Later today I am going to the Hollywood Bowl to see Paul Simon on his farewell tour. His bass player is Bakhiti Kumalo who I hope will be in Paul’s band tonight.

In 1985, as I was getting ready to leave South Africa for my new life in England, I had a few final gigs, cashing out as best I could. One of which was the King of Clubs. A multi racial club – the first of those to get a license for this purpose at the time. It was quite a big deal – white guy goes alone into the City – to a dodgy downtown address, to a club that seats like 800, to perform solo. I was there for the money, an agent (Edith Goldstein) had booked me saying it paid three times more than a usual solo gig “Because it may be a little dangerous.” In those days I would play anywhere that paid.

I got to the gig and it felt a bit weird. Black people all around. In fact, no whites at all. This was unusual.  Downtown Johannesburg was already a no go area by this time. The country was in a State of Emergency. Black folk had a 10PM curfew. But not in this area. No Police would come around here. It was too dangerous for police.
Never mind. I started setting up my gear – ready for an 8pm start. At which point a guy walked in carrying a guitar case.
I thought. “Bugger. We have been double booked. And he is the Black guy so this could be testy.”
I went over to where he was sitting to check. He explained he had just come out of a recording studio nearby and that’s why he had his guitar. The pretty lass with him said “You should let him play with you. He is amazing.”
I could hardly say no, she was so pretty, but I thought to myself, save it for the end of the first set, let him do one song, and that’s it. One always had to be careful inviting guests to perform in that delicate arrangement of being a one man show.

My set was quite sophisticated in that I played songs with multiple chords and arrangements. Like “Isn’t she lovely’ and ‘Just the two of us’ and ‘You’ve got a friend’. Not really the 12 bar jam repertoire for a guy to sit in on. The odds of some guy in a bar being able to play moderately complex arrangements without charts or rehearsal was low. I was preparing myself for a polite embarrassment.

I started the set at 8. The first few songs went great. Lots of applause. Great atmosphere. And then this fellow approached the stage. Eager to play. I noticed his guitar was a fretless Bass. A Washburn. My heart sank. Nothing worse than a fretless bass player missing the note all the time. Microtonal nightmare. What were the odds of a maestro fretless player appearing in that dodgy old place. In my mind, somewhere between low and below zero.
But the crowd, with his gal in front cheering him on, drove him towards me, and I had to politely welcome him to play. He looked a bit sheepish as he plugged in the cable I passed him.
“Do you know Isn’t she lovely” I asked. He looked confused by the question.

“Would you like to suggest a song you know for us to play” I asked.

“Just play anything” he replied. But in a way that suggested the confidence of a player.
I had played ”Isn’t she lovely” many times and had the arrangement down. A good first song for this type of bar gig.
From the count he was in on bar one. Playing every not not just in time, but with an obvious tone that spoke of musical mastery.  By the end of song one I thought “This sounds amazing.”  My guitar, his bass and a drum box. I was simply gobsmacked at how good we sounded. At the end of the song he gave me a knowing smile. Like a card sharp.
He stayed on stage playing with me the whole night. I remember it in a blur of exhilarating fun. With a big crowd cheering and just the most wonderful reminder of how playing live could be so joyfully amazing for the crowd as well. He seemed to enjoy it too. Beaming with wide grins.

After the gig, when licensing laws finally forced us to stop, and the room cleared out, I packed up my gear and we went out to the fire escape. He had a spliff and we stepped outside onto the metal landing  to chat and smoke. “We should do a band together. Like a Juluka. People love the Black and White together.” I was still so euphoric from the gig that sitting in a metal fire escape two stories up facing the Bree Street alleyway with a guy from Soweto I had met hours earlier smoking a big old Bob Marley spliff, that I could see that path ahead. If we could play together like that with no rehearsal, we sure could come up with an amazing set of original songs. I already had a set of original songs ready to go.

But at that moment in time there was  dark cloud over me.  I faced enormous pressure living in South Africa with the policing standards of the time. That is a different story common with anyone who knows South Africa’s racist religious right in the early 80’s.   I had already resolved to leave for a new life abroad. My departure date was less than a Month away. I was going to London with a one way ticket.

I explained myself as best I could. And I knew he understood that I knew what I was missing. We finished the spliff and had a hug. I gave him half the money I was paid for the gig. Four hundred rand was a quite a sum back then. He didn’t even look at the money. Put it in his pocket. Seemingly indifferent. One final hug and we went our separate ways. Him South to Soweto. Me North to the suburbs in my blue Toyota at around two in the morning. I felt tearful.

Two years passed and I was hard at work establishing myself in London, when I was invited to attend the opening of the Graceland tour. In a nice box in the Albert Hall for the opening night of the show. (As an aside, Miriam Makeba sang a solo song when someone shouted loud “You are a Fake”.  There was a great deal of scepticism about Paul using Black players at that time when South Africa was a cultural boycott target.)

My friends Bobby Summerfield and Hylton Rosenthal had helped Paul Simon meet and work with the South African musicians who made up the Graceland project. It was Hylton who took a call from a guy claiming to be Paul Simon, saying he got the number on a cassette and wanted to know more about that sound. Hylton hung up on the guy. (So the story goes. Paul had to call back and confirm he was actually Paul Simon.) Paul traveled to SA, and met an assembly of the best local talent, and on bass emerged  Bakithi Kumalo. In fact he was more than just on bass, the biggest hit featured a bass riff in the break, making him a featured soloist as well. (You can call me Al). Before the Albert Hall launch show I went to say hello to Bakhiti at the Hotel. We hugged.

He said “I knew I would see you overseas.”

I saw he no longer had the Washburn fretless. “When we went to New York Paul took us to Manny’s and told me to choose whatever bass I wanted.”

Since then it looks like Paul has used Bakhiti as his bass player of choice consistently. And whatever criticisms he faced for exploiting Black culture back then, was laid to rest by how well he worked with and respected Bakhiti.

After that Graceland became a huge hit and Paul toured endlessly. I never caught up with Bakhiti again.

I always remember that spliff on the fire escape overlooking the State of Emergency that was Bree Street after one of the loveliest musical nights I ever had with one of the loveliest musicians I ever met. Thirty three years later………….
http://forbassplayersonly.com/interview-bakithi-kumalo/