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The house where history ended up: packing up the Ben Segal Collection.

I walk outside to catch a breath. It's getting dark but I can still make out the stains on my fingers; everything I touch is marked by my imprint and in turn marks me. My lungs and nostrils are caked with dust and I find it difficult to breath. As I turn around to go back inside I notice for the first time the cloud of dust hanging in the air. The florescent light we have turned on to keep the gloom at bay is lighting up the slowly moving speckles, making it seem even more obtrusive than my struggling lungs are telling me. Like a solid wall, it blocks my view from the activities inside the house. (16 November 2013, 7 p.m.)


On 8 November 2013, the Documentation Centre for Music (DOMUS) took the decision to preserve the estate of the late Ben Segal, who died at the age of 83. A music collector of note, Segal left behind a large collection of books, reel-to-reel tapes, vinyl recordings, cassette and VHS tapes, betacam tapes, DVDs, and CDs collected from 1950 to 2013. Many musicians and artists visited his house and he has been described as the "heart and soul of the folk music scene in South Africa from the early sixties", (2) his house "almost like a shrine" to that era and its music. (3) Ben Segal not only recorded countless musicians in his lounge, but also inspired the many musicians who listened to his music collection. Roger Lucey, for example, wrote that when he launched the group Tighthead Fourie and the Loose Forwards in 1983, (4) he "spent many hours with Ben going through his collection and that was the basis of the repertoire for the band". (5)

It is widely understood that "archives do not simply arrive or emerge fully formed", but are subject to various processes of collection and selection. (6) Usually reserved for a privileged few, the act of collecting new acquisitions or donations is rarely discussed in academic work even though it is a vital first step in forming the archive that is eventually presented to the researcher. The patience with which material is packed, for example, will determine whether the original filing systems are maintained, whether important notes find their way into the packing crates or into the dustbin, and careful attention to detail will prevent damage to material. However, the archivist's arrival story also provides a unique glimpse into the character of the archive. Nicholas Dirks has described the arrival of the anthropologist in the field as "the magical moment when the scientist-scholar sets down upon a shore that beckons with the promise that one can finally engage in the act of discovery". (7) He, along with other scholars, have noted that similar to this arrival story, is the experience of the researcher who arrives in the archive. (8) I would like to extend this notion to also include the archivist's arrival story, offering insights into the processes of archive making and the nature of archival work.

I first inspected the collection on 7 November 2013, five days after the passing of Ben Segal. The collection confronted us with many challenges, not least of all its size--a general estimate revealed over 18 000 recordings including 78's, CDs and DVDs, 5000 VHS, Betacam and Cassette tapes and 10 000 books. In addition we had neither the luxury of time, nor the staff on hand to make leisurely and considered choices. The limited timeframe was due to the three sons' departure on 9 November to their respective homes abroad which would restrict access to the premises and the high risk of theft should the house and its content be left without an occupant. In spite of these challenges, DOMUS decided to accept the donation, and one week later on 16 November, I returned to the house to oversee the packing of the collection and its removal to Stellenbosch. (9)

Drawing on personal impressions, interviews and fleeting conversations with family or friends, I will use the experience of inspecting and collecting the Ben Segal collection, to reflect on the archivist's encounter with "raw material" turned archive.

Bill Bryson has noted that "houses aren't refuges from history. They are where history ends up". (10) No-where is this more pertinent than in Ben Segal's house, which witnessed the discovery and growth of many of South Africa's prominent folk musicians. Walking from room to room, this article recounts the story of discovering that history.

Front Door

Benjamin Segal was born to Polish parents on 3 October 1930 in Vilna, Poland (now Vilnius, Lithuania). His father, Rubin Segal, was a carpenter by trade while his mother, Taibe Natanzon, came from an upper-class family. With his tall stature, blond hair and blue eyes, Rubin didn't have the features of a typical Jewish man and, as a blue-collar worker, he was not the kind of man that her rabbi father and family had in mind for their daughter. In love and out of favour with their families, the young lovers decided to leave Poland for South Africa in 1930. The newly born Benjamin was smuggled into South Africa and the family settled in Johannesburg. (11)

