Rashid was a household name when it came to jazz and music generally.  Any big gig, Rashid was there. He launched jazz programs on local radio that  lifted the genre  to another level.  He also made a name for himself as a photo-journalist, learning his craft  during those challenging times chronicling the brutality of events  during the Struggle in the ‘70s and ‘80s. If shit was happening, Rashid was there. International media organisations like the BBC, NBC, and Agence France Press relied on Rashid to capture the images that shocked and alerted the world to the violence of South Africa’s security forces.

As far as I know he  couldn’t play a musical instrument but he was a man of note, an icon dare I say. But to me, he was my friend, a friend of more than 50 years.

To me, Rashid will always be that short, slightly built teenager who snuck into the Athlone nightclubs  around 1967, 1968. He was part of our group that hung out in clubs like  The Soul Workshop, Columbia ’68 and the Beverley Lounge.  We loved listening to the cool music of the Four Sounds at the Beverley, or the psychedelic stuff Respect belted out Columbia.  We grooved sometimes from 8pm-6am in an all-nighter. And young Rashid was there.

It was a time of love and peace. Of headbands and tie-dyed shirts.  We wanted to emulate what the other cool kids elsewhere in the world were doing. They were listening to Jimi Hendrix, Big Brother and The Holding Company, Vanilla Fudge and Joe Cocker. So were we.  They were experimenting with things to heighten the experience. So were we. We were quite a crew . . . Toma, Eddie, Qader, Greg, Nizaam, Abdu, Granville and a few other randoms. And Rashid. We’d soak up the music and when the band had a break, we’d make our way to the patch behind Athlone Station and blow our minds.  And then head back to the club  and let the music do the same.

Those were good times.  I’ll remember it forever.  Sure, he was the music legend that everyone knows.  But to me, he was the kid from P.E., my friend.  The one with the slight speech impediment. The one our little group nicknamed Pusher.

 

Go well, Pusher.  I’ll catch you at the jazz gig on the other side.

 

Related material: Rashid Lombard: semi-retired, now Cape Town’s ultimate jazz A-lister