Green Shoots: Do you remember the soundtrack of your life?

What is the soundtrack of your life? I’m travelling as I write this, and the overnight plane rides are great for catching up with music that you don’t regularly listen to. The infotainment system has a playlist section with old hits, and I have to stop myself from singing out loud and dancing in the aisles to Abba or the Carpenters. I’ve explored the great hit songs of Elvis and Boney M and Stevie Wonder, not to mention the cool cats of Motown. But it’s always been about Bob Marley and the Wailers during my teenage years. Not only did Bob provide deep political education and motivation – he helped me with my love life when I made a mix tape of reggae love songs for my then-girlfriend living in Durban. She might deny this, but I think it added to her decision to marry me.

The other night on the plane, I caught a documentary film about Janis Ian, a ’60s folk singer from the USA who made the headlines in the ’60s as a 13-year-old composer of Society’s Child. That song was about interracial love in racialised America, and launched the career of this Jewish daughter of progressive civil rights campaigners. She would go on to write poignant songs about life and politics. I’d never heard of her, and was enjoying the story of this rebel. And then I watched her breaking the cultural boycott and playing in South Africa during apartheid. Her argument was that you can’t change people if you don’t perform for them. She reminded me of another artist I enjoy who broke the boycott. Paul Simon collaborated with a bunch of South African musicians to make Graceland, one of my favourite albums. Some of Janis Ian’s songs were covered by notables like Roberta Flack (Jesse) and Nina Simone (Stars). Nina was herself a rebellious soul who went into exile from the US after the assassination of Martin Luther King. 

Music is such  a dramatic and important part of life. In struggle, we danced the toyi toyi, musically and rhythmically bolstering our courage to face down the guns, batons and teargas of apartheid police. I remember Bright Blue and their seminal Weeping that I heard for the first time at the annual Free People’s Concert in the ’80s. In church, you were encouraged to sing loudly regardless of your voice, and I remember hymns learnt when my age numbered in single digits. I shared a love with my mum for the ones about Mary. At play, we jived until the sun came up, crawling home with comrades as people left for their places of work. I still regret not going with my friends to a Michael Jackson concert in Joburg back in the day. And love always had a soundtrack. You have to admit that reggae love songs for a mix tape is a one-of-a-kind move. My wife and I have attended the concerts of MaBrr and Bra Hugh, Caiphus and Letta, UB40 and the man with an orchestra in his throat – Al Jarreau. 

I watch the evolution of the artistic talents of my two younger boys. One does poetry, among other things, and the other makes music. The latter was at the recent Travis Scott concert, which some have referenced as a symbol of hope for this country – surviving the mosh pit was a challenge for youngsters of all races, a real cross-over thing. My boys carry a deep consciousness of the challenges of surviving in this world, from the pain of the genocide to the destruction of our economic system, from celebrating their blackness to exploring what feminist masculinity means, even as men continue to wage war on women.  And they sometimes introduce me to new music that is just lekker to dance and party to. No political importance, just a jol.

Revisit the soundtrack of your life. It will brighten your day by reminding you of the incredible journey of your life and the amazing emotions that accompanied it.