Ben had a strict upbringing and was neglected after his sister, Zelda, was born. However, his talent in music was encouraged and from an early age he started to play the trumpet. He was soon playing in the school band, accompanied by his dog Teddy, which he taught to sing (bark). This used to drive the band mad because whenever Ben would play, Teddy would sing. (12) Ben continued to refine his skill in training his pets, and his friends remember with great delight how he taught his animals all kinds of tricks. His dogs could bark at command and fetch hats and newspapers to entertain guests. Roger Lucey remembers how Ben "loved the look on our hippy faces" when his African Grey, Trubshaw, greeted people with "Help! I've been turned into a parrot". (13)

In 1950, Ben Segal went to the Cedara College in KwaZulu-Natal where he graduated in 1953 with a First Class degree in agriculture. It was here that he met his wife, Irma Wedcliffe, an actress of Russian descent. Their marriage was not a happy one and ended in divorce, estranging their three sons, Bernard, Kenneth, and Arthur.

Archive of wonder / Archive of disgust

The house is alive with countless varieties of crawling spiders. As we slowly pack up room after room they are running for cover, which is disappearing fast. Unpacking a row of books, dust balls and spiders come raining down on my hair, my ears, my neck, into my t-shirt. Without making a sound (this is no time to be squeamish), I half run outside and frantically jump up and down slapping wherever my hands happen to land, dispelling scores of little spiders amid clouds of dust. I allow myself a small yelp, a moment of true disgust, and go back into the house to stand in front of the book case. Wrapping my scarf tightly around my head I re-engage with the mess that was left behind. The now near constant sounds of cascading books or DVDs falling from Ben's makeshift shelves complement our packing desperation and adds to the chaos of the dark, tomb-like place now turned archive. (16 November 2013, 12 p.m.)

During the eighteen hours we spent packing Ben's collection my experiences vacillated between amazement and disgust. The two seemed to be intricately linked. Upon finding a record of a South African artist I have never heard of before in a disappearing, hand-drawn cover amid stacks of vinyl that hid crawling silverfish and other scattering insects, wonder and amazement trumped any initial feelings of disgust. However, would these discoveries have been as intoxicating if the elements of disgust and dismay were not present?

Derrida has written that there would be no archive fever without the threat of destruction, "no archive desire without the radical finitude, without the possibility of a forgetfulness". (14) Just as the dust and insects highlight elements of loss, degeneration, and death inherent in archival work, it also enhances the allure and seductive mysteries of the archive. The constant battle against time urges us on to discover the archive's secrets and still unexplored depths before it is lost forever. This discovery is essentially a voyeuristic act, an intrusion, an uninvited familiarity with a complete stranger's life. We are transacting business with the dead, going into their homes, collecting and leaving with boxes full of things that once filled their lives. We are at once the spectators and the participants in a spectral world. (15)

The person whose stories and life now constitute this archive is absent in any kind of tangible or physical presence. It is because of this absence that the archival voyeur takes on a significant role--that of imagining and imaginatively reconstructing some sense of this absent presence through the archive. Herein lies a promise and a responsibility for the future, for "if we want to know what [the archive] will have meant, we will only know in times to come ...or perhaps never". (16) The dead whose material possessions we preserve might be gone, but their spectres are lurking, ever haunting the writers of the archive.

The House

The house Ben Segal built at 24 Judith Road, in Observatory, a suburb of Johannesburg, became an iconic place for many South African singers/songwriters during the 1960s to the 1980s. Kenneth noted that Ben "opened up everybody's minds. In South Africa in the sixties you couldn't get anything. And he had everything [...] he was an information junkie. He knew exactly what to buy in an age where you couldn't; there was only the post. And he used what means he had know, that was his life's work, showing other people what there is out there". (17) In a localised music scene where "everybody knew everybody", Ben's house served as a meeting point and place of discovery for many of South Africa's musicians. (18) Colin Shamley, Mick Dickman, Brian Bebbington, John Oakley-Smith, Brian Finch, Manfred Man, David Marks, Cornelia [Moller], Roger Lucey, and Andrew Tracey to name but a few crossed his doorstep. (19) Des Lindberg recalls:

