig for somebody that is well respected
by the world, and then at the end of the day you are boycotted by the very same
people who support this man. You know, it was like 'man, what can you do?'
The UDF's cultural desk increasingly mimicked the apartheid state, as could be seen in
its response to a visit made to England by Brenda Fassie in 1987. According to a
newspaper report from Sou~ newspaper (cited in Press, 1990: 39-40) Fassie was only
allowed to appear at a UDF-backed.concert in support of striking workers if she agreed to
"certain political conditions set by the UDF and the Congress of South African Trade
Unions (COSATU)". This was after university students objected to her performance at
the concert because she visited London "without clearance from anti-apartheid
organizations". According to the report, in order to receive UDF backing, artists had to
"support the principles and politics of the UDF and COSATU, and ... acknowledge the
strug~ is led by the workers". This incident emphasizes that the UDF's approach
amounted to political censorial practice, not allowing musicians ff@'edom of expression or
movement.
From the point of view of the pro-boycott lobby, the cultural boycott was effective in
depriving conservative South Africans of a great white hope success story, of an
J

apolitical or politically conservative white band becoming a top international band. The
. fact that musicians who potentially fitted this mould were made to feel like paria:& fed
into a negative self-image which in some ways led to frustration at the apartheid system
and perhaps caused some apolitical and conservative musicians to question the system.
Musicians who could not perform and sell their music overseas were reduced to singing
into a vacuum, their voices bouncing back at them in fUtility. Another positive effect of

198
 the cultural boycott for pro-boycott supporters was the lacktof exposure to live
performances by top international musicians within South Africa, causing South Africans
to consider the reasons for this. Also, the campaign against Sun City exposed the
illegitimacy of the government's homeland system. Although the "Sun City" (1985) song
did not receive airplay in South Africa, the event was covered in the press, as was each
and every cancellation of a concert. This refusal of musicians to perform in South Africa
was a further strength of the boycott in the sense that, as Nkosi (cited in Hanlon and
Omond, 1987: 124) argued:

I "Apart from their skill with song, they actually take their bodies there. By so
doing, they lend their immense prestige and glamour to the propaganda of those
who wish to create an impression of a sunny South Africa".
However, the attempt 10 use the cultural boycott to undermine the apartheid state's
propaganda view of South Africa as a normal society was largely unsuccessful because it
failed to prevent internationw music from being sold in South Africa. The fact that
controversial political music was eit:Qer banned at some level or another or was never
released in South Africa in the first place, meant that music that challenged or
encouraged the audience did not get through to most South Africans. Almost all that
remained of overseas music was music which made South Africans feel that society was
normal: the mostly entertainment-oriented music that dominates the Western popular
culture industry. Supporters of apartheid were able to listen to the very same music as
Amer~s and British fans; they could watch the music videos on television and read
about the performers in international magazines. The ease with whkh South Africans
could access this music almost completely normalized South African music~onsumption
(so what if they could not see the musicians live in South Africa? Wealthy South
Africans simply went to see them in neighbouring countries or overseas anyway).
Musidlans like Dire Straits claimed that their music was not available in South Africa7,
yet this was not the case. Major labels like EMI and WEA remainedl!>in the countrytand
most of those who were not located in South Africa organized licensing deals with

7 In fact at Nelson Mandela's 70th birthday gig at Wembley, Mark Knopfier, carried away by the tide of the
occasion, fallaciously claimed that he was 'happy to say' that the first Dire Straits album was banned in
South Africa. On the contrary, the album (and all other Dire Straits gtlbums) was not banned, was available
in shops, and was popular and sold well. Even the single and video of "Brothers in arms" (1985) were
played on SABC.

199
companies in South Africa. Record companies that did not distribute in South Africa, like
Earthworks, Rounder and Rough Trade, were exceptions. Even so, it was possible to
obtain almost anything as an import. This made it even more difficult for South African
musicians, who not only were prohibited from selling their music outside the country, but
internally they had to compete with international releases.
Above all, the censorial effect of the cultural boycott can be seen in its approach to
cultural struggle. The rationale behind the boycott was never to encourage a more direct
cultural struggle on the part of foreign musicians - allowing foreign resistant music to be
sold, distributed and performed in South Africa. If this led to banning at least an attempt
would have been made to challenge the dominant discourse. Just as local musicians found
ways to successfully voice their resistance (See Chapters Seven and Eight), so too could
international anti-apartheid supporters have devised means of taking forward the cultural
struggle within South Africa.
"

~1

6.5 The Bureau for Information song

A further instance of the boycott strategy being used to oppose apartheid occurred in
August 1986. The government decided to exploit the mid-' 80s trend of releasing songs
collectively performed by a multitude of musicians in aid of a humanitarian cause. This
followed in the step of songs like Band Aid's "Do They Know it's Christmas" (1984) and
USA for Africa's "We Are the World" (1985), aimed at raising money for and awareness
of th~roblems of hunger in Africa. The South African government's propaganda song
-Il..
entitled "Together We Will Build a Brighter Future" (1986) cost 4:3 million rand to
produce and involved a cross-section of 47 South African musicians prom6ting peace and
multi-racial harmony in South Africa, despite ongoing police brutality and the erosion of
freedom which came with the State of Emergency. Furthermore, the majority of South
Africans did not have the right to vote, and there was extreme poverty within South
Africa. Despite the supposed harmonious theme, seven versions ofthe 3-minute ~ong
were nevertheless recorded, in Afrikaans, English, Pedi, Sotho, Tswana, Xhosa and Zulu,
for different radio and television listening and viewing slots (Byerly, 1996: 1).
Although projects like Band Aid, USA for Africa and Artists United Against Apartheid
depended on the charity of the musicians who particip;rted, the Bureau for Information

200
song was too controversial to attract the free services of musicians. The government
offered musicians large sums of money to participate, in the region of R40 000 for
leading singers. Wendy Oldfield revealed that her manager approached her, saying that
he had been asked if she would participate. She was initially offered R8 000 to be part of
the chorus. Then people started pulling out and she was approached to take Brenda
Fassie's leading position for R42 000. This was at a time when her entire band would get
less than R500 for an entire gig. Amidst pressure from politically aware friends she
eventually turned down the offer.after having initially accepted. Oldfield (Interview,
1998) explained how:
When I pulled out I really got a lot of flack from that side. There was a lot of
pressure, like 'Stop, don't let those lefties influence you' from that side. And then
I had the lefties saying 'Don't be bloody mad'. And I was kind of stuck in the
middle looking for advice.
""
Despite similar advice fr0IIJ}anti-apartheid activists, a number of prominent South
African musicians decided t@ participate in the song. These included Steve Kekana,
Leslie Rae Dowling, Jonathan Selby, Anton Goosen, Babsy Mlangeni, Abigail Kubeka
and Blondie and Papa (Makhene). Selby (Interview, 2002), lead singer of Petit Cheval,
took part in the song. He explained that:
I was approached to appear and at the time there were guys like Steve Kekana,
Papa and Blondie and various other black artists that were part of this whole
,~thing. So for me it didn't seem like anything too critical or anything too wrong in
~hat I was doing. And frankly I just couldn't give a damn\t that stage. I was a
white middle class rock 'n' roller living life to the fulL I didn't realty fully digest
the consequences of what I was doing and the real motives of the people behind it.
So that is certainly one regret that I have about that ... I really wasn't tuned into
what was going on in the townships. I really wasn't tuned into that kind of
oppression that was going on. I was raised on Springbok Radio. I was brotght up
. in a protected middle class Jewish environment ... My journey in life at that
stage was really exploring myself, my ego, everything was a huge self-centred
hedonistic journey.

201
Although the Bureau for Information certainly misled th~ musicians by telling them it
was a community project for the good of South Africa, those who participated were left
in no doubt as to the problems with the song, and like Selby, were primarily motivated by
the money on offer. Just as Wendy Oldfield was persuaded not to take part, musicians
and politicos approached other participating musicians in an attempt to prevent them
from taking part. Alistair Coakley (Interview, 1998) of Hotline warned Steve Kekana not
to take part:
I was doing an album ",-ith Steve Kekana at that time. He said 'What do you think
I should doT I said 'Don't touch it, you're going to be seen to be siding with the
government'. And he always had these people who were hangers on, and he was
always in major debt, so obviously the lure of the thirty pieces of silver got him
in. And the tragic consequence was that after he did and of course all the publicity
happened. He was appearing on billboards in Soweto: 'Together We Will Build a
"

Brighter Future'. ~i

Furthermore, Gallo sent an i intemal memorandum to all their artists (including Steve
Kekana) advising them not to participate in the song (see Image 6.1). Gallo's
memorandum provides interesting insight into the vague stand they took on the issue. The
economics of participation seemed to concern them most. Whatever Gallo's rationale, the
counsel was clear and sent to all their musicians. Based on this sort of advice, most top
musicians refused to participate. Given the amount of money spent on the song, who was
spe~ng it and the purpose behind the song, there was immense protest from all sectors
.c:
of South African society. In incidents which clearly emphasized'the severity of the
cultural struggle, angry protesters burnt down veteran singer Abigail KUbeka and Steve
Kekana's houses. In Kekana's case a friend who was staying in his house was burnt to
death. After the event Kekana admitted that his participation had been a mistake. "I hope
•
people understand that I would never do anything to sell out any black person" (Weekly
Mail, 27 March 1987). However, in retrospect Kekana (Interview," 1998) viewedrtthe
event differently:
This really depends really on how a person interprets things. I still believe today
that I didn't do anything wrong. I interpreted the song as meaning that the

202
 FROM __fijI( D ~._? ..~;~'~?.. ;. . . . . _...... .......... . . . . . __ .-..-_._..._ __ M _. __ . ~ . ...... _ .. _ _ _ _ _ • _ _• _ _ _ • _ _ _• • _ . __' .

A:e ~:r\e· GaTi..o "G·.r-9,cup Yf~ s ·tro-n gl:i re'~.O!nrrHIt1:d tl"tt~t a!···t·{s·~·s d€·c.J.i-rJ~ the
~';~~~~:n,:~:~:d ~.;:~~~.~"~;:;~7;,re~a:~~i(~L(~ar~~t bl~~~c~!: ;~~:~i~\:~<:.Lo~s~;:~g t:;:)[~7'e~:r~tu~:
:;~~f~·l'-. ;~~~~O;~~~!~~~!l)~tU~; w~:;~~irn~t';:~~~~~:~1~~r+:;~-~:~6 ca~;~il~~:u:)C;:~m~~~al;~
:~~r-t~;~)~: '~::~~t:~l1~!;:.~_~:~r1:~~t:P:;i~;~~" E,i.rl~!~;~\~t v~~:~:y w~~l~;~~e p~:~~~~~'~~
. v wb::t :~ $ c:"e;a..d .,j' theil:.' C1'#.1: Shc\lld they ~jl$h
a:gat~~d7;i~' cu.'!'" li':'S-!,;:' ju~~gm: e:h~· : j~$ ' "theiJ:' deci~~~l.()n "
be r '¢SY·Cll£:ib..le ..J:~~;DT'" '?l:"f..!j" ·;le:·t.~·t..rtl.~n.tal con,.$·t~q.t.t$n()es

Image 6. 1 Gallo's memo to musicians warning them not to participate in the Bureau for Information
song (located in the Gallo archives) .

.apartheid system has now realized that it cannot go on for~nger, and it has come
to their senses that we should begin to work together in building this country. And
that was the idea I favoured, and that is the idea that I still favour even today, and
it is unfortunate that when other people interpreted it in their own way, felt that
.
-..' we were collaborators and unfortunately ~y house was petrol-bombed and my
friend was killed in that.
The UDF, ANC: andoth~rpolitic-al organizations and musicians clearly disagreed. Gary
Rathbone (Interview, 1998) sums up the idea that those who participated had done so had
betrayed the ·anti-apartheid movement:

203
II
I
I

II
 We all made a stand about things like that and some people that happily accepted
i
the cash and took part in it... said 'We didn't realize'. How come I knew? I had I

the same information to hand that they had. If I could make a decision, why
couldn't they? And if everybody had said 'No I won't take part in that' then they
wouldn't have been able to do that. They could have made a stand, but didn't.
They were just trying to take the cash. Shit, I would have loved the cash as well
then but you have to have some kind of principle on this kind of thing.
Although the attempt to convince all musicians to refuse to take part in the making of the
song failed, and thereby cause the government to abandon the project, the boycotts,
protests, repercussions and media controversy completely undermined the song. The
video of the song was shown regularly on television and played on radio, but the sale of
the single failed to get off the ground with the abandonment of the project in December
1986. As with the Sun City campaign, the boycott and related protests against the Bureau
song highlighted the futility40f the South African government's attempts to manufacture
propaganda musical events ilJ- art 'appormal' society. Although anti-apartheid lobby
groups did not have the state's committees and wherewithal to ban the song, it effectively
used the boycott strategy (together with fierce protest) to undermine and eventually
silence it.
Musicians were similarly successful in thwarting plans to involve top musicians in
Johannesburg's centenary celebrations in 1987/88. Alistair Coakley (Interview, 1998)

,.
revealed how most musicians refused to take part because
at that stage the laws were still in force that black musician~couldn't play in so-
called white areas at night.
In this case, as with the Bureau for Information song, political pressure influenced
musicians to consider their involvement in particular projects. Even though the purpose
was counter-hegemonic, the effect was to curtail the freedom of expression of some
musicians who might otherwise h~ve participated. The rationale behind anti-apartl1eid
censorship, however, was that short-te:rmsacrifice was worthwhile in the long-term, as
part of a struggle for greater freedom of expression for all South Africans.

204

J'
 ! !

6.6. Conclusion
This chapter has shown that attempts to manipulate the use of music in society were not
the sole terrain of the South African state and other groups with conservative moral and
political aims. Just as the apartheid state and others tried to restrict the movement,
expressions and associations of musicians within South Africa, so too did anti-apartheid
organizations and musicians. Those fighting against oppression used similar strategies to
those of conservative forces. The apartheid state did not allow musicians to play
wherever they wanted to, nor did ,organizers of the cultural boycott permit musicians to
play wherever they wanted to. While the former were attempting to maintain separate I

II
development and minimize radical musical influences, the latter attempted "to create
among white South Africans powerful feelings of resentment at their isolation" which
would hopefully "be directed at the regime itself or its hated policy of apartheid" (Nkosi
in Hanlon and Omond, 1987: 124) .
.
~

Various mechanisms of st~e and civil censorship were used in an attempt to pressure
musicians into self-censorship, so that they avoided 'undesirable' musical messages,
while pressure from political organizations attempted to dissuade musicians from playing
allegedly conservative forms of music with apolitical or conservative lyrics. The
apartheid state banned albums, intimidated and imprisoned musicians, while in
opposition to the state, anti-apartheid groups blacklisted musicians, cancelled their
shows, refused them permission to play where they wanted to and also intimidated and
haras~ them (witness the cases of Abigail Kubeka and Steve Kekana). The strategies of
both sid~s affected the creativity of musicians, putting doubts into1heir minds as to what
could be performed, where it could be performed, and under what conditions.
Within these similarities in strategy lies a quintessential irony. Musicians sometimes
supported the very sort of processes of censorship against which they were fighting, in
..
order to transform society more generally. Where individual musicians located
themselves within this (paradoxical) situation, varied. For some mu1:;icians, it was'tt
politically necessary to fight censorship with censo~ship, suffering the consequences of
political struggle in the process. For others, it was felt that music ought to be used more
actively to fight injustice and censorship, not by removing music from struggle through
boycotts/censorship but through confrontation. For yet others, it was felt that musicians

205
 I
, '

should be left alone to do whatever they wanted to, in term~ of creativity and making
money_ Whatever the response of musicians, however, they all suffered to some extent
from one form of censorship or another. A critical problem with the cultural boycott,
however, was that in most cases progressive musicians suffered from censorship from
both hegemonic and counter-hegemonic sources, seriously hindering their ability to make
a living from their music, and in many instances, from being heard by a widespread

audience.

'.

206
 I

CHAPTER SEVEN
RECORDED TEXTUAL RESISTANCE IN AN AGE OF CENSORSHIP

Can anybody hear me, hear me

Hear the song in my heart?
There's a song to be sung
That will heal those broken men.
Let us sing and we' 11 walk through the dark
Hand in hand
Hand in hand
("Africa! (Kukhala Abangcwele)" (1979) - Juluka)

7.1 Introduction
In Section two it was revealed that a range of pressures severely restricted the movement
and creativity of musicians. In this section it will be shown that despite attempts to
prevent musicians from being heard, South African musicians devised many strategies of
resistance to censorship. This chapter focuses on recorded textual responses to
<1
censorship. Broader responses will be considered in Chapter Eight.
.. .. .~
What follows is a sociological analysis of attempts by musicians to say what they
wanted to through popular music with a strong emphasis on song lyrics (as discussed in
Section 3.4). The importance of audience response in the process of meaning construction
in musical processes is not discounted. However, resistance on the part of audiences is
beyond the scope of this thesis, but is an area in need of attention elsewhere.
This chapter considers the way South African musicians negotiated the terrain of
popu~ music by creating particular song texts. In some instance~§ongs directly
challenged the censors with overt lyrics, while in other instances lyrics ancL:music were
manipulated, camouflaged, hidden and obscured, as a range of devises were explored in
an attempt to outwit censorship.

7.2 The emphasis on lyrics in censorship processes ~.

The primary focus of acts of censorship, whether by the Directorate of Publications, the
SABC or others, was the lyrics of songs. At times the music was taken into consideration
as accompaniment or backing to lyrics. This was the case with Roger Lucey's "You Only
Need Say Nothing" (1979) where the Directorate of Publications (1982: P82/9/115)

207
 II
argued that "the words are accompanied with the beat of an African rhythm to enhance !
the impact of the words". It was felt that the effect was to incite people towards
insurgency. At an Appeal Board hearing to contest the banning of the album, Lucey was
further infermed that the use of saxophones on the album was subversive! A Beard
spokesperson claimed that: "It is well known that this instrument incites blacks to
violence" (Page, 1986: 5). However, as exhaustive research has revealed (in particular
interviews with Director of Publications, Braam Coetzee [1998] and SABC record
librarian, Cecile Pracher [2000]), no. music was banned specifically because of the music
itself. Both the Directorate and the SABC fecused on lyrics and titles of songs. The only
exception was the SABC's decision to' ban all music by particular musicians, as with
Stevie Wonder and the Beatles (see Chapter Four). Nevertheless, the SABC's ban didn't
extend to banning W O,nder' s instrumental harmenica centributien to the Eurythmics'
I
"There must be an angel" (1985) which was played en SABC during the Wender ban. An I'

SABC spekesperson explai~ed that, "the reyalties will go to the Eurythmics and net to
Stevie Wender" (Sunday Times, ls..t.September 1985).
When instrumentals were banned it was because efthe title, as in the SABC's banning
ef Sabenza' s "Song fer Winnie" (1987), named after Winnie Mandela. There was seme
confusion regarding the status of the instrumental version of the unefficial (ANC) Seuth
African anthem "Nkesi Sikeleli iAfrika" which was not played en mest SABC radio.
statiens, but was eccasienally played en SABC's Radio. Xhesa (Rand Daily Mail, 5

FebllJ:~~ 1985).
The censors' emphasis en song lyrics means that lyrics form a c:fttcial part efthe
analysis provided in this chapter. Hewever, at times the music itself was used to' cenvey
messages. Without previding musicelegical analysis, seme instances of music being used
in this way will be considered in erder to document this ferm of innevatien.

7.3 Telling it like it is (overt lyrics)

. -
The most brazen lyrical respense to' censership was fer musicians to simply say what they
wanted to' say in their lyrics. Those musicians who. sang abeut contreversial issues were
likely to be censored, fer example, sengs with reference to drug use, sex, vielence, and
use ef swear werds, blasphemeus language er images ahd slang. Musicians' insistence en

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 •
singing about these issues was a form of civil disobedience, a refusal to be silenced and a
challenge to the censors. Importantly, in terms of Foucault's (1976: 95) contention that
the existence of power relationships "depends on a multiplicity of points of resistance"
which are scattered throughout the power network, overt resistant lyrics did not all focus
simply and narrowly on the struggle to end apartheid. It was commonplace for musicians
to sing about a multitude of personal andlor political themes including anti-conformist
protest, anti-conscription and militarization, feminism and anti-consumerism.
Musicians such as Roger Lucey, Edi Niederlander and Mzwakhe Mbuli, confronted the
state directly, prepared to openly criticize the apartheid state through their lyrics. In "You
Only Need Say Nothing" (1979) Roger Lucey lamented:
There's teargas at the funeral
Of a boy g~~d down by cops
They say there's too many mourners
And this is where it stops
Then they bring on the boots and the batons
And the blood runs tear and cold
And the moral of the 'story ~.'
Is to do what you are told
In "Bitter Fruit" (1985) Edi Niederlander protested the killing of protestors in Soweto on
,I
June 16 1976:
Wild were the bullets that burned away
From the barrel of oppression's guns
And wild grow the flowers on the unmarked graves
That hold a nation's daughters and sons
In "What's Going On (Trouble in the land of plenty)" (1987), Stirfi;ela provided insights
into the contradictions of life in apartheid society:
Singin' with the brave is a crime they say
Weepin' with the wise, gets you jailed for life
The young generation has a choice, they can say no! no!
They are the tide, they are the braves, who can stop the tide
From risin' ...
In the land of plenty there's no justice
You can get a life sentence for questioning the system
Don't you know, there's no justice in the land of plenty
What's goin' on, what's goin' on?
And in "The Spear Has Fallen" (1986) Mzwakhe Mbuli was quite clear about the need
for revolutionary change:

209

,t
 Africa the spear has fallen
Pick it up
And forward to the battle
Pick it up
Fight side by side for those freedoms
Pick it up
Fight side by side for a democratic South Africa
These lyrics reflect Mbuli' s (Doxa, 1989) strong belief that musicians should not shy
away from the use of explicit lyrics. He argued that:
"What has happened with people in the past is that due to things such as
harassments, censorships, banning orders, detentions, people tend to change their
language or their style or fail to honour appointments, appearances. Cowardice.
this is what I call it. And self-censorship: I want to re-emphasize that. I've said it,
and I'll say it again until I die. I'm not prepared to censor mlself'.
Certainly, a refusal to self-censor enabled musicians to accurately reflect their
experiences and desires through
</
songs. Confrontational lyrics were often an expression of
the musician's lived reality, as expl~ined by Tsepo Tshola ofUhuru (Interview, 1998):
We had revolutionary songs. Songs like "Africa Shall Unite" and "Freedom
Fighter". We had quite a number of songs which were revolutionary songs.
Although we did not look at them as revolutionary songs, it was like natural songs
of that time, because when you live inside the rain, you talk about rain all the I
I

I,
time. If you live inside too much sun you talk about the sun all the time, so it was ,II!I
that the atmosphere of that time was focused on political issues. ·1
I J

I
This approach completely contrasts with that of musicians who simply avoided political
issues, regarding politics as a separate issue to the rest of their lives, as though people
pursued politics as an interest or hobby. For these (apolitical) musicians, writing political
songs was a case of' getting political', of adopting an optional and unnecessary (political)
discourse. Allan Rosenberg (Interview, 1998) of Peach, for example, spoke of how:
I didn't want to get into the black/white issue. We weren't into that type of thing.
This was despite his awareness of apartheid and its injustices. Warrick Sony (Interview,
1998) found this sort of stance unacceptable, arguing that:

210
 .! 1

II

I
The inequalities here were so massive and so embarrassing and so damning, that it
was obviously impossible to align one's self with what was going on or to keep
quiet.
Richard Ellis (Interview, 1998) expressed a similar view, but more strongly, commenting
that:
A lot of things were happening at the time. You could feel something was in the
air, that we were on a brink of a change. You had to be an idiot not to find fault
with it.
Indicative of the need for musiciani to sing songs about their lived reality, Bright Blue
saw the issue of the army as being crucial to the white maleness of the band. Band
member Tom Fox (Interview, 1998) emphasized that:
There was tha~ whole dilemma in our generation. When you got out of school you I

could either go to university or the army. Or you could leave the country. Those
were your options. So it was a huge thing, once you were in the army you were
'I
obviously expected to do aU.t.Sorts of things you don't want to do ... "The Rising
Tide", was dedicated to David Bruce.
Many white males deeply resented the government's policy of two years compulsory
military service for all white males. Some refused to serve for moral, political and
religious reasons. For most of the 1980s objectors were sent to prison for six years. This
was true of David Bruce who, in 1988, was sentenced to six years in prison for refusing
to serve in the SADF. This high-profile case angered many South Africans and added to
the calls for an end to conscription. These anti-conscription sentiments were emotionally
captured in the words of "The Rising Tide" (1988):
But you know where you stand, you have raised your hand
You're the first, you're the first of a new generation ...
And always, always remember your words have been heard,
We're on your side ...
Walking side by side
We're the rising tide
Dealing with the war on a more personal level, the Cherry Faced Lurchers'
"Warsong"(1986) resisted the dehumanizing, conformist machine that the army was:
Send in all the young men
To teach them to make guts and gore ...

211
 Is this what life is for?

How can they make me feel like somebody else when I'm already myself?
How can they make me act like somebody else when I can act for myself?
How can they make me think like somebody else when I can think for myself?
How can they make me dream for somebody else when I can dream for myself?
Some music!ans turned their personal experiences with the police into anti-establishment
songs. Richard Ellis (Interview, 1998) (of The U suals) explained that:
I just didn't like the authorities. What they represented. That made me angry. And
the arrogance that came with it. ... For me the police were the tools of a regime
that I strongly detested: it didn't allow me freedom of expression as an artist, or it
didn't allow my friends whether they were Indian or black or whatever colour in
between, it didn't allow them the opportunity to express themselves and just be
themselves. That made me intensely angry.
The Usuals' approach is reflected in "Rules and Regulations" (1982), a song about police
interference during a band practice:
A policeman at the door
...'
He swears
Ifwe don't stop that crude noise
We won't be a band no ....
We won't be a band no more
Similarly, Robbie Robb would regularly taunt the police at concerts, telling them to fuck
off, insulting them and prominent politicians, just to provoke them. This stance is
revealed in the Asylum Kids song "Policeman"(1981):
Policeman do you see your position?
Do you understand the position?
Policeman are you playing a role?
Are you out of control?
Mothers, don't damage your children
There's no need for policemen
The future is yours
There's no need for policemen
Edi Niederlander integrally related various themes in her music, from anti-apartheid and
feminist issues to the environment and lesbian desires. In agreement with Tsepo Tshola's
sentiments (above) Niederlander (Interview, 1998) felt that these real life issues simply
filtered through into her songs:

212
 ! II
• I

It's not something where I sat down and said' Okay I must do this now' . If's
because it's integral to your daily life and part of your daily consciousness that
it's inevitable that it will come out in some way if you have a certain level of
creativity.
This ability to infuse song writing with her daily consciousness came through in songs
like "Mabel" (1985) in which she sang about a love for a woman:
You're a good looking woman Mabel
and those jeans look good on those thighs
But give me the love I see 'burning there
Give me the love I see burning there
in your Mahogany eyes
This, like many of the songs considered here, was banned by the SABC. Musicians who
adopted a direct approach to their lyric-writing knew that overtly political songs would
not be played on radio and could even be banned outright by the government. However, it
was important for many musicians to express 'subversive' ideas regardless of censorship.
(1

These sorts of songs expresse,d the f~e1ings, desires and experiences of musicians in
everyday situations. The manner in which they overtly stepped outside of the dominant
discourse is important. In so doing, personal, cultural and political expression was found
in music, and became part of a contest in which musicians sought means by which these
songs could be heard by audiences.

7.4 Camouflaged textual messages

As a result of some musicians' desire to write exactly what they wanted, there exists a
fairly large body of 1980s South African songs with overtly contentious lyrics. However,
there were many South African musicians who attempted to negotiate censorship
restrictions by manipulating, camouflaging, hiding and obscuring lyrics in an attempt to
bypass or evade the censors. On a certain level avoiding overt lyrics is a form of self-
censorship. Certainly, singing what you want to sing in a roundabout way rather than
making outright statements (when that is what you really want to do) is self-censorship.
Yet this is an approach adopted by many musicians when faced with severe censorship.
They opted for forms of self-censorship rather than say nothing at all or having their
music banned so that very few ever got to hear it. This is not to say that all self-

213
 . t
censorship was a conscious choice, but the cases referred to in this chapter were cases in
which musicians did consciously attempt to bypass the censor. Musicians tried to sneak
controversial ideas into recordings andlor radio using innovative methods. These
attempts to outmanoeuvre the censors through subtle forms of self-censorship are
regarded here as a creative attempt to open spaces of resistance.
For the songwriter attempting to create spaces of resistance resulted in a contest with the ! I

censor which, as J. M. Coetzee describes, at the least leads to a diversion from the
occupation of writing and which,_ at worst, might even fascinate and pervert the
imagination. The censor-figure is involuntarily incorporated into the interior, psychic life
of the writer, "experienced as a parasite ... repudiated with visceral intensity but never
wholly expelled" (Coetzee, 1996: 10). Consequently the songwriter approached the
writing process with this "internalized figure of the censor" (Coetzee, 1996: 10): who put
pressure on the writer (in terms of the boundaries set by the dominant hegemony) to act
responsibly and police hirnJherself. Musician Richard Ellis (Interview, 1998), of the
Usuals, summed up this experience-aptly when he described how:
There was all this paranoia about a group's lyrical contents. I think it had a hand

,
in destroying a lot of creativity, because suddenly you are self-censoring. You are
writing and you see something happening, and you think 'jeez I want to write
about this'. Then you start thinking 'I'm not going to get radio play'. It's self-
censorship.
Another musician who acknowledged that he suffered in this way was Afrikaans singer-
songwriter Anton Goosen (Interview, 1998). His first song was banned by the SABC in
the late '70s; an act which he maintains affected the rest of his apartheid-era career. He
described how:
It became a game for me. Not to see how far I could go without getting banned,
but to almost obscurely, symbolically - on lateral levels - use words that I knew
they wouldn't understand. Some I was quite surprised that they didn't understand.
And maybe in a way intellectually I survived on that level by doing that.
The idea of 'playing games' with the censor is not unimportant. While this practice hints
at the sort of 'perversion of the imagination' to which Coetzee alluded, it also points to
potential creative spaces which can be opened by pushing back boundaries. Certainly,

214
specific forms of domination give rise to corresponding forms of resistance. And
significantly, symbolic and camouflaged writing, a central and typical resistant response
to censorship is not unfamiliar to the tradition of popular song writing and listening.
Indeed, millions of popular music fans and other critical listeners have spent hours
analysing and decoding song lyrics: searching for hidden or abstract meanings l . The
game of outwitting the censor thus fitted neatly into certain traditions of song writing.
However, with the added burden of the ever-present imaginative figure of the censor
waiting to intercept the message and, prevent it from being disseminated in the first place.
Under apartheid censorship the game ¥Vas thus heightened: camouflaged lyrics needed to
bypass the imagined censor but still be decipherable to the end listener.

7.4.1 Obscuring the text

Lyrical camouflage is regarded as an attempt to hide or obscure a word or phrase as it
appears in a song or as it was Q.figinally intended to appear. Approaches to lyrical
camouflage varied between musicians} In the least tactful approach musicians would
.'i
'1,.1
record songs as they wanted to, but then change potentially offensive words on the lyric
sheet. Knowing the SABC censors' preoccupation with lyric sheets, some musicians
thought this a potentially useful route to bypass the censors. Rob McLennan (Interview,
1998) of No Friends of Harry noted how they would:
Change it on the lyric sheet and not tell them what we were actually saying. It was
very subtle. The music stayed the same. We had to fax through to the SABC the
lyric sheet so that they could see that there was nothing controversial or
!
inflammatory or that sort of shit.
I

Keith Berelowitz (Interview, 1998) of Carte Blanche recalled how:

There were certain words you couldn't use in those days. You couldn't use the
I I

word black or white or policeman. And you had to submit your words to the
, !
SABC I remember, and I used to change them. i

lOne only needs listen to or read a fundamentalist Christian account of the 'Evils of rock music' or similar
topic to witness a fascinating exploration of the hidden messages of rock songs, particularly to do with
songs that - despite their seeming innocence - are interpreted as being about Satanism, drug-taking, sex and
other contemporary evils.

