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Hazel Miller, the producer of Ogun recordings and the wife of the late Harry Miller, invited me alongside Louis and Mpumi Moholo-Moholo, Barbara Pukwana, Maxine McGregor, Tom McGregor, Francesco Martinelli, Keith Tippett, Evan Parker, Enrico Rava, Richard Williams, Val Wilmer and John Jack to contribute to the booklet that accompanied the five CD set “The Ogun Collection” (Ogun OGCD 024-028). Hanging with heavy company. The notes I contributed, serving as an introduction to some of my thoughts about the music, follow…
Scattered memories throughout the latter half of the sixties, stretching into seventies, are filled with Dudu Pukwana, Mongezi Feza, Chris McGregor, Johnny Dyani and Louis Moholo, familiars welcoming me into a music of wondrous power and originality, surprises greeting me on my rare sojourns into England. It all started innocently enough, a South African friend in Toronto suggesting, as I was returning to London for six months, that I should contact a group of musicians from his homeland. The address he supplied was a flat in Clifton Gardens, near Little Venice, just up the Edgware Road. My introduction to the group of expatriated South Africans. Chris and Maxine were there, sharing their space with Dudu and Ronnie Beer — the very beginning of a decade (or more) of music that has stayed in my heart forever.
There were many times over those years, many permutations of these phenomenal artistes that I was privilege to hear: Mongezi elegant in a large floppy hat, a bright red shirt and suspenders, splattering notes all over a Sunday lunchtime swing band at the Hopbine; Chris and Ronnie ecstatically shattering the complacency of the Starting Gate; the basements of Ronnie Scott’s Old Place and the Phoenix in Cavendish Square, the 100 Club, where various members of the Blue Notes were the motivating nucleus kindling the exuberant fires, enamouring us with their personal extended version of Kwela; an architects dance at which the Blue Notes (sans Mongezi) had been hired to play; once a party at my house in Ealing where the idea of Indian take-away was invented — we supplying the pots and pans ourselves… Excuse me, I have to stop, their spirits are beginning to saturate my consciousness — overpowering. Time to listen to the music.
England • Winter 1966
The Invention of Take-Away Indian Food
Change is in the air, Harold Wilson’s Labour Party are back in power and with the urging of Roy Jenkins, the Home Secretary, and the initiatives of backbenchers they will instigate substantial legal changes in a number of social areas, including censorship, divorce, homosexuality, abortion, capital punishment, immigration and race relations.
My daughter Karla, then eight months old, a beautiful mixed-race bundle of joy, who, in spite of the new freedom beginning to evolve in England, could not travel from Canada with her mother, the bloodline still patriarchal, requiring the father’s permission, this antiquated mentality delaying their arrival for several weeks.
Happenstance, now that’s a strange word that seems to play an important role in my life, this time being that the house I rent for the duration of our stay is owned by Sir Bill Cotton (CBE) – whose father was a larger-than-life celebrity with his own weekly variety show that beamed into the family living room every Sunday. Sir Bill, as the head of Light Entertainment, would be responsible for the BBC’s first attempt at a rock and roll programme, the innovative and much imitated “Six-Five Special”, and whole series of popular and iconic comedy programmes, including the subversive “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”, “The Two Ronnies” and “Morecambe and Wise”.
The house, on Pitshanger Lane in Ealing, is a furnished electrically-heated three-bedroom semi-detached with a driveway, garage and telephone. Across from the golf course. Mostly there’s nothing to say about this house – the shilling gas meter under the stairwell one of its more exotic characteristics – and the only memory that surfaces is the invention of take-away Indian food.
It all came about one Saturday night when Chris and Maxine McGregor, Ronnie Beer and his girlfriend Ruth all came to dinner. As it was a semi-detached, the noise easily transferred through the single-layer brick dividing wall, George and Gertie, the peculiar elderly next door neighbours, were invited to join us. Eight all told, not counting Karla who was not yet up to consuming spicy fare.
Back in Toronto the idea of ordering take-out food over the telephone, delivered to the door, was commonplace, so we phoned our favourite local restaurant, Tandori Palace. Poppa Shankar is confused, nobody has ever asked for food to be delivered. “In what” he wants to know. “Will you bring your own containers?” Brilliant! Gertie pops next door and collects a couple of saucepans and between us we manage to accumulate enough pots and pans to carry the Bhindhi Jaipuri, Palak Paneer, Chicken Masala, Saffron flavoured Basmati Rice, a couple of orders of Naan and Chapati. And off we go. Maybe not the first take-out in England, just the first pick-up.