   ... he was a friend and mentor from when we all set off on our folk
   journeys ... a true folk music scholar ... we shall never forget
   the time we took a break from touring to camp in our folk on-trek
   caravan on the Segal's front lawn ... (20)

It was in this caravan that Bernard, Ben's oldest son, learned the song Die gezoem van die bye, by Des and Dawn Lindberg. (21) A place of fond childhood memories, the garden is now completely overgrown. Arthur remembers how his father told him one day that he had cared for the garden until 1971, "then one day he went out and said, 'I have taken care of you until now, from now on you are on your own', and that was it". (22)

The Lounge

Ben Segal was an avid amateur musicologist and served as the chairperson of the (then) South African Folk Music Association from 1964 to 1970. (23) Under the auspices of this association a few recordings were made of local South African musicians, probably the first of which was his recording of the Malombo group on his domestic quarter-tape track deck in 1965. (24) Ben's lounge was soon transformed into an informal recording studio and he continued to make recordings there until the late seventies. (25)

In 1967, Ben Segal and Audrey Smith, a publisher for Teal records, founded the 3rd Ear Music company as an independent record label and music publisher. Their aim was to record and promote live South African music performances. (26) 3rd Ear Music remained a small company active in South Africa from the late 1960s to the 1990s, largely producing non-commercial acts that other companies did not want to produce.

Three years after its establishment, David Marks joined the company as a sound engineer and in 1971 he took over the ownership, recording, production and publishing of 3rd Ear Music. (27) Segal and Smith gradually started pulling out of the company, and although Segal remained active in the folk scene, funding and organising festivals and events with Marks, and recording folk singers' events and songs, he had to focus on managing his father's upholstery business. (28) Under the direction of David Marks, 3rd Ear Music grew and various live and studio recordings were subsequently made by the 3rd Ear Music company, eventually representing diverse musical styles ranging from urban folk and township jazz to country rock and maskanda. (29) The 3rd Ear Music collection, donated to DOMUS in 2013, consists of one of the biggest collections of South African sound recordings (music and spoken word), photographs, posters, programmes, documents, press cuttings, notebooks and diaries in the country.

During the 1970s, 3rd Ear Music released a limited number of commercial albums of singer-songwriters described by Richard Haslop as musicians "who flourished artistically, if not commercially," and who "were pretty much ignored by the mainstream industry". (30) Most of these releases were live recordings, of which the first relatively successful album release was of the band Hawk, recorded live in Ben Segal's lounge in 1971. (31) By making recordings in Ben's lounge they started to promote folk and jazz musicians such as Count "Wellington" Judge, the Malombo Jazz Makers, Allen Kwela, Kippie Moeketsi, Jeremy Taylor, Mike Aaron "Big Voice Jake" Lerole, and Creda Mutwa. (32) Some other artists released on the 3rd Ear record label included Colin Shamley, Mike Dickman, Jannie Hofmeyr, Paul Clingman, Brian Finch, Roger Lucey, John Oakley-Smith and groups such as Flibbertigibbet and Raven. (33)

Archive Fever

Packing up through the dust and spiders, the smell of the house started to change. Initially the sweet smell of old books and medicine overpowered all other senses. But as we started to pack up more and more material the smells started to change, every room revealing its true character just as packing the material off the windowsills allowed the fairy tale windows to reveal the dark leaves and branches of the creeper covering it. "The ivy is consuming the house", Kenneth says to me while we are sitting outside underneath the pine trees, "it's in the foundation, the ceiling's eating it up!" (17 November 2013, 11 p.m.)

The sheer volume of Ben's collection is staggering. Every available space in the house was used and re-used with material packed in rows behind or on top of other material, books peeled from in between bookshelves and the floor was covered in piles of CDs and books; cardboard boxes were taped to the wall with duck-tape to serve as makeshift shelves; DVDs were stacked in the shower and on window sills. Completely covered, the windows let in no light and the house was bathed in a perpetual twilight. My delight in discovering this collection, however, soon turned into panic. We had no space to preserve it all and I could not possibly choose what to take and what to leave in less than two days. (34)