215
 'I
I i
I IIl

Indeed Carte Blanche submitted counterfeit lyric sheets to the SABC for the song "Killer
in the Crowd" (1986). They bizarrely changed the line "I'm just a policeman, a martyr in
blue" to "I'm just a please man, a tomato in blue". In a further example, the recorded
version of David Kramer's "Tjoepstil" (1981) on his Bakgat (1981) album includes the
line "But when the shit starts to fly", yet on the lyric sheet the line is changed to "But
when things turn sour". In a more tightly crafted instance, Shifty Records released a
compilation album of rebel rhythms called A Naartjie in our Sosatie (1985) which was
Afrikaans for 'a tangerine in our kebab', but sounded like 'Anarchy in our society'. In
this way the use of an obviously subyersive title (which would surely have been banned)
was avoided. The title worked exceptionally well in diverting the suspicions of the
censors, given that naartjies and sosaties are both an inherent part of Afrikaner culture:
naartjies are a fruit often associated with rugby matches, the national Afrikaans sport,
while sosaties are an essential component of a good South African braaivleis (barbecue).
At face value the title of the ~lbum therefore conjured well-intended and jovial images of
important aspects of Afrikaans pastiJ1qes. Indeed, when the SAP submitted the album to
the Directorate it was not banned, and no mention at all was made of the album title in
the explanation of the Directorate's decision (Directorate of Publications, 1985:
P85/10/77). A similar play on wording was used by Chicco (Sello Twala) on his single
"We miss you Manelow" (1987), a slightly disguised reference to Nelson Mandela which
was understood by many listeners. As Jabu Khanyile (Interview, 2001) noted:
He said 'Manelow' instead of Mandela. But we understood that he wanted to talk
about Mandela.
The Kalahari Surfers made good use of existing songs to voice their protest by
providing subtle renditions in order to change the political context of songs. These new
versions were not just covers, although the tunes and words remained the same. An
excellent example was their version of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Were Made for
Walking" (1966). Sinister, menacing vocals completely transformed the meaning of the
line "They're gonna walk all over you". The song was re-titled "Song for Magnus"
(1985), after Magnus Malan, Minister of Defence. The Surfers similarly covered
Creedence Clearwater Revival's "I See a Bad Moon Rising" (1969), re-titled "The Voice
of Rage and Ruin" (1985), and The Who's "Won't Be Fooled Again" (1971), re-titled

216
[
"Don't Get Fooled Again" (1989). Warrick Sony (Interview, 1998), who was strongly
influenced by Robert Wyatt's ability to inject new emotion and sentiment into cover
versions, did covers of songs he wished had been written for the South African context in
the first instance. This approach is similar to, although to different (also protest) ends, the
~ hip hop practice of digitally sampling old songs and redeploying them in the present. The
central challenge of hip hop though is to call into question "Western notions of cultural
production as property through its evocation, quotation, and outright theft of socially
shared musical memories" (Lips~tz, 1994: 37). It is the borrowing from socially shared
memories which made the Kalahruj Surfers covers so effective: the menacing vocals
caused the listener to focus on the lyrics, not to take them for granted, to suddenly realize
that they said something about the South African situation. In away, they had been
claimed for the South African context in a similar fashion to the way in which hip hop
artists claimed samples from old songs for themselves and their communities. The use of
covers in this way was not (~ommon in a country that thrived off cover versions of
Western rock/pop songs. Very few.bands used reinterpreted covers as a means of
conveying protest, although on the folk circuit straightforward imitative covers of
overseas protest songs were common.

7.4.2 Symbolic and cryptic lyrics

Many musicians tried to sneak controversial ideas onto recordings andlor radio using
cryptic references to the South African situation. One group who used this approach was
the Soul Brothers, writing lyrics in the vernacular. Band member, Moses Ngwenya
(Interview, 1998) explained that:
We had some tracks with lyrics which talked about the situation at that time, you
know like people were suffering, and our fathers are in jail, the children are
crying, they don't have food and they don't have a place to sleep, you know. But
we knew at that time they were censoring records, so you wouldn't just put it as
straight as it is. There's a way that you can maybe change one or two words, but
the meaning, it means the same thing .... we were very aware of [censorship].
That's why we had to change some of the lyrics, you know. Even if they mean

217
 something else, but we changed them to sound liketit doesn't mean it, but when
an African person listens to it, he will know exactly what we're tying to say.
Bayete also approached song writing in this way. The band's songwriter and lead
vocalist, Jabu Khanyile (Interview, 2001) explained:
In those days live we were too political. So when we went into the studio I said to
them, 'No, I'll just hide the song messages. People who censor the music must not
understand it. That's why we sing it in Zulu. So I used the wording 'township
style'. I used the wording that people understand is political but you [non-Zulu
speakers] cannot understand it.
~

Juluka regularly encrypted their lyrics in this manner. For example, on their first album-
Universal Men (1979) - they included the Zulu song (with Zulu lyrics) "Inkunzi Ayihlabi
Ngokumisa" (1979), about two fighting bulls. The one bull is large with strong horns
while the other is small with tiny horns. But when they fight the little one wins because of
superior fighting knowledge.
{f
The battle against apartheid was thus encrypted through the
use of a Zulu proverb (Marre and Cparlton, 1985: 39). Stimela regularly made similar use
of symbolic lyrics, for example in the song "Rubbing Sand in My Eyes" (1987). Ray
Phiri (Interview, 2001), the group's vocalist and main songwriter, explained:
The song "Rubbing Sand in My Eyes" was based on the tears we got: we were
performing in Pietermaritzburg in 1983 when they tear-gassed us like crazy to
disperse the audience ... I had to leave it "Rubbing sand in my eyes" because if
you have sand in you eyes it's really painful. So as time went on I could just use
things like that 'tsotsi taal' [township slang], we'd disguise some of those songs.
In the song "Hekke Van Paradise" (1982, Gates of Paradise) David Kramer described a
town in symbolic terms, as being:
Like a clean white shirt
With gold cuff links
It looks quite clean
But the armpits stink ...

Here Kramer used the white shirt ~ith smelly armpits as a metaphor for the racially
segregated town, a clever means of making a critical statement about apartheid
segregation in an obtuse manner, leaving it up to audiences to read the metaphor
critically.

218
 •
Despite Joseph Shabalala's admission that he did not write controversial songs (as
revealed in Chapter F our), he later claimed to have written symbolic songs about the
South African political situation. In particular Shabalala referred to Ladysmith Black
Mambazo's "Nomathemba" (1973) about a girl who Shabalala described as a symbol of
hope. He said that when he created the song:
"In my mind it was just like I'm talking about South Africa. 'Nomathemba':
hope. Hey guys, you must have hope to do things - confidence. But I talk about
that beautiful girl. I was ip.love with her and she ran away from me. Now I'm
calling that girl. Come back, come back, come back Nomathemba. On my way
home, here's Nomathemba sitting under a willow tree, like an orphan. It's a
poetry to help people to come together" (Shabalala, quoted in Ballantine, 2000:
245).
A similar example of indistinct symbolism in a much played song on SABC is found in
Steve Kekana's song "The ~ushman" (1982) about a hunter-gatherer who taught himself
to shoot with a bow and arrow: ...~
He lives under a tree
Hides himself and sleeps
His mind is tuned to be aware of danger
He never makes mistakes
Survival is his way
At nights he plays a song an a wooden kalimba
W 0 ho the bushman
He fights like a man should do
He strives like a man should do ...
These sentiments complied with apartheid notions of blacks as primitives and the song
was played on SABC. However, Kekana (Interview, 1998) explained that:
In my mind I didn't really think of a real Bushman, I was thinking of the
guerrillas.
Kekana's lyrics (as well as those of Shabalala in the previous example) were ther~fore
open to ~adical interpretation. But as can be seen, the symbolism tended to be very vague
in order to' receive "airplay on SABC, given t~e SABC's paranoia about anything
controversial being played on air. For example, Margaret Singana's fairly innocuous
"Light Up the Light" was banned because the SABC censors feared it might be
interpreted as being about revolution.

219
 i

7.4.3. Infusing resistant musical meaning

Not all symbolic attempts at outmanoeuvring the SABC censors were vague. Probably
the most successful attempt at using symbolism to hide a resistant message was achieved
by Bright Blue who successfully bypassed the SABC's strict controls with their song
"Weeping" (1987) which contained symbolic lyrics about a man living in fear within a
heavily repressive society:
I knew a man who lived in fear
It was huge, it as angry, it was drawing near
Behind his house, a secret place
Was the shadow of the deItlon he could never face

He built a wall of steel and flame

And men with guns, to keep it tame
Then, standing back, he made it plain
That the nightmare would never ever rise again
But the fear and the fire and the guns remain
The lyrics were sung agai~t the backdrop of a haunting version of "Nkosi Sikeleli" - the
ANC national anthem that was av@i'<ied by most SABC stations. Nevertheless, the song
became a major hit on SABC's Radio 5 music station. The disguised tune, if detected,
heightened the symbolism of the lyrics, guiding the audience into a preferred reading.
Strains of freedom songs were often used as tunes for songs or performed as
instrumentals (especially by jazz musicians). Kerkhof (1989: 12) discusses how
"(Abdullah) Ibrahim has for many years now utilised the melodies of various
freedom songs in his piano improvisations .... In this way instrumental music,
charged with the melodies of freedom songs, gains a level of political meaning for
the South African audiences who hear the unstated lyrics in their hearts".
Certainly, Christine Lucia (2002: 127) argues that: "By referencing the past in musical
ways ... Ibrahim generated a space - for himself and, more importantly, for his listeners
- in which anything, including a utopian future, could be imagined". The African Youth
~

Band, featuring Blondie Makhene, pursued a similar route, releasing an album of

instrumental versions of struggle songs in 1989. The tunes were traditional tunes in the
first place, which had been given new lyrics within a struggle context. The released
album thus invoked either one of two sets of lyrics, adding to the encoded textual
meaning of the songs on the album. In these instances the musician relies on a degree of

220
cultural capital amongst listeners, who need to know the melodies in the liberation
context in order to read the resistant meaning of the songs in their present form.
Kerkhof (1989: 12) argues that this sort of innovation gives lie to the myth that it is
impossible to produce revolutionary art under the circumstances of oppression and
censorship. On the contrary, such initiatives emphasize the inventiveness of some
musicians in giving spirit to the oppressed. For Ibrahim, music is a strong force and
integral part of community life. As such it is able to express the experiences, longings
and desires of the people. In African society it fulfils a social, devotional and healing role
as well as being a means to recording history. Ibrahim (in Topouzis, 1988: 67) explained
that: "Music is my personal contribution to the struggle against apartheid and toward the
institution of a just society". On some pieces Ibrahim wrote lyrics to accompany his
music, making his meaning clear, as is revealed in an excerpt from a version of "Anthem
for a New Nation" (1977), including the lines:
Fight for liberation: ,
Be the new nation
Join the revolution .
Now
Although he used lyrics in this particular example, Ibrahim mostly recorded and
performed instrumental pieces. He was one of many jazz musicians who gave political
titles to instrumentals, such as his "Liberation Dance" (1979), the instrumental version of
"Anthem for the New Nation" (1979), and "Mandela" (1986). Likewise Basil Coetzee
entitled one of his pieces "Song for Winnie"(1987) and Amampondo performed a
percussion version of a piece called "Umzimo Lumtwala" (This burden is heavy). In a
similar vein, Abdullah Ibrahim used cryptic references on his (mostly instrumental)
Underground in Africa (1974) album, recorded in Cape Town. The title referred to the
underground armed struggle and the record label was listed as 'Mandla', a variation of
the word' Amandla', meaning 'power' and used in a call and response manner at political
~

rallies (Rasmussen, 2002: 63). These ~itles made the album less controversial, while
providing specific clues for radical interpretation by politically aware listeners. Similarly,
some bands gave themselves names which made their stance absolutely clear, thus
providing the audience with a clue as to how to read their music. Such groups included

221
Illegal Gathering, Joe Azania and the Chameleons, Oliver and the Tambourines (named
after then ANC President, Oliver Tambo), Gramsci Beat and Arnandla.

7.4.4 Obscuring resistant tracks and messages

Some of the strategies already discussed effectively distracted the gaze of the censors
from controversial messages, for example the naming of the A Naartjie in our Sosatie
(1985) compilation album. However, other methods were used which deserve mention in
their own right, and which do not easily fall within the categories previously discussed. In
particular, it was fairly common f~r musicians to include controversial tracks on albums
with no intention of releasing them as singles. In this way the songs in question would
not fall prey to the scrutiny of the SABC censors, but would remain unscathed on albums
on sale in retail outlets, available for the public to discover in their own contexts, but not
on radio. Uncontroversial single releases played on radio acted as a means of promoting
the album and in this way tpe SABC unwittingly promoted the more controversial album
tracks. This is not to suggest that musicians consciously wrote commercial songs as a
strategic exercise to get 'subversive' messages out into the public, but rather that some
musicians avoided compromise on certain songs by not promoting them heavily in ways
which would needlessly attract the negative attention of the censors. They were content
with the fact that the uncensored song would be heard by some who got to hear the
album. Benjy Mudie (Interview, 1998) recalled a decision taken along these lines
involving the Asylum Kids:
I recall the Asylum Kids, sitting with Robbie, Dino and Steve, talking about the
Solid Principle album (which is a brilliant record), and discussing it and saying,
'Look, you realize you're not going to get airplay on that track - "Shore's end"'.
And he [Robbie] said, 'Yeah'. And I said, 'Do you want to edit or do you want to
go with it?' And he said, 'I want to go as is' .
Other effective examples of similar streamlining of less controversial tracks as singles,
while leaving more resistant songs uncensored on alhums included Juluka's Work For All
(1983) album and Jennifer Ferguson's Hand Around the Heart (1986) album. In the
former instance, Juluka released "December African Rain" (1983) and "Work For All"
(1983) as singles while not drawing undue attention to "Mdantsane" (1983), a song about

222
the Mdantsane bus boycott with lyrics that drew overt attention to the contradictions of
apartheid South Africa. Similarly, in the latter instance, Jennifer Ferguson released the
song about a personal relationship, "Angel Fish" (1986) as a single while not drawing
attention to numerous anti-apartheid album tracks such as "Cake Song" (1986),
"Suburban Hum" (1986) and "Ashley'S Song" (1986).

7.4.5 Evaluating camouflaged textual resistance

Although there were times when the use of subtexts created ingenious strategies of
bypassing censorship, symbolism "'Nas often weak and ineffectual. For Afrikaans protest
singer RalfRabie (Interview, 1998) the vague symbolism of musicians like Anton
Goosen was unsuccessfuL As he commented:
If you ask me where the protest is in Anton Goosen's music, I am afraid I won't
be able to tell you. I couldn't see it at the time. I still can't.
Roger Lucey (Interview, 1~98) was also sceptical of vague symbolic lyrics. He argued;
What's the point ofhavinik anti-fascist message with lyrics like 'I'll take the
high road and you take the low road and we'll go and smell the daisies'? This is
bullshit. It meant nothing. I didn't believe in that approach. I believed in an in
your face, tell it like it is approach. The cops are out there, they're fucking
throwing people out of windows, and that is what it's all about, and that's what
the song says. Simple.
In Lucey's own experience, the compromises made on his first album (discussed in
Chapter Five), to which he resentfully consented, angered him because despite the self-
censorship, the album was banned. In other words, a degree of self-censorship seemed
acceptable if it meant the broader song or album could get through to the listener. This
approach was summed up by Gary Hertselman (Interview, 1998) who noted that for the
Kerels:
In the recording, when the albums were made, mayb.e a word was switched here
or there, so that more people could hear it and that becaus~ the word essentially
wasn't what it was about. It was about changing these people's minds so if you
popped the word out and put another word in you could perhaps get on the radio
and work on the people's minds that way.

223
 •
Despite the softening effect of self-censorship, the overall message was nevertheless
often subject to external censorship. As previously indicated, this is what happened with
Roger Lucey's The Road is Much Longer (1979) album. Lucey (Personal
correspondence, 2000) expressed his exasperation:
I thought we should have put the damn thing out and bugger the rest. I suppose
there was a good chance of Dave (Marks) getting into shit but I felt that we
blinked during the stand-off with the beast and being the cocky little bastard that I
was, I felt like a coward.,
Similarly Richard Ellis (Intervie-w; 1998), also stung by unsuccessful acts of self-
censorship, expressed an opinion which is true for many of the musicians who recorded
music with controversial lyrics:
You might as well have written whatever you want to write anyway because you
weren't going to get radio play anyway.
The only successful way of avoiding the sort of failure outlined by Lucey and Ellis, was
found in those attempts, like Bright Blue's "Weeping" (1987), which managed to
camouflage the message in a clever way, yet maintaining the clarity of the message.

7.5 Satirical and ironical messages

An offshoot of the camouflaged or symbolic song is the satirical or ironic song. Satire
typically aims to make people laugh but the laughter masks its central function, which is
to deride, expose, ridicule, and denounce abuse, folly and vice within society (Ebewo,
1997: 31). The laughter signifies triumph over the object of scorn (Knox, 1951: 1). Satire
is thus a clever medium of protest and potentially successful means of bypassing
censorship, given that the essence of the song is not immediately apparent.
Musicians adopting a satirical approach tend to make use of the lyrics to say what they
want to, but the music itself can also be used to satirize cultural characteristics associated
''«:-

with particular forms of music. For example, musicians have used the country music
form for satirical'songs about the conservative Deep South in the ·USA, as was done by
the Kalahari Surfers in "Bigger Than Jesus"(1989) and Randy Newman in "Big Hat, No
Cattle" (1999). In this way the satirical song becomes a parody, producing an imitation
which mocks the original (Jameson, 1983: 113). The satire expresses contempt for the

224
 t

culture under attack, insisting on its banality. Satirical music thus has the capacity to form
part of an oppositional culture and, by means of ridicule, symbolically relegate aspects of
the dominant culture to the margins.
In the 1980s, the greatest proponent of the satirical tradition was David Kramer. He
created a satirical persona based on aspects of South African culture (in terms of dress,
hairstyle and his Boland accent). For Kramer (Personal correspondence, 2001), satire and
wit were powerful weapons in the social political battle against folly and stupidity. For
Kramer, a satirical approach to writing was far more interesting than writing
straightforward protest songs. He felt that were he to write serious political songs his
music "would become like newspaper editorials, the same story over and over again"
(Andersson, 1981: 151). Instead Kramer balanced humour and solemnity in exploring the
value system of his characters: their taste, their dress, the way they decorate their homes,
and the way they live (Andersson, 1981: 151). Often the point of sadness in his
characters' lives would be the point of humour too. For example, in the song "I had a
dream" (1981), a white man dreamS- that he has been reclassified' coloured', but is
relieved when he wakes up to find he is white, but then his dog begins to growl at him. In
the pathos lies the critique of the society which produces such beliefs or the ignorance
that goes with them.
Strangely Kramer did not use the double meaning within satire to bypass the censors.
The songs on his debut alblliTI Bakgat (1981) were full of references deemed too
offensive and blasphemous by the SABC, who consequently banned the album outright
(Personal correspondence with Kramer, 2001; SABC archives). Kramer's next album,
The Story ofBlokkies Joubert (1981), was far less controversial, about an old retired
South African rugby player. The singles "Hak Hom Blokkies" (1981) and "Royal Hotel"
(1981) were lightly satirical songs about the men who hung out at a small town bar. Both
songs featured the 'two-step' vastrap rhythmic accompaniment style strongly pUJtctuated
by a prominent concertina sound typical of traditional boeremusiek, a very popular style
. -
of music amongst white Afrikaners. At this time Kramer developed a concept introduce4
in the lyrics of "The Royal Hotel" (1981) in which the character is referred to as 'almal
se pel' (everybody's friend). Kramer increasingly marketed himself as 'everybody's
friend' as a sales promotion technique, based on the combined likeable and humorous

225

I
 characteristics of a white and coloured working class male. Also, his increasing
commercial success led to his participation in a series of Volkswagen minibus television
advertisements in which he played this character, which reinforced the 'everybody's
friend' image. Although Kramer still continued to perform and record satirical pieces, the
new image heralded a hugely successful phase in his career, on the back of massive
support from the traditionally white conservative Afrikaans community2. For most of this
audience, the element of satire in Kramer's music was lost. They found him funny and
extremely likeable, bought his subsequent albums and attended his concerts in droves.
The general media hype surrounding Kramer's success pushed his non-critical image to
~

the extent that anyone hearing his music on the radio or reading about him in the press
had little inkling of Kramer's critical edge. Prominent alternative Afrikaans musician
Koos Kombuis (Interview, 1998) recalled how, at that time, he felt that:
David Kramer was probably underrated by my friends and myself. They never
understood that he ~lso made political statements. All the way, no one heard it.
Like "So Long Skipskop" [~986] and songs like that. Everyone just thought that
he was 'almal se pel' .
The fact that the majority of the audience viewed him as the white Afrikaner everyman
presented a problem for Kramer, who felt the pressure of the conservative expectations of
the audience. As he explained (Interview, 1998):
I got to a point where I felt quite trapped by my popularity, and by the
expectations of what people thought I was going to do and the potential for
writing, moving more and more into the ra-ra-ra type of South African song. And
I suppose at that point I was becoming quite disillusioned with people
misinterpreting what I really was trying to do, and that there wasn't really a lot of
emphasis on issues of language and cultural politics and so on, and also I got
involved with the Volkswagen commercials and I suppose people started seeing
me much more as just a comedian. You know, a funny little guy ... and I 1)ecame
more and more one-dimensionaL I felt people weren't really -listening. And I
suppose the edge that I had in the early years - which was very powerful for me -

2It should be noted, however, that Kramer's music was also immensely popular amongst the (Afrikaans-
speaking) Cape Coloured community, particularly in the Western Cape.

I 226
 1'd lost that. And was now very much accepted by everybody. So, sort of by the
mid-'80s a sense of disillusion had set in ... It was the time of the State of
Emergency and the country was really in a bad, bad way-and suddenly I looked
at myself and I didn't like what I saw. This happy-go-lucky guy making
everybody feel good, and I decided to try and get back to where I had started. And
that's what led me back to doing Baboondogs.
Baboondogs (1986) was a far more serious album than any that preceded it, in which
Kramer tackled political issues ~ore directly. For example, in "Shake My Head"(1986)
he sang:
The woman next door has been detained
For no official reason
I'm so ashamed I shake my head
The album was less popular, as his strong (conservative) white Afrikaans support base
avoided the album, disillusioned with their folk hero. This disillusionment with Kramer's
political stance is illustrated by a cartoon in a national Afrikaans newspaper which
l

portrayed Kramer being kicked out- 6fthe Royal Hotel with the caption: "Where's that
Volkswagen) bus now that I need it most?"(Beeld, 14 January 1986, Image 7.1). The
cartoon itself was a response to a petition which Kramer signed, at the request of Johnny
Clegg, demanding the withdrawal of South African troops from the townships. Another
cartoon appeared after a number of David Kramer's songs (from his critical District Six
musical, also released in 1986) were banned on SABC for political reasons. The cartoon
depicted locals at the Royal Hotel watching David Kramer approach wearing his
trademark red shoes and playing his guitar. One says to the other "Just as I thought,
Frikkie, with those red vellies he's a blerrie communist from the feet down"(Cape Times,
10 December 1986, Image 7 .2).
Yet perhaps this is the strength of satire - the confusion within the laughter, as the
audience responds to the subject matter. Kramer (Personal correspondence, 2001,) notes
that the laughter depends on each member of the a1:ldience' s individual response. For him,
a satirist:
Stands in front of the audience and holds up a mirror in which the audience sees a
distorted image of themselves. In the audience are those who laugh at the image

227
Image 7. 1 Where's that bus now that I need it most? (Beeld, 14 January, 1986)

C~fE'- --r;v\A ~ 10 \2.. - ~.l,

~

IhOUQ.t:IL Frikkie, with those

Image 7. 2 Reaction to Kramer's political songs (Cape Times, 10 December 1986).

228
 t
of themselves thinking they are laughing at the self-mockery of the satirist. There
are those that recognise themselves in the distorted image and they laugh out of
the shock of recognising a truth about themselves. Or they are uncomfortable with
what they see and don't laugh at all. And then there are those who believe that it
is not a reflection of themselves, but the person in front of them and it is they that
laugh behind that person's back. The satirist laughs behind his mask.
Kramer used laughter both as a weapon and as a critical device to cause people to
question the values of the society around them. However, laughter can only achieve these
goals if it is experienced as emba:r:rassing or awkward in a way which ridicules the object
of the laughter or the person doing the laughing.
Another South African singer to make use of the satirical approach, often in a more
hard-hitting manner, was James Phillips, who, in his first band (Corporal Punishment)
was ably supported by fellow band member Carl Raubenheimer, with his equally
poignant song writing talents. According to Raubenheimer (Interview, 1998), the point of
their songs was: .. -~
to shock white complacency. It was a very complacent society. Everybody was
meant to go to the army, they went to the army, and the army made men out of
them. They didn't realize that they made robots out of them ... I think that we just
wanted to tell people that the army was a pile of shit and white society was a pile
of shit. But at the same time we weren't being lefty about it, we were kind of
being naive about it.
Echoing David Kramer's approach to satire, Phillips stressed that "it's so easy to be
political all the time that after a while it starts being bullshit ... If you're just singing
political songs all the time people take no notice of you anymore" (Johnson, 1981). A
good example of Phillips' use of satire was "Brain Damage" (1980), about Arrie Paulus,
general secretary of the right-wing white Mine Workers Union, who said that blacks were
-~

baboons. The song depicted his racism:

He's a supervisor, it takes a lot of skill
To be in charge of 40 kaffirs - that's responsible
He doesn't mind that he gets all the pay
Arrie Paulus says they're just baboons anyway

229
 Similarly in the song "Darkie"(1979) they challenged stereotypical white racist thinking
and white fear of black South Africans:
Darkie's gonna get you
In the night with a knife
As such, Raubenheimer (Interview, 1998) felt that Corporal Punishment:
Weren't singing like 'Freedom '-we weren't doing that kind of stuff, we were
rather expressing a prevalent view in a sardonic way. We were saying: 'This is the
kind of thing that people are saying, look how ridiculous it is. You can't say this

I sort of thing. It's insane!'

Yet some members of the audience were disconcerted by the apparent racism of Corporal
Punishment's lyrics, not realizing the satire (Andersson, 1981: 141).
After Corporal Punishment broke up, Phillips constructed a satirical character by the
name of Bemoldus Niemand, choosing the name simply because: "I've always been
fascinated by the name Niemand. Mister Nobody. It's a great name!"(Doxa, 1989). On an
"1
album entitled Wie is Bernoldus N!~mand? (1984), Phillips recorded a number of satirical
songs. Two in particular - "Hou My V as Korporal" (Hold me tight, corporal) and "Snor
City" (Moustache City) - dealt with the complacency of white males in accepting
conscription into the army, where one had to simply obey orders without questioning
them. The former song makes use of a traditional boeremusiek vastrap (quickstep) style
backing but is nevertheless highly critical of the army, including lyrics like:
It's my duty and not my choice
It's not my fault but I don't speak out
Here I sit and die and die3
"Snor City" (1984) is about Pretoria and its countless moustache-faced men. The song
parodies the dis?o fusion style in satirizing the Afrikaner macho stereotype which the
moustache represents (Smit, 1992: 38). For Phillips, moustaches were closely entwined
with army mentality. He commented that:
~:

"It's always bugged me, this moustache thing ... I went and sat on a pavement in
Pretoria for five hours and I just checked these snors (moustaches). And just
wrote the lines and then just put it to that groove - 'The further I walk the more
my hope diminishes'- because everybody's got one, a moustache. Because they

3 Translated from Afrikaans.

230
.f
f.

•
all go to the army and the only hair you can grow in the army is a moustache. So
of course everybody grows a moustache because that means that now they're
better than all the other new ous (blokes) and then they just never shave it off.
And it's just there forever. They don't even know that it's there" (Doxa, 1989).
Phillips was very pessimistic about the impact of his music on the dominant discourse.
When a journalist asked him if he felt that he was hitting at the establishment with his
lyrics he replied: "I don't know. Maybe. "Hou My Vas Korporaal" maybe. But nobody
will hear it, so the establishment. will never hear it, so it can never hit them". Neither
Corporal Punishment nor BeI?oldus Niemand was played on SABC. The songs that were
submitted to SABC were banned from airplay, and Phillips only ever enjoyed a marginal
audience. So even though he never became as popular as David Kramer, he nevertheless
experienced similar problems in getting his message across. And like Kramer, Phillips
did not write sufficiently subtle lyrics to bypass the overly sensitive SABC censors.
The example of Corporal.punishment' s "Brain Damage" (1980) emphasizes how
satirists work at their best when their material is derived from the society around them.
Warrick Sony (Interview, 1998) makes this point when discussing his use of satire in
some of his Kalahari Surfers material.
I found so much stuff that was being broadcast so ridiculous and just laced with all
sorts of entendres and comedy, bizarre comedy.
For example, he wrote a farcical critique of a song called "Let's Go Shopping" (1985) by
commercial disco black band Supafrika. Virtually the only lyric in the song was 'Let's go
shopping'. Sony found it so absurd that a black South African band could be doing such a
superficial song in the 1980s, that he wrote a satirical response to the song, "Beachbomb"
(1989) about the Magoos bomb4 with the chorus line:
Let's go shopping
when the bombs stop dropping
from bags and drains ' ';
A song called "The Surfer" (1984) was a form of audio documentary in which Sony
recorded an extremely racist, sexist, and violent surfer/lifesaver boasting about his
conquests on the Durban beachfront. Sony cut out the most extreme parts of the interview
and put these to a musical backing. Unlike the Corporal Punishment's "Brain Damage"

4 Reference to a bomb blast (planted by the ANC) at the Mago08 Bar in Durban in the 19808.

231
 (1980) where the band quoted Paulus, here Sony simply let the surfer speak for himself,
but the juxtaposition of all his extreme statements to a musical backing produced a piece
of satiric irony criticizing the very things the surfer boasts of. The piece was interpreted
differently by various people: when the surfer later heard the song he loved it for its face-
value lyrics, the management at the EMI pressing plant refused to press the album
because they regarded it as pornographic, while many sensitive people thought it was
..
offensive. As with James Phillips, Sony's music was only ever supported by a marginal

I
.-
audience. It is thus difficult to determine the extent to which his audience understood
what he was attempting to do, although he and Phillips both enjoyed educated, cult
audiences who tended to support them for their political stance and cultural critiques as
much as for their music.