••••••
The following conversation, with Chris McGregor took place in the fall/winter of 1966 (Exact date unknown) at Chris and Maxine McGregor’s house in Maida Vale, London. The interview appeared originally in the March 1968 issue of Coda Magazine.
To my mind, the only real New Music I have yet heard in London is Chris McGregor’s quartet, its howling, sometimes ecstatically screaming images sounds like Cecil Taylor. His saxophonist, Ronnie Beer, has a terrifying, prodigious technique. He falls over everything like Shepp, breathes like Ayler. These men are South Africans.
Chris McGregor
Letters from A Friend
I grew up in the Transkei, which is sort of the country area of South Africa and I heard a lot of folk music around there. We had a radio and I was vaguely conscious of what jazz was, but to be a musician was my aim and the training I got was fairly conventional. Apart from that I used to do my own things. I never used to think about jazz as anything separate. The first time I ever came across musicians who said they were jazz musicians — and this is what they played — was when I moved to Capetown.
I went to university there in 1956. I met men like Dollar Brand, Cup ‘N Saucer N’Kanuca the tenor saxophone player, Johnny Gertze the bass player and drummers Makaya Ntshoka and Pax Joya. They all had things going on, were playing music and it happened just at a very good time for me because I was beginning to get quite deep into a sort of Western classical education and I was beginning to wonder how exactly I fitted into this tradition of Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Mozart and all that I was hearing about. I remembered all the kinds of music that were going on around my home that meant so much to me and how they could be fitted into that tradition. So when I heard Dollar Brand play, and Cup ‘N Saucer, I thought this is the music for me. This is happening here and this is where I want to be.
Right through my university years I had a jazz group together, sort of semi-pro, and when I left university I started leading groups in Capetown. I had been listening to records and had an idea of what Charlie Parker’s music meant and I was deeply involved with Duke Ellington’s music but somehow what was on the scene was always enough, was always enough to carry you. There was enough inspiration around to make records not very important, at least in the way I find they are here in England. In South Africa they are like letters, letters from friends.
In South Africa, too, it must be understood, the situation is not the same. People do not categorise like they do in Western civilisations and the whole spectrum from folk music to the big bands is continuous, at the same time. You may have musicians who play on a Friday night with a Kwela band and on the Saturday night in a jazz club and Monday entertain their friends with a guitar. The scene is not so categorical and not so much in a bag, not so much professional, too.
(There is an elder musician, Kippie Moeketsi. the famous alto player and grand daddy of South African jazz, who is not a schooled musician!)
Ah yes, Kippie, he’s beautiful. I would quarrel with your word “schooled” because I think there is much stronger schooling going on, especially in the Kwela bands. A saxophone player or trumpet player and rhythm sections, also, that come through those Kwela bands have a lot more than if you study under Marcel Mule and practice scales all day, you know.
(Apart from Kippie, do other Kwela musicians become involved with jazz?)
It’s hard to make these distinctions as the lines between categories are not strong and at jam sessions for instance at Dorcay House you would have a lot of Kwela musicians playing and coming up to blow who wouldn’t think of trying to make their whole life out of jazz. That was where we were slightly different in South Africa. Not that we didn’t like the Kwela things — we never really got into them. Our bit was to make jazz music and that was our chief interest.
(Is Kwela a real South African folk music? Because it uses European instruments.)
Oh sure. A lot is vocal music. There is a tremendous amount of singing and dancing in South Africa generally. Vocal groups sing Kwela things and a lot of Kwela comes from instruments playing what the singers would do. Probably the earliest kinds of Kwela would be vocals with guitar.
(Are there South African instruments that have been used in folk music and have progressed into jazz?)
Not very much. Because the tendency is that as soon as a people move to the city, they take the city’s instruments and adapt so easily. The instruments in the folk music that I grew up with around the Transkei were mainly a drum which would be an ox hide, stretched out between stakes on the ground. The blowing instruments would not be so many — mainly little flutes and there were lots of concertinas. You would be making a bit of a stunt wouldn’t you, to be stretching an ox hide out on the bandstand!
Basically, in South Africa, all the music is social, jazz particularly. It definitely involves the African peoples changed environment in the cities. It has definitely got as much to do with that as in America. The blues are the same blues. I am talking about social blues, of course, not 12 bar blues.