Consumed by the wonders of the collection I could not bear the thought of this history being sold off in bits and pieces to collectors or unknowing passers-by. The lack of security in the house further aggravated the situation. I could see visitors and sympathisers strolling about, looking for mementos to remind them of Ben or for rare items to augment their own collections. The phone calls expressing condolences and the wish to just have that one vinyl that would complete a collection plagued the brothers and placed me in a very difficult position. As Tony van der Veen wrote:

   ... some of Ben's record collection is worth a LOT of money. For
   e.g. his first pressings of jazz and Blue Note stuff. You need to
   get an [sic] record collector expert to look at it all. In Europe
   it is big business. (35)

Caroline Steedman describes this "feverish desire" for the archive as a kind of sickness, "the fever not so much to enter and use it, as to have it, or just for it to be there in the first place". (36) I imagined it all standing in our archive and library, my hands the first to touch and open every item, the first to discover its secrets. This desire is however not just reserved for the archivist-scholar. Ben Segal shared in his own kind of archive fever. Unlike compulsive hoarding where the actual content of the material has no value to the hoarder other than having it, or the inability to throw things away, Ben carefully selected and catalogued every item in his collection. He disliked receiving presents as it would disrupt his system through which he ordered the items in his collection. Using a flashlight, Ben could navigate the near darkness in the complex maze of his house to find each item he was looking for. (37) Ben was distraught when his son Kenneth showed him that his whole collection could now fit onto one little hard disk, "not because it was possible but because it had lost's not tangible, you can never really hold it, smell it, and he was devastated". (38)

Ben's Bedroom

Ben Segal was not just surrounded by musicians but also by the work of a number of artists. His house was filled with metal artwork made by Monty Rayburns and custom-made light fittings by the architect Baba Selsick (who also designed the house). Above his bed hung a painting by Ben Jasven, (39) who had painted several other paintings in the house including a fresco above the fireplace and the painting displayed in the lounge above the reel-to-reel player. According to David Marks, this reel-to-reel player and recording set-up never changed from 1965--the first time he visited Ben's house, until 8 November 2013, when we dismantled it and took the player down. (40)

Iconic in their own right, these paintings "saw the whole history of 3rd Ear",41 and Marks observed that every musician who visited Ben's house would recognise them.

Archival violence

I've had this feeling the whole day that the house does not want to be left alone, that it demands a presence to walk through its hallway, touch and listen to its objects. It has been deadly quiet all day, not even the screaming cicadas outside can be heard in the house, everything was holding its breath, waiting. As I closed the front door behind me, three DVDs came flying through the air hitting me on my head and in my chest ... "I will be back", I promised the house, "Don't worry". (9 November 2013, 3 p.m.)

As I took a photograph of Ben Segal's deathbed and the medicinal remnants left untouched after his death, I was at once aware of the vulnerability of archival objects and the interpretative violence nestled in this act. I felt myself at the centre of a set of moral dilemmas fuelled by my behaviour in exposing to public scrutiny someone I never knew. Zooming in to focus on the labels of the medicines, the dust stains everywhere, the telephone, the pair of old shoes lying discarded underneath the bed, his collection of DVDs close to hand (see Illustration 6), I was motivated by a drive to document and archive some lingering memory or remnant of the recently departed. This possibility to touch the past and preserve it for the future is undeniably part of the archive's allure. However, this same allure also "obscures the contingency of [the archive's] construction, its destructive powers". (42) Making public what once was private, collecting together the objects of a life to catalogue and systematise it, to open it up for view and scrutiny comprises a violently intrusive act.

The archive disrupts and displaces material, destroying its initial uses and mobility, fixing it rigidly in systems and catalogues, and declares its contents valuable. Objects removed from their context and arrangement, for example, outside the dust filled house of Ben Segal slowly being consumed by the creeping ivy, takes on a different meaning, becomes an academic enterprise far removed from the initial visceral experience encaptured in their arrangement. The archive's mechanisms and contentions perform a "constant and systematic detachment and distancing" from the acts of violence necessitated for its formation. (43) It is so easy to forget when that box, cleaned, and tidied through violence and mutilation--displacement of material, selection and appraisal, the tearing off of labels once used to identify it--arrives on the researcher's desk in the quiet solitude of the reading room, that its contents belonged to someone else, was once held, listened to, or read.