7.5.1. Evaluating satire and irony in music

The tendency for audiences not to recognize satire in music has plagued many musicians,
certainly those covered in this chapter. This is particularly true of ironic satire where the
irony entails speaking in the language of the subj ect and seeming to identify with that
subj ect (Coetzee, 1996: 221). The singer is forced into the paradox of being and not being
the subject of the song. Frith (1996a: 198-199) notes that in any type of song the singer's
act is complex: in a single song the singer might present the character presented as the
protagonist in the song, in the role of the singer as narrator, but also other characters who
the song might be about or refer to. In addition there is the singer himlherself as a person,
physically singing with his/her own voice. This leads to audience difficulty in
disentangling vocal realism from vocal irony.
For many in the audience the boundary between whom the singer is and the subjects of
t hislher irony become blurred. This was true of Kramer especially given that, in addition
1 to the general "everyone's friend" persona, he did not restrict himself to a single one-
dimensional satirical voice. As Kramer (Personal correspondence, 2001) explained:
I adopt a voice. Not always the same voice, but the voice of the protagonist. In
order to write I adopt a point of view. In my imagination I become the character
that is singing the song. I hear the voice of the character; I see the world through
the character's eyes. I empathise with the character. It is a process of exploration

232
 and imagined experience and there is a paradox in·that I am me and the character
... In retrospect I see that one becomes entrapped by the popularity of (one's) own
inventions. As I say there are a variety of images of 'myself that I offer for the
purpose of the song. Some of these are more popular than others. And if the
intention of my work is not understood then the confusion that arises could be
seen as a problem.
Although Kramer enjoyed and believed in what he was doing, this misunderstanding on
the audience's part at a particularly serious time in South African history, led him to
seriously reconsider his approach 10 music - and the use of satire - at that time. The
multiplicity of voices present in any satirical song does indeed make it a difficult song
format to interpret, with layers of interpretation required. Kramer (Personal
correspondence, 2001) pointed out that:
When you perform to 600 people the audience perceives the show in 600 different
ways. Each one resllonds to the work uniquely and yet collectively. The audience
responds as an audience, buJ the impact and the perception of the work is unique
in each individual.
Kramer's point emphasizes Frith's (1996a: 11) claim that lyrical analysis needs to
consider words in performance, in the relationship between singer and listener (see
I
Chapter Three for a more detailed consideration of Frith's argument). The different II

elements involved in a song combine to produce a total meaning that ,cannot be

discovered through a surface reading of the lyrics.
An important means of conveying the satirical message to the audience is through the
voice itself. Kramer tended to use accents which portrayed the subject's character. As
Corporal Punishment's lead singer, Phillips sang with a more personal, directed, angry
voice. A song like "Darkie" (1979) has a sense of urgency about it lacking in Kramer's
songs. As Bemoldus Niemand, Phillips donned a caricature voice in many of the songs.
Here, as in Kramer's songs, the voice (ostensibly through the accent) becomes ';hat Frith
(1996a: 198) refers to as a "vocal costume." The accent, when used, is one mechanism
the singer can use to insert quotation marks around the lyrics s/he is singing. This can
allow the audience to understand the surface meaning of the lyrics as not that of the
singer. In the case of David KTamer, it was only when he released Baboondogs (1986)

.1
233
and used his own accent on some of the songs that many people realized that the voice he
used in his earlier music was a construct. Also, his political sentiments were made more
overt. As a result, some were able to retrospectively insert those quotation marks.
There is clearly a contextual framework needed to make sense of satirical songs.
Without a common understanding between musician and audience it is not only the
censors who are bypassed, but the audience too! This brings into play Bourdieu's (1990:
131) habitus, "at once a system of models for the production of practices and a system of
models for the perception and appreciation of practices". Accordingly, practices and
representations are available for classification,
,., "but they are immediately perceived as
such only in the case of agents who possess the code, the classificatory models necessary
to understand their social meaning". The censors often lacked the classificatory models
necessary to understand the preferred subversive reading of the musician, focusing
instead on an immediately obvious reading of the lyrics. They often censored satirical
songs for overt reasons such as blasphemy, the use of slang and swear words and overtly
'1

negative messages, as in the case QfPhillips' "Hou My Vas Korporaal" (1984). For this
reason, satire could have been an effective means of bypassing censors even if the
majority of the audience did not understand the message. However the main satirists in
South Africa did not appear to make a concerted effort to use the format for this purpose.
In the instances referred to, satire was used as a humorous attack on negative aspects of
South African society. It was a style of song writing chosen for artistic reasons, because
the form appealed to the songwriter, not necessarily to bypass the censors. Had this been
the case, the likes of Kramer and Phillips would have avoided overtly controversial
content within their satirical pieces.
Nevertheless, a cult audience did exist, comprising those who knew how to read the
irony within the songs. As much as these people reassured the singers in what they were
doing, there was nevertheless the uncanny presence of a majority of listeners who
misunderstood the singers' intentions. Notwithstanding this, many effective satitical
songs were written about the South African situation, making poignant comments on
class, race, ethnicity, sex, tradition, language, culture and other central aspects of South
African life. The South African censor, not always the quickest to pick up on satire, often

234
let these slip through, however, as indicated, in most instances onto an unwitting and
impervious audience.
However, Patrick Ebewo (1997: 33) notes that although satire might not lead to swift
socio-po1itica1 change, satirical works are at the very least thought-provoking and
consciousness-raising tools. He argues that "[b ]efore a reformation takes place in any
society, there must be an awareness of the shortcomings and vanity that erode the quality
of human nature". Satire can achieve this awareness simply through its ability to distort
the familiar and disguise criticism with humour, thus circumventing the law. For this
reason it has long been an effectiv~ tool in situations where freedom of speech is
curtailed. However, not all satire is intended to contribute towards change. It is
sometimes used to merely ridicule people who take things too seriously and as a source
of amusement, a means of coping, for people in oppressive situations. For example, the
incident (referred to in Chapter Four) in which Kippie Moeketsi played "Don't fence me
in" to prove his musicians~ip to the policemen who arrested him. Oblivious to the
ridicule of the moment, and satisf1f{d that Moeketsi was indeed a musician, the police
released him, telling him that he played well (Gordon, 1997: 6). Certainly, Tessa
Dowling (1997: 48) argues that during the apartheid era Xhosa humour often satirically
subverted outward obedience and subservience by reducing the authorities to people who
understand only their own languages and who are confined to the cruelty and irrationality
of their rules. In so doing, the marginalized momentarily gained moral ascendancy,
teasing the meanings and rules of language (and in Moeketsi' s case, the meaning of the
music too). Such satirical moments had the potential to place the powerful in a position of
additional ridicule: not only were they the object of derision, but the ridicule went
undetected, and was exacerbated by laughter.

7.6. Making use of studio technology

Mzwakhe Mbuli became the foremost proponent of a form of dub poetry5 form~t in South
Africa during the mid to late 1980s. His approach was similar to that of Linton K wesi
Johnson who successfully combined "music and poetry in the context of racial friction in

5 Mbuli does not regard himself a dub poet, arguing that his repertoire is not restricted to mere recitation to
a reggae beat (Brown, 1998:252).

235
 t

the United Kingdom in the 1970s. Johnson's album Dread Beat an' Blood (1978)
virtually defined the dub poetry genre, as did subsequent songs like "Inglan is a Bitch"
(1980). Mbuli came to the attention of Lloyd Ross of Shifty Records while performing
poetry to enormously popular reception at political rallies in South Africa, sometimes in
front of audiences of up to 150000 people (Brown, 1998: 213). Mbuli's popularity and
confrontational poetry led to his status as the 'people's poet'. His poetry was especially
strong in using "the rhetorical devices of parallelism and repetition to develop an
intensity of delivery appropriate to the energies and angers of the political funeral or
rally" (Brown, 1998: 247). An example of this is "Change is Pain" (1986) which uses
repeated constructions - a form of jazz call-and-response - towards a rousing climax
(Brown, 1998: 247):
Change is unknown in my ghetto
Change is an endless bucket system in Alexandra
Change is pain in Africa
Change is throttled by misdirected surrogates of the world
Change to a free non-racial~~ociety is certain
Revolutionary change shall set man free from bondage
And the ruins of autocracy shall fall
Shifty proposed the idea of recording Mbuli' s poetry to a musical backing. He agreed to
record an album. The politically overt Change is Pain (1986) album followed, resulting
in sales of over 25 000 copies despite a complete lack of airplay. His second album,
Unbroken Spirit (1989) recorded after two lengthy spells in detention, became Shifty's
.1

biggest selling album ever. With strong production support from Shifty, Mbuli's success
points to the potential for poets to nevertheless get their message across to music listeners
in recorded forms such as dub poetry. Although Mbuli's style was not as musically
polished as that of Linton Kwesi Johnson, he was backed by top musicians who gave his
poetry added rhythm and punch. Funky ethnic rhythms and rifts got the fans onto their
feet, dancing in defiance to songs like "The Day Shall Dawn" (1986), with
confrontatiotiallyrics such as:
No state power shall legislate me not to love men
Do something to facilitate the change in Africa
Although Mbuli' s poetry was popular at political rallies, his progression to recorded dub-
type poetry took his message onto the streets and into the homes of thousands of South

236

i'
Africans, who drew inspiration from his words and were 'liplifted by the upbeat defiance
of the music. This certainly validates Elizabeth Tonkin's (1989: 46) point that the
development of electronic media into the 1980s increasingly maintained and modified
African oral traditions. Indeed, Duncan Brown (1998: 252) stressed that in the context of
large-scale illiteracy and the restrictions imposed by the States of Emergency, Mbuli's
performance poetry was able to convey important messages which would otherwise have
been difficult to disseminate. This was true of both his live performances and recordings.
However, Mbuli was never subtl~ in his lyrical confrontation, and so he missed the
opportunity of exploiting a popular form of electronic media, in the form of radio play.
Consequently his message was only heard live and on recorded copies of his albums,
usually the cheaper and easier to play cassette copies.
Warrick Sony of the Kalahari Surfers also made use of studio technology to heighten the
effect of his music. He used techniques such as tape loops and cut-ups to good satirical
effect. Through studio dubqing, Sony would subvert statements made by apartheid
politicians, giving them new meaniilgs. An example of this was "Reasonable Men"
(1985) in which part of a statement by Police Commissioner Coetzee ("It is the duty of
the government to ensure that normal community life") was joined with a later statement
("will no longer be tolerated"). Thus Coetzee is quoted as saying something he never did
say, but which in effect was what apartheid was all about. Likewise, in "Potential
Aggressor" (1986) a speech by the Minister of Defence was spliced up and put together
so that he seemingly encouraged the security forces' opposition (using humorously poor
grammar):
I know that you will serve your country with loyalty, courage, dignity and honour,
perform your duties with and responsibilities with diligently in order to sap the
strength of the security forces, exhaust them and break their will to fight.
This subversive technique very effectively put words into the mouths of apartheid
politicians, who for far too long had controlled who said what on South African radio and
television, interpreting people as best suited them, often putting words into the mouths of
opposition. Sony's approach constituted a subversive imitation of the processes
underlying censorship. The parody and political pastiche found in the Kalahari Surfers'
recordings involved the recomposition of political discourse to say something

237
subversively different to the original. This was a clear instance of a resistant musician
creating a space of illusion that exposed a real space, a site "inside of which human life is
partitioned as still more illusory" (Foucault, 1986: 27).
Sony also emphasized the importance of aesthetics, saying that he felt most comfortable
confronting political issues in this manner of taking actuality and editing it in a
subversive way. He commented that:
"I found that other people were writing lyrics that always felt laboured, and
myself when I tried to w~ite, the stuff felt stiff and I just· felt that coming from a
bourgeois happy family I hftdn't had enough pain to sort of express the kind of
things that perhaps other people had expressed in history, in political song
history" (Doxa, 1989).
Importantly, Sony regarded the studio as an instrument, whereby the recording process
itself could be used to make sounds and effects not otherwise possible. For Sony and fans
of the Kalahari Surfers the yictory was not in bypassing the censors by achieving airplay,
but rather through subversively ridiculing and criticizing the apartheid government and
getting away with it. Indeed, the Kalahari Surfers intentionally avoided submitting their
music to the SABC for airplay. They simply avoided the censors, content with the
satisfaction of recording subversive messages. Each recorded song was an instance of
fighting back, especially those songs which turned the politicians' own words against the
apartheid system, exposing the injustices and folly of apartheid ideology.

7.7 Lyrical resistance in response to repression

Many examples considered here emphasize the relationship between acts of repression
and creative resistance to them, as outlined in Chapter Two. This was repeatedly
demonstrated in the lyrics of resistance songs, in which musicians sang about and thereby
exposed acts of repression meant to silence oppositional practices. For Balliger (1995:
....,1';--

14) these forms

-
of "(o)ppositional music practices not
. .
only act as a form-of resistance
against domination, but generate social relationships and experience which can form the
basis of new cultural sensibility and, in fact, are involved in the struggle for a new
culture". As a means of exploring the manner in which the very acts and structures of
repression gave rise to resistance in song lyrics, songs calling for Nelson Mandela's

238
release will be considered. These songs were, in their very performance, acts of resistance
to censorship and repression: a refusal to remain silent and a protest against Mandela's
imprisonment. But most of these songs also provided a vision of hope for South Africans,
hope in a future with a new, free culture in which Mandela and all South Africans would
be freed from racial oppression. Take for example Savuka's "Asimbonanga" (1987),
'0-

which protested Mandela's incarceration yet included a vision of hope:

We are all islands 'till
Comes the day
We cross the burning
Water

Hugh Masakela's "Bring Him Back Home" (1985) simultaneously protested Mandela's
imprisonment and offered a vision of a new South Africa. The streets of South Africa, in
townships like Soweto, which at that time were patrolled by the South African Police,
would one day be transformed:
Bring back Nelson 'Mandela
Bring him back home to So.weto
I want to see him walking down
The streets of South Africa

Sipho Mabuse' s "Mandela" (1989) not only called for Mandela's release but called for
an end to apartheid:
Nothing makes any
Sense at all
Until we end
This separation

These songs work well as examples of creative resistance arising from inordinately
repressed spaces. The solitary prison cell is one of the most restrictive spaces within
society. Often resistance from within prison cells seems extremely limited, given that
very few forms of resistance can be carried out by a prisoner cut off from the outside
world. Resistance songs about prisoners, such as those referred to above, simultaneously
mark the musician's refusal to submit to pressure to practice self-censorship and
overturns the meaning inherent in the repressive confines of the prison.

239
7.8 Conclusion
In the 1980s South African musicians were confronted with severe censorship in different
forms. In response many of them devised innovative textual strategies for overcoming or
at least bypassing censorship. In some instances they did so overtly, but most often (as
has been shown), they attempted a more subtle approach by disguising their message
'''',
through adjusting the lyrics, performance and working with resistance melodies in getting
messages across to the audience. In most instances, the more direct the message, the less
likely it was to be heard by a large audience, yet conversely, the~more disguised the
message, the less likely the audie:q,ce was to read it as subversive or resistant. The most
innovative of musicians were those who stumbled across or devised methods that
somehow managed to be both overt and in some way subtle. Juluka were successful in
demonstrating an intercultural and racial identity that was an integral component of their
music, and effectively released albums which did not rely on heavily overt political
lyrics. When they did reco~d explicit political songs, as on Work For All (1983), the
singles released were safe options~which expressed positive sentiments about South
Africa and were consequently played on SABC radio and television. Audiences who
bought the album as a result of broadcast coverage were then exposed to more political
songs, which, if released as singles, would not have been played on SABC and might
well have brought the album to the unwanted attention of the Directorate. For other
musicians, disguising words or messages meant that they at least experienced personal
satisfaction at having expressed what they wanted to, yet knowing that the message was
not going to be noticed by a wide audience. Even so, these strategies signified a refusal to
keep totally silent and, in addition, archived particular sentiments and reflections which
otherwise would not have been recorded.
The case of luluka shows that musicians did not have to work only with song lyrics to
make known their opposition to the government and its censorship policies. Indeed, more
often than not, resistance through music was most successful when accompanied by
broader strategies of resistance. There were many other'ways ofresisting the state's
attempts to silence musicians. It is to these other strategies of resistance that the focus of
Chapter Eight turns.

240
 CHAPTER EIGHT

Beyond recorded textual resistance

To whom do we owe these prisons

Tpese prisons in which we dream
~. Tu whom do we owe these songs
These songs of battlefields and bombs

("Shore's End (Chapter One)" [1982] - Asylum Kids

8.1 Introduction
Faced with a virtual government blockade of the airwaves, musicians with 'subversive'
and/or resistant messages did not simply give up trying to get their music heard by South
African audiences. It was shown in Chapter Seven that some musicians persevered by
recording overtly resistant songs while others attempted to bypass censors through more
subtle means. There is no d'Oubt that the contribution of musicians through recorded
music was critical, especially in archiving resistant music, but also in expressing
oppositional sentiments and experiences. However, vinyl and cassette did pose limits to
musicians wanting their music and message to be heard in an uncensored form by as wide
an audience as possible. The censors' preoccupation with recorded music caused many
musicians to look elsewhere for spaces within which to express resistant ideas, going
beyond the boundaries of the recorded medium to overcome censorship.
This chapter details and analyses musical resistance which took place outside of the
recorded medium. Some of the strategies considered here developed out of careful
attempts to bypass censorship, others were unintended consequences of censorship
practices, while some developed as a normal part of musicians attempts to be heard. As is
often the case in political contexts, some ordinarily normal practices took on heightened
significance. For example, live musical performances could take on the appearao,pe of
informal political rallies, so that n1usicians simultaneously performed their music and
conveyed political messages to the audience.
The innovative strategies covered in this chapter emphasize the potential for resistance
in the face of censorship structures. Censorship forced musicians to devise additional
ways of being heard beyond recorded music and radio play. As a result of these efforts,
241
 t

musicians wanting to be heard, despite censorable messages, developed a repertoire of

successful resistant musical activities. These are outlined in the following discussion.

8.2 Resistance through live performance

Within popular music therejs 'g'enerally a close relation between the recorded form and
live performance. However, the relationship varies according to circumstance. David
Shumway (1999: 197) has recognized that within different contexts there are varying
expectations of live performance, It follows therefore, that poterltial spaces of innovation
are available for musicians wanting to instil a personal mark on their performance,
deciding how best to present themselves and the music they perform to the audience. In
this way live performance is not as limited as are recordings: the form of presentation can
alter in each instance, not only musically but in other ways too, for example comments
made between songs. In this way performance is able to become "a form of
communicative praxis in wkich meaning is always emergent, relational" (Erlmann, 1996:
16).
In live performance it was possible for performers in apartheid South Africa to include
political content (different songs, alternate lyrics, political statements) perhaps too risky
to include on their albums and which were (or would have been) banned from radio
airplay. Live performance proved an important alternative to airplay for groups like
Juluka, whose lyrics were often regarded as too controversial for airplay by the SABC (in
particular). Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) explained that:
I saw that there was a gap that you could actually get through. And that became
our platform for Juluka. We decided that even though we were not played on the
radio, we could go out to the small dorps [towns], to the townships, into the rural
areas.
Live performance was certainly a substitute for broadcast exposure, but it was als.o as an
alternative space within which to undermine the dominant political landscape. This was
. .

the experience of musician Jennifer Ferguson (Interview, 1999). She noted that:'

242
 t

You had a sense of the importance of live work because there was so much
repression on many other levels that the theatres and cabaret venues were often
the only place where any kind of truth could be uttered.
Indeed, Ray Phiri (Interview, 200 1) made the most of live performance opportunities to
explain the figurative mean.ings of Stimela's songs to the audience:
I would preach a bit before I would play the song so that I could lead people to
understand why 1'd written this song that they liked so much ... We packaged
"-
everything under our performance. So people would look forward to the
performance. That's when J would dish out the information where I could say,
'This is what I mean by x, y and z'. Then they could get deeper into the music.
Bayete also made use of live performance to explain the meaning of songs. Band member
Jabu Khanyile (Interview, 2001) explained:
If you play live ... you can still talk to people, explain the songs and tell them
what it is all about. -80 you can maybe change their mind.
The potential for live performance'"tb be innovative in this way concerned the police and
others who wished to maintain the apartheid status quo. Yet Director of Publications,
Braam Coetzee, confirmed Ferguson's affirmation of live performance as a prospective
liberated zone where cultural contest could occur. Coetzee (Interview, 1998) noted that it
was difficult to censor live performance such as theatre:
A text in that context is a very changeable thing. It changes from evening to
evening. You look at a text and you say: 'Excise these lines, cut them out of the
play'. They will do that. Then the next evening they put something in its place
which is much worse. It is a living thing. It is not a static thing. So that is why
we never worried about these live plays and texts and music submitted. And I
think that I can count on the fingers of one hand the incidents where we ever had
somebody go to these events. We just ignored them and said: 'Look, if y.~u are
concerned with that, it is something for the Security people, not for us' .
For this reason the Directorate did not censor live performance, although (as discussed in
Chapter Four) performances were regularly subject to police intervention through the
withholding of permits or by means of harassment. Despite such constraints, there were

243
musicians who used live performance as a cultural practice to "passionately reinvent the
ideas, symbols, and gestures that shape social life" (Diamond, 2000: 67). Indeed, Johnny
Clegg (Interview, 1998) maintained that:
If you took that route you were prepared to get a few klaps 1 and to put up with a
hostile environmentbecause this activity you were doing was perceived to be
threatening by that environment.
Similarly, Mzwakhe Mbuli (Personal correspondence, 1998) declared:
I was prepared to face the consequences of my own convictions ... I was always
prepared to be where the heat was in order to make a sound contribution.
Confrontational attitudes towards live performance ensured that it became a contested
arena, undermining dominant discourses on an ongoing basis in a variety of ways. The
most direct of these being live performance organized around specific political events or
campaigns.

8.2.1. Political platforms and poIltical concerts

Music performance was a central form of protest through festivals and concerts in
support of various issues or campaigns, such as the ECC, detainees or striking workers.
By simply appearing under the banner of a particular organization, musicians were
showing their solidarity with the cause. They could simply play their music or lend vocal
support to the particular cause in question. Groups like Juluka, Savuka, Bright Blue,
Harari, Sakhile, the Cherry Faced Lurchers and many others appeared regularly in favour
of political causes at cultural performances (see Image 8.1 for examples of posters
advertising such events). Tom Fox (Interview, 1998) of Bright Blue explained the
importance of these performances:
It was great to do things when you're part of the struggle, as opposed to just
playing something for money. Also just feeling part of a group of people
protesting ... It was really nice to have people sing along to stuff knowing they felt
the same. They couldn't express themselves but they could express it through the

1Hit around or slapped.

244
 music. The best sort of music is when you write something and it becomes other
people's stuff. It's not yours really; you become part of a group.
Fox's account of the audience's relationship with Bright Blue's music underlines
musicians' ability to participate in what Eyerman and Jamison (1998: 160) refer to as

Image 8. 1 Posters advertising musicians appearing at political and cultural events (poster Collective,
1991: 162-167).

"exemplary action": innovative forms of understanding which impact upon broader

established cultures. The bond between the musician and the audience emphasizes that
"culture functions by means of an insoluble bond uniting people. It is a question of a way
of performing a culture" (Pavis, 2000: 105). The performance of progressive music and
song contributes towards the construction of a new meaning, culminating in an altered
"collective identity formation" (Eyerman and Jamison, 1998: 161). By performing on a
political platform musicians become aligned with, if not a part of, a broader social and/or
political movement. This movement provides opportunities for musicians to be
innovative in challenging dominant discourses. Jamison and Eyerman (1998: 165)
suggest that within this context the musician can "become a political as well as a cultural
agent, and thus help shape an emergent cultural formation".

245
 •
An important aspect of the relation between musician and audience was the two-way
flow of inspiration. As indicated, it was not only the musician who inspired audiences,
but audiences, through their support and enthusiasm, encouraged musicians. For example,
Jennifer Ferguson (Interview, 1999) remembered:
performing in Lang~. where there were a lot of women's organizations and there
was a sense of you're identifying with the structures because that was all there
was. A sort of political cradle that was very tangible especially in the Cape.
--....

I This 'political cradle' was able to nurture Ferguson and give her inspiration which
encouraged her political commitment. Likewise, Richard Ellis (Interview, 1999) noted
that:
The ECC concerts were to me valuable ... We were allowed the freedom of
expression, the freedom to play the music we wanted to play, and really good
support because people knew what they were there for. And they knew what the
bands were there for, and no matter whether a guy came up with an acoustic
guitar and sang about peace'and love and hugging a tree, or whether the next band
came up and said they'd kick the shit out of everything, they had the support! So
it was very important.
The importance of the political movement context extended to musicians participating
who did not even perform lyrical music. Many jazz musicians performed on political
platforms, as did some other popular musicians who performed music without lyrics.
Karin Rutter (Interview, 1998) of Flux explained that:
I think we felt that we could playa role through ... the venues we played, the
styles of music that we incorporated and we actually appeared supporting various
issues, whether it be End Conscription or whatever. Although we may not have
used words in terms of lyrics, certainly in other ways I think we felt that it was
very important to make a contribution culturally to what was happening ":'/-
politically and socially in the country.
Crucially, the sentiments of the above musicians illustrate the importance of live
performance as a means by which political expression could take place for musicians
otherwise frustrated by lack of airplay. Fox, Ferguson, Ellis and Rutter all expressed a

246
 . t

sense of accomplishment at being able to 'make a contribution' to an alternative culture,

and to voice their protest against injustices within the South African society of the time.
Live performance on a political platform therefore filled a vital gap within a cultural
terrain thwarted by censorship. It was a way of getting overt political messages to
audiences, but it also prov\ged'~ framework within which to contextualize one's music.

8.2.2 Alternative venues as free spaces for resistance musicians

.....,.
Given censorship on South Afriyan airwaves, alternative live venues became important
free spaces within which musicians could be heard. 'Alternative venues' were those
venues in which diverse political and social expression could be practiced without
interference by the venue management. These venues often became areas of temporary
escape and places where injustices could be tackled in almost 'carnivalesque' (Bakhtin,
1984) fashion. Musicians and their audiences could experience moments ofreconstitutive
rebellion characterized by a "temporary loss of boundaries" (Russo, 1997: 320). This is
most typified by the vaudeville shape which Aeroplanes concerts took at Jameson's in
Johannesburg. The Aeroplanes, who insisted on playing "no normal music in an
abnormal society" (Bauer, 1996: 33), explored the dynamics of live performance to
incorporate theatrical devices to enhance the performance of their evenings. Band
member, Carl Bekker (Interview, 1998) explained that:
Our first thing was to have ajol. And secondly, in that whole milieu of the time it
was inevitable and also necessary to make political statements ... And also what
happened was that my friend James [Wylie] who was an actor also liked to
channel a whole lot of political frustrations through the band. And he brought a
whole lot of other actors into the show, so we had a thing whenever we played it
was like a whole show, it was like a whole vaudeville evening ... We'd satirize
things, and taken as a whole, the actors would come on and do these ske~ches
.....
that
were really funny and really satirical. If you looked at the whole evening, it was
quite subversive actually of a whole lot of things that were going on in the' 80s.
But it wouldn't necessarily be overt political statements. It would be attacking
cultural statements like moustaches or South African males.

247
 •
Renee Veldsman (Interview, 1998) of Via Afrika felt that:
Even though we had the apartheid laws and that sort of thing, we found freedom
in music, and I think lots of groups felt that way, and that's why we got some
great music out in the '80s. It was kind of like a club, a secret place to go where
we could be free ... like "the club in Berlin during the war.
Indeed, some live venues, like that of Jameson's in Johannesburg in particular, became
places of respite, where alternative people could congregate with like-minded people and
.......
enjoy resistant and alternative music. Charlotte Bauer (1996: 33) agreed with Veldsman's
view (above) of the cabaret circuit,.,(ofwhich music and Jameson's were a crucial
component) echoing "the wild-eyed angst and gallows humour of pre-World War II
Berlin". Certainly, Gary Hertselman of the Kerels (Interview, 1998) noted that:
What was happening at Jameson's at the time was a kind of a musical movement
against the politics of the time, against the government of the time.
Musician Jannie van Tonder (Interview, 1998) remembered how apartheid:
fostered a kind of struggle energy that binds people together. They had a common
goal, and made the music much more special than it otherwise would have been.
Carl Bekker (Interview, 1998) confirmed that:
A normal Friday or Saturday night at Jameson's was actually an incredibly

I hedonistic affair. I think there was a feeling that shit was going down and nobody
knew what was going to happen, but that things were just absolutely and
irrevocably changing. So there was a fear and there was also an optimism that the
Groot Krokodi1 2 and all those okes were going to get kicked out, so we were
nearing the end, you know. But that stuff for me was quite a decadent response in
a way: a hedonistic and decadent response. And that was the rock 'n' roll that we
were placed in ... There definitely was a sense of camaraderie amongst the jollers.
But it wasn't specifically articulated .
. Venues like Jameson's provided bands and audiences with a place to meet without
having to strictly conform to a particular form of left politics, but nevertheless immerse
themselves in a subversive anti-establishment atmosphere. According to Karin Rutter

2 Big Crocodile, P. W. Botha.

248
, I

l
e
j
 (1999: 1) Cape Town venues such as Scratch, The Joseph Stone, the Observatory
Community Hall and Mitchell's Plain Civic were characterized by a spirit of inspiration,
hope, communality and serious 'jolling'. Rutter (1991: 1) explained that:
"People came to these p!aces because they had something to say, and something
, .
to hear. And the message was clear. Stop the madness. Now".
Importantly, the 'madness' against which musicians and audiences rebelled related to a
range of issues and forms of oppression. Resistant musicians were drawn to these venues
r
because they were performance spaces which offered them a receptive audience, a place
to be heard, as well as a means of possible income. Audiences in turn were drawn to
these sorts of live venues to release an energy built up by the frustration of a series of
official structures put in their way.
A further example of this phenomenon - of subversive celebration of music - carne in
the form of audiences seeking out and listening to banned music, to some extent simply
because it had been banned; but also because of the banned message. The liberal press
occasionally exposed instances of c~nsorship both by the SABC and the Directorate, so
that a section of the public became aware that music was being censored, even if they did
not get to hear the music on the radio. An unintended consequence of this was that it
provided the audience with an opportunity to engage in 'subversive' activity through the
consumption of music declared undesirable by the government. This was epitomized by a
protest at Wits University described by Gary Rathbone (Interview, 1998):
A big protest had been called and it had been banned by the magistrate. So we had
a crisis meeting up at the SRC and I said, 'Well why don't we take speakers out
on the lawn. We will take our mobile system from the station, put them out on the
lawn and what we will do is just play (because we were getting all our stuff on
import, so we had a lot of protest music, good dance protest music. Special AKA:
'Free Mandela', anything like that we could find). And we will just play music.
Let's see and if they say you are having a gathering we will just say it is a party
and people here are dancing.' And we had the situation, we were by the Social
Sciences building and the line of police was coming over this side and we had the
speal(ers out and everybody dancing.

249
'I
Rathbone's account is of a mass celebration of banned resistant music, but a similar
seeking out and enjoyment of banned music also occurred on an individual level. It was
not unusual for South Africans travelling overseas to look out for and bring back music
that had been banned in the country_ People also imported banned music, in the hope that
it would escape the attention ~.f customs officials. Local releases of South African music
were already available, and usually easier to get hold of. This music could then be played
at parties in private venues or simply enjoyed as a subversive activity in itself.
'"
.I

8.2.3 Exploring the other/crossol'er/non-racial performances

In a society in which inter-racial mixing was discouraged, where it was deemed correct to
keep a distance from people of different race and ethnic groups, it was always likely that
musicians would make use of inter-racial performances to challenge the status quo. Until
the mid-1980s members of different race groups had to live in separate areas, were not
allowed to marry each other', and in many instances were not allowed to share the same
public amenities such as park bench~s, beaches, cinemas and theatres. During the 1970s
bands like Afro-rock styled Hawk rocked the boat by becoming multiracial, although as
indicated in Chapter Four, the black members played behind curtains during live
performances. Increasingly, politicized bands refused to play in front of whites-only
audiences. For example, Sipho Gumede (Interview, 1998) of Spirit's Rejoice described
how they challenged apartheid thinking at venues:
There was so much
...., segregation and yet the band was so powerful and in demand
in the jazz clubs. But the policy of the band was that we don't play for whites
only, you know we have to change that, and if there are no black people in the
venue then we don't take that contract. So we tried to change a lot of stuff in the
contract because we used to say 'Yes, we would like to play in your venue, but do
you have black people?' And when they said, 'No', we would say 'No, sony, we
can't take the- gig'. And then they would come back and say 'Look, our license
doesn't allow blacks, but we will make a special arrangement, seeing that you
insist on that'. And we would say 'Yes, we insist, otherwise we're not going to
, I
come and play.' So we changed a lot of venues.

250
_P>.
 The group who most successfully challenged the raCial separateness of apartheid was
Juluka, who became popular in 1976 with their single "Woza Friday". With the release of
their album Universal Men in 1979 their popularity grew, for the first time capturing the
interest and support of white youth in South Africa. Clegg (Interview, 1998) explained:
What we started to "do !was to try and expand and find a way to explore what it
was for me as a white person to be an African. I explored that quite intensively in
a lot of my lyrics. And the issue of being a white African and finding a place for
1
European culture in a base of African music was an important aspect of what I
was doing. On the other hand I also wanted to be a platform whereby traditional
music could be appreciated from another angle ... we created a context in our live
performances, we created a platform, we heightened their awareness, especially
the white audiences. And black audiences although they never understood some
of the more cryptic lyrics I wrote in English, they felt that part of their musical
culture was being supplemented by somebody who was actually serious about
\

how he was expressing himself. So we had so many different ways of mixing, and
so many different ways of experimenting.
For blacks this made him very popular, but the threat of Clegg's association with 'the
other' was too much for many apartheid supporters, as indicated in Chapter Four, leading
to bannings from radio and being banned by the Pietersburg Town Council who were
afraid of the effect of Clegg's ethnic otherness on the' civilized' local audiences. David
Kramer (Interview, 1.~98) emphasized the importance of Juluka as a stage act, of using
performance as protest:
If I think of Johnny Clegg, what he really achieved initially was phenomenal.
When I first went to a concert of his in Cape Town - it was the first time I'd ever
seen Johnny Clegg - it took all our breath away. And I remember everyone was
on the edge of their seats. It felt like a Beatles concert. And here we saw these
w~ites and blacks performing in this band together, this new kind of South
_ Africa!African Zulu music, and it was just that whole thing was so exciting
because it was a living example of what South Africa could be. So that - the

251

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 t

image of that - and the excitement was really where the power lay in what Johnny
was doing. Regardless of what he was singing.
Importantly, Kramer points to the strength of performance as a means of
resistance/protest, of cultural performance as a contested terrain. Although Clegg's lyrics
often expressed political sYJlti~ents, for Kramer the importance of his music was in the
image of racial collaboration and non-racism revealed to the audience through Juluka's
performance. Johnny Clegg created an especially strong fascination for audiences, as a
white who has crossed over to 'the other' 3 • In terms of a white ludience, Frith (1992:
180-181) argues that this figure is, one of both white fear and white desire. For two
reasons: firstly, "as the shocking, exotic, primitive other of bourgeois respectability", and
secondly, "as 'nature' as opposed to 'culture,' a means of access to the pre-social, to
'innocence' (defined against the civilized, the sophisticated, the rational, the
controlled ... )". Within the context of apartheid this point is especially significant White
youth in particular were drawn to the image presented by Juluka, precisely because the
image on show contrasted with apartheid ideology and the bourgeois and racist
respectability of their parents' generation. Lipsitz (1994: 54) argues that in such
circumstances the white audience is able to "identify with transgression while at the same
time distancing themselves from it by connecting the violation of cultural norms with the
ostensibly 'natural' and biologically-driven urges of a despised (racial and ethnic)
group". In providing the audience with a glimpse, an insight into black culture, Clegg
tapped into a forbidden
_.,.;, curiosity which allowed the audience to safely consider an
alternative at a distance. However, the analytic categories of 'other' 'cultural' and
'natural' should not be stretched too far, should not give the impression that Juluka's
performances were cultural peep shows. Nhlanhla Ngcobo (1982: 6) points to the wide
acceptance and popularity amongst black South Africans at Juluka's successful

.~

3 It must not beforgotten.however, that it was Clegg's power and privilege as a white middle class male
that provided him with the luxury to imagine himself as 'the other'. As Lipsitz (1994:54) - speaking of
white minstrel performances in the U.S.A. - notes: "The enormous rewards available to whites pretending
to be Black were never available to Black performers denied control over their own performances and
. always forbidden to think of themselves as 'white"'. Nevertheless it should be noted that Clegg's embrace
of Zulu identity - at the time - was at considerable risk of police harassment and was not simply a
marketing exercise.