(Because of Apartheid and the environment in which you live in South Africa, is it difficult for you socially and musically to exist in the way you want to?)
Very difficult indeed. For me, as a white musician, it came down to this. If I wanted to make any bread I would have to play with white musicians. If I wanted to play the music I would have to play with black musicians. I decided right from the beginning that the game was not really worth starting if I was going to compromise with the music, play around with it, exploit it, by learning from Dudu and then go and play his songs in an all white club in Hillbrow (ed. note: Hillbrow is a wealthy suburb of Johannesburg) where he could not even come. That sort of thing I can’t do.
We managed for a while, we were not exactly alone in our ideas, in our way of wanting to live. Everybody’s mind in South Africa is not closed. Usually we would have people around who understood what we were trying to do and how we were trying to live. The fact is that eventually when I had a group that could play and we felt together, could play together and grow together, I felt it was getting too chancy to be travelling around making our own gigs and hiring the halls, doing everything ourselves. I felt it was too much hard work not directly involved with the music. We spent too much of our time running around and going through all kinds of changes to try and fit in with our environment.
The chance came to go to Europe. I thought, well in Europe people will understand what it is all about. They have heard jazz music and they have things organised. I thought actually that things would be a lot better organised than I find they are. I thought there would be chances for us to arrange real tours and really get ourselves together. But it has tended to drive us apart more than anything else because we all just have to play where we can get to play.
(Are there clubs in the big cities like Johannesburg and Capetown that present jazz on the same level as the major cities in Europe and America?)
There are, but they are few and have a tendency to be very short-lived. Also you have a continuous problem. Say a man wanted to make a jazz club and open it for all races, wants everybody to get on fine — wants it to be a ball and to work financially — he wouldn’t even be able to sell drinks.
There was one place actually. There’s a concrete story for that. It was in Johannesburg. They were going to compromise by having an all white only audience but they were going to book our band. So we discussed this among ourselves. Should we or shouldn’t we go. We decided that we should just play where ever we got a chance. It’s not our business we said, who is there. We should leave that question completely open. That was the club owner’s business. He applied for a liquor license and got it until it came out that the band would be of mixed races. He lost it immediately and the place did not even get opened. He appealed and then he came to me and said couldn’t I make it a white band. This I thought pointless because there were places I could play in for more than that.
I always had the feeling, I had a deep wish, that by setting some kind of example perhaps we could improve the atmosphere and prove to people that black people and white people could co-operate, work together and build something good and beautiful. But it started coming to me that a man does not feel like being some kind of example, or some kind of difficulty or some kind of proof. A man likes to feel like a man doing his thing and doing it as well as he can and making a living at doing the thing he does best. So those kind of philosophical reasons for holding us there eventually started looking very thin, especially when we got an offer to play at the Antibes Festival. I thought, here we are, a good opening, good bread so why should we hold ourselves back.
(By playing avant garde music, do you think you‘re using an American art form for your own purpose or do you think you’re playing South African music?)
I always feel like me. That’ s the only way I can answer such a question. I don’t know if you can call avant garde music an American Art Form. What Archie Shepp plays is American obviously but the tendencies have been very much the same and very much parallel. How much you can get out in a given social context. How much you can be yourself. What comes out will come out and does, too, in South Africa. Albert Ayler, for instance, reminds me very much of a baritone player of the previous generation in South Africa called Christopher Columbus Ngcukane. I worked with him for quite a long time and he had a lot of things going that Albert is into now. So actually a lot of the American avant garde I feel quite at home with. It’s not things that are strange to me. A lot of the solutions come from America and that is why you hear something in our music that is similar to American avant garde music. I would not deny that there is quite a lot of conscious association with America. I am very conscious of Albert Ayler and Don Cherry for instance. I love these musicians. Don’t forget that we are not only playing a South African music or an American music or an English music — we’re playing music. NOW. This is our generation. I think, possibly, that a man can feel apart from his country more easily than being apart from his own generation. You become involved with what is involving people, NOW. Inevitably.
Then too, isn’t the American music moving towards Africa anyway? Don‘t you think many of the musicians are very African oriented? I think so. A lot of people have spoken about this, about this thing of various traditions it is possible to hear in all these big Western cities. At this time you can hear Indian music practically anywhere and you can hear quite a bit of African music, even in London. Definitely Archie Shepp speaks about the Rain Forests. The American musicians are very conscious of Africa so it’s not strange at all how things are moving together.