This realisation of archival violence denies us the equanimity to assume abstract, analytical authority in the displaced archive (44)--archival documents as mere carriers of information. Rather, it requires us to consider the various acts of archive making, ranging from the initial decision to keep instead of throwing away, the decision to donate to an archive, the packing and moving of the material and its eventual presence through systems of categorisation and classification in an archival institution.


It was not an unproblematic decision to take on a large collection of which more than three quarters consists of commercially-produced items. Archival institutions would rarely spend scarce resources preserving commercial items of which they do not own the copyright. However, in a country where the stories of the majority of South Africans have not been deemed worthwhile to preserve by the institutional archive, careful consideration should be given any potential addition to an archive. For more than forty years, Ben Segal's house served as a meeting place and informal recording studio for many of South Africa's great singer-songwriters. His knowledge of international and local folk music further expanded the collection with unique items as well as commercially released material. This material can serve as important connection points to unlock the histories of these musicians--many of which remain untold and hidden in the depths of archives such as these.

Since the collection arrived at DOMUS, several strategies have been put in place, including creating an online presence (45) for the collection to raise awareness and draw support for its preservation, raising funding for digitisation, and initiating a volunteer programme to help with the cleaning, sorting and inventorying. Thanks to the support of the Library and Information Department at the University of Stellenbosch and the volunteer programme, a large part of the collection is already available on the open shelf according to topical divisions in the music library and the main library at the University of Stellenbosch. Nevertheless, managing a collection of this size is a continuous process and valuable lessons have been learned along the way. Although it might seem obvious now, some basic considerations would have made the processing of the collection and organizational work much easier:

* Make sure that the moving boxes are marked with the correct information.

*When the donation arrives, unpack, sort, and store boxes according to type to save processing time.

* Sturdier containers should have been used for more efficient storage since the crates could then be stacked higher to maximise storage areas without damaging the material while also providing room for inventorying the material.

Unfortunately the short timeline we had for this acquisition did not provide the opportunity for sufficient preparation, but the above mentioned steps would have saved us time and labour during the acquisition and processing stages.

Packing the Ben Segal collection demonstrates that preservation inadvertently comprises acts of destruction and displacement. While acknowledging that we are shaping and re-shaping the past in the present, the spectral world of the archive serves as a sobering reminder that we are dealing with the presence of that which is absent, and the absence of that which is present. It therefore becomes vital that we document the packing of collections, the acts of selection and destruction, and classification decisions made as part of the archival record, since these acts irredeemably alter the archive. Not only is it important in understanding initial acts and decisions that influenced the composition of the collection but it also provides valuable insights into the atmosphere, character, and appeal of archival collections. The dust and insects, the feelings of dismay and wonder, the significance of the creeper consuming the house, the acts of violence and disruption, the intense pleasure of discovery and the lingering presence of the recently departed all form part of the present that is now the Ben Segal Archive.

Lizabe Lambrechts (1)

(1.) Dr Lizabe Lambrechts is a Post-Doctoral Research Fellow at Stellenbosch University and Project Manager of the Hidden Years Music Archive Project at the Documentation Centre for Music (DOMUS), Stellenbosch University.

(2.) Francis Marks, Facebook post, November 2, 2013, fref=ts, accessed November 2013. David Marks and his wife, Francis Marks, who shared a lifelong friendship with Ben Segal, posted a comment on their individual Facebook pages commemorating his life. Various comments were subsequently made by friends and musicians from all over the world.

(3.) Des Lindberg: Personal communication with author, 8 November 2013, Johannesburg.

(4.) According to Roger Lucey, Tighthead Fourie and the Loose Forwards was South Africa's first and only "lefty country band" with Johny Blundell as Ray Stadig, Brian Rath as Gene Parkering, and David Marks joining occasionally as Lourenzo Marks. Their songs included "No Easy Walk to Freedom," calling for Nelson Mandela's release, and "Whisky Straight Up," a ballad of unfaithful love, broken hearts, and alcohol abuse. See Roger Lucey, Back In From the Anger (Johannesburg: Jacana Media, 2012), p. 194.