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intervention on a socio-culturallevel in dissolving racial stereotypes and prejudice. In

Juluka's music and performance: "The common error of equating 'traditional' with
'primitive' and 'Western' with 'civilised' is challenged and replaced by attitudes of
compatibility and equality" (Ngcobo, 1982: 6).
Juluka's openness in collfLbQi~tively exploring a black culture in the South African
context, where for a long time it was illegal to even share a park bench, communicated a
vision of a different South Africa to the audience. And as indicated by Ngcobo, this did
not only relate to whites in the ~udience, but too blacks too. Mrlsic was thus used to
prepare Juluka audiences (througla the image of inter-racial collaboration and freedom of
association) for a post-apartheid future. The imagery of Juluka acted as a means of
publicly challenging apartheid notions of racial and ethnic separateness. The very
justification and legitimacy of representations of apartheid inequality were threatened by
Juluka's demonstration of an alternative way, that not only challenged apartheid's values,
but which, in every instanoe, reflected a freedom more alluring and liberating than the
claustrophobia of racial separateness.
There were other groups who also put forward a strong message through being non-
racial bands. The Dynamics tried to say something by setting an example, as blacks and
whites enjoying themselves making music together on stage. Karin Rutter (Interview,
1998), who played in various bands in Cape Town during the 1980s, explained the
importance of this approach:
The cultural boycott was on at the time which meant that things were pretty
,.,,~~

insular in the country. And as one knows, radio stations were divided - TV
stations as well- in terms of streaming music to various listeners. And I think for
myself it was important to actually break out of that and to cross as many cultural
barriers as possible I suppose, particularly in the' 80s when everybody was trying
to throw up the barriers. .~

In the late 1980s Mango Grooye very successfully crossed-over African and Western
styles of music. Crossover initiatives were clear examples of Lipsitz's notion of 'strategic
anti-essentialism' because they defied apartheid norms of separate ethnic music styles.
Indeed, Ingrid Byerly (1996: 113-116) discusses a variety of collaborative musical

253
 initiatives which served the purpose of breaking down many barriers between different
groups of people in South Africa, even between Afrikaans folk styles and Western rock
and so on. She argued that:
"Through complex configurations of lyrics, melodies, harmonies
, . '

instrumentations, rh-¥thms, styles and forms people were able to express not only
social fragmentations but also social unions. Furthermore, the increasing use of
code-switching, not merely linguistic but also musical juxtapositions echoed
social tension and conflict resolution in song. While the~se of folk themes or
traditional instrumentations signified desires for ethnic preservation or renewal,
the frequent merging of intercultural musical components increasingly suggested
both the desire for non-racial nationalism, as well as critical presentations of irony
and humor (Byerly, 1996: 116)".
The importance of crossover, multicultural and non-racial music performance was thus in
challenging apartheid barriers, including racist legislation and censorship policies. Those
musicians who pursued these styleCs and formations used music as "dangerous
crossroads" Lipsitz (1994) to express their own ideals, to contest existing injustices and
to challenge the audience to see things differently, to reposition themselves according to a
vision of a post-apartheid South Africa.

8.2.4 The VoiHvry tour

As has been clearly s~own, many musicians used live performance in different ways to
take resistant messages to South African audiences. Sometimes performances took the
form of tours of South Africa, and even included more than one group touring together.
For example, in 1989 Bayete and Sakhile toured with their 'Sounds of Africa' tour,
taking resistant messages to audiences to people all over the country. These included
Bayete songs like "Zabalaza", a call to people to participate in the struggle again§t
apartheid. The most audacious and confront~tional of these tours was the V oelvry tour
during 1989.
The object of the tour was to promote the 'alternative Afrikaans' message of a few
Shifty Records artists. Koos Kombuis and Johannes Kerkorrel had released albums

254

!
 t

through Shifty, challenging the conservative politics of the Nationalist government and
older generations of Afrikaners. Voelvry resisted apartheid and the conservative values
traditionally associated with Afrikanerdom. Many songs had humorous and
confrontational lyrics dealing with politics, lifestyle and religion. These lyrics often
attacked symbols of AfrikCllJer 'nationalism and Calvinism, like political leaders
(especially P. W. Botha) and the church. Kerkorrel's Gereformeerde Blues Band sang
"Wat'n Vriend Het Ons in PW"(2002, "What a Friend We Have in PW") to the tune of
"What a Friend We Have in Jesus", a move guaranteed to raise~he ire of pious
Christians. Kombuis sang "Wher~ Do You go to PW?" (2002, a rendition of Peter
Sarstedt's [1975] "Where Do You go to My Lovely?") and the Gereformeerde Blues
Band expressed their disdain for PW Botha with "Sit Dit Af' (1989, Turn it off) a song
about turning off the television whenever PW Botha's face appeared. Kerkorrel's
"Donker Donker Land" (1989, Dark dark land) painted a bleak picture of the country in
contrast to the lyrical descriptions of earlier folk songs. The song described "a dark
country crippled by dissent, isolation and drought" (Byerly, 1996: 232). Only when the
drought breaks will everything be washed clean:
And it's a dark dark land
The seasons turn the stars burn
The sun turns red, we have landed
On the wrong side of the moon ...

And the soldiers come marching

Each carrying,a weapon
There's a bom'f, in every supermarket
And the sound of breaking glass
And something must break
But after seven years of drought it begins to rain ... 4
With challenging lyrics like these, Voelvry:
"offered a critical re-appraisal of hegemonic Afrikaner culture. This message was
".,.
supported with such enthusiasm that Afrikaans alternative popular ~usic came to
be seen as the manifestation bfthe emergence of an Afrikaans counter-culture, a
dangerous youth-oriented social movement" (Jury, 1996: 99).

4 Translation by Ingrid Byerly (1996: 233).

255
Musically, the Voelvry musicians (the central three being Kerkorrel, Kombuis and
Bemoldus Niemand) reacted to the traditional Afrikaans popular music of the likes of
Carike Keuzenkamp, Marie Van Zyl and Sonja Herholdt. These latter musicians' music
performed a jingoistic function in support of apartheid society. These conservative
musicians operated within a context of what Sonja Herholdt (Interview, 2001)
retrospectively described as:
false protection ... protected by the regime, the South African government. They
were living in a bubble.
This bubble extended to army bases on the border, where musicians toured, promoting
the palatable Afrikaans culture of home. One of Herholdt' s songs was
"Waterblommetjies" (1978), typical of the Afrikaans 'lekkerliedjie', indeed a song in a
political bubble. It was apt therefore, that the alternative Afrikaans cabaret show Piekniek
by Dingaan, a forerulmer of the Voelvry movement, included the song
"Petrolbommetjies" (Petrol bombs) sung to the same tune as "Waterblommetjies", with
similar but subversive lyrics.
The Voelvry tour was organised around Afrikaans musicians performing these sorts of
counter-hegemonic lyrics. In the process political links with non-music organizations
were fostered. Tour organizer, Dirk Uys (Interview, 1998) approached Lloyd Ross of
Shifty Records with the idea of the tour:
I went to Lloyd and I said, 'Listen, why don't we do a tour? And put these okes
on the road?' And Lloyd said, 'Ja, cool idea'. And I went to Vrye Weekblad and I
got some money out of them. Not a lot, but RIO 000. And we also went to
IDASA, spoke to Van Zyl Slabbert, and he gave us a bit of money. So we had a
bit of budget and then I organized the tour from the Shifty offices.
From the outset the idea behind the Voelvry tour was to take Afrikaans protest music into
big and small centres alike, to audiences who otherwise would not hear the music, most
of which had been banned from radio play. The organizers and musicians believed that·it
was imperative not to shy away froln the heartland of Afrikanerdom. Consequently, tour
venues were arranged in places as diverse as Johannesburg and Bethlehem. Voelvry
certainly had a confrontational element to it: musicians left the comfort zones of the

256
 t

liberal Black Sun and Jameson's and ventured into venues in white rural areas like the
Kroonstad Civic Centre. Robot Torpor (1989: 7) aptly captured the spirit of contest
presented by places like Kroonstad. He described the "the rock 'n' roll ossewa" driven by
a group of "Afrikanarchists", fuelled by a desire to remodel their culture, "exhuming
Afrikaans, oiling its wheel.§, and pulling it forward" (Torpor, 1989: 7). Thus the Voelvry
tour arrived in Kroonstad:
"a town you yearn to leave, about 3km before you arrive. A dorp where to be
young is comparable to the joys of being a three-IeggecYgreyhound. A place
where people don't have sex on Sundays in case it leads to dancing"(Torpor,
1989: 7).
These locations themselves seemed to be integrally linked to the parody and pastiche that
flowed out of the V oelvry music. The music was not a reproduction of the real, but rather
constructed a process attempting to change the social world (Ulm"er, 1983: 86). Gary
Hertselman (Interview, 1998), who played with Kerkorrel in the Gereformeerde Blues
Band, described how:
There was an element of fun there essentially, initially. And then as the
momentum grew with the V oelvry tour and people starting banning songs and
banning gigs and closing venues and slashing car tyres and that kind of thing, I
started to realize the importance of what was going on. And focused on the fact
that what we're saying here lyrically - well not me essentially, but people like
Kerkorrel, KQmbuis and Bernoldus Niemand - are saying here essentially in their
.. ~~ .

lyrics, that they are saying with humour, but they are approaching extremely
serious topics here, and then I became aware of what this movement was.
Johannes Kerkorrel (Interview, 1998) elaborated, saying that:
It was very important just to break through the whole bland category that people
and Afrikaans youths were put in at the time. So if they were Afrikaans they.~

automatically supported P. W. Botha and the state, which I knew fro?1 experience
. .

wasn't true. There were a lot of people who thought differently and I thought that
the greatest threat we posed at the time was the fact that we protested against the
state and against policies of the National Party and especially the apartheid

257
 t

policies. And because we did it in Afrikaans that is why they reacted so violently
against us. Like sending the Security Police to our gigs and sabotaging us and
banning our concerts and banning the records. I thought that was because we
dared to voice our opposition in Afrikaans. If it was English it may have been
tolerated because ~gHsh people were supposed to be against [the policies of the
National Party], but because it was Afrikaans it was a bigger threat.
Willem Moller (Interview, 1998), guitarist for the Gereformeerde Blues Band,
acknowledged that the significapce of the V oelvry tour was ind~ed that it took an
alternative message to Afrikaner ))outh in a popular manner, appealing to their
rebelliousness against their parents' generation and the government:
The impact that the Voelvry tour had - which was enormous, we didn't quite
expect it - but what it told us was that for people to go "Sit Dit Af' [Turn it off]
and not get locked up, was a major liberation. And also realizing that there are
thousands of other people who feel the same way, that you might not have been
aware of, but they're there~ and you're not alone in feeling that way. So that was a
major liberation. It was a unifying thing. And I think especially for a whole
generation of Afrikaans-speaking people, who didn't want to be part of that whole
Afrikaans thing. Because it did have an Afrikaans stamp on it - you know, not
just the white South African stamp. They didn't want to be a part of it, they were
not proud of that heritage. They wanted to be somewhere else and they became
known as alternative Afrikaners ... It will be a major thing in their life forever,
-'~-:;
because it just made them realize that they're not alone, they're not a freak for
feeling that way, that there're thousands of other people who feel the same way
and that they were actually right. And that the real values that they were brought
up with as Afrikaners, you know Christianity and love your neighbour and that
kind of stuff, they actually, I think, took that seriously, that they became '1'for many
people the issue. Not the falsity and the lies, but to actually be sincere about it.
And turn the situation around and still stay true to what they were brought up
with. I think that became a big thing for many people.

258
 •
All in all 85 000 people attended V oelvry concerts as the entourage toured the country
(Vinassa, 1992: 17). This widespread attendance illustrates the importance of innovative
approaches to performance as a means of being heard despite censorship on the airwaves
(all of the politically contentious Voelvry music was banned from SABC airplay). The
J

effect was to challenge A:ftik~er support for apartheid from within (Kombuis, 2002). But
musicians needed courage to achieve this: to be prepared to take on the supporters of the
apartheid system who inevitably tried to stop them. Koos Kombuis (Interview, 1998)
explained that: :1
It wasn't so much ajoL It...was a terribly difficult time. We were under tremendous
stress, and there was consciousness all the time that we were in danger. I mean the
worst that actually happened was that they banned us from Stellenbosch campus,
RAU campus; they slashed our tyres at one gig. They threw stink bombs. No one
actually attacked us, but there was always the feeling that some mad right wing
guy could come and shoot us. It took a lot of guts. And there were dangerous
moments.
It was the commitment of the Voelvry musicians, together with the innovative strategy of
an extensive tour to a diverse range of South African venues which made it possible for
their resistant music to be heard. Although the music itself was not alternative, simply
rhythm and blues, the message aptly appealed to disenchanted youth in places where the
V oelvry musicians performed. In this way airplay was rendered less important than it
otherwise would have been. On the back of this effort many of the songs associated with
~"~<
the V oelvry tour became part of a resistant soundtrack of that age for many Afrikaans
(and also English) youth.

8.3 Alternative airplay

The discussion so far has emphasized the importance of live performance as an ,.
1"

alternative means of getting one's music heard by an audience living within the sonic
claustrophobia of broadcast censorship. As a result of live performance, thousands of
South Africans were exposed to music that they would not have heard had they relied
solely on commercial radio. However, musicians in search of an audience for music

259
 •
which had been or could be censored music were sometimes able to find alternative
sources of exposure to live performance and airplay on the established commercial radio
stations. The most common alternative source of airplay in the 1980s was campus or
student radio. Felix Guattari (1993: 85) contrasted a trend in North America "towards
hyper-concentrated syste~ cio~trolled by the apparatus of state, of monopolies, of big
political machines" with initiatives "toward miniaturized systems that create the real
possibility of a collective appropriation of the media," As has been established, the South
African broadcast scenario of the 1980s was very centralized, -?ut there were nevertheless
indications of 'miniaturized systems' developing. While there were no established pirate
stations (other than Radio Freedom which operated from outside the country and was not
specifically a popular music station, see further discussion below), student radio offered a
potentially radical alternative to the centralized world of state and commercial radio.
Benjy Mudie (Interview, 1998) of WEA Records recounted how National Wake were
refused airplay on SABC and so WEA submitted copies of their album to student radio
stations, The Voice of Wits in particular played their music. Gary Rathbone (Interview,
1998) who worked as a disc jockey at Voice of Wits confirmed that the station exploited
broadcast regulation loopholes to play resistant and other controversial music:
We were only broadcasting with a landline to canteens and residences. So we
could actually get away with a hell of lot' because it was harder for them to
monitor. Most harassment we did get on that score was usually from boorish
engineering students, who would hear you playing songs that they didn't like and
..,.~~c,

want to come up and threaten to beat you up and report you to the security police.
But we were playing basically anything we could get our hands on.
Similarly, Dirk Uys managed to arrange for the Voelvry music to be played on student
radio. This was done in conjunction with extensive touring so that student audiences were
familiar with the music when the tour came to town. It also enhanced album sales of the
.~

musicians involved in the tour. Dirk Uys (Interview, 1998) related how:
I worked a lot on the campus stations, to get our stuff played on campus. My
whole strategy of the Voelvry movement, the tour itself, was I figured to hit the
student market. Because the students go home, they have got little brothers and

260
 •
sisters at home. They have friends in the army, that whole thing. So we had a lot
of success there.
Certainly record companies like WEA, Shifty and Mountain Records sent copies of their
music, including resistant music, to student radio stations. Rhodes Music Radio (RMR),
for example, has a comprehepsive collection of albums submitted by these record
companies. These include National Wake, the Cherry Faced Lurchers, Mzwakhe Mbuli,
Roger Lucey, Kalahari Surfers, Jennifer Ferguson, Koos Kombuis, the Gereformeerde
Blues Band, Sankomota and David Kramer (including Bakgat [1981], completely
censored on SABC). Albums by these performers were played to varying degrees by
different campus radio stations according to station policy and individual presenters.
The main broadcast alternative for overtly resistant music was Radio Freedom.
However, Radio Freedom was only available on short wave, making it inaccessible for
many South Africans. Short wave radios were more expensive and Radio Freedom's
reception was poor. Listening to music on Radio Freedom was therefore more of a
resistant activity than an aesthetic experience, amidst the sound of long-distance static.
Accessibility aside, Radio Freedom did not focus specifically on popular music, but
music was an integral part of the station's programmes. A lot of the music was in the
form of recorded freedom songs as sung at political rallies. However, Radio Freedom
announcer and producer (and later Head of the station), Golden Neswiswi (Interview,
2003), noted that the station played any resistant, anti-government music it could get hold
of. This included exi1.¥.d musicians such as Miriam Makeba and Hugh Masakela in
addition to South-African based musicians including Stimela, Mzwakhe Mbuli and
Johnny Clegg. The station also played foreign protest singers like Fela Kuti and Bob
Marley. Music was played everyday as part of routine programming, but there was one
weekly showcase programme for resistant popular music, an hour-long "Sounds of
Artists" show on Saturdays.
A further innovative means of alternative airplay pursued by some musicians was to
provide $hebeen owners with copies of their albums. For many decades live music
performance had been an essential part of shebeen life (Coplan, 1985: 83), and when
musiciCl:ns were not available, recorded music was a ready substitute. Ray Phiri (Reitov,

261
1998) actively delivered Stimela albums to shebeens, and tin the process succeeded in
securing exposure in some urban areas, for music not always played on radio.
South Africa never developed a strong pirate radio station, such as Radio Caroline off
the coast of Britain or those stations (such as Free Radio Berkeley) that form part of the
'Free Radio' culture in North
...
America. The reasons most likely had to do with fear of the
heavy-handed apartheid state and to a lesser extent the expense involved. Nevertheless, as
has been shown, some alternatives to the mainstream radio stations were available, and
on occasion these were used fairly successfully. When used in conjunction with other
strategies, as was done by the Voelvry organizers, greater success was achieved.

8.4 Resistant visual imagery and information

The focus so far has been very much on the music itself, whether recorded or performed
live. However, popular music rarely exists in complete isolation from visual imagery and
information (printed text). Album covers, sleeve notes, concert flyers, posters and
programmes and printed imagery displayed on stage were all visual means through which
musicians could frame their music. In so doing they could communicate ideas to their
audience not necessarily available in the recorded form or performance alone, especially
in a context of censorship committees scrutinizing the recorded form.

8.4.1 Album covers

The most common means by which visual imagery was used by musicians to capture
~

images of subversion and resistance was through information contained on album covers.
Although not directly a part of the music, album covers were sometimes used to convey
messages or provide information which would not otherwise get through to the album
buyer. Usually the information provided (whether text or image) provided a framework
within which to listen to the album, almost a guide on how to read the music. For
example, Flash Harry, who mostly wrote satirical songs about love and relationships,
included a photocopied picture of a torn-up RIO note on their record sleeve simply
because it was against the law to reproduce national currency and to show their scorn for

262
 •
a national symbol of wealth (see llnage 8.2). Keith Berelowitz (Interview, 1998)
explained that:
I don't care for politics, yet you couldn't escape what was happening on a social
level in South Africa. Nobody could, I mean even if you just wanted to be a pop
star or whatever, y<tu were going to be influenced by what was happening around
you. It crept into your daily life. So I think that there was no escape from it. It had
to be there in your music and that is one of the things that gave South African pop
music its identity. You couldn't get away from it ... For example, on the second
album I had on the inner sleeve a ten rand note that was tom up. And I knew you
weren't allowed to make photocopies of money and stuff like that. But I thought
'fuck this now, you know this is a very innocent kind of thing to do' ... But
everybody did those things. It was either in the album cover or something they
would wear, or something in the lyric or anything.

Image 8. 2 Subversive images from Flash Harry's inner sleeves.

263
Berelowitz's comments reveal the interplay between strueture and resistance to it. In a
simple response to the myriad of government regulations, even a non-musical gesture of
transgression became part of the Flash Harry record album package. The photocopy of
the tom-up note, although not necessarily an indication of an anti-apartheid stance,

.
suggested an anti-government ;rebelliousness. The transgressive stance was accentuated
,
by the unconventional cursive hand-written form in which the lyrics were reproduced.
This was especially so on their first album, in which errors were simply crossed out on
the sleeve, intentionally avoiding a slick conformist package. The lyrics were badly typed
and words that had been mistakenly omitted were added in handwritten form, as in a sub-
edited article (see In1age 8.2).
This was typical of the punk aesthetic especially the style of music journalist Edwin
Pouncey who "eschewed slick technique" (Lawley, 1999: 106) and whose crudely drawn
and shoddy styIe became a defining feature of punk cartooning. Likewise, Gary Panter
produced drawings which, true to the spirit of punk, "tried to embrace all the smudges
and mistakes" (Panter, in Lawley, 1999: 107). The underlining idea was to support a
seemingly basic approach accessible to anyone regardless of his or her competence while
also being bluntly anti-corporate and aesthetically correct.
Shifty Records often used album covers as a means of making statements of protest. On
the front cover of their A Naartjie in our Sosatie (1985) compilation of rebel rhythms,
Warrick Sony sticks out his tongue and pulls an 'up yours' /puking face, while wearing a
T-shirt which quotes a line from the Nationalist government's national anthem 'Die
stem': 'Ons vir jou Sttid Afrika' (We for you South Africa). The two images are clearly
juxtaposed, illustrating Shifty's opinion of Nationalist Party apartheid ideology (see
Image 8.3). On the record label itself three stick figures are shown in the
form of 'Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil'. The three members of the Malopoets
are photographed in a similar pose on the front and reverse sides of their self-titled
Malopoets (1985) album. And the cover of Edi Niederlander's Hear No Evil (1989)
album reveals a drawing of an African woman in the 'hear no evil' stance (see Image
8.4).

264
Image 8. 3 Shifty's A Naartjie in our Sosatie cover.

On the cover of the local release of the Shifty Forces Favourites (1985) anti-
militarization compilation album, a portable radio separates two images: on the top a line
of soldiers are shown standing at attention in a line, capturing the essence of military
conformism. The lower image shows a group of people dressed in colourful clothes
happily dancing (see Image 8.5).

265
s

Image 8. 4 Album covers and inner sleeves: The Malopoets (background) hear no evil, speak no evil,
see no evil, as do the Shifty stick men (bottom right). Edi Niederlander's Hear No Evil cover is at the
bottom left.

Shifty's Voelvry (1988) compilation album cover also makes good use of symbolism.
The cover illustration is of a young 'boeremeisie' dressed in traditional Voortrekker dress
and bonnet gleefully flying as free as a bird over a Johannesburg urban cityscape. She has
'If"
clearly been freed of traditional expectations, of the rural conservatism that usually acts
as a backdrop for women historically depicted in Voortrekker garb. The reverse side of
the album cover is subtitled' Afrikaanse Musiek Vir Vandag' (Afrikaans music for
today). The suggestion is that the music acts as a soundtrack for the liberated Afrikaner,
freed of the conservatism of tradition (see Image 8.6). Stimela's Trouble in the Land of
Plenty (1989) album includes a front cover etching of a young African boy in the
foreground with smoke and fire in the background, depicting an image of widespread
uprising in South Africa and thereby elaborating on the album title (see Image 8.6).

266

.......---~ ~.-------,-. ,.* •••- ••- ... -~ ~ _. • . / -- .

Image 8. 5 Shifty's Forces Favourites cover.

Image 8. 6 The front covers of the Voelvry and Stimela's Trouble in the land o/plenty albums.

267
 •
The booklet that accompanies the Living in the Heart o/the Beast (1985) album by the
Kalahari Surfers combines two photographs, giving the appearance that the scene
depicted is one. The foreground shows a whites-only beach scene, but in the immediate
background is the overbearing V oortrekker monument The monument acts as a symbolic
reminder of the pact with Ge8d made by the V oortrekkers whereby God gave his approval
to the slaughter of Zulus at the battle of Blood River in 1838, in the name of white
supremacy. The image suggests that white privilege existed because of the repression that
made it possible (see Image 8.7).
Juluka albums covers typically included photographs of Johnny Clegg and Sipho
Mchunu together wearing traditional Zulu dress. The images were always of equality and
strength. The cover of the Universal Men (1979) album is a photograph of Johnny and
Sipho posing defiantly on a mine dump, presumably in Johannesburg (see Image 8.8). A
cryptic message lay in the representation of the group's name, positioned in the sky.
Richard Pithouse (1999:40) elaborated on the image:
"The name of the band appeared as an engraving on a gold bar. Its shimmering
glitz clashed, pointedly, with the more organic colours of the sky, the rocks, the
men and their clothes. Juluka means sweat in Zulu and the message couldn't have
been clearer: Johannesburg's wealth and glamour is built not just on gold but also
on the sweat of the men, the migrant labourers, who mined that gold".
On Juluka's follow-up album, African Litany (1981), Johnny and Sipho are shown in a
smiling, friendly pos~ Sipho helping to put a bangle on Johnny's arm (see Image 8.8).
The back cover comprises a collage of drawings and photographs placed against a wagon
wheel, suggesting that all the images depicted are connected to the turning of the wheel.

I There are images of Zulu warriors, settler soldiers and a boer on a horse, black
mineworkers, a black refuse collector, images of urban areas and a white woman lying on
a deckchair in the sun. There is also a photograph of a surfer on the Durban beachfront
As with the U.niversal men imagery, the implication was that the prosperous side of South
African life was built on the backs of forced black labour. Yet amongst the divergent
images there are also pictures of Zulu dancing and music, a reminder that leisure and
cultural celebration continue despite apartheid.

268

,
, ------ .. -------. -.. ... --.---- -....
~ -
 II
Ii

Image 8. 7 Kalahari Surfers' Living in the Heart o/the Beast booklet cover.

269
Image 8.8 Juluka's Universal Men and African Litany album covers against the backdrop of inner
sleeve images from African litany (right).

". Mzwakhe's Mbtili ;sCh~nge is- i~in (1986) album cover reveals a drawing of a casual
yet defiant looking Mzwakhe Mbuli standing in front of a squatter shack. 'Change is
Pain' is written in graffiti style writing on the squatter shack. An image is provided of the
effects of the apartheid system and the need for change, yet the ongoing existence of the
270
 MZWAI(HE
u.J
::c
~
c::(

S
N
:2E

Image 8. 9 Mzwakhe Mbuli's Change is pain cover.

squatter shacks and poverty is a reminder, as in the words of the title track, that 'change
is unknown in my ghetto' (See image 8.9).
Apart from displayiJJg visual imagery, album covers could also be used to make
statements or provide explanatory notes. An example was the export version of Forces
Favourites (1985) album (which Shifty released in conjunction with the ECC).
Information about the ECC and the injustices of the SADF were included. In a brochure
produced to promote the A Naartjie in our Sosatie (1985) album, the Kalahari Surfers
printed a manifesto of sorts in which they provided background information to "Prayer
for Civilization", aIlalysing the role of the chaplain in modern military establishments
_One excerpt included the argument that: -
"The role of the chaplain in modern military establishments can never be over
exaggerated. His constant reinforcen1ent of the political ideology through the
word of God is a formidable weapon of indoctrination. Those sane and civilized
271
 •
prayers before a bizarre military manoeuvre provided the ... mental environment
necessary to ensure a teenage soldier's keen and obedient participation" (Sony,
1985).
In this wayan ironic alternative reading of the SADF's role in South Africa was
provided, as well as a fram~wo~k within which to understand the song in question. A
similar piece of writing (by Ian Kerkhof of the Committee on South African War
Resistance in Amsterdam) appears in the booklet that accompanied the Kalahari Surfers'
Living in the Heart of the Beast (1985) album. It concludes:
"The Kalahari Surfers ... are involved in the process of forging a profound South
African national culture. Like the trade unions, war resisters, even church people,
indeed all those South Africans actively involved in the struggle against apartheid,
the Kalahari Surfers have discovered an identity. This is the subsistence beneath
the surface of this Surfers sound".
The Kalahari Surfers' stance was hereby contextualized in a manner not as easily
accomplished in the lyrics of songs alone. However, few musicians provided such
detailed comment. At the simplest level, some musicians positioned themselves with a
short statement about their loyalties. For example, The Spectres included the statement
'Construction Not Conscription' on their Be-Bop-Pop (1989) album, and Phil Collins
included the statement 'Phil Collins is totally opposed to apartheid' on the South African
release of his ... But seriously (1989) album (See Image 8.10). Some people within South
Africa took these sort~of gestures seriously. Paul Simon was severely criticized precisely
for not including similar sentiments on his Graceland (1986) album. These examples
emphasize that popular music's main commodity - the album - is a complete package
that is able to say more about the group than just what the music conveys. The album
cover, itself an important art form, proved to be an important vehicle of protest.
Crucially, it was a further means by which musicians could frame their music within a
context of censorship, allowing audiences access to politi(;al messages not necessarily
included in the lyrics of the music. Given that only very overtly controversial album
covers were banned (for example, Bigger Than Jesus (1989) by the Kalahari Surfers),
liberal statements and symbolic images (especially, but not only those) hidden away in

272

l,
Image 8. 10 Political statements on albums by Phil Collins (above) and The Spectres (below).

inner sleeves and on back covers did not attract much negative attention from censors or
the public.

8.4.2 Posters, banners and concert programmes

An integral component of many music performances are posters and flyers advertising
concerts, and on man.~ occasions programmes were produced to introduce audiences to
details about performances and performers. Banners were also used to provide
information to audiences.
During the 1980s posters were regularly used to advertise political rallies in a way that
listed the musicians performing along with the name of political organizations or the
theme of a particUlar concert, festival or rally. Examples of posters are numerous. Image
8. 11 includes posters advertising firstly, a 1987 UDP and COSATU concert in support of.
PA Wu (Food and Allied Workers Union) workers, .secondly, a1984 ECC concert (Poster
Collective, 1991: 165), and thirdly a 1984 cultural day in Alexandra (Posterbook
Collective, 1991 :162).

273
Image 8. 11 Posters advertising musical performances in support of cultural, political and economic
issues (poster Collective, 1991: 162-167).

Image 8.12 includes two further examples: a 1985 ECC 'Conscription Clash' (Poster
Collective, 1991: 167) and a 1985 'Women Make Music' concert hosted by the Wits
Women's Movement (Poster Collective, 1991:165). In 1982 Juluka used the same
photograph as appeared on their African Litany album (see discussion above} for their
tour poster. Apart from concert details some (if not all)s of the posters also included, in
handwriting, the invitation 'All races welcome'. These posters generally included
'"
informative graphics telling the reader about the events: organization logos, symbolic
imagery and similar graphics. In this way posters provided information about the concert,
yet they also gave the audience an indication of the musicians' allegiances and how, in
general, to frame their music. Thus, as was indicated above, an instrumental band like
Sabenza or Flux could make a clear political statement without having lyrics in their
songs, simply b~ appearing under a particular banner.
Concert programmes were also used to provide audiences with-informatlQn about a ·
particular musician or group's allegiances and stance. The programme produced for

5 It is not possible to be sure of this, given that only a sample copy of the poster is available as evidence.
274
Image 8.12 Posters advertising music concerts at ECC and Women's events (poster Collective, 1991:
162-167).