I don’t think that Milford Graves, for instance, would have any trouble getting into a group of dancers, drummers and singers from Johannesburg. I think he would have a ball. Really! Every Sunday the people who have been brought into Johannesburg to dig in the mines, get into various open fields around the city with their drums and xylophones. They have dancing competitions and drumming competitions. The atmosphere is always good and hot and someone like Milford would have a ball working with those guys. The rhythms are all worked on the supane(!) positions of rhythms. You have four or five drummers making kind of rhythmic counterpoint to each other. There is no one beat that you can say is basic. The musicologist always says there’s this one basic beat and then others are laid on top. The fact of the matter is that you feel different ones, different times and one direction gets stronger while another one maybe takes a different path. It’s purely a rhythmic music, a music of direction, decision and energy, very much the same way as Milford’s is. Or Rashied Ali’s.
I’ve been thinking for some time of getting to the States and I’d really love to go to New York. Every jazz musician with a contemporary ear would love to get there. At the same time I get enough stimulation and energy from playing with Dudu (Pukwana), Mongezi (Feza) and Ronnie (Beer). I think we can build something here in London. I think we are getting the peoples’ ear and that’s what counts. I think we are going to break through and we are even getting the ear, a little bit, of the jazz establishment. I think Ronnie Scott realises there is some strength in what we are doing and that it is not just playing around. We can make it clear there is a lot of strength and that strength must come through.
London – April 1973
A Fond Farewell
For the visitor to another country the major problem is not the amount of music available, but simply how to find out where it’s all taking place. In London this was simplified by the monthly production of a Jazz information sheet called JAZZ IN LONDON. This pamphlet was available at the two jazz stores, Collett’s and Dobell’s in central London – both gone now – and was produced by the manager of the Mike Westbrook Band, John Jack.
Collett’s: http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2011/apr/19/ray-smith-obituary
http://www.britishrecordshoparchive.org/collets.html
Dobell’s: http://www.britishrecordshoparchive.org/dobells.html
From this pamphlet and information supplied by Hazel Miller we discovered almost all the important activity taking places in this city. For the most part the exceptional music that I heard was in various small group combinations of the Brotherhood of Breath. The first band heard was called Just Us, with Elton Dean (alto), Mark Charig (cornet), Nick Evans (trombone), Geoff Green (guitar), Harry Miller (bass) and Rene Augustus (drums) plus guest Gary Windo (tenor). This took place at the Tally Ho in Kentish Town.
Monday night at the 100 Club on Oxford Street is the Modern jazz night, for the rest of the week it’s an assortment of different trad groups with the occasional guest from New Orleans. My Monday night was well spent in the company of Brian Blevins of Island Records. The music of the evening was supplied by the incredible saxophonist Dudu Pukwana. Apart from Marion Brown and Anthony Braxton, Dudu must be the most important alto player around today. The music is so full of passion and rhythmic energy that one is left completely drained at its completion. The band was completed by Charig, Evans, Miller and drummer Keith Bailey. A fantastic group.
The third combination of the Brotherhood was the nucleus, The Chris McGregor sextet. With Chris on piano was Dudu, Harry Miller, Louis Moholo (drums), Mike Osborne (alto) and Austrian trombonist Radu Malfati. It’s not possible to simply describe their music with words because the experience is continuous and it’s better to be in the room with them than to talk about it.
Finally an evening spent at Grass Roots. This Club operates every Tuesday night and some of the most important musicians in England provide the music. On the occasion of my visit, unfortunately very late in the evening, the Harry Beckett band was in residence, and though the music was more conservative than the Brotherhood combinations, it was of a very high quality. With Beckett (flugelhorn), were Osborne, Stan Sultzman (soprano), John Taylor (piano), Chris Lawrence (bass) and John Webb (drums).
Chris and Maxine McGregor were wonderful hosts; the fantastic music, assistance in inventing take-away Indian food and allowing us into their personal lives by inviting us to spend a week down on their farm in Surrey. While we were there they decided they had had enough of life in England and planned to move to a rural village in the south-west of France. The last time I would see any of them. Recorded music the only contact. Letters From Friends. Chris passed into the spirit world May 26th, 1990.
