Dawn Kennedy
EVERY now and again I’m made aware that only coming to this country in 1994 has given me a very skewed view of South Africa, akin to dating a reformed drug addict and knowing nothing of the ravages caused during their troubled past. Although I knew the names of most of the artists in the Shifty Records stable – Kalahari Surfers, Jennifer Ferguson, Tananas and many more, I knew nothing about the man nicknamed “Lloyd God Almighty” by Carl Raubenheimer of Corporal Punishment, and the enabling role that his record label, Shifty Records, played in South Africa’s subversive music scene.
The exhibition, Shifty September, a heritage month tribute to the Shifty Records music label, currently on display at Alliance Francaise was an education, a tribute to rebels brave enough to sing out against the system. The exhibition was initially curated in 2014 by The Alliance Française of Johannesburg & the South African History Archive (SAHA).
When I meet people that came of age during apartheid in the 1980’s, I always wonder how they survived: did they comply or take a stand? The Shifty September exhibition makes it clear that not everybody rolled over and played dead, a few brave white and black musicians sang out against oppression, even though the stakes were high. As Koos Kombuis says, “it was difficult protesting against that system. It was all-pervading. The National Party ruled every aspect of our lives.”
Including what was played on the radio. Frustrated by the lack of airplay for the kind of sounds that he wanted to hear, Lloyd set up a sound recording studio in a caravan, a revolutionary act as home recording was virtually unknown at the time. Named Shifty Records, the label recorded an average of one album every month and would produce 70 albums in total. Shifty gave the finger to censorship and proudly produced, “The sounds you won’t hear on the radio,” which they mocked as “His Muzzled Voice.”
Shifty Records would immortalize an era and offer a platform to musicians otherwise doomed to obscurity by the ruling party’s censorship efforts.
The sound was diverse, ranging freely from alternative peoples poets to Kaapse klopse, from worker choirs to boere punks. As Lloyd explains, “It’s kind of impossible for there to be a Shifty sound. We were the only people recording socio-political music in the country which meant that we had an incredibly eclectic catalogue.”
Shifty’s first album was not the ear- scraping anarchic sound you might expect, but the melodious Sankomota, Then followed a collaboration with Warrick Sony of The Kalahari Surfers who had a kind of reverse Rodriguez story: The Surfers released four albums in the 1980’s, not one song was played on South African radio, they gained a following in Europe, but remained obscure in South Africa.
Mzwakhe Mbuli says, “I decided to approach Shifty Records because I thought I was going to die and the idea was at least let me leave my voice behind.” His album, Change is Pain became Shifty’s biggest seller and was the first album to go gold without ever having radioplay. Then there came The Voëlvry Tour that gave alienated young Afrikaners sounds they could relate to.
Lloyd considers one of Shifty’s greatest achievements to be the recording of James Phillips entire repertoire. Called South Africa’s Dylan by journalist Shaun de Waal, commercial success eluded the exceptionally talented James who died tragically at the age of 36.
While apartheid was playing out in South Africa, I was growing up during the troubles in Northern Ireland. The Stiff Little Fingers album, Inflammable Material is etched in my soul. Suspect Device was the anthem for disaffected youth and channelled our rage against a senseless conflict. I think it’s true to say that in difficult times, music matters even more. It articulates anger, heals wounds, offers an escape, restores self esteem and maybe even, who knows, helps to topple oppressive regimes.
If I had lived in South Africa during apartheid there’s no doubt that the vinyl spinning on my record player would have been Shifty. These are my kind of sounds, my way of thinking.
Jonathan Hanley from The Radio Rats describes “Playing whitey rock and roll in South Africa” as, “like climbing a set of stairs with a piano strapped to your back handing out R50 notes.”
As a European I’m amazed that anyone ever survives as an artist in South Africa. In Ireland, musicians are god-like creatures. It’s not about fame, just about an ability to make magic with your instrument. Crowds part as the local troubadour enters any pub. Social security has to be thanked for many European artistic endeavours. Even J.K. Rowling admits that Harry Potter wouldn’t have been written if she hadn’t been able to collect the dole for the years it took to write.
Being an artist in South Africa, on the other hand, is a high-wire trapeze act without a net. And hard as it is to be a musician here today, it must have been even harder to survive, or even stay alive, playing anti-establishment music during apartheid. That such great sounds were created and recorded, despite such adverse conditions, deserves deep respect.
It’s an indictment of South Africa’s lack of support for artists that as Joelle Chesselet, Lloyd's partner and long-term Shifty collaborator says, “It took an outsider – Alliance Francaise - to recognize Shifty’s role in South African society.”
As Mzwaki says, “The reputation of Shifty Records is underplayed.” He calls it, “the most relevant record label that helped a number of people during the apartheid era. I will forever tip off my hat for Lloyd. At that time I didn’t know I was going to be big, but Shifty was at that the right place at the right time. Lloyd was there and we were driven by freedom’s spirit.”
After a long silence, Lloyd recorded Rian Malan’s Alien Inboorling in 2005.
Koos Kombuis says, “Sometimes I still think I need people like Shifty in other aspects of my life.”
Maybe it’s time for a comeback?
The Shifty Heritage Voelvry Festival will be at Spier Wine Farm on Thursday from 11.30am.
l Tickets: www.capetownfringe.co.za