An ode to the local music start-up scene
MY introduction to South African rock began when I was a first-year student at technikon. Before that, my musical tastes didn’t go beyond “soft rock”. Yes, I was the girl who had mix-tapes filled with ballads from the Goo Goo Dolls and the Dave Matthews Band.
So when a friend took me to my first live gig, I was hooked. Arno Carstens fronting the Springbok Nude Girls was akin to a celestial moment.
Many people my age would probably not know Carsten Rasch. He’s what the kids these days would call an “influencer”. Because that’s what he did – he influenced and united young people from various backgrounds through the power of music.
Festival organiser, music curator and drummer – he is a survivor from the South African punk and new wave scene of the late 1970s and early 1980s.
A jack of all trades, Rasch is a voice of a generation, drowned out by political turmoil and social injustices. Between Rock & A Hard Place is his love story, an ode to the local music start-up scene. To understand the various players in the game, Rasch explains every aspect of the beast, from the musicians to the promoters to the fans.
There’s also his modesty. Brought up in a strict Afrikaner family, not once does he make excuses for his white privilege. Instead, he rebels against the system by refusing to fill his conscription into the army, refers to himself as a “whitey” and openly admits to dealing and indulging in illegal drugs.
Written with an eloquent understanding of the music scene, he manages to stay away from the potential stereotypes by refusing to glamorise the industry. Instead, he strips it raw and exposes the underbelly of a sometimes ugly darkness that the uninitiated seldom hear of.
Nonetheless, Rasch’s memoir is not at all about him, but about the constant strides he has made to put his unique stamp on every project he has undertaken – and believe me, he has done many of those.
Set in a time of political uncertainty and debauchery,
is an easy read about music, the struggle to be noticed, and long joints best enjoyed with friends. It’s best enjoyed on a Sunday afternoon, when nostalgia is guaranteed to peak. Chances are, after reading this, you’ll end up dusting off your turntable and going through your old Juluka LPs.