Stimela' s The Unfinii/led Story national tour of 1987 provided audiences with
information which assisted them in grasping the band' s political stance, even if some of it
was cryptic and needed reading between the lines. For example, group leader, Ray Phiri
(1987: 5), contributed a message which included the lines:
W-h at's in a song if there' s no message?
I
Who ' s (sic) song is it by the way?
It's your song - that's whyit's unfinished. It's
The people who will have to finish it. I

In addition, in a 'letter from Stimela' in the programme, the group stated:

275
 t

"The voices will be heard, for the truth has to be told. We owe it to the younger
generation: Let's retain our culture. Today we have gathered to celebrate the
coming of age of our music" (Stimela, 1987: 2).
Although not boldly political, these statements effectively framed Stimela's purpose
within the rhetoric of the tilJle, and yet were sufficiently vague so as not to provoke the
banning of the programme under Emergency regulations. When Bayete and Sakhile went
on their joint 'Sounds of Africa' tour in 1989, they included programme notes on the
meaning of some of the songs (sung in the vernacular) to be performed. This would have
been especially useful to English or Afrikaans members of the audience. For example, the
notes explain Bayete's song "Sol'buyisa" in fairly explicit terms, indicative of the
slightly more lenient political climate of 1989:
"We will get our land back! Our land has been taken from us, we will get it back.
Our music they can never take from us because it is ours" (Sounds of Africa,
1989: 1).
The programme introduced Bayete in relation to the soCial content of their music and
provides clues to the audiences as to how they should interpret the group's music:
"The influence of current events is inevitable but Bayete strives to preserve a rich
and precious heritage and to make this relevant in format and content to the times
in which they live. Their music is an ecstatic expression of suffering and the
struggle, but ultimately celebrates life with all its pain and joy. They are subtle in
their creativiqr. They have to hint at things and tread carefully through political
minefields. They use allegory with great skill to allude to specific realities and
often have to leave questions hanging in the air, knowing that their listeners will
understand and provide answers for themselves" (Sounds of Africa, 1989: 2).
Concert programmes were evidently a straightforward means of conveying additional
information to audiences, but were time-consuming and often too expensive to produce.
Both examples cited above were sponsored by organizations and not funded by the bands
themselves.
Most often concerts and gigs were not sufficiently formal or funded to warrant
programmes, and so apart from the use of promotional posters, musicians tended to use

276
 t

banners or political posters on stage to provide a contextual backdrop to performances.

For example, the Aeroplanes performed with an ECC 'Forces Favourites' banner behind
them together with a 'No apartheid war, troops out of the township' poster pasted on a
pillar alongside the stage (see Image 8.13). Mapantsula performed with a large 'ECC,

Image 8.13 Carnivalesque Aeroplanes gig in support of the ECC (photograph: Steven Hilton-
Barber, mid-1980s).

Stop the call up ' banner at the back of the stage (see Image 8.15) . And as part of an anti-
censorship campaign, Shifty Records offered a subversive alternative to the record
company' s oft-used inner sleeve logo ' Home taping is killing music and it' s illegal' by
substituting it with ' Censorship is killing music and it's legal ' (see Image 8.14). This
was displayed at concerts featuring Shifty musicians during the campaign. Shifty also
produced a banner depicting the famous dog and gramophone record made famous by
'His Majesty' s Voice ' . However, they subverted the logo. In the Shifty parody, the dog
wore a muzzle and the wording was changed to ' His Muzzled Voice'. As part of the
campaign, Shifty artists, like Johannes Kerkorrel, performed against the backdrop of the

277
banner. Apart from being humorous, these visual images made an important statement
very simply. They also offered the alternate reading that Shifty - as a fringe independent
company - did not completely support the sentiments underlying the original big business
logo. As Lloyd Ross (1999) commented, "fans of Shifty Records were also fans of home
taping".

Image 8. 14 Shifty's anti-censorship logo juxtaposed with the corporate logo it mimicked.

A final strategy worth noting, and employed by some musicians, was simply to wear a
T-shirt with a slogan or image that could be read by the audience. For example, a member
of Mapantsula wore a T-shirt that stated that 'Killing is no solution' at the same 'Stop the
call up' gig already mentioned (see Image 8.15). Members of Amandla performed at a
concert wearing T-shirts commemorating the ANC's 75 th anniversary. The Thami
Mnyete Quartet performed at the CASA Conference wearing T-shirts commemorating
the conference. Wearing clothing in this way was an obvious means of presenting the
body as a text, to be read by the audience. A less overt fOIID of this was achieved by the
278
Image 8. 15 Mapantsula at an ECC gig with a 'Killing is no solution' T-shirt and a 'Stop the call up'
banner in the background (photograph: Paul Weinberg, mid-1980s).

likes of Juluka who, as discussed above, wore a style of clothing which made a particular
cultural/political statement. Similarly, for a period Koos Kombuis dressed as a
Rastafarian, to indicate his acceptance of the political sentiments of reggae music,
providing a creolized identity. In a satirical act, Dog Detachment used to wear military
uniforms, with little South African flags sewn on the shoulders and stuck on their guitars
during live performances. Dog Detachment were part of a group of musicians influenced

279
by the punk movement and driven by an underlying subversive subcultural theme. Punk
was "part youth rebellion, part artistic statement" primarily reflected in music (Sabin,
1999: 2). South African punk-influence was divergent to British punk, with different
issues at stake. Terry Armstrong (in Silber, 1983: 42) of Dog Detachment summed this
up when he pointed out that "We're
~ ,
white kids living comfortably in a white suburban
society, and we wouldn't know a dole queue if it fell on our heads". The subversion
within South African punk (which tended not to be hardcore) created a space for white
youth to express their dissatisfaction with traditional white (Afrikaner) - dominated
politics. But its objection was also to broader economic and political domination, not
simply to apartheid politics. Dog Detachment's seemingly objectionable attire could only
be understood within the punk context, which provided a frame within which to
understand the broader social significance of their songs. However, a level of 'subcultural
capital' (Thornton, 1995: 11-14) was required by music fans in order to make appropriate
sense of the antics and lyrics of the band.
All these strategies were attempts at creating an identity for the musician that was
separate yet linked to the music performed. In the case of slogan T-shirts and button
badges, the musician literally wore a link of identification with a specific cause or
sentiment. This means of laying claim to a particular identity was part of the music
package presented to the audience by the musician. The package itself was a set of
indicators allowing the audience an additional level of access to the music. Sometimes
this was done to bypass censorship, to say things in a form that could escape the attention
~

of censors. Other times it was simply to show allegiance, to make a statement regardless
of the censorial and repressive processes.

8.5 Resistance from within the major record companies

Despite the limitations of the major record companies discussed in Chapter Five, there
were individuals working for the majors who opposed censorship and/or apartheid and
who were supportive of bands who took a stand against self-censorship. The positioning
of these people within the majors was indicative of the contested nature of many areas of
South African life during the apartheid era. These were people who had taken the

280
corporate route but nevertheless, to different degrees, were not prepared to accept the
limitations and restrictions of apartheid institutions such as the SABC and Directorate of
Publications. A key person in this regard was Benjy Mudie (Interview, 1998) who
worked for WEA Records. He pointed out that:
There was a lot of music that had something to say about what was happening in
our country at the time. And we did put out a number of records that caused the
company problems with the security police, but to their credit they always stood
behind what I did.
Mudie alluded to examples such as the National Wake's self-titled debut album (1981)
and the Asylum Kids' Solid Principle (1982) album. He insisted that he respected the
artists' decision and went along with it whatever they decided. Mudie (Interview, 1998)
maintained that:
I would have a problem if an artist was prepared to so easily compromise their
work, particularly ifit's of a social or political nature. I feel uneasy with that, I
don't like to censor, and I've never suggested it.
While this sentiment differs from Roger Lucey's recollections of working with Mudie at
WEA, there is no doubt that in the early 1980s WEA, and Mudie in particular, did record
and/or distribute a substantial amount of music with overt anti-establishment political
content that other majors would not have recorded at the time. Roger Lucey, National
Wake, Corporal Punishment and the Asylum Kids are clear examples. In this regard
Benjy Mudie (Intervitew, 1998) did feel that WEA was taking a much stronger stand than
the other majors. He stressed that:
The South African music industry did stay silent by and large. There were pockets
of resistance, you know David Marks [3 rd Ear Music, see below], and later what
Lloyd Ross [Shifty Records, see below] did, and WEA itself, although it was and
became a major label, it always retained that kind of fierce independence. So in
the broadest context we were renegades, we were mavericks, and we did play that
role - we did question what was going on, we did criticize the industry, we didn't
go along with a lot of the decisions that were made, and wherever possible we did

281
 •
speak out against what was happening both in a broader sense politically in the
country, and within the industry itself.
Roddy Quinn (Interview, 1998) at EMI also claimed that he did not interfere with the
music recorded by the musicians he worked with. He said that:
Every artist did what
"<.
they wanted to do. I was just working with them, although I
agreed with everything they were doing. But I certainly wasn't there telling them
what to write and that kind of stuff. That was up to them.
Again, this view clashes somewhat with that of Heather Mac of Ella Mental who
recorded with Roddy Quinn at EMI. EMI did release music by groups such as Tribe after
Tribe and particularly Savuka, who were anti-establishment or politically left. Savuka's
"Asimbonanga" (1987) was banned by the SABC in a case that was widely reported at
the time. Gallo released Stimela's political albums Look, Listen and Decide (1986), The
Unfinished Story (1987) and Trouble in the Land ofPlenty (1989) and Sipho Mabuse's
politically overt Chant of the Marching (1989) album.
Steve Harris of Polygram indicated that Polygram bypassed Directorate of Publications
bannings was to distribute the banned album on cassette when the record had specifically
been banned (with its particular serial number) or vice-versa (Reitov, 1998d). Despite
these pockets of resistance within the majors, it was the independents who offered by far
the strongest opposition to the government's policies.

8.6 Innovative ind~!J.endent record company resistance

This discussion of independents focuses only on those which offered a significantly
different approach to that of the maj ors. The three most interesting independents in terms
of recording critical South African music were Mountain Records, 3rd Ear Music and
Shifty Records - all of which evolved out of the need to record and archive music that
would in all likelihood otherwise have been neglected.

282
 •
8.6 1. Independent repositories of marginal South African music
The first of the aforementioned independents to be established was 3rd Ear Music, started
by David Marks in the late 1960s. Marks said that he did not really have the courage to
sing overtly political songs in front of audiences. So he set about recording and putting up
sound systems. Marks (Inttrview, 1998) recalls how:
I started recording. I was recording everything I could, and did do. Not only in the
folk clubs, but also at the festivals. And then I started working with people at
Dorkay House which was another big step for me .... That really established me in
the townships as a sound person. And that is how I was known. I was never
known as a songwriter or a singer. And from then I started getting involved with
the more radical rock groups and the more vocal folk singers. And recording
them, because nobody else would or could, and from the sound side of things I
started getting more involved in the records.
3rd Ear Music worked with a variety of musicians and put together a host of folk concerts
and recordings of these concerts. Some of those who appeared early on included Johnny
Clegg and Sipho Mchunu (then still known as Johnny and Sipho), Colin Shamley, Roger
Lucey, Syd Kitchen and Flash Harry. Apart from helping to launch many careers, 3rd Ear
Music played a crucial role in simply recording hundreds of hours of live music from
rock and folk concerts to church and trade union choirs and political rallies.
Mountain Records was established in Cape Town in 1980 by Paddy Lee Thorpe. The
aim of the label wa~J.0 record South African performers (Mountain Records homepage,
2002). According to musician and producer Murray Anderson (Interview, 1998) who
worked with Thorpe throughout the 1980s, Thorpe was very determined to do things on
his own, and especially not to rely on Johannesburg, where the majors and most
independents were concentrated. He wanted to prove that he could do things in Cape
Town. Mountain Records was a commercial venture, but Thorpe also took on a lot of
projects that were not obvious moneymakers. He put his own money into all the music he
recorded, often because he believed that the music deserved to be recorded. Amongst
those who were recorded by Mountain were Jonathan Butler, David Kramer, Lesley Rae
Dowling, Edi Niederlander and Basil Coetzee. Crucially Mountain provided recording

283
facilities for Cape Town musicians. Some of these musicians would well have gone
unnoticed and unrecorded as a consequence. Some, like Edi Niederlander, recorded
overtly anti-apartheid music.
Shifty Records was started in the early 1980s in Johannesburg. Lloyd Ross (Interview,
1998) describes the begirurings of Shifty:
I was playing in bands, there was a whole lot of music going down that was
getting neglected by the industry at large, and I thought something should be done
about it. I started collecting gear with a friend of mine, Ivan Kadey, and we put a
little studio together in a caravan. The idea was of mobility and hence the name
Shifty - it could shift from here to there - and we pretty much achieved that. We
went and recorded in quite a few locations in South Africa.
Importantly the Shifty approach was to record music neglected by the majors, but which
was nevertheless important South African music, that ought to have been preserved. Ross
(Interview, 1998) explained how:
My immediate interest was in the new wave scene at that stage - which was in the
late '70s -like Corporal Punishment, the Radio Rats (I played with the Radio
Rats), National Wake (my original partner in Shifty played with National Wake-
Ivan Kadey). For me that was really the kind of music that I wanted to essentially
document - I suppose - more than anything else. And once we'd done one or two
it started to become evident that documentation wasn't enough, you had to try and
sell these t~gs. But as soon as I did start recording, and as soon as I did get some
equipment together I started realizing there was a lot more music from a much
more diverse spectrum or cross-section of the South African population, that
wasn't getting recorded either. So funnily enough, after having started out with
this idea of recording hard alternative music, the first record I put out - Shift 1 -
was in fact Sankomota, which was a black band from Lesotho. And basically
throughout my years recording in the' 80s the catalogue just got more and more
diverse.
In the 1980s Shifty were pivotal in focusing the direction of much of the resistance music
that might othenvise have remained isolated. This was done in the form of three

284
 •
compilation albums of resistance music at a time when major companies were hesitant to
record a single political song on any of their albums. These were the Forces Favourites
(1985) compilation of songs against conscription and related anti-military themes, A
Naartjie in our Sosatie (1985) comprising general resistance songs by both black and
white performers (against~he grain of the dominant practice in South Africa of keeping
such music apart for separate audiences) and the Voelvry (1989) album. In these
instances Shifty as a company showed a strong commitment by standing up against the
system of injustice to which they were opposed. In taking the initiative, they gave
direction to individual musical protest efforts despite censorship. In this way musical
movements developed, especially the anti-war ECC-related musical movement and (most
of all) the V oelvry movement.
The impact of the independents in archiving music was crucial. They certainly made it
possible for a lot more South African music to be heard by a wider audience, but they
also played a vital role in ensuring that certain musical reflections on South African life
were not lost forever.

8.6.2 Foreign funding, mobile studio and self-production

Shifty Records avoided the commercial necessity of radio play (to pay for recording
costs) by seeking sponsorship from overseas donors to cover the cost of the records they
produced. While they did (mostly unsuccessfully) attempt to get songs played on SABC,
at least the producti9J} costs were in most instances paid for through financial aid. This
freed Shifty to record many marginal artists and musicians with controversial messages,
such as the Kalahari Surfers, Jennifer Ferguson, The Cherry Faced Lurchers and
Mzwakhe Mbuli. The drawback of this approach was that Shifty tended to be less
innovative with its marketing strategy than many of its musicians would have liked it to
be. As a result Shifty made a major and crucial contribution to archiving resistance and
other alternative lTIusic, but the music was not heard by as big an audience as many had
hoped (seve:re censorship was also ~ important contributing factor).
Another important innovative Shifty strategy was the use of a mobile studio. As
indicated, Shifty operated a studio in a caravan, allowing them to go to various locations

285

'~ .. -.---. ..........

,; .
~-., .....------"~-""."'''.' ."~.",,,,- .. - _.. .
 •
to record musicians. The first - and most famous - case being their trip to Lesotho (an
independent country landlocked by South Africa) to record Sankomota who were not
allowed into South Africa. The mobile studio was a fluid recording space, capable of
being used to move a technological space to places where recording technology did not
exist or lacked sophistication (like Lesotho).
In a further innovative strategy, Warrick Sony (1991), who worked with Shifty,
bypassed the major pressing plants by releasing his first album on cassettes produced at
home and then distributed personally. This was a strategy adopted by a number of people,
sometimes for commercial reasons, but often for political reasons. Barry Gilder (1983:
19) released an album of his songs in this manner and it was banned after police found
copies of it on a raid of the University of Cape Town student union offices. In similar
fashion a distributor operating under the name of' Observatory Productions' put out a
cassette compilation (titled Regional Jive) of fringe bands like Illegal Gathering, Splash,
Private File and the Outfitters. Postal orders could be made to an address provided on the
cassette release. These examples underline Scott Marshall's (1995: 212) emphasis of the
importance of cassettes as a small, cheap and easy to use fonnat able to provide an
important opportunity for tiny production companies. Indeed, 3 rd Ear Music and
especially Shifty Records occasionally made use of cassette releases to provide low price
album releases to their fans. Cassette technology certainly provided the independents and
musicians operating on their own the possibility of bypassing the vinyl pressing plants
and getting music o~ to their audiences relatively cheaply. In this way cassettes could be
seen as a challenge to the majors' monopolization of the recording industry (Manuel,
1993), but not in a way that significantly threatened them. For the purposes of this thesis,
the importance of cassette releases was that they enabled certain releases that would
otherwise not have happened.
Furthermore, Warrick Sony overcame the censorship of the South African pressing
plants (who refused to press Kalahari Surfers albums) by recording his albums in Shifty's
studio and sending the masters to Recommended Records in England: Recommended
Records pressed and released the albums, and Sony imported some of the copies for the

286

~ I

......,.................-_........... , .... "'.... ~... .." ..--" ....... - - - .

South African market. This allowed him a greater degree t of artistic freedom. Sony (Doxa,
1989) explained that:
"I do what I like in my music. I don't self-censor myself in any way. If I think that
this piece of music works like this then Ijust do it. I don't think of anything else,
apart from maybe if a song in a particular way (form and content-wise) would
~.

work musically in a certain way, I would try and mould it into a more tidy
package than what it might otherwise have been".
As a result of Sony's strategy, Kalahari Surfers albums were overtly subversive and
uncompromisingly made counter-hegemonic statements. Sony's collaboration with Shifty
was typical of the innovativeness of the independents (and Shifty in particular) during
that period. Musician Gary Hertselman (Interview, 1998) summed-up the vital
contribution of the independents:
Essentially musicians were going down, getting their own together without the
help of the corporates. No major companies were behind things like the Voelvry
tour. It was an indie like Shifty who understood what was going on. And it was in
fact a case of that: that you just actually took the microphone for yourself, rose up
and .... the small man rose up and took a slice of the boerewors!6
Given the innovative steps taken by these independents, often far more courageous and
certainly more innovative than the majors, there is no doubt that they were qualitatively
different to the majors in their approach and the way they operated. Shifty's method of
securing funding from foreign donors in particular displayed a resourcefulness (in trying
:..,
censorship times) not considered by the majors. As a result, the efforts of these three
independents alone resulted in a much greater output of overt resistance music than that
of any three majors, particularly in a period of intense suppression.

8.7 Resistance from exile

Resistant South African musicians who went into exile often supported counter-
hegemonic struggles through various means, including live performance, resistant music
and political campaigning. While some musicians went overseas simply to further (the

6 Traditional South African sausage.

287
 t

commercial side of) their musical careers, many musicians went into exile for political
reasons, sometimes involuntarily. Miriam Makeba, for example, did not choose to live
the life of an exile, but was not allowed back into South Africa after performing in
Europe and the U.S.A. in the early 1960s (Makeba with Hall, 1987: 98). Others, such as
Letta Mbula, went into exile because they found the South African political climate too
~

restrictive, stifling their creativity (Molefe and Mzileni, 1997: 45). The Dynamics left
South Africa for England because some of the members had been conscripted into the
army and refused to serve in the S.A.D.F. The whole band went over rather than disband
(Interview with Jimmy Florence, 1998).
Once in exile these musicians were able to voice their political messages more freely
than back in South Africa. This usually took the form of political concerts. For example,
when Sankomota were banned from South Africa, Tsepo Tshola (Interview, 1998) left
the band and went overseas to perform with Hugh Masekela. He related how:
Here and there we would be invited into political festivals, you know, festivals for
Angolans, festivals for South Africans, festivals for different places that had
problems.
The Dynamics performed regular gigs in London, often on behalf of political
organizations. For example one gig described as a 'Shake off the winter' concert was
advertised as an 'Anti-Apartheid Benefit'. Another concert at Chats Palace was supported
by the Hackney and Tower Hamlets Anti-Apartheid Movement. The gig was to celebrate
Nelson Mandela's bWhday (Dynamics, 2001 album CD booklet). In this way they were
able to raise awareness about South African issues. The message went beyond the concert
venues. On two occasions in 1985 their gigs were reviewed in New Musical Express, one
of Britain's foremost music magazines (Kelly, 1985; Morgan Jones, 1985). This took
their resistant message to a broader audience. One review described their music as:
"an energy of commitment that thumps from the joyful tinpot drums and is
etched on the face of the bassist as he tirelessly pogoes from stage front to back.
An irresistible mix that moved even the bar-proppers to dance - it's a start. Their
parting words: Free Nelson Mandela" (Morgan Jones, 1985).

288
 On a much grander scale musicians such as Hugh Masekela, Abdullah Ibrahim and
Jonas Gwangwa regularly participated in resistance initiatives and they often performed
on behalf of the ANC and other political organizations, participating in a variety of
political campaigns such as the release of Nelson Mandela. The three aforementioned
musicians, together with other musicians from within and outside South Africa,
participated in the CASA "Conference in Amsterdam in 1987. The conference was
organized by the ANC as a forum for debating popular culture in a post-apartheid South
Africa. The musicians who attended were able to participate in the debate on resistance
culture and in particular, the position of music within the cultural struggle (see
Campschreur and Divendal, 1989).
Abdullah Ibrahim contributed towards ajazz album of resistance freedom songs entitled
Liberation (1977). The album involved collaborations between mostly South African
musicians in exile and some American jazz musicians. He also was the subject of a
documentary film 'A brother with perfect timing' (Austin and Bond, 1986), which
portrayed his life as a South African musician in exile, committed to a South African
culture of the people, as opposed to apartheid culture.
Of all the South Africans who went into exile, Miriam Makeba was able to use her
musicianship most successfully to spread her anti -apartheid message. Makeba
campaigned on behalf of black South Africans: within America, at the United Nations
(including twice addressing the General Assembly) and in Africa, especially linking up

...
with the Organization of African Unity. She performed many times in different
independent African countries. Apart from actively campaigning on various political
platforms, she also made use of live performance to address apartheid issues. She
achieved this by singing politically relevant songs and, similarly to musicians within
South Africa, spoke to audiences betweens songs. Makeba (Makeba and Hall, 1987: 230)
explained how, in exile, she would live for the moments she could perform her music live
and:
"for the message, the few heartfelt words that I ·say to plead for my people, this
makes it even more perfect. My voice is heard by the people when I speak about
the evils that are strangling South Africa. Every day there is more and more to say

289
 - there is more urgency and more tragedy. The concert stage: This is the one place
where I am most at home, where there is no exile".
On the concert stages of foreign countries Makeba and others found a space within which
to resist, within which to convey a meaningful message through their music. In this
moment, in this space, they experienced a moment of creative resistance despite all the
,
structures apartheid had put in their way, and despite the wretchedness of life in exile.
The concert stage offered a liberated zone in which they could put aside all else and, for a
brief while, perform without compromise.

8.8 Challenging and undermining censors

Musicians and record companies sometimes appealed against Directorate of Publications
bans, a practice which attempted to expose secret spaces, where reasons for banning were
recorded, but hidden from public access. According to the 1974 Act anyone with a
financial interest in a banned pUblication could apply to the Directorate to be given the
reasons for the ban. Musicians and record companies often made use of this clause to
expose censorship as "an elite response to a politically threatening situation" (Hill, 1992:
42). Legal challenges reveal that not only is censorship a process in defence of vested
. political and related moral interests, but it is also that it is based on conservative and
often arbitrary and intellectually flimsy premises.
The record company licensed to distribute Pink Floyd's The Wall (1979) in South
Africa challenged the ban, questioning the point of banning an album and single which
::.,.
had already sold tens of thousands of copies each and which was not about the South
African education system. The response of the Appeal Board emphasized the censors'
paranoia. They argued that the record was "prejudicial to the safety of the State"
(Directorate of Publications, 1980: P80/49/80).
Roger Lucey's challenge of the Directorate ban of his The Road is Much Longer (1979)
album revealed precisely the weakness and paranoia of the state censor's case. As a result
of the challenge he discovered that some of the factors upon whicH the ban was based
included the belief that the use of saxophones on the album was subversive because: "It is
I

well known that this instrument incites blacks to violence" (Page, 1986: 5) and that the

290
use of African rhythm in another song was likely to "incite people towards insurgency
and violence which can be dangerous for the security of the State" (Directorate of
Publications letter to Lucey, 22 October 1982). Not only was the censors' conservative
political stance revealed through these statements, but the reasons were once again open
to ridicule, especially, as bucey pointed out in his appeal, the rhythm used in the song in
question ("You Only Need Say Nothing") was "a traditional English folk melody", not
African (Roger Lucey's letter of appeal to the Directorate of Publications, 28 October,
1982). Lucey went on to point out that in any case, it was fallacious to argue that African
rhythms incite people towards insurgency and violence. As a result of Lucey's appeal the
original decision to ban the album for possession was reduced to a ban on distribution,
thus making it legal to own a copy of the album, but not to sell it.
Shifty Records appealed against the banning of the Kalahari Surfers' Bigger Than Jesus
(1989) album. In the appeal process the PAB acknowledged that the song "Gutted With
Glory" which had been banned (see Chapter Four) was a legitimate form of protest and
that "no disrespect is present" (Directorate of Publications, 1989: DP89/0SIS1). This, in
part, led to the ban on the album being lifted.
Even in cases when appeals were not successful, the workings of the public censors
were at least exposed. Censors set up boundaries based on a position of moral centrality
apparently pursued out of duty. However, scrutiny of the actions of censors instructively
debunked the objectivity of the censor, as someone removed from, yet acting on behalf of
society, viewing mat'€frial from an entirely neutral space. The space from which the
censors launched their attacks were by no means neutral, but was deeply embedded in the
interests of a particular social group with which the censor intrinsically identified.
The central moral space, which the censor claimed to occupy, became an openly
political space, part of a contest. Once the subjective and vested status of censors was
revealed, those opposed to their actions were able to expose, challenge and ridicule their
actions and decisions. This is especially borne-out in a Rand Daily Mail article covering
the story of the Directorate's ban of Pink Floyd's The Wall (1980). The story was
accompanied by a ridiculous photograph of an average Hillbrow man-on-the-street

291
standing in front of a display of The Wall albums, with atbemused look on his face and
his fingers in his ears (See Image 8.16). This story and another in the Finance Week (June
5-11 1980) implicitly ridiculed the ban. The Finance Week maintained that the
censorship laws were ridiculous, especially banning a record that had been top of the hit
parade for three months. The ridicule and laughter, was indicative of a shifting of power,
""

r:~:<
rlt;

Mr D;avld Cronjeof HiHb to w turns h,Ls back on banned copLes of Pink

Ftoyd's nThe Walrl,sllortly before they were, recmoved from the raoks of '8
,Hlll brQw recordsh op yesterdav. Notu~;N~eL\NAT$,.ON ·

Image 8.16 A Rand Daily Mail (5 May, 1980) item on the banning of Pink Floyd's The Wall.

undermining the moral authority of the centre. Many Directorate decisions, as well as
those of the SABC, were met with disbelief, newspaper cartoons and joking amongst
critical members of the public. The laughter underlines the precarious position of the
censors, whose task was excessive: excessively virtuous, excessively pious and
excessively paranoid, leading to a response to pUblications which itself was excessive:
292
outlawing publications, but in the process examining and drawing attention to the very
objects they wished to banish from public consumption. Excess opens itself to ridicule
(Glenn, 1992: 81), and the censor's position was no exception.
In 1979 Dave Marks at 3rd Ear Music utilized a strategy which similarly sought to draw
attention to that which the state censor wished to keep hidden from public consumption.
Marks sought legal advice"about the political songs on Roger Lucey's The Road is Much
Longer (1979) album. He was informed that some of the songs could lead to serious
political repercussions, in particular the song "Lungile Tabalaza". In response Marks
pressed two versions of the album. The version for commercial and broadcast release
included a censored version of "You only need say nothing" (a verse was omitted) and
"Lungile Tabalaza" was left off the album altogether. However, unlike other instances of
record company self-censorship, part of the vinyl space allocated for the song was simply
left blank. Listeners to the album heard one minute of silence when the record reached
the fourth track on the first side of the record. 3rd Ear Music included an explanatory note,
which by way of apology explained the blank space on the vinyl. This advisory to
listeners, that the album they had purchased had been deprived of some of its content
because of political censorship, constituted both an act of self-censorship and one of
resistance. It laid bare the stark reality of censorship: that music and ideas had been
replaced by silence. But it was a silence not entirely symbolic of defeat. It was a moment
of transgressive reflection, literally a minute's silence of resistance, metaphorically
acknowledging the death of freedom of speech in South African society.
rd
The 3 Ear Music hlank spaces episode was followed seven years later by a similar
yxample. In a much-publicized wrangle over censorship spaces in mid-1986, the Weekly
Mail sought to expose the extent and effects of State of Emergency regulation censorship
by revealing exactly where the regulations had prevented them from printing what they
wanted to publish. The brazenly self-censored copy of the Weekly Mail on the 20 th June
1986 was simultaneously an act of repressive censorship and a moment of resistance. The
particular form of the latter was only made possible by the former. The editors, who
. simply crossed out the' offensive' words and phrases with a black marking pen, overtly
censored all forbidden information (See Image 8.17). In some instances entire stories

293
were omitted, but the space in which the story would have been printed was left blank,
with a note to that effect. In a tit-for-tat response to being ridiculed, the government
reacted to the blank spaces by banning them. According to Emergency Regulation 3.3:
"No person shall publish any publication in which any blank space or obliteration
or deletion of part of the text or report or of a photograph or part of a photograph
"'-
appears in that blank space, obliteration or deletion, as may appear from an

'- " " ' " "

Cj~~

Ou:r lawyers
tell u.s 'w.e ca11'
say almost
llothin,g critical
ab.o ut the
Emergel1cy

.'F~f.~Y t-t};~~.$idc·.~e(~ oU'~·. p'iJ: bl:~ :~~~l.k~~:} ~uh~:,,:.r::~h{~~._

"3:1';i:l1i1.t~t~~~;::}~~i~~~' ~:.: p:::~~,o:::::n:I ~~~:~:

. . . . . . . . .~ 'W{~ pje,~d :guiay
• rr-
ii- i ~- :;;~j bv ~· r :? h.: :; h) .b~~Jir.:~ve. th;H: lhcr.:;: ~I !<:
h~t!~r ItitHes H) ~lcnce thhn l hl! "j t .~ 'V{S;
p; t;::~d.g.uii.ry .

Image 8. 17 The notorious blanked out edition of the Weekly Mail, June 1986.