One last story before I go. Karla, my oldest daughter, was at that time seven years of age and made friend’s easily with Andromeda – Chris and Maxine’s daughter. She being just a year younger. Andromeda would set off each morning to her first year Primary School class taking Karla along, introducing her new Canadian friend. A sort of show-and-tell.
At the farm there were two horses – that I remember as being magnificent black Arab Stallions – and a bunch of goats. One Billy Goat was causing a great deal of trouble and needed to disappear. But how to do that with small children adoring them? Just a couple of miles up the road was a petting zoo and it was arranged to take the bothersome goat there. The plan being that when the children had forgotten which goat, lost among the herd, he could then be “put to sleep”.
Berlin – October 1986
I have arrived two days early in Berlin, from the east bloc (Warsaw), a lengthy train journey, to become acquainted with this strange divided city, itself, both east and west, land locked by the country of East Germany. The feeling from east to west Berlin can be seen and felt clearly even from the window of the first class compartment. The east – brown/grey police and citizens, gun towers, guns, and the horrific wall, gives way to the first ironic burst of freedom in the form of the giant macdonalds M of west Berlin’s railway station. I walked the wall from Checkpoint Charlie to the Brandenburg Gate, a mile or so, and realised that although only so high its coarse quarter of a century reality is the truth of these two worlds. On one side the drab city of control and curfews, and on the other the most open and exciting city in Europe.
In the two days before the official start of the Jazz Fest and the Total Music Meeting, one becomes rapidly aware of the intense culture of this city. It is possible, apart from the official program, to hear the music of bassist Joelle Leandre, pianists Irene Schweizer and Abdullah Ibrahim, Last Exit with Peter Brötzmann, Sonny Sharrock, Bill Laswell and Ronald Shannon Jackson. In fact to indulge oneself in any fantasy contained in the imagination almost to the point of decadence.
A shroud of sadness engulfs my heart strings, as I am confronted by the news that Johnny Dyani has died in Berlin on October 24th. This great South African bassist embodied all that is the quality of our music. Tradition. Creativity. Joyfulness. So that a great deal of what took place, consciously or not, was a fitting tribute to his greatness. Some, like Don Cherry and Louis Moholo, declared their feelings openly. Don with a remembrance in the form of “Song For Biko”, and Louis in black shrouded doom, has come to claim his friend.
One More Time – April 2012
The most recent visit to England, just this past spring, was a walk down memory lane, more memories than had been planned, though mostly pleasant enough. Terminal 5 at Heathrow, an experience this time without a hitch, quite different from past experiences with the crowds closing in, line-ups stretching forever. There is an East Indian gentleman babbling boldly, about what is not clear. Oh well! Once, on a Christmas flight from Dublin to Stanstead, downtown on the airport express, there was an exhibitionistic singer, possibly drunk, dressed like a toff; neatly pressed slacks, shiny shoes and a old-school Barathea Blazer, singing loudly, old pub songs, wishing he was down at the old bull and bush with Nellie Dean, rolling out the barrel because his bonnie lies over the ocean. Entertaining as long as he’s not approached, wearing thin as the train hurries toward London. Fortunately he disembarks at Bishop’s Stortford.
Now it’s one kind of gadget or another, electronic gismos in the form of miniature entertainment centres occupying the passengers attention, a lonely desperation erasing every ounce of social interaction. I seem to be the only passenger reading a book proper; “The Melrose Cycle” by Edward St. Aubain. An interesting synchronicity, it being about a certain class of people, an English upper class bunch with life going awry – causing an arrogance to filter into my demeanour, a sneering smile flickering at the corners of my lips as I surreptitiously glance about the carriage.
Sitting directly opposite is a young woman, who appears attractive. I study her from behind the safety of my dark glasses. She’s dressed rather boyishly; cropped hair, a blazer with an insignia’d badge in the lapel buttonhole. That is until I notice that the black stocking clad legs barely covered by her leather mini-skirt has an 1/2″ diameter hole in the right shin. Her left eye is a tad cockeyed, wandering, a speck of blood visible in the corner. She’s oblivious to my observations, completely engrossed, far away, the music in her headphones blurring the boredom of her everyday journey to work.