(5.) Lucey, Back In From the Anger, p. 194; Roger Lucey, Facebook comment on Francis Marks' post of 2 November 2013, November 4, 2013, 12:48 p.m.,, accessed November 2013.

(6.) Antoinette Burton, 'Introduction,' in: Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, edited by Antoinette Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), p. 6.

(7.) Nicholas B. Dirks, 'Annals of the Archive: Ethnographic Notes on the Sources of History,' in From the Margins: Historical Anthropology and its futures, edited by Brian Keith Axel (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002), p. 48.

(8.) For examples of such an approach, see the collected works in Dirks, 'Annals of the Archive', 2002; Burton, Archive Stories, 2005; and Olivia Maria Gomes da Cunha: 'Imperfect tense: an ethnography of the archive', Mana, Vol. 10/2 (2004): 287-322.

(9.) DOMUS accepted the donation of all the material in the house. The only material not part of the donation was a small collection of Africana books that were taken by a second-hand book dealer before I inspected the collection on 7 November 2013.

(10.) Bill Bryson, At Home (London: Doubleday Publishing Group, 2010), p. 5.

(11.) Most of the information about Benjamin Segal has been obtained from his three sons who all share the same surname. This article will therefore refer to Benjamin (Ben), and his three sons Bernard, Kenneth, and Arthur by their first names to avoid confusion.

(12.) Kenneth Segal: Interview with author, 9 November 2013, Johannesburg.

(13.) Roger Lucey, Facebook comment on Francis Marks' post of 2 November 2013, November 4, 11:30 a.m.,, accessed November 2013.

(14.) Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), p. 19.

(15.) Ibid., p. 84.

(16.) Ibid., p. 36.

(17.) Kenneth Segal, Interview with author, 9 November 2013.

(18.) Ibid.

(19.) Paul Clingman, Colin Shamley, John Oakley-Smith and Jannie Hofmeyr were popular folk musicians during the late 1960s and the 1970s in South Africa, particularly in Johannesburg and Durban. During the late 1970s and early 1980s, Brian Finch and Kenny E. Henson formed a duo that was regarded as one of South Africa's most dynamic groups during this period. Mick Dickman, Brian Bebbington, and Cornelia Moller are all South African singer-songwriters with Dickman now living in Paris and Bebbington in the UK. Manfred Man went on to form the successful Manfred Man's Earth Band in the 1970s, London, while Andrew Tracey, son of the ethnomusicologist Hugh Tracey, took over as the director of the International Library of African Music in 1978. Singer-songwriter Roger Lucey's album, The Road is Much Longer (3rd Ear Music, 1979), and Des and Dawn Lindberg's album, Folk on Trek (1967), were both banned by the apartheid government, while Jeremy Taylor with his famous song "Ag Pleez Deddy" (1961) were exiled from South Africa for ridiculing apartheid. Lucey, Back In From the Anger, pp. 134, 183. For more information on the individual musicians please visit http://www.3rdearmusic .com.

(20.) Des Lindberg, Facebook comment on Francis Marks' post of 2 November 2013, November 2, 11:28 p.m., fref=ts, accessed November 2013.

(21.) This title can roughly be translated as "The Buzzing of the Bees".

(22.) Arthur Segal, Personal communication with author, 9 November 2013, Johannesburg.

(23.) This organisation is now defunct.

(24.) Malombo was created in the late 1950s by three Mamelodi township musicians, Philip Tabane, Julian Bahula and Abe Cindi. Ben Segal, then chairman of the South African Folk Music Association, recorded the group in 1965 at the Wits Great Hall. David Marks, "The Township Blues Crews & Farm Boys Rock--A Theory!' (2004),, accessed February 2012; David Marks: Private correspondence, 17 April 2012.

(25.) David Marks, 'A Sound African Safari' (2003), story/pasafari.html, accessed February 2012.

(26.) National Research Foundation Grant, 2005, /scholarship.html, accessed February 2012.

(27.) David Marks, 'David Marks background and a 3rd Ear Music Summary' (2002), http://www.3rdearmusic .com/about/3rdearcv.html, accessed February 2012.