294
 express statement or a sign or symbol in that pubtication of fron1 the particular
context in which that blank space, obliteration or deletion appears, is intended to
be understood as a reference to the effect of a provision of these regulations" (in
Manoim, 1996: 64).
In other words, the government wanted to censor the effects of censorship. It did not want
"-
the public to know that state and self-censorship was happening, nor the extent to which
it was happening. Furthermore, the government recognized that ridicule of censorship
and laughter evoked by that ridicule were forms of subversion which undermined
attempts at maintaining hegemonic relations. This emphasizes J .M. Coetzee' s (1996: 13)
observation that "the institution of censorship has to surround itself with secondary bans
on the infringement of its dignity. From being sour to being laughed at for being sour to
banning laughter at what is sour is an all-too-familiar progression in tyranny, one that
should give us further cause for caution". Blank spaces were creatively turned around to
become spaces of resistance in a spiralling process of innovation and reaction, between
the Weekly Mail and the state. Former editor, Irwin Manoim (1996: 74) explained:
"Throughout the four years of the Emergency, the regulations were constantly
being changed as lawyers discovered new holes and government bureaucrats
scrambled to plug them".
The contest was unrelenting with both sides trying to outmanoeuvre the other with every
step. For example, in August 1986 the state conceded that two of the Emergency
regulations were invalid, which meant that the censorship strips of the June 20 th edition
~

(refened to above) could be peeled-off. The Weekly Mail then preceded to publish the
original stories without the censorship stripes and blank spaces (in the August 22nd
edition). Seeking out loopholes in this way, the editors of the Weekly Mail were
exploring creative ways of resisting censorship. Indeed, loopholes are creative spaces in
themselves; a means to overcoming the censors' defences, saying what one wants to say
regardless of prohibitions. The transparent blank spaces reveal censorship, and the
exposed act ofcensorship reveals the censor's fear. These two elements were cleverly
woven together by Jennifer Ferguson in "Ashley's Song" (1986):
"And lying in the bath at night
You're sure you can hear someone
295
 Moving up the passage to turn the light off
Open the door
And come and get you
And you don't know any answers
To any questions anymore
The t.v. news is lying
And the newspaper's got big white gaps
And fat black lines""
And walking in the streets of Jo'burg
No-one seems friendly anymore"
Ferguson, as musician and reader of the Weekly Mail, was able to continue the spiralling
contest between the newspaper and the government, using the blank and blotted-out
spaces as metaphors for the government's silencing of truth in the face of growing fear
and mistrust. This emphasizes Balliger's (1995: 25) argument that "music and resistance
are shaped in the nloment of their coming into being, a musical/political praxis that is
negotiated by social actors in particular spatial and temporal locations" . The song itself
formed another loophole exploited in the interests of contesting censorship. The song
illustrates the way loopholes are in fact unintended spaces of contest rising directly out of
repressive attempts to silence opponents of the dominant discourse.

8. 9 Formal links with political organizations

Finally, resistant musicians made good use of formal political organizations to strengthen
their position. In the early 1980s it was difficult for musicians to clearly align themselves
with political organizations because of a lack of internal structures. The launch of the
UDF in 1983 provided the beginnings of a clearer structure through which musicians
could operate. As discussed above, musicians were able to perform on UDF and similar
platforms and show their commitment to the anti-apartheid and other causes in different
formats. In turn the UDF was able to intervene on decisions regarding the cultural
boycott. Johnny Clegg (Interview, 1998) explained the significance of the UDF for
politicized musicians:

296
 Before the launch of the UDP it was actually impossible for there to be an internal
structure which could monitor and say, 'Look, these bands are not part of a
government or state-funded group, they're not promoting the division of South
Africa into homelands, and they're just musicians'. The UDF actually became a
means whereby we could - by 1986 at least - strui to address the boycott and
"-
make sense of it, and say' Weare the ones who are being boycotted, we are the
ones who are being censored, banned, having our shows stopped. We would like
to have a say in how the boycott operates' .
Through the UDF musicians like Clegg were able to tackle issues directly affecting them.
However, musicians' interests only became fully addressed with the formation of the
South African Musician's Alliance (SAMA) in September 1988. Musicians finally had
their own union through which they could channel their efforts and receive guidance. For
example, SAMA President, Mara Louw (Interview, 2001), outlined how:
I was involved right from the start, when we formed SAMA. One of the reasons
was that artists were getting used in the sense of doing propaganda performances
like the Info song. So we had to move in quickly to protect musicians because
some people got into serious, serious trouble for participating in that song.
In taking forward musicians' interests SAMA did not affiliate to the UDF. Mara Louw
(Interview, 2001) stressed that:
I don't think it's healthy for any union to be affiliated to any particular
organization.
~

SAMA therefore adopted a stance where it avoided affiliation with the UDF but it did
support a lot of the UDF's work. In particular it focused its efforts around three basic
freedoms central to the work of any musician, these being the freedom of association, the
freedom of expression and the freedom of movement. Clegg (Interview, 1998), who was
appointed to the position of Vice-President of SAMA, explained that:
If you became a member of the alliance, you had to subscribe to certain positions
- ~ political positions. Those three freedoms were critical for the daily livelihood of
musicians because they had to move around, they had to be able to sing about
what they wanted to sing, and they had to be able to associate with people of other

297
 races and other ethnic groups to do their work. Arid so around that we built a
political position.
An important consequence of SAMA was that it (along with the UDF) was able to
provide clearance for performers wanting to perform overseas. SAMA supported a
selective cultural boycott whereby
.....
South African musicians with acceptable credentials
could perform outside of the country. In addition, SAMA's relationship with formal
political organizations provided musicians with a framework through which they could
channel their political commitment. Clegg (Interview, 1998) explained that:
If you were a member of the alliance you were considered to be acceptable for
overseas performances. But then if you became a member of the alliance, you had
to subscribe to certain political positions ... it was accepted by the UDF, that we
could be an independent grouping, not an affiliate, but we actually supported a lot
of their work.
Although many resistant musicians were opposed to the interference of political bodies
with their musical direction and message, most nevertheless appreciated some liaison
with political groupings. The issue though, was one of balance. Political independence
was an isolating experience, as was the situation for Roger Lucey (Interview, 1998) who,
in the pre-UDF days, operated without formal links with political organization:
I was never part of the mainstream political grouping. And when I used to say to
people, 'Fuck, you know, I'm getting harassed here, you know there were cops in
my house last,...night' there was a lot of disbelief. People would say 'Oh, you're
talking shit'. People actually said that to me. It was like I was trying to get some
sort credibility, like, 'Who is this guy, why does he think that he would warrant
this kind of attention?' So it was awkward, and the effect on me at the end of it all
was that it shattered my self-confidence. So, from coming from being this very
bok [defiant], arrogant andja, nothing could stop me, I finally just sort of fell
apart completely ..And that was the effect. So I had no support, I had no support
from like the political infrastructure. You know, when it all started happening,
nobody came to me and said 'Hell, we know what it's like, and it's awful and we

298
 stand behind you' sort of thing. That was it. I wastjust like on my own, you know.
It was tough.
Lucey, like many other political musicians, wanted to express political sentiments, but
was wary of the stultifying effects of political organization on his musical creativity.
Jennifer Ferguson (Interview, 1999), who was centrally involved in anti-apartheid and
"
feminist cultural politics in the 1980s, aptly summed up the contradiction:
There came the fonnation of a Cultural Desk and SAMA. I worked with SAMA.
It was very challenging that. I still think politics - and political organizational
work - is just numbingly boring. It's just the time that's spent with verbal
rhetorizing rubbish and meetings and agh, just so much time was wasted with
those things, and so much power play ... Politicians are singularly conservative
and totally want guarantees. There's so much calculation, strategizing, lobbying,
caucusing, proposaling. It's a comedy - poor comedy at times!
Shifty's Lloyd Ross (Interview, 1998) found formal political activity equally stifling. He
was appalled by his brief period of organizational involvement on the UDF cultural desk:
I went through quite a dark phase of my life where I got co-opted onto the cultural
desk. And the reason why that happened was because of the music that I was
recording. I spent a bit of time wallowing in the mire of cultural politics which I
never want to do again.
For musicians who did get organizationally involved because of their political
commitment, a struggle ensued, trying to find a balance between the mundanity of
!i#
politics and their own creative spirit. Lee Edwards (Interview, 1998) of the Cherry Faced
Lurchers described the dilemma:
The thing about us was that we didn't fit. We didn't fit with the whole leftie
culture that all went to meetings and toyi toyied out of time ... And we didn't buy
into it because it was largely this committee-based thing. It was quite counter
productive in many ways. So we weren't part of that, but they needed us for their
benefit concerts because they didn't have many white bands that were singing the
stuff that we were singing, that we were saying. So they needed us but at the same
time, we never fitted.

299
The Cherry Faced Lurchers were committed to change irithe country and James Philips
was in any case writing political songs. It therefore felt important to the band that, despite
their discomfort with formal political involvement, they ought to participate in UDF and
related politics. They gave their support to formal political organization when requested,
simply playing their music without the baggage of political jargon. However, the
~

difficulty for the band was never really resolved. Edwards (Interview, 1998) recounted
how:
We ended up playing a hell of lot of benefit gigs. Which was ultimately to the
band's detriment because we weren't making money but we were having to
rehearse for them. And we weren't paid by the vast majority of those people, but
we played a lot of gigs for ECC, JODAC [Johannesburg Democratic Action
Committee] - mostly the ECC, we played some for the UDF. We played all sorts
of minor little support gigs for this union and that union and that sort of stuff.
Which was quite destroying because often the audiences that we played to at
those gigs had never seen us or heard us. Or had no idea who we were. And a lot
of people would not react, you know: useless bunch of whities on stage, kind of
thing.
The Cherry Faced Lurchers' experience says a lot about the way South African politics
permeated even the concert scene, where audiences did not understand and perhaps
appreciate bands coming from a different musical and cultural background The resulting
awkwardness is a far cry from the sort of organic intellectualism of protest musicians
"*' and Jamison (1998: 118) who speak of music and movements
portrayed by Eyerman
growing together so that musicians "found a ready audience on the front lines of mass
demonstrations" .
However, many bands did not experience this difficulty, especially black bands or those
white/mixed bands that played a form of crossover music. For Sipho Mabuse (Interview,
1998) the transition to political involvement was much simpler:
Most of my friends had been (politically) involved. Some of them had left the
country without me realizing that they had left the country. And I used to meet
them when we were outside the country, and then we started practising politics.

300
 And it was a natural progress where I realized thc!se things are happening to me.
We are all affected by it, we were all affected by the system internally or
externally, so the choice was for us to decide whether we continue pretending that
nothing is wrong or play some kind of role in terms of how we can be politically
involved. And it was just a natural progression .
.....
When Mabuse linked up with political organization and ultimately made the transition to
political music (much later than the likes of the Cherry Faced Lurchers) his new position
was embraced by concertgoers. For musicians who found an easy relationship between
their music and formal politics, performance on behalf of political movements was a
reaffirming activity and opportunity for a supportive audience. This was also true even of
the Cherry Faced Lurches' ECC gigs, in front of their own fan base. The subsequent
positive experiences for many musicians engaged in live performance on political
platforms was clearly described above.
Whatever the difficulties encountered with formal political organization, most resistant
musicians benefited from the relationship that existed between music and political
organizations. Organizations were able to give musicians meaning and direction to their
music, whether by directly singing about resistant issues, or simply playing on political
platforms. Some musicians even benefited through being able to play overseas, despite
the cultural boycott. SAMA as a political union also attempted to support and guide
musicians experiencing difficulties both political and otherwise (for example,
contractually). These benefits assisted musicians in their fight against censorship,
allowing them to be"'heard
" by more people, while also framing their music within a more
overt political context.

8.10 Conclusion
During the 1980s many South African musicians wanted to voice ideas which were not
approved by various censors. As has been shown in this and the preceding chapter, there .
were many musicians who nevertheless persevered in singing what they wanted to,
framing their music 'within a context of contest. Crucially lTIusicians sought spaces of
resistance despite the structures put in their way in the form of censorship and police

301
harassment. The creativity in resistance is sunlmed-up bi Gary Rathbone who elucidated
the position of many (in this instance white) fringe musicians at that time. For Rathbone
(Interview, 1998), there was a strong commitment to finding creative spaces within which
to resist, in an attempt to:
Try and make people think, create alternative structures, create fanzines, create
...
your own gIgS.
The various strategies of resistance discussed in this thesis, when combined, reveal an
impressive soundscape of resistance backed by a variety of supporting media messages.
Although censorship seriously affected the music context in the 1980s, the effect was not
all negative, especially given that censorship did not succeed in silencing counter-
hegemonic musical messages. Conversely, musicians played a pivotal role in providing
musical messages for many people who opposed the system, messages which the
authorities desperately did not want to be heard by South Africans.
The potential for musicians to contribute towards resistance in this way confirms
Eyerman and Jamison's (1998: 173) point that, "music can embody a sense of
community, a type of experience and identity pointing beyond the walls of the self'.
Indeed Frith (l996a: 275) stresses that, " music constructs our sense of identity through
the experiences it offers the body, time and sociability, experiences which allow us to
place ourselves in imaginative cultural narratives". Looking back, the musical
constructions of identity were diverse. So many musical moments contributed towards a
different way of being, symbolically replacing the restrictions apartheid put in the way:
~

the anti-establishment force that was Voelvry, the Rasta-inspired drug freedom of
National Wake, the urban resistance of the Kalahari Surfers and similar bands, the anti-
war stance of the bands that supported the ECC, or the in-your-face opposition of Roger
Lucey, Mzwakhe Mbuli, the Asylum Kids and musicians of similar ilk. However, of all
these musical moments and others beside, the one which best symbolizes resistance in an
age of censorship was Juluka. Music was used to prepare Juluka audiences (through the
image of inter.:racial collaboration and freedom of association) for a post-apartheid
future, questioning the legitimation of apartheid inequality through the demonstration of

302
an alternative way, which reflected an alluring freedom l::teyond the confines of apartheid
segregation.
This powerful image within luluka's stance, as well as the other strategies discussed in
this chapter, capture the way in which musicians could indeed be heard in many different
ways, in the face of a heavy repression and censorship. The concluding chapter ties
'" of resistance to censorship, considering the spaces opened up
together all these fragments
by musicians in a sonic contest with censors and the discourses they represented.

303
 CHAPTER NINE

Conclusion: Resisting popular music censorship

I am the drum beats of change in Africa

Deafening the ears like the winds of change
, ("The beat" (1986) - Mzwakhe Mbuli)

9.1 Prelude
In the mid-1980s a group of four Grahamstown-based white women called the
Koeksusters regularly performed resistance music in the close harmony vocal style of the
Andrew Sisters. They dressed up for their concerts, wearing black outer garments over
white shirts and performed at ECC gigs and other political meetings. They were
supported by a small group of committed fans, but never recorded an album. The
Koeksusters did not leave much of a mark on the political or musical landscape, but for a
symbolic act which captures the central argument of this thesis. One of the group's
members, Karin Thorne, was detained under the State of Emergency regulations. While
she was in detention the full line-up of the group was therefore not able to perform
together. As an act of protest the three remaining members got together, dressed in their
stage outfits, and posed for a photograph taken by Steve Hilton-Barber (See Image 9.1).
The photograph makes use of various 'signifying units' (Barthes, 1977: 23) enabling both
the musicians and objects in the photograph to connote defiant meaning. The three
musicians are positiOfled solemnly around a piano holding up Thorpe's outfit on a coat
hanger, signifying her absence. What would have been an empty space is filled by a
much more poignant signifier of her absence: her uniform, but without her there to wear
it.
Even though the group has long since broken-up, Hilton-Barber' s photograph remains.
It was one of the first photographs on display at the Cutting Grooves Exhibition of the
Censorship of Popular Music During Apartheid at the National Arts Festival in
Grahamstown in 1999. Peering at the photograph in the basement venue on a cold wintry
July day the photograph seemed to be overwhelmingly silent. It lacked movement:

304
Image 9. 1 The Koeksusters protesting the absence of Karin Thorpe (Photograph: Steve Hilton-
Barber, mid-1980's).

the three remaining members of the group pose silently, motionlessly, looking at the lens
in defiance. Unlike other photographs at the exhibition, the musical instrument on display
is not being played. There is not even any sheet music waiting to be played. There is no
anticipation. The scene seems unbearably silent. Yet the silence does not represent defeat.
Silence can be subv~ive when it frees itself from the context of absence, lack, and fear
(Minh-ha, 1997: 416). Indeed, for Lie Kuen Tong (in Goehr, 1998: 27) silence should
"not be conceived as the mere absence of speech, but rather as its transcendence". In the
photograph the members of the Koeksusters reappropriate the meaning of silence by
transcending speech, invoking a representation of absence and silence which is resolutely
defiant. And in the defiance is the clue to resistance. The group has inadvertently been
censored through the repressive act of the detention of one of its members. She cannot
perform publicly whilst detained. But the group has not simply submitted to repression.
The remaining members had the foresight to document this moment. Karin Thorpe left a
space, but the remaining members of the group creatively reappropriated the repressed
space by inserting symbolic significations of defiance. The photograph was to leave

305
Ir""""

behind a permanent reminder of the government's repression, yet the act of archiving that
absence filled that moment, that occasion, with defiance.
The photograph captures a dynamic within broader "social space", an "invisible reality
that cannot be shown but which organizes agents' practices and representations"
(Bourdieu, 2000: 10). Loc~ted within a specific social space, and dependent on particular
dispositions (habitus), the Koeksusters constructed an antagonistic representation of
social space, cleverly entwining conditions of social and physical space, even though that
space was constrained. Indeed, Bourdieu (1987: 130) argues that agents "construct their
vision of the world. But this construction is carried out under structural constraints" . Yet
such structural constraints do not rule out resistance. The remaining members of the
Koeksusters were able to strategically use structural constraints to expose the very
constraints intended to silence them. The space that remains within the photograph was
simultaneously one of silencing the group and one that spoke out. The speaking-out-ness
of the photograph could not happen without the repressive censorship to begin with.
This intimate link between repression and resistance underlines the contention that where
there is oppression there is (at the very least) the potential for a reaction in the form of
resistance, in a struggle over the performance of popular music.
The purpose of this chapter is to sum-up the various themes and sub-themes of this
thesis, in the process critically reflecting on the knowledge established and the lessons
learnt from the approach adopted in researching and writing this thesis. Insofar as artistic
and political expression is concerned, censors can be seen to have attempted to occupy
"'*'
the centre, that dominant space of hegemonic control. Censorial practices were meant to
push musicians with resistant messages to the margins, and stifle their message as much
as possible. Musicians, sometimes in direct response to censorial practices, sometimes
out of personal conviction or as an unintended consequence, devised and even stumbled
across ways of challenging the dominant discourse, in an attempt to get their music and
their message heard. This chapter reflects on the way that struggle has been documented I

and analysed in this thesis, particularly indicating that censorship practices were
constantly contested.

306

I
9.2 Reviewing the theoretical framework used in this thesis
At the outset it was stated that the aim of this thesis is to document, contextualize and
analyse all known forms of censorship and as many instances of resistance to that
censorship as have been discovered during the period of research. The intention was to
provide an historical account of the censorship of popular music in 1980s South Africa
~

informed by selected reference to concepts deployed by Gramsci (hegemony and counter-

hegemony), Foucault (the multiplicity of resistance) and Bourdieu (habitus and fields).
In making use of relevant concepts by these and other theorists in a 'multiperspectival'
approach (Kellner, 1995b: 98), it is' important to take into account a qualifying point
made by Bourdieu. In considering the use of his concepts, Bourdieu has insisted that
they are historically contingent and have, in his work, been deployed strategically.
Bourdieu has always used his concepts as "tools of investigation" and they should in tum,
"only be used pragmatically by others in full knowledge of the complexity of conceptual
transfer and not replicated routinely" (Robbins, 2000: xxiii). My approach to the works of
the aforementioned and other theorists has indeed been to avoid routine replication. As
noted in Chapter Two, and as is bon1e out by evidence provided throughout this thesis,
the 1980s South African context differed from that of the western democratic societies
which form the focus of the work of Foucault and Bourdieu (in particular). Issues such as
lack of democracy, the related excessive reliance on coercion and mass refusal of the
dominant discourse are amongst the most important differences. For these reasons in
particular, it has been necessary to apply theoretical concepts cautiously, influenced by
the analysis of postc6 lonial writers such as Said and Fanon who cautioned against an
extreme decentering of the subject, given that in colonial contexts a dominant state does
exercise power in the interests of a minority. However, a more nuanced theory of
resistance has been posited, one which views resistance in a more dispersed manner than
conceived by Gramsci (see discussion below).

9.2.1 A context of hegemonic struggle

In the period covered by this thesis, there is no doubt that struggles existed not only
around domination in the form of the Nationalist government's apartheid policy, but
around one of its regulatory practices, that of censorship. Although in the struggles

307
around popular music censorship there was "no binary anti all-encompassing opposition
between rulers and the ruled at the root of power relations" (Foucault, 1976: 94) and "no
single locus of great Refusal" (Foucault, 1976: 97-98), there was nevertheless a struggle
between those wanting to silence some musical messages and those who did not want to
be silenced. Clearly, as has been shown, the apartheid state (involving a combination of
...
coercive and manipulative institutions) was the central censor within apatiheid South
Africa and it was against the state, in one form or another, that those opposing censorship
generally resisted.
An approach based on Gramsci' s concept of hegemony seemed the most appropriate to
capture this struggle, given that "Gramsci's notion of hegemony incorporates the cultural
and political terrain within which dominant and dominated encounter each other" (Reddy,
2000: 3). Such an approach emphasises the manner in which the apartheid state sought to
regulate popular music and other popular cultural forms in an attempt to maintain its
political/moral/religious hegemony, and that it colluded \vith non-governmental bodies in
order to do so. However, resistance to popular music censorship was far more dispersed
than a direct application of Gramsci's model of counter-hegemony allows. For this reason
Foucault's (1976: 92) conception of power as a multiplicity of force relations has been
assulned within a neo-Gramscian reworking of hegemony , so that one can speak of
"various social hegemonies" (Foucault, 1976: 93), comprising competing groups within
the ruling alliance. For example, as revealed in Chapter Four, even in terms of official
government-sanctioned censorship practice, acts of censorship were not confined to a
,.
centralized state operating autonomously, nor was control located solely in the offices of
the Directorate of Publications and the Publications Appeal Board. The support of
various non-government bodies was central to the operation of formal state censors.
Specific instances of censorship were therefore sometimes the product of separate 'force
relations', each with its own structures "forming a chain or a system" (Foucault, 1976:
92). The relationship between these force relations did not always result in cooperative
chains, but also on occasion led to "disjunctions and contradictions which isolate(d) thenl
from one another" (Foucault, 1976: 92). Examples of such contradictions include the
struggles between the incumbents of official state censorship positions and the South
African Police or those occasions when religious groups were unsuccessful in their

308
censorship requests. Disjunctions and struggles within the central state institutions
themselves, as well as between institutions within the dominant alliance(s) illustrate the
need for the neo-Gralnscian theoretical approach adopted in contextualizing hegemony
during the period considered in this thesis.
The need to move beyond~ a direct application of a Gramscian approach to hegemony
also seemed necessary in conceptualizing struggles against censorship. As clearly
revealed, opposition to censorship was not undertaken by a homogenous resistant group
united by a single cause. Rather, struggles around popular music censorship supported
Foucault's (1976: 96) idea that:
"there is a plurality of resistances, each of them a special case: resistances that are
possible, necessary, improbable; others that are spontaneous, savage, solitary,
concerted, rampant or violent; still others that are quick to compromise, interested
or sacrificial".
It is important to remember that the apartheid state, by forming strategic alliances in its
multi-faceted (moral-political-religious-economic) struggle to maintain its hegemony
founded on capitalism, racism and Calvinism, by necessity had to use censorship
processes to silence all messages that fell outside of the dominant discourse. It was not
only popular music with an anti-apartheid message that was censored but other music too.
Given that the apartheid state sought to legitimize its hegemony on Christian grounds, it
was necessary that the state be seen to uphold Christian values through state censorship.
Censorship therefor~ affected not only anti-apartheid songs by musicians such as Peter
Tosh, Roger Lucey and Mzwakhe Mbuli, but sometimes frivolous songs with sexual
connotations and references like Donna Summer's "Love to love you baby" (1975) and
Celi Bee and the Buzzy Bunch's "Superman" (1977), songs about drug usage such as
Peter Tosh's "Legalize it" (1977) and songs which offended Christian sentiments such as
Chris De Burgh's "Spanish Train"(l976) and the Kalahari Surfers' "Bigger Than Jesus"
(1989). The effect of this multi-pronged and broad approach to state censorship was two-
fold. Firstly, it broadened and multiplied the points of application of the state's
censorship practices by increasing the number of censorable issues to include ones not
usually considered to be political, and secondly, it inadvertently involved (and on
occasion mobilized) musicians (and their audiences) who had neither been directly

309
involved in the anti-apartheid struggle, nor who had written anti-apartheid songs.
Examples of South African musicians who fit this bill were the Radio Rats, Flash Harry,
the Asylum Kids, Neil SOlOlTIOn and Hawk.
The state's efforts to form a hegemonic bloc of strategic alliances caused it to assume
the position of chief censor, thus setting itself up as the central target of attack of those
..
opposing the censorship of their music, regardless of the subject of that censorship. In
exploring the way in which the state situated itself as chief censor, Bourdieu's concept of
fields (and its relation to habitus) was employed. Much of Bourdieu's work on culture
has focused on the artistic and commercial values attached to cultural products, and his
discussion of habitus and fields is regularly applied to ways in which products develop a
symbolic value. Individuals' ability to appreciate the symbolic value of products
(individuals' taste) results in social distinctions (status). Bourdieu (1984) views
judgements of taste as on ongoing struggle for classification engaged between classes. As
noted in Chapter One, the struggle is one of converting economic capital into symbolic
capital, "disguised under a veil of moral relations" (Bourdieu, 1990: 290). Importantly,
taste is not simply the result of economic conditions, but of political struggle.
Although this thesis is not immediately concerned with issues of taste on an aesthetic
level, Bourdieu's arguments about taste have been usefully applied to censorship
processes. As noted in Chapter One, Street (1997) has previously applied Bourdieu's
work on taste to the area of censorship. Accordingly, censorship is seen as political
judgement, a product of a hegemonic process, given that censorship influences the
~

political landscape, supporting hegemonic interests and attempting to marginalize others.

In Chapter Four the extent to which the state, along with moral and religious institutions,
set the boundaries of a publication field were clearly revealed. The state's involvement
was clearly not on an aesthetic level. Rather, through political judgement it decided what
was 'undesirable' and what was not. As revealed in Chapter Five, the state's power to
censor permeated the entire publication field so that even record companies and
musicians themselves practiced censorship of controversial messages in the face of
repressive and economic repercussions.
For opponents of censorship, state censorship institutions became targets of attack, and
as has been clearly shown in this thesis, the reasons for resisting censorship were

310
divergent. The actions and messages of various musician~ demonstrate that very few of
them fit clearly into a complicit or resistance position, if a UDF-informed people's
culture position (as outlined in Chapter Six) is to be used. Mzwakhe Mbuli is one of the
few examples of a musician who seemed to put forward - in all of his songs - a people's
culture position. Almost all musicians did sing about love, personal aspirations and
"-
problelTIs. And most of these musicians did sometimes sing controversial or protest songs
and/or took part in some form of resistance or other. Discussion in Chapter Seven
revealed several examples to support this contention. To consider just a few: Flash Harry
mostly wrote satirical songs about love and relationships, yet they included a tom up R1 0
note on their record sleeve simply because it was against the law to reproduce national
currency and to show their scorn for a national symbol of wealth. Musicians Robbie
Robb and Richard Ellis personally disliked the South African police and would taunt the
police at live events simply because their presence irked them. Many white musicians
performed songs in opposition to the system of two years compulsory military
conscription, and there were those who sang feminist songs (sometimes with a lesbian
theme) or who included drug and sexual references and swear words in their songs. There
were also those who sang overt political songs that directly opposed the apartheid system.
Clearly, instances of resistance to censorship emanated from a diversity of South African
musicians many of whom had no political or other ties to other musicians. Even those
who were politically motivated were often unconnected to others. For example, Roger
Lucey who sang hard-hitting lyrics but was not part of any political grouping.
"fI>
It is evident therefore that musicians often positioned and repositioned themselves in
,order to create spaces of resistance within which to express their opposition to censorship
practices. In such circumstances, Berndt Ostendorf (2000: 233) suggests that "popular
music impinges powerfully on politics; it creates social spaces - in Johannes Fabian's
words, 'Moments of freedom' - in which a sense of selfhood and community may
flourish" . The repositioning enables the musician to adopt a resistant s.tance which, at
least momentarily, links the musician to a broader movement of resistance and constitutes
an instance of counter~hegemony.
These instances of counter-hegemony are more than mere self-satisfying m0111ents of
transgression, even when performed in seemingly disconnected and fragmented ways by

311
 individuals not directly connected to a broader formal polhical movement. Elizabeth
Wilson (1993: 113) maintains that transgressive acts typically cannot deal with the
structural nature of oppressive institutions. She argues that while such acts might be
personally liberating it is uncertain that they can contribute towards a change in those
structures. She concludes: ~'We can rage against the fading of the light, we can shake our
fists at society or piss on it, but that is all" (Wilson, 1993: 113). However, Kellner's
(1995b: 97) use of a neo-Gramscian framework allows him to provide an important
warning against the danger of fetishizing difference. From Kellner's perspective, those
South African musicians in the 1980s who battled against censorship shared "common
forces of oppression, common strategies of exclusion ... (and) common enemies and
targets of attacks" (Kellner, 1995b: 97). It follows that it is important to stress:
"commonalities as well as differences and insist on the articulation of how
representations of such things as race, gender and class are intertwined and
function as vehicles for ideologies of domination which naturalize, legitimate, or
mask social inequalities, injustice and oppression".
Kellner's sentiments are directly relevant to the rationale of the masking that occurs in
the censorship process. Musicians were confronted with the same maze of censorship
obstacles and moments of resistance, no matter how fragmented they were on an
individual or organizational level. They were nevertheless framed within a broad political
context which, by way of the collective effort of musicians, connected the fragments,
forming a sort of re~>stance melange. This was not a fixed, homogenous group of
resisters, but a fluid, constantly changing kaleidoscope of individuals, sometimes drawn
"together, often not, sometimes consciously, often not. Indeed the manner in which these
individuals can be seen to have resisted censorship was truly variegated. Depending on
context and the particular angle of perspective, those involved, how they related to each
other, the issues they addressed and how they tackled them, constantly changed .
. However, censorship remained the target of attack. Each instance of-counter-hegemony
had ~the effect of undermining censorship and aspects of what it represented. The
fragmented but nevertheless oft-occuning moments of opposition niggled away at the
censorship process, ensuring that throughout the 1980s spaces were discovered which
enabled the South African population to hear music that in some way or another

312
challenged the dominant discourse, despite censorship practices intended to rule out such
messages. For musician Syd Kitchen (Interview, 1998) spaces of resistance could be
exploited as a means of:
finding a way to break the constraints. Maybe I just see things in a kind of neo-
Marxist way, in the..way I believe that people have choices. People can react back,
people can make it different.
Indeed, the refusal to bow to censorship pressure formed part of the pressure to gradually
relax censorship controls during the 1980s (importantly, this process needs to be seen
within the broader context of resistance to the apartheid systelll lllore generally).
Resistance to censorship was certainly not simply a personally liberating transgressive act
of pis sing on oppressive structures or, in James Ant's case, puking on the censors (see
Image 9.2) . At tinles, and in isolation, this might have been the case, but the overall
impact had far more widespread liberating consequences.

Image 9. 2 Jonathan Handley's (1999) 'Antics': James Ant has a run-in with the SABC censorship
committee.

313
 •
The image of the kaleidoscope also captures the huge potential for creativity, the myriad
of ways in which each musician was able to formulate instances of resistance (glimpses
of which were provided in Chapters Seven and Eight). Through combining personal
creativity with more general concerns, musicians found spaces of resistance characterized
by "shifting and multi-laye,red interaction between spatial organization, expression and
use" (Crowley and Reid, 2002: 4). Loopholes in censorship laws and other exploitable
gaps within the socio-musicallandscape were fashioned by musicians in their attempts to
express themselves musically. The tension between structure and resistance here brings
into play Bourdieu' s concept of habitus, according to which it can be seen that musicians '
acts of resistance were "generated by the encounter between opportunities or constraints
presented by situations and the durable dispositions that reflect the socialization of past
experiences, traditions, and habits! that individuals bring to situations" (Swartz, 1997:
290). Hence the way they reacted, the form of creativity and the extent of politicization,
varied according to a combination of musicians' personal and social histories (their
habitus) and the social spaces which they occupied at a particular time.

