On a balmy late summer’s day in sleepy, bucolic Durban in 1980 I had a moment. I was 17, callow and up for anything - jols, girls, being a wiseass, but more than anything, experience of the unknown and forbidden. No, this wasn’t the moment I inhaled my first tangy whiff of that which made us feel like we were somehow connected to Africa, or a fumbled tremble- then -jolt in the back of a Beetle (those moments would come before and after). We were a naive generation, blissfully living sheltered, censored, non-connected lives. Popular culture was delivered by the SABC, the Sunday Times, Scope magazine and cool t-shirts.

So follow me back to my moment, my small epiphany.

At the time, it was nothing more than a most excellent and illicit jaunt. Just 5 minutes after Second Break had been proclaimed at the local jailhouse, Durban High School, where I was interned, my packmate Steve and I were fleeing to glory in his mother’s `borrowed’ Morris. Trembling like excited pups we shed our navy blue (with gold trim) prison garb, donned our Lees, coolest t-shirts and coral necklaces, and fearfully anticipated the cop siren that never came.

While our peers, friends and minor enemies listlessly ate, bullied, smoked, jostled and dreamed their perfect weekend fantasies, we were off to a concert on a Thursday afternoon. Man, this beat the crap out of double Biology with Mr Cowgirl, my ballroom-dancing personal nemesis.

Steve had heard that there was a free lunchtime concert happening at the Varsity. Those two words, `free’ and `concert’, were irresistible to 17 year olds, and used together, powerful juju indeed. There may even be girls (although how they could possibly be mythically drawn to pimpled-chinned, gauche, skinny boys in Bata Toughees didn’t trouble us, fervid as we were).

Yes, there were women, twenty of them, and there was dancing too. However, this was not Ladies Night at Slippers Boogie Palace. It was a concert for the cleaners at the Varsity, featuring a new band with a weird name.

`Juluka?’ I thought. `Oh crapola, I risked my life and liberty for Radio Bantu?’

I confess that like everyone else, broad generalisation, innocently racist as it was, was the easiest and most natural way to understand our strange little world. That conditional dismissal of all things African wavered as the duo, one Black, one White, appeared, looking edgy but exhilarated. The sound was awful, as we were in an unused, unventilated storeroom in the basement of the library.

The opening chords of Sipho’s Maskandi guitar grabbed my heart. Its tidy glissando spoke of my deep childhood, the buzzing midday sound of Zululand, the smell of woodsmoke, that long icy drink of water from a Drakensberg stream.

I had never heard or seen anything like this in my young dissolute life (and I had already been simultaneously seduced by reggae and punk. I considered myself undeniably a rock rebel -I had convincing proof on my noggin, a shaved head, the product of trusting Steve’s girlfriend to give me a Mohawk). I also suspected that I wasn’t meant to feel this way, or be this interested. Now I understand that was indeed the case.

Juluka was a brave leap of faith in the repressive climate at end of the Seventies. Their multi-racial existence showed insolence to the grand design, while their music was downright seditious. Schoolboys, even in liberal Durban, were not meant to be spurning free, quality education to listen to the music of the shebeen.

Over and above their worthiness, they were damn good. Even today `Afrika’, one of their first, and smaller hits, captures my heart and mind and makes me want to believe, and make it better, all over again.

That was my epiphany. I realised then that there had been a false difference created between equals. Our nannies, gardeners, game guards and messenger boys were men and women like our fathers and mothers. Not only were Juluka cooler than the Sex Pistols (maybe not Bob, that would be pushing it), but their music was profound and complex, yet perfectly clear.

The music that had always been there, floating from many khayas or vanishing round a corner, played on a guitar usually made out of an oilcan. What I had previously ignored as black noise suddenly fascinated me, and the careful work of Verwoed and Botha started to unravel. The demon seed of curiosity had taken root. Music had tugged at my sleeve, and I could do nothing but start to change.

Recently I’ve had to explain to my very hip students in Soshanguve, not only who Juluka was, but also cadets, the terror of facing National service, and apartheid itself. I tried and failed to bring to mind the Soweto Riots, the Voelvry movement and Zola Budd, but they started to resemble me in double Biology in 1980, so I gave up. Who needs the blood-soaked tired ghosts of history when there’s Facebook, cellphones and YouTube? Now that’s real, and you can always save the clip so you won’t have to remember, and send a group message so you won’t have to speak.

Cool to see your first blog up Music Guru.

We're working feverishly to get pictures activated for the forum and blogs, and also podcasts or downloadable audio and video blogs.

really enjoyed reading this blog,SEAN,can't wait for the next blog...and the fact that you mentioned on US(THE STUDENTS) your very first BLOG makes this blog even more special

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geez i remember Slippers Boogie palace one of the original disco's in Durb's.
The Los Angeles hotel
I hit the Namibian / Angolan front courtesy of SA infantry from Sept 1981 to 1982 - (bit rebellious as I grew up on Bob Marley) - and remember walking patrol with my sony walkman blarring out "scatterlings" in my ears and me being oblivious to the SADF purpose. just walking absorbing the African landscape with Juluka in my ears is a lifelasting memory.
whenever I hear JC these days my memories rocket back to the plains in Namibia.
and the biology teacher was Cowgill not Cowgirl but I get your drift.

Howzit, me old mate. I know, Cowgill, but the way he used to slap me on the back (hard) and keep his hand there always made me think of him as a spiteful little girl. And Bob was our prophet then indeed, dead irey and in the name of Jah, Rasta-far-i.

Grown a good soul on you, you have. Big ups. Thanks for the memory of Juluka, and your understanding then, on an emotional and philosophical level, that we were all scatterlings at that point. The disquiet that we all felt in various degrees has settled, and the cool thing (once we realise it), is that the wisdom, depth of feeling, and of course the music, lingers.

Hi Sean,Always good listening to you on 702.So educating.So much that I and am sure 1000's of listeners did not know about music and what they meant.Having come from Durban and grew up in the 60's,and 70's,can you maybe do something on The Flames.As you know that Blondie went on to sing with The Beach Boys and Ricky went on to drum for The Rutels,it would be great to hear about them.

Hi Sean, Heard you on 702. I have some African Traditional music( Zulu, Shona etc ) ,as well as some African Church Quoir music etc
on AUDIO CASSETTE from the then different music companies, which i am trying to find a buyer for. I think that it may ALL be music from the 1980's. i have tried SABC music library and a couple of other places however had no joy. i have about 117 cassettes. Any idea who would be intrested in them ? Please help, Thanks

heard you on 702...great show...Joe Cocker in the 70's sounds just like Ray Charles but he gets few accolades...listen to the ' I can stand a little rain ' and ' Jamaica say you will ' albums