The Piccadilly line takes us directly to Hazel, a slow journey not yet underground, the rows of identical houses lining each side of the tracks relieved occasionally by well-tended allotments, the tiny tool shed refuge for the pipe-smoking bored husband with little else to occupy his mind. Cell phones beep continuously, still alien invaders in my antiquated mind, reminding me of my youth in London when the only people with phones were doctors and bank managers, the privileged with private communication, the hoi polloi directed to the coin operated red boxes down on the corner. And who could you phone any way, how many doctors and bank managers did we know? The intrusion would have been rude beyond. Beyond what he wonders.
The first night out of Wood Green takes us to Cafe Oto (http://www.cafeoto.co.uk/) in Dalston, packed to the walls for Peter Brötzmann, the grand old man of the avant garde still roaring away, assisted, directed even, by the powerful duo of bassist John Edwards and veteran drummer Steve Noble. We are the only elders among so many young. Fantastic.
Night two finds us back in the same neighbourhood, up the stairs into Vortex (http://www.vortexjazz.co.uk/). This time no standing at the fringe peering over heads, – Hazel has reserved a table. Our companions are Martin Davidson (http://www.emanemdisc.com/) and Barbara Pukwana. Up on the stage one of those dream bands. Foxes Fox. Evan Parker’s (http://evanparker.com/) saxophones more jazzy than expected, Steve Beresford prodding, splatting, almost comping, John Edwards again pulling miracle sounds from his bass, and the master, also a breakfast companion, a guest at Hazel’s, the wonderful rhythm king, circling like a… Louis Moholo-Moholo. Amoebic, as they might explain: having no definite form and consisting of a mass of protoplasm containing one or more nuclei surrounded by a flexible outer membrane. It moves by means of pseudopods.
For More Information on this music…
Tony McGregor: http://tonymcgregor-tonysplace.blogspot.ca/
Mike Fowler: http://www.mfowler.myzen.co.uk/
List of Ogun Recordings: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogun_Records
European Free Improvisation Pages: http://www.efi.group.shef.ac.uk/
… or simply type any of the names of the musicians into your search engine. And Voilà!
Recommended Recordings from my Collection
“And the rustle of yesterday’s frazzled newspapers skittered along the pavement by an unexpected wind. That, too. Sound surrounded, often we do not hear. And not many may sing suddenly, anywhere, and not all can. Who may sing for us? Those who wish to reach us”. Danny Halperin
The Blue Notes
The Ogun Collection – Ogun OGCD 024-028 (5CDs)
Township Bop – Proper PRP CD 013
Chris McGregor
In His Good Time (solo piano) – Ogun OGCD 038
Very Urgent (sextet) – Polydor 184 137
Brotherhood – Fleg’ling FLED 3063
Brotherhood of Breath – Akarma AK 200
Brotherhood of Breath – Live at Willisau – Ogun OGCD 001
Harry Beckett
Tribute to Charles Mingus – West Wind WW 2122
Elton Dean’s Ninesense
Happy Daze/Oh! For The Edge – Ogun OGCD 032
Johnny Dyani Quartet
Song For Biko – SteepleChase SCCD-31109
with Don Cherry, Dudu Pukwana and Makaya Ntshoko
Harry Miller’s Isipingo
Full Steam Ahead – Reel Recordings RR012
Which Way Now – Cuneiform Rune 233
Louis Moholo Moholo
Bra Louis – Bra Tebs (septet)/Spirits Rejoice (octet)
Ogun OGCD 017/018 (2CDs)
Mike Osborne
Border Crossing (trio)/Marcel’s Muse (quintet) – Ogun OGCD 015
Dudu Pukwana’s Spear
In The Townships – Earthworks CDEWV 5
with Mongezi Feza, Harry Miller and Louis Moholo
(Fantastic & funky if you can find it)
Keith Tippett
“A loose kite in a gentle wind floating with only my will for an anchor” (Septet) – Ogun OGCD 030
From Granite to Wind (Octet) – Ogun OGCD 036
The photographs illustrating this posting are from:
Blue Notes – Ogun Collection (CD Cover)
Dudu, Chris, Maxine & Ronnie (Chris McGregor and the Brotherhood of Breath by Maxine McGregor [page 102] Photograph John Goldlbatt
Coda Magazine cover March 1968 – Photograph John Goldlbatt
Harry Miller & Mongezi Feza • Cuneiform Records – Photograph Jak Kilby – http://www.jakkilby.co.uk/
Johnny Dyani – Photograph William E. (Bill) Smith
The author going to Heathrow Airport – Photograph Sheila Macpherson
The Blue Notes – From the collection of Barbara Pukwana