(28.) David Marks, Private correspondence, 17 April 2012. One such festival was the Free Peoples Concerts organised by David Marks and Tony Campbell, a photographer. The first festival was held in 1970 on a deserted beach near Balito outside of Durban. From 1972 this festival was held yearly at the University of the Witwatersrand. In 1976 and 1977 it was banned, but continued again from 1978 to 1986. Attendance grew and in the mid-1980s more than 15,000 people attended these inter-racial events organised under the auspices of the South African Folk Music Association in collaboration with various student organisations. See David Marks, Private correspondence, 17 April 2012; David Marks, Interview with author, 24 February 2012.

(29.) National Research Foundation Grant, 2005.

(30.) Richard Haslop, 'Perfect Sound Forever Online Music Magazine Presents David Marks' (2010),, accessed October 2011.

(31.) David Marks, Private correspondence, 17 April 2012; David Marks, Interview with author, 24 February 2012.

(32.) David Marks, 'A Sound African Safari' (2003), hiddenyearsstory/pasafari.html, accessed February 2012.

(33.) Haslop: 'Perfect Sound Forever'. Count "Wellington" Judge and the Soweto All Stars performed in South Africa during the 1970s and consisted of Barney Rachabane and Duke Makasi (sax), Denis Mpala and George Tyefumani (trumpet), Nelson Magwaza (drums), Ernest Mothle (bass), and Bucs Matiwane (piano). Allen Kwela, Aaron Lerole, and Creda Mutwa respectively played kwela, jive, and township jazz. Kippie Moeketsi was part of the influential group Jazz Epistles whose earliest members included Dollar Brand (Abdullah Ibrahim Jonas Gwangwa, and Hugh Masekela. At the other end of the spectrum was Flibbertigibbet, a popular Sou African Irish band who recorded their first album in 1976. Hawk drew inspiration from the Malombo sou and their group consisted out of Braam Malherbe, Dave Omellas, Mark Spook Khan, Keith Hutchinson, a Richard Johnson. Raven was formed in 1977, fronted by the bassist Piet Botha. See David Marks, 'The Towns! Blues Crews & Farm Boys Rock--A Theory!' (2004), /malombo.html, accessed February 2012. For more information on Colin Shamley, Mike Dickman, Jam Hofmeyr, Paul Clingman, Brian Finch, Roger Lucey, and John Oakley-Smith, see footnote 19.

(34.) Refer to the introduction.

(35.) Tony Van der Veen, Facebook comment on David Marks' post of 4 November 2013, November 8, 7:28 a.m.,, accessed November 2013.

(36.) Caroline Steedman, Dust (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), pp. 1-2.

(37.) Arthur Segal, Personal communication, 9 November 2013; Kenneth Segal, Interview with author, 9 November 2013; David Marks, Facebook post 'The Bioscope called Ben', 30 November 2013, 04:23 mins, accessed November 2013.

(38.) Kenneth Segal, Interview with author, 9 November 2013.

(39.) Ben Jasven exhibited with renowned South African artists including Bettie Cilliers-Barnard, Sidney Goldblatt, Walter Battisse, Cecil Skotnes and Sydney Kumalo in the early 1960s. These exhibitions were held at the Queen's Hall Art Gallery, Johannesburg. See, The Johannesburg Art Scene from 60's to the 90's, the Queen's Hall Art Gallery, Johannesburg', (last modified January 20, 2015), /QueensHallArtGallery.htm, accessed February 2014.

(40.) David Marks, Personal communication, 8 November 2013.

(41.) David Marks, Personal communication, 9 November 2013.

(42.) Helen Freshwater, 'The Allure of the Archive', Poetics Today, Vol. 24/4 (2003), p. 729.

(43.) Martin Hall, 'The Violence of Things', Archive and Public Culture Colloquium, University of Cape Town, 25 February 2014, unpublished manuscript, p. 5.

(44.) Hall: 'The Violence of Things', p. 18.

(45.) See for example 'The 3rd Ear/David Marks Collection', (2014), /85/5/, accessed February 2014.
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Author:Lambrechts, Lizabe
Publication:Fontes Artis Musicae
Geographic Code:6SOUT
Date:Jul 1, 2015
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