9.2.2 Creative resistance out of repressive structures

Very often these moments of counter-hegemony were integrally related to the repressive
nature of the dominant discourse, in whatever way it affected certain musicians. This
ranged from direct censorship of music to more widespread feelings of oppression, the
effects of living in a,G. abnormal society. The Aeroplanes jested that there could be no
normal music in an abnormal society, as an explanation for the quality of their music, but
-there was a deeper truth to this remark. Group member, Carl Bekker (Interview, 1998)
revealed how the environment of the apartheid system itself gave rise to the resistant
musical performance in the first place:
We didn't have a thing about just playing songs, we were specifically reacting to
an intense boredom and dreariness in South African society. You know, staying at
home, you couldn't watch TV - there'd be a picture ofPW Botha getting the

I This is not to confuse ' habitus ' with 'habit' . However, for Bourdieu (1971 : 192-3) habits do form part of
the habitus . Indeed habits constitute a "cultural unconscious .. . which may govern and regulate mental
processes without being consciously apprehended and controlled". Bourdieu uses the word 'habit ' within

314
 •
freedom of some town and watching a military parade. We were reacting against a
very restricting cultural set-up. So there was a lot of useful anger about the kind of
culture that apartheid had created, and we were actually attacking that.
Although the existence of repressive structures in no way guarantees resistance in this or
any other form, Bekker's c. ontextualization
. of the Aeroplane's resistance music
underlines a recurring theme within the South African popular music landscape during
the apartheid era. Very often modes of resistance rose from a sterile and repressive terrain
created by the very apartheid structures designed to stifle such resistance. Chris Stanley
(1997: 39) likens this to a 'regulatory implosion' which gives rise to "the production of
unexpected and random configurations of counter-powers and counter-spaces. The
metaphor of refusal suggests that that which is refused may also refuse". This is true of
many of the examples discussed in Chapters Seven and Eight. Some of these are worth
reconsidering in the light of this discussion of creative resistance.
The very existence of 3rd Ear Music, Mountain Records and (especially) Shifty Records
was based on censorship in the first place. Shifty was a reaction to censorship, to the fact
that there was relevant alternative and/or resistance music being performed live which
was not being recorded and archived. Hence the effects of government pressure on record
companies not to record contentious music tUTIled out to be not only constraining but
enabling too. The threat of government censorship inadvertently gave rise to the most
influential and prolific politically and stylistically alternative independent label. Indeed
the very nalnes of Th,,lrd Ear and Shifty suggest the opening of creative spaces of
resistance. Third Ear suggests a repositioning of the focus of one's listening, perhaps
listening between the lines, with a perceptive inner ear. Shifty, as has been noted,
developed its name out of the mobile nature of its caravan studio, an ability to shift from
one space to another. In the case of Sankomota, the studio shifted from the prohibited
space of South Africa to the group's own independent space in Lesotho.
The Voelvry tour too, partly grew out of the state's censorship practIces. Faced with an
ina~ility to realise radio play for theircontroversialartti-establishment songs, the Voelvry

Inusicians took to the road in an attempt to reach audiences who they could not reach in

his discussion of 'habitus', for example when he considers the habitus constituting categories which exist
" in the form of habits govemin,~ consciousness" (Bourdieu, 1971: 181).

315
any other way. In this way censorship structures can be seen to have inadvertently given
rise to innovative ways of being heard, and thus resistance arose out of the very structures
intended to thwart such attempts at protest.

9.3 Reflections on theory ...and methodology

It has been argued that a theoretical framework incorporating a neo-Gramscian approach
infornled by important insights from Foucault and Bourdieu (as outlined above) has
allowed for a nuanced exploration of the complexities of South African popular music
censorship. As argued in Chapter Two, approaches to censorship during the apartheid era
which have situated a single struggle in narrow binary terms provided an over-
simplification of the political, economic and cultural terrain. The official state censors'
collaboration with and reliance on non-govemlnental bodies in the censorship process
and the struggles over censorship decisions within and between central state institutions
are two such instances already considered in this concluding discussion. The fragmented
nature of those resisting state-centred censorship practices has also been discussed here.
A further (and crucial) example of the need to explore the nuances of censorship
struggles are the debates surrounding the cultural and other boycott calls by anti-
apartheid and other liberal groups. In simple binary terms the cultural boycott was viewed
as a positive strategy used to deprive white South Africans of normal cultural relations
while apartheid was upheld. By focusing on the mechanisms of the cultural boycott
(rather than simply considering the ends which the boycott was meant to realise) it
"f'
became clear that the boycott strategy constituted a form of censorship, and that, like
apartheid state censorship, it fomled a structure which restricted musicians' ability to be
heard, even if their message was one of resistance to apatiheid.
Jim McGuigan (1992: 203) has argued that absolute freedom of expression is ultimately
a principle of intolerance, allowing for hate speech (and other speech advocating forms of
oppression) to go unchecked. For this reason certain forms of censorship are necessary,
lest we slip into a completely amoral universe. This was certainly the argument made by
many of the advocates of the boycott strategy. Nevertheless, the purpose of this thesis
was to analyse all areas of music censorship, exploring the complexities involved. It
would therefore be problematic to simply accept the necessity of the boycott strategy

316
because it was utilized in opposition to a system of oppression. As revealed in Chapter
Six, the effects of the boycott on South African musicians, including those who were
opposed to apartheid, appeared to be counter-productive, especially when it led to
despondency amongst musicians and made it difficult to them to earn a living from their
music. When considered in conjunction with some of the contradictions of the boycott
...
strategy (for example, how it benefited many overseas musicians who took no stand
against apartheid) it becomes clear that the boycott might well have been an undesirable
form of censorship, the aims of which could more effectively have been realised through
alternative means.
Utilizing different aspects of the works of the theorists referred to in this thesis has
opened the way for an understanding of the complex censorship practices considered. In a
sense this practice follows Kellner's (l995b: 98) 'multiperspectival' approach to cultural
studies. Kellner draws on Nietzsche's perspectivism, according to which we should
"employ a variety of perspectives and interpretations in the service of knowledge"
(Nietzsche in Kellner, 1995b: 98). This allows us to overcome one-sided and narrow
interpretations. However, in adopting such an approach, one should stop short of
attempting to fuse incompatible methodological strategies. While it is believed that the
attempt to combine the different concepts used in this thesis has led to an open-minded
approach which has certainly debunked some of the binary-induced conceptions of
cultural struggle referred to (see Chapters Two, Four and Six), the extent to which these
approaches in themselves have been explored is limited. The purpose of this thesis was
to make a significanf~nd original contribution to knowledge through in-depth research
leading to a detailed socio-historical reconstruction of the censorship of the popular
music terrain in the 1980s. The theoretical approach used as a context for this account of
censorship does not constitute a new theory of music censorship in South Africa or
elsewhere. A deeper analysis of the theoretical underpinnings of this thesis could form a
future area 0 f study.
A further linlitation of this thesis is a lack of musicologicaf analysis of the popular
music examples considered. While an attempt has been made to briefly refer to -the music
itself where this has been particUlarly important (a number of such considerations are
provided in Chapter Seven in particular), there is undoubtedly a need for more detailed

317
musicological analysis of attempts to bypass and overcome the censorship of popular
music considered in this study.
Probably the most significant aspect of this thesis is the detailed triangulation which
informed the writing of the socio-historical account provided. Although articles on South
African popular music censorship had previously been published, information contained
~

within these was not ahvays very detailed nor was it completely reliable. The field of
study abounds with many misconceptions and misrepresentations which needed
clarification. It was therefore essential that in the research process as many sources as
possible be explored and, as outlined in Chapter Three, a careful and critical process of
triangulation be practised. This included corroborating infolmation provided in the
extensive interviews conducted with people connected to the censorship of popular music
process.
In avoiding a purely structuralist approach to the research topic, the research aimed to
uncover not just the procedures, strategies and measures adopted by those interviewed,
but also the understanding and perception (in general the experience) of those involved in
the research process, so as to gain an understanding of the meanings which they attached
to the terrain of popular music censorship in South Africa. As explained in Chapter
Three, the interviewees have been quoted in their own words, often at length, in order to
add textural depth to the evidence, capturing the stories of those involved in their own
(albeit selected) words. The account provided thus makes effective use of direct speech as
"a powerful way to express experiences, aspirations, disappointments, frustrations, joy,
"If'
grief - ideas and emotions" (Coetzee, 2003: 7). Not only has the use of extensive quotes
facilitated the process of exploring the perceptions of interviewees, but is has also given
the interviewees the opportunity for their voices, in a sense, to be heard. This is
particularly important given the censorship process to which many of the interviewees
were subj ected.
On the surface it might appear that the interviewees have been quoted in an uncritical
manner, but such an impression wo':!ld be mistaken. As noted in Chapter Three, all
information cited as evidence in this thesis has undergone a process of corroboration in
accordance with a process of triangulation. For the lTIOSt part, this process of
corroboration has taken place prior to the writing-up stage, and has not been included in

318
the thesis. It would have been laborious, time-consuming and disruptive to constantly
explain the corroboration process every time evidence was provided or an interviewee
quoted. On occasion when an interviewee's version of an event contradicted others and
both versions have been cited, I have pointed to the contrasting evidence in an attempt to
critically engage with the issue under discussion. Examples of this are found in Chapter
...
Four when state censors' professed liberal values were interrogated, in Chapter Seven
when Ralf Rabie seriously questioned Anton Goosen's contention that he disguised
protest within his songs, and in Chapter Eight when musicians and their major record
company representatives differed on the majors ' commitment to controversial music.
In sum, this thesis was undertaken in an attempt to explore an impo11ant area of South
African history. In the process of exploring this history I encountered many musicians
who spent time providing information to Ine, out of a commitment to this project of
writing up a history and for their own personal reasons. In completing this thesis I may
not always have presented the interviewees as they would have liked me to , but I believe
that the account provided is an accurate one, which captures not only events and
processes, but also a sense of the people affected by the processes involved in the
censorship of South African popular music during the 1980s.

9.4 Finale: a conclusion within a conclusion

The discussion of popular music censorship covered in this thesis has been framed within
a context of struggles over hegemony. Despite censorship structures aimed at silencing
"If!
messages which fell outside the ambit of the dominant discourse, musicians sought
spaces within which they could be heard. Songs incorporating satire, symbolism and
camouflage made use of the space between literal meaning and the reading between the
lines, a space simultaneously seen and unseen. Seen, only if one adjusted one 's sights
(and had the cultural capital to do so) . In live performance, some musicians sought
liberatory spaces, where resistant or alternative performance could take place. Sometimes
musicians resisted censorship overtly, in dang~rous spaces, addressing the authorities in a
confrontational manner. Mzwakhe Mbuli for example, dodged the police between
performances, appearing and performing unannounced before slipping away into hiding.
Other musicians (Juluka in particular), explored what Lipsitz (1994) referred to as

319
"dangerous crossroads" - spaces where, according to the· official, dominant discourse,
dangerous influences met, where 'undesirable' elements combined, as in multiracial
audiences and bands. A few musicians left South Africa to resist from foreign spaces,
where they experienced a freedom not available to them in South Africa but which often
came at the cost of personal sacrifice .
...
These spaces of resistance to censorship were possible because of the very censorship
structures which attempted to blot out resistant voices. This thesis has drawn attention to
the continuous contest which took place around censorship structures, between those
using censorship to protect the dominant discourse and those who, for whatever reason,
wanted to express themselves in ways not permissible within the dominant framework.
Yet these counter-hegemonic voices persisted, finding ways of being heard, so as to put
forward alternative representations of South African life to the narrow and oppressive
structures the censors attempted to uphold.
Each of these instances of counter-hegemony - each song, each poster, each
performance - represented the refusal of musicians to relinquish a desire for a freer
society. Their contributions were important on a number of levels. Firstly, by refusing to
be silenced, resistant musicians reclaimed a public space in which their music could be
heard. In these spaces n1usicians devised "means of expression" in a process of "identity
negotiation" in which the music acted "as a space to comprehend the self' (Miles, 1997:
76-77). This was particularly important for black South Africans, who faced relentless
attempts by the apartheid state to deny them an identity outside of the undignified and
"it
l

oppressive dominant discourse. This is why Thomas Cushman (1995: 9) stressed that in
the South African context "music was instrumental in helping blacks to share their
common experience of subordination and to carve an autonomous cultural space in which
they could redress their grievances". In order to carve that cultural space it was crucial to
find ways of bypassing censorship to get music and messages heard by South African
audiences.
Cushman' s insight points to the second area ofimportan~e in the refusal to remain
silent. The personal is interlinked with the political, so that the in1portance of finding
spaces for one' s own voice had broader social-political implications. For Eyerman and
Jamison (1998: 173) this means that music can embody a "sense of community, a type of

320
 experience and identity pointing beyond the walls of the £elf'. Eyerman and Jamison
(1998: 173) acknowledge that the sense of community might be imagined, but it
nevertheless impacts on identity and therefore is able to have lasting impacts on
individuals and comlTIunities. While the focus of this thesis has been more directly on the
struggle against censorship itself, the significance of music as exemplary action must not
be ignored. For Eyerman and Jamison (1998: 172) this means that music was capable of
"communicating a vision of what the world could be like to others". This certainly came
through, not only in the lyrical and musical messages, but in the very act of contesting
censorship and the dominant discourse it represented.
Finally, musicians' refusal to be subjected to the pressures of censorship has left behind
a valuable legacy which reflects people's lived experiences during the apartheid era.
Certainly, there \vere an array of songs which reflected the dominant discourse, but
importantly musicians who opposed censorship in whatever manner left behind different
images of South Africans contesting the inequalities to which they were subjected. They
have also left behind visions of the society they hoped would one day follow apartheid.
The efforts of the many musicians and others involved in the contest against censorship
of music reflects Fanon's idea that the state of emergency imposed by the dominant
culture "becomes the state of emergence of new identities whose project and mission is
interrogative of being, place, and time" (discussed in Amkpa, 2000: 120). Sipho Mabuse
very effectively captured this vision when, in 1989, he wrote "Chant" including the lines:
Someday when it's part of our history
Children wi11flearn from our past
Someday when we tell our story
Children willieam from our past

The struggles of the 1980s are indeed part of South Africa's history. The many songs
covered in this thesis and many others besides, together with many other instances of
counter-hegemony adopted by those who resisted censorship, survive in individual
memories and, to a marginal extent, in collective memory. The songs remain, but the
structures which atten1pted to silence them have been overcome. As Andre Brink (cited in
Coetzee, 1996: 205) foresaw: "In the struggle between authority and artist it is always
the artist, in the end, who wins. Because his (sic) voice continues to speak long after the
. members of the relevant government ... have been laid to rest". The challenge, if there is

321
to be one, is to continue to fight attempts to prevent marginal voices from being heard, so
that musicians will not have to, once again, devise ways of contesting censorship in the
future.

322
 APPENDIX ONE: LIST OF INTERVIEWEES

Allingham, Rob Gallo House, Rosebank, Johannesburg, 17 April 1998.

Amos, Larry Melville, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Anderson, Murray Central Cape Town, 17 July 1998.
Berelowitz, Keith Fellside,
,. Johannesburg, 15 April 1998.
Bekker, Carl Yeoville, Johannesburg, 16 April 1998.
Botha, Piet Pretoria North, Pretoria, 11 September 1998.
Clegg, Johnny Parktown, Johannesburg, 20 April 1998.
Cloud, Neil Norwood, Johannesburg, 10 September 1998.
Coakley, Alistair Bryanston, Johannesburg, 19 April 1998.
Coetzee, BramTI Hermanus, 14 July 1998.
Darlington, Andy St George's Mall, Cape Town, 17 July 1998.
De Wet, Danny Braamfontein, Johannesburg, 15 April 1998.
Edwards, Lee Bezuidenhout Valley, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Ellis, Richard Morningside, Durban, 13 March 1999.
Erasmus, Paul George, Friday 10 August 2001.
Esterhuizen, Tinus Auckland Park, Johannesburg, 9 September 1998.
Fassie, Brenda Berea, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Ferguson, J em1ifer Jeppe, Johannesburg, 8 April 1999.
Florence, Jimmy Rondebosch East, Cape Town, 16 July 1998.
Fox, Tom New Market Junction, Cape Town, 20 July 1998.
"4
Frohling, Rudi Parktown North, Johannesburg, 17 April 1998.
Gordon, Steve Central Cape Town, 29 January 2002.
Goosen, Anton Melville, Johannesburg, 14 Septen1ber 1998.
Gumede, Sipho BAT Centre, Durban, 18 September 1998.
Handley, Jonathan Klerksdorp, 18 April 1998.
Haslop, Richard Berea, Durban, 14 March 1999.
Herbst, Ingi Bedfordview, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Herholdt, Sonja Randburg, Johannesburg, 28 August 2001.
Hertselman, Gary Bezuidenhout Valley, Johannesburg, 14 April 1998.
Kekana, Steve Turfloop, Pietersburg, 16 September 1998.

323
Kerkorrel, JohaImes N orthcliff, Johannesburg, 10 September 1998.
Khanyile, Jabu Newtown, Johannesburg, 27 August 200l.
K.itchen, Syd Umbilo, Durban, 17 September 1998.
Kombuis, Koos Gordon's Bay, 21 July 1998.
Additional personal correspondence, 8 June 2001 .
...
Kramer, David Camps Bay, Cape Town, 20 July 1998.
Additional personal correspondence, 6 June 2001.
Kunene, Madala BAT Centre, Durban, 18 September 1998.
Laxton, Julian Windsor Park, Johannesburg, 6 April 1998.
Louw, Mara Four Ways, Johannesburg, 29 August 200l.
Louw, Steve Greenpoint, Cape Town, 20 July 1998.
Lucey, Roger Mowbray, Cape Town, 16 July 1998.
Additional personal correspondence, 14 March 2000.
Mabuse, Sipho Newtown, Johannesburg, 15 September 1998.
Mac, Heather Woodstock, Cape Town, 17 July 1998.
MacKenzie, Mac Central Cape Town, 31 January 2002.
Marcus, Fuzzy Melville, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Marx, David Berea, Durban, 17 September 1998.
Masonda, David Downtown Studios, central Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Maswanganya, Mike Steeldale, Johannesburg, 15 January 1999.
Mbuli, Mzwakhe Open-ended postal questionnaire, October 1998.
~'

McCully, Tully Central Cape Town, 20 July 1998.

~McLennan, Rob Bryanston, Johannesburg, 16 April 1998.
Moller, Willem Bezuidenhout Valley, Johannesburg, 15 April 1998.
Mudie, Benjy Sandown, Johannesburg, 10 September 1998.
N gwenya, Moses Downtown Studios, central Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Niederlander, Edi Claremont, Cape Town, 17 July 1998.
Neswiswi, Golden Telephonic interview, 10 February 2003.
Oldfield, Wendy Four Ways, Johannesburg, 13 April and Norwood, Johannesburg,
14 April 1998.
Parr, TilTI Randburg, Johannesburg, 19 April 1998.

324
Phiri, Ray Newtown, Johannesburg, 28 August 2001.
Plaatjies, Dizu Rondebosch, Cape Town, 4 February 1999.
Pracher, Cecile Auckland Park, Johannesburg, 19 September 2000.
Initial personal correspondence, 17 March 2000.
Prior, Chris Gre€nside, Johannesburg, 16 April 1998.
Quinn, Roddy Parktown, Johannesburg, 10 September 1998.
Rathbone, Gary Bezuidenhout Valley, Johannesburg, 14 September 1998.
Raubenheimer, Carl Pinelands, Cape Town, 15 July 1998.
Ridgeway, Clive Central Cape Town, 4 February 1999.
Ro berts, Harvey Auckland Park, Johannesburg, 15 September 1998.
Rosenberg, Alan Wynberg, Johannesburg, 17 April 1998.
Ross, Lloyd Bezuidenhout Valley, Johannesburg, 14 April 1998.
Rutter, Karin St George's Mall, Cape Town, 16 July 1998.
Selby, Jonathan Somerset West, 30 January 2002.
Solomon, Neil Oaklands, Johannesburg, 15 April 1998.
Sony , Warrick Gardens, Cape Town, 17 July 1998.
Tshola, Tsepo Lahoff, Klerksdorp, 13 September 1998.
Uys, Dirk Stellenbosch, 21 July 1998.
Van Blerk, Patrick Greenpoint, Cape Town, 15 July 1998.
Van Rooyen, Jacobus Pretoria, 11 September 1998.
Van Tonder, Jannie 'hit' Woodstock, Cape Town, 18 July 1998.
Veldsman, Rene Parktown North, Johannesburg, 16 April 1998.
k

325
 APPENDIX TWO

Brief biographies of interviewees and South African musicians quoted in this thesis

Allingham, Rob Archivist at Gallo (Africa) Records, a music historian and producer
of re-issue compilations. He is widely regarded for his knowledge of many aspects of
South African music history and has written contributions on South Africa for the Rough
Guide series.

Amos, Larry Top South African blues guitarist. First received acclaim with
blues-rock band Baxtop who released the notable Work it Out (1979) album with WEA
Records. Single "Jo Bangles" (1979) received airplay on SABC and sold relatively well.
The band broke up in 1980. Thereafter Amos gave up music for three years (went into the
building trade) before getting back into music. He performed with various blues bands
he put together including the Larry Amos Blues Project and Larry Amos and the
Naughty Boys. Recorded an album with Bruce Williams (of Baxtop) with BMG, but it
was never released because of contractual disagreements. Did a lot of gigging on the
Johannesburg circuit throughout the rest of the 1980s, but did not record again.

Anderson, Murray Keyboard player and producer. Played keyboards in Robin Auld's
band Z Astaire which was formed in 1984. Auld had a short but successful career in
South Africa in terms of radio play and live performance, but went overseas in 1986. In
the meantime Anderson worked with Paddy Thorpe at Mountain Records and appears on
many Mountain releases during the 80s, playing keyboards where needed. He now owns
Milestone Studios in Cape Town.

Berelowitz, Keith Stage name Keith Berel. Songwriter, vocalist, lead guitarist, sax and
flute for Flash Harry and Carte Blanche. Berel formed Flash Harry in Johannesburg in
1978. The band released two pop-rock albums, Going Straight (1981) and Take What You
Can (1982). Received substantial airplay on Radio 5 with "Shame on You" (1982) but
the single did not se,lJ very welL They broke up in 1983. Berel formed Carte Blanche in
1986. Released the album Far Cry (1986) with Priority Records. Single "Killer in the
Crowd" (1986) was banned by SABC. Berelowitz's main job is dentistry, and music
i increasingly became sidelined. He did not release anything after Carte Blanche.

Bekker, Carl Artist and musician (singer, songwriter and guitarist). He formed the
Aeroplanes with friends who had nothing better to do and who wanted to create music
that was politically different to the mainstream. Although the group members never took
themselves very seriously, they developed a cult following and wrote songs which
captured the spirit of the time. The band recorded one (self-titled) album with Shifty
Records in 1986 and regularly played at Jameson's, festivals and private parties in
Johannesburg.

Botha, Piet Singer-songwriter and guitarist who played on the Pretoria rock scene in the
1980s with the band Jack Hammer. Has flirted with the alternative Afrikaans music
scene in the 1990s. He is the son of Nationalist Government Foreign Minister, Pik Botha.

326
." t -

He has also released lTIusic as a solo artist.

Clegg, Johnny Started out as a musician playing with boyhood friend Sipho Mchunu in
the 1970s. They formed Juluka which combined Zulu and Anglo-American folk-rock
music. The band built up a strong following amongst both black and white audiences in
South Africa. Their exploration of Zulu culture was a trademark of the band. They
released seven studio albutrls. In 1985 Mchunu left the group to return to his farm. Clegg
brought out a solo album before forming Savuka. The new band was more international
in its sound and appearance. Savuka topped the charts in France and Clegg became
known as the White Zulu. Savuka were lyrically more politically overt than Juluka. Clegg
became very involved in cultural politics in South Africa and was instrumental in the
formation of SAMA. After four studio albums Savuka broke up and Clegg and Mchunu
reformed Juluka in 1997.

Cloud, Neil Drummer with highly successful apolitical Rabbitt, who were South
Africa's most popular and commercially successful white band of the mid to late 70s.
When the band broke up Cloud attempted an unsuccessful solo career before going to the
United States where he played in Peter Frampton's band, but soon returned to South
Africa and took up a career in retail. Rabbitt's lead singer and songwriter Trevor Rabin
went on to join Yes and also pursued a successful solo career in the United States.

Coakley, Alistair Lead guitarist for top South African white band Hotline, who began as
a rock band with their debut album Burnout in 1981. Fronted by lead singer PJ Powers
who become extremely popular amongst black South Africans when the band crossed-
over to a township-pop/rock sound with albums like Music/or Ajdca (1983), Jabalani
(1984) and Wozani (1985). The band even managed to play in the United Kingdom,
Italy, Holland, Germany and the United States but the cultural boycott prevented them
from releasing music there. The band broke up in 1987. Coakley continued to play guitar
in PJ Powers' backing band after she pursued a successful solo career which continues
today. Coakley now produces and plays on many albums as a very accomplished
, guitarist, whether ro~(, pop or township styles.

I
1
Coetzee, Braam Appointed to the position of Director of Publications on the Directorate
bf Publications in early 1981. He had an academic background and was appointed in an
attempt to 'liberalize' the Directorate, which had an extremely conservative reputation
based on its over zealous censorship practices in the 1970s. He served as Director of
Publications throughout the 1980s and into the 1990s. He has since retired.

Darlington, Andy Promoter and marketer who promoted various South African
musicians including David Kramer, Brenda Fassie, Steve Kekana, Leslie Rae Dowling
and Wendy Oldfield. He initially worked in the area of International Label Management
for EMI before moving into an Artist and Repertoire position. He subsequently
estabiished Andy Darlington Promotions and, in the mid-80s, spent six years at Capital
Radio in the position of Music Supervisor and Promotions Manager, liaising with local
record companies and (in conjunction with Capital disc jockeys) compiling play-lists and
the w~eldy Top 40.

327
 De Wet, Danny Original eVoid drummer (when they were still Void) but left before the
band made their first album. Later re-joined the band as a stand in drummer for a 1983
tour. Joined Petit Cheval after a brak in England. With the break-up of Petit Cheval he
joined the Electric Petals in the late 1980s and into the 90s became the drummer for
Wonderboom.

Edwards, Lee Bass guitarist for the Cherry Face Lurchers. Long-time friend of James
Phillips who he met whileat Rhodes University in 1980. They formed the Cherry Faced
Lurchers shortly afterwards in Johannesburg. After the death of Phillips in the mid-1990s
he dropped out of music and concentrated full-time on his job in sound recording in the
film industry.

Ellis, Richard Songwriter, lead vocalist and percussionist (timbales, congas, cabasa,
vibraslap, cowbells, tambourine). A Durban-based musician and founder member of The
Usuals who formed in 1980 and released the album Law of the Jungle in 1982. The band
broke up in 1983 and Ellis put together a succession of fringe bands who played on the
Durban circuit, and which were very involved in the ECC scene during the 1980s.

Erasmus, Paul Security branch policeman for 16 years from 1977 until 1993.
Throughout the 1980s he was based in Johannesburg performing covert acts on behalf of
the South African Police. He was periodically assigned to perform surveillance duties on
South African musicians including Roger Lucey and Juluka. He is the only former South
African policeman to openly admit to harassing musicians, in particular Roger Lucey.

Esterhuizen, Tinus Head of SABC Springbok Radio Record Library. His position was
initially that of Chief Compiler: Springbok Radio, but he changed to Music Manager:
Commercial services. Whatever his title, he was in charge of play-listing not only for
Springbok Radio but for the SABC as a whole. He worked in this capacity from the mid-
1970s until Springbok Radio closed down in 1985. Thereafter he has worked on various
radio stations at the SABC and is presently working for Radio Sonder Grense (Radio
without borders).
"4'

Fassie, Brenda Started out as a replacement member of Joy in 1980 before forming
tbubblegum band Brenda and the Big Dudes in 1984. The band proved a successful
platform for her singing ability. Their single "Weekend Special" (1984) sold over 200
000 copies and even entered the billboard black singles chart. In 1987 Fassie embarked
on a solo career, establishing herself as one of South Africa's most popular female
vocalists. Her most successful single was "Too Late for Mama" (1989). Her first
political song of note was "Black President" (1989), banned on SABC.
r Ferguson, Jennifer Singer and pianist who stalied out as a theatre and cabaret artist,
working with Barney Simon at the Market Theatre. She was centrally involved in anti
apartheid and feminist politics. Her talent as a singer-songwriter led to a successful
career as a musician beginning in the mid-1980s. She recorded two solo albums with
Shifty Records: Hand Around the Heart (1986) and Untimely (1989). In the 1990s she
became an ANC member of Parliament. She found the world of politics too restrictive.

328
Ferguson remains marginally involved in the formal music scene.

Florence, Jimmy Keyboard player and songwriter. Founder member of the Dynamics, a
Inulti-racial ska-township band which formed in Johannesburg in 1983. Featured
Winston Nyaunda on alto sax and Steve Howells on drums. In 1983 the band released a
cassette album entitled It's the Dynamics, followed in 1984 by the successful Switch it
On and Wind it Up mini LP. Some of the white members of the band were called-up to
the defence force in 1984 and so the band decided to relocate to England. They played
numerous gigs in London, including many anti-apartheid related gigs. Winston returned
to South Africa in 1984 and the following year the band broke up. Some of the original
members reformed the band in 1993 and played infrequently, eventually releasing a
further album in 1996, but broke up again shortly afterwards. Also see Harvey Roberts
(below).

Fox, Tom Highly-rated guitarist, songwriter and sometimes vocalist for popular South
African white African rock band Bright Blue. The band formed in 1983 and released their
self-titled debut album in 1984. The single "Window on the World" (1984) was very
popular, as was their anthemic "Weeping" released in 1987, widely regarded as one of
South Africa's best ever pop songs. The band occasionally records new material with
long breaks in between. Tom Fox was part of another Cape Town band called The Usual
which formed in the mid-1990s. He mostly works as a producer in Cape Town.

Frohling, Rudi Charismatic lead vocalist for late 70s rock band the Rag Dolls, who
changed their name to Leatherette in 1981 because of contractual problems. Frohling left
South Africa for Germany when Leatherette broke up in 1981. He formed the group Ten
Drummers Drumming who had a fair amount of success and released several albums. A
stroke brought Frohling's career to a premature end.

Gordon, Steve Cape-Town based journalist and political activist with a strong interest in
cultural politics, especially music. A strong supporter of the cultural boycott, he played a
prominent role in upholding the boycott in the Western Cape. Amongst the publications
he wrote for were th~'Cape Times and Vula magazine.

~oosen, Anton Successful Afrikaans singer-songwriter who began by writing songs for
other musicians, particularly Sonja Herholdt (see below). Broke onto the performance
scene in his own right in 1979 with his Boy van die Suburbs album. Strongly influenced
by Bob Dylan, he wanted to establish himself as a protest singer but never progressed
beyond vaguely symbolic protest songs. He continues to release albums on the fringes of
the alternative Afrikaans music scene.

Gumede, Sipbo Very influential South African musician. Bass player and songwriter
and more recently a vocalist. Started off playing in a band in Durban in 1968. Went up to
Johannesburg in the early 70s where he made a living as a fringe musician until 1975
when he formed Spirits Rejoice. Recorded the album African Spaces in 1976 and Spirit's
Rejoice in 1980, including the hit "Shine on" (1980). Gumede left to form Sakhile in
1981. Sakhile played a stronger form of African jazz than did Spirit's Rejoice. They

329
aligned themselves with the political left and released a number of albums in the 1980s.
When the band broke up Gumede pursued a solo career in the 1990s and beyond.

Handley, Jonathan Song writer and guitarist with various bands including the Radio
Rats, the Chauffeurs and the Pop Guns. Together with close friend, James Phillips, he put
Springs on the South African music map (although the two were never members of the
same band). The only one of Handley's bands to receive public recognition and radio
play were the Radio Rats who released the album Into the night we slide in 1978. The
single "ZX Dan" was the only song to receive radio play on SABC. Although the band
has never officially broken-up they seldom perform and only release occasional albums.
Handley was also the editor of South Africa's most enduring and successful fanzine,
Palladium, published in the first half of the 1980s.

Haslop, Richard A fringe musician on the folk circuit in the 1970s and lawyer by
profession. Established himself as a very knowledgeable and respected music journalist
in the 1980s, especially with his record reviews for Scope magazine in the mid-1980s.
Later became a radio presenter, playing fringe music on South African radio that no one
else ever plays. He still performs at occasional music festivals.

Herbst,Ingi Drummer for South Africa's top white women-only band Clout who
arrived on the South African stage with the single "Substitute" in 1977. The single was
very successful in various European countries and in New Zealand. Tours to Europe
followed and changing membership ended the women' s-only status of the band. The
band broke up in 1981. After a brief period with a band called Tarzan, Herbst left South
Africa for a life in Germany where she continued as a drummer on the fringes of the
German music set-up. She returned to South Africa in the late 1990s but is not presently
involved in music performance.

Herholdt, Sonja Hugely popular singer amongst white Afrikaners in the 1970s and into
the 1980s. She burst onto the pop circuit with the release of the single" Ek verlang na
jou" (I long for you) in 1975. The song was interpreted by many as a song about lovers
parted because of mi;}itary service. It was regularly requested on military request
programmes on SABC. In the 1980s she became a Christian and turned to gospel music.
Her music career went into decline, but she made a relatively successful comeback in
t
2001 .

Hertselman, Gary Song writer, lead vocalist and guitarist for The Kerels. The Kerels
were regulars at Jamesons in the late 1980s and released the album Ek se in 1988.
Hertselman was also a member of the Gereformeerde Blues Band (see Kerkorrel below)
in the late 1980s. He is still marginally i1?-volved in the music arena.

Ibrahim, Abdullah Formerly known as Dollar Brand (changed his name when he
converted to Islam). South Africa's most internationally renowned jazz musician.
Composer and pianist who has released numerous albums (see Rasmussen, 2000). He
grew up in Cape Town and was involved in the 195 Os jazz scene. Released the anthemic
"Mannenburg" in 1974. Was strongly opposed to apartheid and spent two lengthy spells

330
 t

in exile, on either side of a short period back in South Africa in the Inid-1970s.

Kekana, Steve Very successful South African singer who started out with The Hunter in
1974 before becoming a solo artist in the late 1970s. He is very much a pop singer who is
able to sing in a variety of African languages as well as in English. Already established in
the black market, he successfully crossed-over into the white English market with the
single "Raising my fami1y~' (1981), which reached number one in Finland and Number 3
in Sweden. His career went into decline after his involvement in the Bureau for
Information's "Together we will build a brighter future" (1986) but he continues to
record and release albums.

Kerkorrel, Johannes Former journalist who became a full-time musician in the late
1980s. Kerkorrel (Ralf Rabie) was at the forefront of the V oelvry movement. He was a
singer-songwriter and accomplished pianist. For the Voelvry tour (see Chapter Eight) he
formed the Gereformeerde Blues Band and performed overtly anti-government songs
such as "Sit dit af' (1989). He continued to release albums and perform throughout the
1990s and into the new century until he committed suicide in 2002.

Khanyile, Jabu He became the lead vocalist for Bayete when he joined them in 1984.
The band had formed in 1983 and released their debut album Bayete in 1984. Bayete
were a politically overt band with a strong South African musical style and were
extremely popular in the townships in the 1980s and continued to be successful in the
1990s even after Khanyile left the band for a successful solo career.

Kitchen, Syd One of South Africa's most enduring folk singers. A singer-songwriter
who has been on the folk scene since he started out performing with his brother as the
Kitchen Brothers in the late 1960s. By the late 1970s he had established himself as a solo
singer, but also played with other folk singers including Steve Newman and Tony Cox. In
1986 he released Waitingfor the heave (by Syd Kitchen and the Utensils), which
included politically overt songs about the South African situation. He continues to record
and perform. "II-

Kombuis, Koos Real name is Andre De Toit. Changed his name to Andre Le Toit and
lbecame an established Afrikaans author in the 197 Os and 80s. In the 2nd half of the 1980s
he turned to music to get closer to his fan base. He released the album Ver van die ou
Kalahari with Shifty Records in 1988. Changed his name to Koos Kombuis and released
the acclaimed Niemandsland (1989). He was very involved in the Voelvry tour and has
always been a central figure in the alternative Afrikaans music scene. He has released a
number of albums since then and continues to write both fiction and songs and performs
regularly. He has also recently written an autobiogr~phy.

Kramer, David Highly successful singer-songwriter in the satirical tradition. He began

on the folk circuit in the 1970s and released Bakgat in 1981. The album secured a cult
following, but the release of The Story of Blokkies Joubert broadened his audience
considerably. He became a household name. Some of his music received a lot of airplay
on SABC while most of it was not played at all because it was deemed too controversial.

331

I
~~eM'l"'4l'&TW'''''''''''-::ji~..J
....
.' • =

His music became lTIOre politically explicit in 1986 with the release of Baboondogs. In
1986 he co-wrote the enorn10usly successfullTIusical District Six and has since written a
series of musicals (some of which have made it to Broadway and the West End) and
seldom records solo albums.

Kunene, Madala Durban-based musician who began with marabi band Amanikabheni
in the early 1960s. Steadil¥ built up his reputation as a maskanda guitarist and singer-
songwriter. Played with various groups and as a solo act in the Durban region and also in
Johannesburg during the 1970s and 1980s. Towards the end of the 1990s he signed to
Melt 2000 and has performed in Europe and released three solo albums.

Laxton, Julian Legendary South African guitarist and songwriter who played with some
of South Africa's most successful bands of the 1970s. These included Freedom's
Children, Hawk (in both of these instances he was not one of the original members) and
the Julian Laxton Band. In the 1980s he focused more strongly on film music, writing the
very successful theme music for the Shaka Zulu television series, the theme song of
which ("We are growing" [1986] performed by Margaret Singana) charted in European
countries despite the cultural boycott.

Louw, Mara Louw began as a vocalist with the Wilbur Music Group in the early 1970s.
She appeared in various musicals, culminating in an overseas tour from (1973-76) with
the musical Meropa (also known as KwaZulu). On her return in 1976 she embarked on a
solo career, making a name for herself through live performance and as a backing singer
on albums by established musicians such as Hugh Masekela and Sipho Gumede. She
does not write her own material but did release the single "Take me to the river" in 1982
and the album Mara Louw in 1984. She was very involved in the setting up of SAMA
and was the first President of the Association. She is still involved in the music arena.

Louw, Steve Rose to prominence as the vocalist and guitarist for American-styled rock
band All Night Radio who formed in 1981. The band released The heart's the best part
(1984) and The Killing Floor (1986) but never became truly established on the South '
African circuit. The1;and broke up after the second album. In 1989 Louw formed Big
Sky who released Waitingfor the Dawn in 1990. Most of the songs on the album were
,/intended for a third All Night Radio album which never materialized. Louw essentially is
Big Sky, with invited musicians performing on album and onstage when he periodically
promotes a new album.

Lucey, Roger Singer-songwriter who rose to prominence on the South African folk
circuit in the late 1970s. Performed solo and with various backing bands. He was an
outspoken critic of the government's apartheid policies and wrote and performed many
songs which provoked police response. The Directorate of Publications banned the first
of his two albums (both released by independent 3rd Ear Music) and he suffered ongoing
police harassment. In the mid-1980s he briefly attempted to-elude police attention by
forming a protest country band called Tighthead Fourie and the Loose Forwards.
However, he soon gave up a career in music and only attempted a return in the late
1990s.

332
 t

Mabuse, Sipho Drummer, vocalist, songwriter. He began his musical career when he
joined the The Beaters as drummer in 1968. In 1976 the band became Harari, a successful
disco-fusion band. Had a big hit with "Party" in 1980. In 1981 Mabuse left Harari in
order to pursue a very successful solo career. He had a huge hit with the single "Burn
out" (1984) which has become a South African classic. He later became the owner and
manager of Kjppies jazz venue in central Johannesburg, but continues to perform and
releases occasional albums.. .

Mac, Heather Real name Heather McDermott. Lead vocalist for the new-romantic band
Ella Mental. They released the relatively successful Uncomplicated dreams in 1984 and
received widespread radio play with songs like "Pressure" (1984), "See yourself
(clowns)" (1984) and "30 million people" (1985). In 1987 the band left the country and
tried to launch a new career based in Ireland. However, their follow-up album did not do
very well. Mac returned to South Africa in the early 1990s. She periodically performs on
the fringes of the Cape Town music scene.

MacKenzie, Mac Began his music career playing in session bands in the Western Cape
in the 1970s and 1980s. He became increasingly interested in goema music and formed
the energetic band The Genuines in the mid-1980s. Mackenzie decided to move up to
Johannesburg to further the band's career. Initially used a drum machine but then met up
with accomplished drummer Ian Herman who joined the group. They signed up with
Shifty Records and released the albums Goema (1986) and Mr Mac and the Genuines
(1987). The latter featured Mac Mackenzie's father. They performed at the Culture in
Another South Africa conference in Amsterdam in 1987 and tried to relocate there, but
\
eventually became despondent and the band broke up. MacKenzie continues to perform
, I

(and record) on the fringes of the Cape Town music scene.

Makeba, Miriam Probably South Africa's most famous exiled musician. She became a
successful singer in the Johannesburg area in the 1950s. She went overseas with the King
Kong musical and was not allowed back in the country. With the help of Harry Belafonte
she launched a successful career in the United States and has released numerous albums.
She was very involv~d in African and anti-apartheid politics. Relocated to Guinea in the
1970s. She returned to South Africa in the early 1990s and continues to release albums
and perform.

Marcus, Fuzzy Bass guitarist for Baxtop (see Larry Amos above). After the break-up of
Baxtop he dropped out of music for a while before joining Robbie Robb's Tribe After
Tribe, who achieved some acclaim on the live circuit and through radio play. When Tribe
After Tribe broke up Fuzzy became disillusioned with the local music scene, went over to
Germany before returning to South Africa to become a sound engineer in the film
business. He still performs at occasional gigs, particularly with Larry Amos.

Marks, David A successful singer-songwriter on the folk scene in the 1960s. Wrote the
all time top selling South African single "Master Jack" (1967) performed by Four Jacks
and a Jill. He was uncomfortable singing and decided to use the money from "Master
Jack" to set up 3rd Ear Music. He recorded vast amount of music, especially live

333
performances and was also involved in organizing live music at festivals and clubs. He is
still involved in the music arena, promoting musicians and preserving his large archival
collection.

Masekela, Hugh World-famous trumpeter who went into exile in the United States in
the 1960s. He was briefly married to Miriam Makeba. He established himself with the
single "Grazing in the grass" (1968), which reached number one on the United States
chmis. He became an outspoken critic of apartheid and regularly released albums
throughout his career, including overtly political songs. In the 1980s he relocated to
Botswana and then Lesotho. He returned to South Africa in the beginning of the 1990s
and continues to record music and perform live.

Masondo, David Lead vocalist and founder member of the Soul Brothers who formed in
Soweto in 1976. They became South Africa's top mbaqanga group, influencing many
musicians in the years to come. The albums regularly sell in excess of 300 000 copies,
excellent for a South African band. The group continues to record and maintains a huge
fan base. Masondo writes, arranges and produces all Soul Brothers material with the only
other surviving original member, Moses Ngwenya (see below).

Maswanganya, Mike Started working in the music industry in 1990. He began as a

display artist with Gallo and was then promoted to a sales representative position. In
1995 he was promoted to an A&R position, doing well with various artists. In 1998 he
joined EMI as head of the black division, CCP.

Mbuli, Mzwakhe Mbuli became famous as the highly critical 'People's Poet' who
performed his own poetry at political rallies during the 1980s. Shifty Records approached
him and he released the very overtly anti-apartheid album Change is Pain (1986),
performing his poetry to a musical backing. He was always the victim of serious police
harassment, and spent six months in detention before releasing his second album,
Unbroken spirit, in 1989. He continued to release albums and perform into the 1990s but
was arrested and found guilty of bank robbery in the late 1990s. He is still in jaiL
lrif

McCully, Tully (Real name Tully McCullough). Original member of the very popular
(amongst white South Africans) 1970s band, McCully Workshop. After the band broke
up in 1979 McCully continued with recording in his Spaced Out Sound Studios in Cape
Town.

McLennan, Rob Lead vocalist and songwriter with gothic rock-influenced No Friends
of Harry formed in Johannesburg in 1986. They released the mini-album One came
running in 1987 which included popular radio songs "Competition rules" and "A long
,way home". Continued to release albums into the 1990s, but the band broke up in the'late
1990s,

Moller, Willem Recognized as a good guitarist, Moller has not had a stable musical
career with one particular band. He has been a member of the Gereformeerde Blues Band
(see Kerkorrel above), Steve Louw's Big Sky (see Louw above) and James Phillips'

334

.' ,~,', <. ', ~" '

 m •

Lurchers (see Phillips below). He was one of the central ~upport musicians in the
alternative Afrikaans scene of the late 1980s, playing guitar on Kombuis' Niemandsland
(see K.ombuis above). He runs his own studio in Johannesburg and still plays with other
musicians on their albums and live.

Mudie, Benjy Started out as a lTIusician with Void (to become eVoid) in the late 1960s
to mid-1970s. In 1976 opted for an active role in the industry itself. He joined WEA as
an A&R person. Became one of South Africa's most successful A&R personnel dealing
with predominantly white bands. The first band he signed at WEA was Baxtop. After
leaving WEA in the early 1980s he formed his own company called TUSK. Continued to
successfully sign local acts, at times with a fairly strong political content. He sold TUSK
to Gallo and now operates independent label Fresh Music, including the Retrofresh
project involving re-releases (on CD) of many South African albums from the 1970s and
1980s or compilations thereof.

Ngwenya, Moses Keyboard player and one of the original members of the Soul
Brothers. Moses writes, arranges and produces all Soul Brothers material with the only
other surviving original member, David Masondo (see above). The other three original
members were killed in two car accidents in the 1979 and 1984.

Niederlander, Edi Prominent singer-songwriter folk singer of the 1970s who was a
regular performer at South African folk festivals. Most noted as a guitarist, both acoustic
and electric. She was always independently minded and refused to tow the industry line.
A strong supporter of feminism and always anti-apartheid in her stance. She recorded two
albums through independent Mountain Records in the 1980s: Ancient dust (1985) and
Hear no evil (1989). Political songs were banned on SABC, but she nevertheless received
airplay with two of her less political songs. She still performs and teaches guitar.

Neswiswi, Golden Radio Freedom announcer and producer during the early to mid-
1980s. He went on to become Head of Radio Freedom in 1987.

Oldfield, Wendy R'tfse to prominence as the dynamic lead singer of popular pop-rock
band Sweatband in the mid-1980s. The group wrote radio-friendly songs and received
widespread airplay with the single "This boy" (1985). Oldfield left Sweatband in 1987 to
pursue a relatively successful solo career (by South African standards).

Parr, Tim Began his career as a young and very impressive guitarist for Baxtop in the
late 1970s (see entry on Larry Amos above). After the break-up of Baxtop, Parr formed
the Tim Parr Band which metamorphosed into top new wave pop band Ella Mental which
formed in 1983. Ella Mental had a relatively short but successful career (see Heather
Mac above). The group relocated to Ireland in 1987 and recorded an album which sold
relatively well overseas, but was not released in South Africa. Parr returned to South
Africa in the 1990s and as continued to perform in various bands and as a solo artist. He
also writes film music.

335
Phillips, James Recognized as one of South Africa's true rock musicians, he strongly
believed in the need for local musicians to say something about the South African
situation and to get out there and perform. He was one of the founder members of
Corporal Punishment in Springs in 1978. The band released an EP and recorded a few
other songs before breaking up. Thereafter Phillips formed the short-lived Illegal
Gathering with ex-Corporal Punishment member Carl Raubenheimer. They recorded the
album Voice ofNooi! in 19..81 but it was only released in 1986. Phillips met Lee Edwards
at Rhodes University in the early 1980s and the two of them formed the Cherry Faced
Lurchers. Phillips also masqueraded as satirical character Bemoldus Niemand and
brought out the album Wie is Bernoldus Niemand? in 1984. Niemand was resurrected for
the Voelvry tour in the late 1980s. Apart from Phillips' sardonic and satirical songs he
wrote and performed more serious political songs with the Cherry faced Lurchers, for
example "Shot down" (1985). There was often a long gap between the recording and
release of music, which confuses the chronology of Phillips' career. He recorded into the
1990s but died in 1995, as the result of injuries sustained in a car accident.

Phiri, Ray Began playing guitar in the early 1960s, played with various bands before
joining The Cannibals in 1970. The Cannibals backed Jacob Radebe who was signed by
Gallo. His albums sold in the region of 100 000 copies each. When Radebe died in 1979
the Cannibals became a group in their own right and with a change in melnbership
became Stimela in 1981. They released the album Fire Passion Ecstacy in 1984. Stimela
impressed Paul Simon when he came to South Africa to work on the Graceland (1986)
album. Phiri gained overseas exposure through playing on Simon's albums and touring
with him. Stimela went on to record a number of important protest songs on various
albums including Look, listen and decide (1986), The unfinished story (1987) and
Trouble in the land ofplenty (1989). The band toured overseas but in 1992 Phiri left the
group to pursue a solo career. He is also actively involved in cultural projects in his
hometown ofNelspruit.

Plaatjies, Dizu Percussionist and founder member of Amampondo formed in the

Western Cape in 19tO. Lively band playing predominantly percussion instruments,
particularly drums and marimbas. They have released a series of albums including
*Searchingfor the missing link (1986) and Feel the pulse ofAfrica (1989) and have
performed overseas, most notably at the Nelson Mandela Birthday Concert at Wembley
Stadium in London in 1988. The group is still performing and releasing albums. Plaatjies
teaches at the University of Cape Town School of Music.

Pracher, Cecile SABC record librarian during the 1980s and member of the committee
that convened regular record meetings to decide whether or not to play music submitted
to the SABC. After the fall of apartheid she continued to work in the SABC record
library, claiming that she had previously been duped by apartheid propaganda, but since
realized she had been mistaken. She died of cancer in 2002.

Prior, Chris Well respected music disc jockey who began working with the SABC in
the 1970s. He was one of the original Capital Radio deejays when the station was

336
launched in 1979. He later went to SABC's Radio 5 where • he was known as the 'rock
professor' but his specialist interest in music extends to jazz and folk.

Quinn, Roddy Started out with Springbok Radio at SABC before going into the record
industry. Joined EMI in the 1980s and worked his way into an A&R position. He
successfully signed and worked with many prominent white South African musicians.
These included Johnny Cl~gg, Ella Mental and Via Afrika. He also ventured into
management and promotions. He now focuses specifically on promotional work and
concert organization.

Rathbone, Gary Guitarist and songwriter. Developed as a musician in the early 1980s
and" formed initial band called En1pty Set, some of whose members formed What
Colours in 1983, including Jimmy Florence (see above) who left the band to form the
Dynamics. What Colours played on the Johannesburg circuit and elsewhere before
breaking up. Rathbone formed Urban Camouflage and worked as a music journalist with
'Bits' and on Voice of Wits radio station. He was very involved with the ECC. In late
1984 members of Urban Camouflage formed Spectres (with Tara Robb on vocals) who
had hits with "Teddy bear"(l988) and "Be-bop bop" (1989). Both songs featured on the
album Be-bop-bop (1989). In between Rathbone was also a member of the Aeroplanes
(see Carl Bekker above). In the 1990s Rathbone has made a living in the film industry.

Raubenheimer, Carl Founder member of Corporal Punishment with James Phillips.

When Raubenheimer moved from Springs to Cape Town, the band broke up, but Phillips
and Raubenheimer got together again to form the short-lived Illegal Gathering (see
Phillips above), Raubenheimer released some solo material as Karl Helgard and
performed in a succession of very short-lived bands in Cape Town. These included
Teenage Botha and the Blacks and Oliver and the Tamborines, He has hundreds of hours
of music recorded, but never released. He now works in the film industry.

Ridgeway, Clive Marginal Cape Town-based musician who was a member of the
relatively successfu!)Jr Jive and the Blue Notes in the early 1980s. Has since made a
career in regional radio and presently has an influential marketing role at KFM in Cape
Town.

Roberts, Harvey One of the original members of the Dynamics (see Florence above)
and went overseas with them when they left for London. He returned to South Africa
after the Dynamics broke up, and he took a job as sales rep for EMI and gradually
worked his way up until he was appointed as General Manager of the EM!' s black
division, CCP. In the late 1990s he went independent with his own Bula Records.

Rosenberg, Alan (Stage name ,Alan Rose) Guitarist and songwriter, initially ~ member
of Conglomerate who became one of South Africa's most successful white bands
Rabbitt), but only after Rosenberg had left them. He met some white teenage girls at a
Rabbitt concert in Durban and together they formed Peach, who went on to experience
considerable South African success in the early 1980s. They received plenty of radio _
coverage but broke up when it became clear that overseas exposure was closed to them.

337
Rosenberg dropped out of lTIusic to pursue a career in retail.

Ross, Lloyd Formally became involved in music when he briefly joined the Radio
Rats as bass guitarist in the late 1970s. He drifted into studio work and began Shifty
Records with friend Ivan Kadey of National Wake. He went on to record numerous bands
and musicians who were not being recorded by the majors. He still performed music,
forming the Happy Ships (including Warrick Sony) and studio band Joe Azania and the
Chameleons (with Ivan Kadey). He also wrote the theme tune for the television series
'Vyfster'. He sold Shifty in the 1990s, to pursue a career in film. He does still
occasionally produce music projects.

Rutter, Karin Fringe Cape Town musician who played with Flux and Tarzan, Jane and
the Bonsaiers. The bands never recorded but featured regularly at Cape Town's live
venues, festivals and rallies. She also worked as a music and arts journalist. Has more
recently been a member of Edi Niederlander's backing band.

Selby, Jonathan Lead vocalist and songwriter with glitzy new romantic band Petit
Cheval. The band were played on the SABC and became popular amongst white
teenagers in the mid-1980s. The band broke up after Selby's participation in the
controversial Bureau for Information propaganda song "Together we'll build a brighter
future" (1986). Selby attempted a solo career without much success and has since given
up on a career in music.

Solomon, Neil Singer songwriter and guitarist who appeared on the music scene in the
mid-1970s. Formed the group Neil Solomon and the Uptown Rhythm Dogs in 1978. The
occupant was released in 1981 to much critical acclaim, including in Billboard
Magazine. Overseas prospects blunted by the cultural boycott. Their biggest single was
"Junk foods and disposable ladies" (1980) off the aforementioned album, but the band
broke up at the end of 1982. Solomon then formed Bazar who didn't have much success.
In 1985 he formed The Passengers who were relatively successful locally, but never
enough to make a living from. The band released the album Rule afthe swallow in 1989.
He has written mus1b for plays and film, and runs a studio in Johannesburg.

# Sony, Warrick (Real name Warrick Swinney) Founder member of the Kalahari Surfers,
although the band was always essentially Sony and friends. This was certainly the case
by the time he recorded the first album Own affairs (1984) with Shifty Records. Three
other challenging and subversive albums were recorded during the 1980s, the first two of
which were released by Recommended Records in London. Sony performed in Eastern
Europe and Russia during the 1980s. He has been involved in other music projects in the
1990s including Free State Music, Trans Sky and more recently another Kalahari Surfers
album. He took over Shifty from Lloyd Ro~s (see above), and does studio work in Cape
Town.

Tshola, Tsepo Lead vocalist of Lesotho-based Uhuru who, in the late 1970s, were
prohibited form touring South Africa because of their strong political message. Tsepo left
the band and went into exile where he performed with Hugh Masakela and other South

338
 Africa musicians in exile. Meanwhile Uhuru reformed as Sankomota and recorded an
album with Shifty Records in 1984. Their music was a combination of jazz, mbaqanga
and funk In 1986 Tshola rejoined the group (who, under their new name, ignored the
previous ban) and went on to record three albums with the band before he left to pursue a
successful solo career.

Uys, Dirk A big supporter of the Alternative Afrikaans music scene of the late 1980s,
Uys approached Shifty with an offer to assist in the organization of the Voelvry tour of
1989. In the 1990s he began to organize predominantly alternative Afrikaans concerts in
Stellenbosch and established the independent record label, Trippy Grape.

Van Blerk, Patrick Producer, songwriter and record label owner who has had a major
impact on South African music, especially in the 1970s and early 1980s. In the mid-
1970s he set up Jo'burg Records, an independent who operated like a small major. Top
performers of the time such as Rabbitt, Margaret Singana, Julian Laxton, the Rag Dolls,
the Radio Rats were all discovered and signed by Jo'burg Records.

Van Rooyen, Jacobus Chairman of the Publications Appeal Board throughout the
1980s. He was also Professor of Criminal Law at the University of Pretoria and published
two books on censorship in South Africa, in 1978 and 1987.

Van Tonder, Jannie Trombone player who played with various bands in the 1980s
including the Softies, the African Jazz Pioneers and Winston's Jive Mix-Up. In the late
1980s he participated in the Voelvry tour as the drummer for the Gereformeerde Blues
Band (see Kerkorrel above). Since then he spent some time in Amsterdam before
returning to Cape Town where he runs a Big Jazz Band.

Veldsman, Rene Founder member of Via Afrika, a pop band with an ethnic vibe
modeled around good times and fashion. The band was extremely popular and released
Via Afrika (1983) and A scent of scandal (1984). The single "Hey boy" (1983) was very
popular, especially on Capital Radio. In 1984 the band went over to the United States
where they were ver~' popular, mixed with the stars (including Lou Reed) and they were
inexplicably invited to participate on the Sun City song (and featured on the video).
~When the cultural boycott meant that all doors were closed to them overseas, they
returned to South African and disbanded. Veldsman then ran her own studio.

,I

I
,\

339
('
I

Discography

Album titles in italics and song titles in "inverted commas". All available information has
been provided. In some cases the full details could not be located.

The Aeroplanes. 1986. The Aeroplanes. Shifty Records.

African Youth Band. 1989'. Thula Sizwe. Hit City Records.
All Night Radio. 1984. The Heart's the Best Part. Previous Records.
All Night Radio. 1986. The Killing Floor. Previous Records.
Amampondo. 1986. Searching for the Missing Link. Teal Records.
Amampondo. 1989. Feel the Pulse ofAfrica. EM!.
Amampondo. "Umzimo Lumtwala".
Artists United Against Apartheid. 1985. Sun City. EM!.
Aswad. 1988. Distant Thunder. Mango.
\ Asylum Kids. 1981. "Schoolboy". WEA.
Asylum Kids. 1981. "Policeman". WEA (released on Black Poem Jugglers, 1994. Tusk)
I Asylum Kids. 1982. Solid Principles. WEA.
Badisa. 1988. 12 to 12 Ha Bra Majesa. Gallo.
Band Aid. 1984. "Do They Know it's Christmas?" Mercury.
Baxtop. 1979. Work it Out. WEA.
Bayete. 1984. Bayete.
Bayete. "Sol 'buyisa".
Bayete. "Zabalaza".
Bee, Celi & the Buzzy Bunch. 1977. "Superman". RCA.
Belafonte, Harry and Makeba, Miriam. 1965. An Evening with Belafonte and Makeba.
BMG.
Bono. 1985. "Silver and gold" on Artists United Against Apartheid. 1985. Sun City. EMI
Brand, Dollar. 1974. Mannenberg is Where it's at. Sun.
Brand, Dollar. 1974. Underground in Africa. Mandla.
Brand, Dollar. 1979. Africa - Tears and Laughter. Enja.
Brenda and the Big nudes. 1984. Weekend Special. CCP.
Bright Blue. 1984. Bright Blue. Jive Wire.
~Bright Blue. 1987. "Weeping". EM!. Also on The Rising Tide (see below).
Bright Blue. 1988. The Rising Tide. E.M.!.
Bureau for Information. 1986. "Together We'll Build a Brighter Future". Bureau for
Information, South African Government.
Carte Blanche. 1986. Far Cry. Priority Records.
Cherry Faced Lurchers. 1985. Live at Jameson's. Shifty Records.
Cherry Faced Lurchers. 1986. The Other White Album. Shifty Records (only released in
1992).
Cliff, Jimmy. 1981. "Give People What They Want".
Clout. 1978. Clout. Sunshine.
Collins, PhiL 1989 .... But Seriously. WEA.
Corporal Punishment. 1979. "Darkie". Shifty Records (only released in 1986).
Corporal Punishment. 1980. Fridays and Saturdays. Graham Handley/JAWL.

340
 Crass. 1982. Christ the album. Crass.
Creedence Clearwater Revival. 1969. Green River. Fantasy.
De Burgh, Chris. 1976. Spanish Train and Other Stories. A&M.
De Burgh, Chris. 1976. Lonely Sky and Other Stories. A&M (listed as 1976 although
the album was actually released after the ban in 1977).
De Burgh, Chris. 1979. Live in South Africa. A&M.
Dire Straits. 1978. Dire Straits. Vertigo.
Dire Straits. 1985. Brothers in arms. Veliigo.
District Six the Musical. 1988. Banjo RecordslPriority Records.
Dube, William. 1981. "Take Cover".
Dynamics. 1983. It's the Dynamics.
Dynamics. 1984. Switch it On and Wind it Up. Priority Records.
Ella Mental. 1984. Uncomplicated Dream. EMI.
Ella Mental. 1985. "30 Million Lonely People". EMI.
Ella Mental. 1986. "Mad Man". EML
Faithfull, Marianne. 1979. Broken English. Island.
Falling Mirror. 1981. The Crippled Messiah. WEA.
Fassie, Brenda. 1989. Too Latefor Mama. CCP.
Ferguson, Jennifer. 1986. Hand Around the Heart. Shifty Records.
Ferguson, Jennifer. 1989. Untimely. Shifty Records.
Flash Harry. 1980. "No Football". WEA.
Flash Harry. 1981. Going Straight. WEA.
Flash Harry. 1982. Take What You Can. AD Records.
Four Jacks and a Jill. 1967. "Master Jack". RCA.
Freedom's Children. 1970. Astra. Parlophone.
Gabriel, Peter. 1980. Peter Gabriel (3 rd album). Charisma Records.
Gabriel, Peter. 1985. "No More Apartheid" on Artists United Against Apartheid. Sun
City. EMI.
Gang of Four. 1982. Songs of the Free. Warner Brothers.
The Genuines. 1986. Goema. Shifty Records.
The Genuines.1987. Mr Mac and the Genuines. Shifty Records.
Gerformeerde Blues'Band. 1989. Eet Kreef Shifty Records.
Gerformeerde Blues Band 2002. "Wat 'n Vriend Het Ons in PW" on Voelvry: Die toer.
~ Sheer Sound.
GodspeZZ. 1969. Original Cast. Bell Records.
Goosen, Anton. 1979. Anton Goosen. Explosion.
Hair. 1968. Original Cast. RCA.
Harari. 1980. Heatwave. Gallo.
Herhodlt. 1975. ~'Ek Verlang na Jou". EMI.
Herholdt, S. 1978. Waterblommetjies. EMI.
Hotline. 1981. Burnout. MFM.
Hotline. 1983. Musicfor Africa. MFM.
, ,
Hotline. 1984. Jabulani. MFM.
I Hotline. 1985. Wozani. MFM.
~ .

Bruce Hornsby and the Range. 1988. Scenes from the Southside. RCA.
Hot Chocolate. 1987. "You Sexy Thing". EMI.

341

..... ". -
 Ibrahim, Abdullah. 1977. "Anthem for a New Nation" on Liberation Freedom Songs.
SAFCO.
Ibrahim, Abdullah. 1986. Water From an Ancient Well. Blackhawk.
Illegal Gathering. 1986. The Voice ofNooit. Shifty Records (recorded in 1981).
Jesus Christ Superstar. 1971. Original Cast. MCA.
Iron Maiden. 1988. Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. EMI.
Jethro Tull. 1971. Aqualung. Chrysalis.
John, Olivia Newton. 198t. Physical. EMI.
Johnson, Linton Kwesi (Poet and the Roots). 1978. Dread Beat an' Blood. Virgin
Records.
Johnson, Linton Kwesi. 1979. Bass Culture. Island Records.
Jones. Rickie Lee. 1979. Thanks I'll Eat it Here. WEA.
j Juluka. 1976. "Woza Friday". Released on Ubuhle Bemvelo. 1982. Minc.
Juluka. 1979. Universal Men. CBS.

I Juluka. 1983. Workfor All. Minc.

Kalahari Surfers. 1984. Own Affairs. Shifty Records.

I
t
Kalahari Surfers. 1985. Living in the Heart of the Beast. Recommended Records.
Kalahari Surfers. 1986. Sleep Armed. Recommended Records.
Kalahari Surfers 1989. Bigger than Jesus. Shifty Records.
K. alahari Surfers 1989. Beachbomb. Shifty Records.
Kekana, Steve. 1981. Don't Stop the Music. EMI.
Kekana, Steve. 1982. No Going Back. E.M.I.
The Kerels. 1988. Ek Se. Shifty Records.
Kerkorrel, Johannes and the Gereformeerde Blues Band. 1989. Eet kreef Shifty Records.
Kerkorrel, Johannes and the Gereformeerde Blues Band. 2002. "Wat 'n Vriend Het Ons
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:'i
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South African Government Acts

Customs Act (Number 55) of 1955.
Customs and Excise Act (Number 91) of 1964.
Defence Act (Number 44) of 1957.
Entertainments (Censorship) Act (Number 28) of 1931.
Internal Security Aot (Number 74) of 1982.
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Publications Act (Number 42) of 1974.
Riotous Assemblies and Suppression of Communism Act (Number15) of 1954.
Riotous Assemblies Act (Number 17) of 1956.
Riotous Assemblies Amendment Act (Number 30) of 1974.
Suppression of Communism Act (Number 44) of 1950.

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