The following paper was presented as part of the 2019 Sydney Folk Festival on August 17 at

the Sydney Mechanics’ School of Arts in NSW, Australia. Four sound recordings were played
during the presentation that will be released on the Rouseabout Records compilation “Before
the Boomerang Came Back: Musical Aboriginalia (1949 – 1962)” produced by the author.
___________________________________________________________________________

The Boomerang Did Come Back: A Presentation of Musical Aboriginalia

by Michael Alexandratos

“I would like to acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, the traditional custodians
of the land we are meeting on, and pay my respects to Elders, past, present and emerging.”

Content warning: this presentation will include words, sounds and images that can be
considered derogatory, racist and offensive. Audience discretion is advised, particularly for
those who identify as First Nations.

In September 2015, an unnamed employee from the Australian Broadcasting Commission

(ABC) made the decision to play a 55-year-old novelty song at a radio station in Hobart,
Tasmania. One listener complained, the song was banned, and an apology issued. But the story
was far from over. The fallout surrounding the banning of “My Boomerang Won’t Come
Back”, a 1961 recording by English comedian Charlie Drake, continues to resonate well into
the present. One only has to take a glance at the YouTube comments for this song to be berated
with the all-too-familiar outcries of “political correctness gone mad.”

But Charlie Drake’s song was neither the first nor the last to profit off the mockery of
Indigenous Australian cultures. Nor was it the first song to feature in its lyrics the to-ing and
fro-ing of an iconic symbol of Aboriginal Australia. Behind the chart-topping success of “My
Boomerang” lies a larger and mostly unexplored body of songs and musical works by white
composers that reference Aboriginal cultures with varying degrees of sensitivity – from the
tokenistic to the outrageously racist. Although it may be an embarrassing legacy for some, it
is also an important resource that Indigenous creatives and musicians can use to resist, re-
purpose and de-colonise – on their own terms.
As the controversy around the banning of “My Boomerang” raged, the song had already
appeared on screen in the film “Spear” (2015), by Bangarra dance-theatre director Stephen
Page. Drawing on vaudeville and minstrelsy – stage traditions that were taken up with gusto
by Aboriginal entertainers like Jimmy Little Snr in the 1930s and 40s – the dance routine very
poignantly turns the racist histories of these art forms on its head.

Even though Aboriginal creatives are free to draw from these legacies and reclaim them as
their own, non-Indigenous musicians and producers must tread a very careful line if they are
to re-use these songs in any way. In this case, collaboration, respect and consultation must be
enacted to avoid causing harm.

In order to conceptualise this legacy of musical appropriation, I firstly had to form an identity
for these songs as a basis for a usable resource. What I call “musical Aboriginalia” are songs
and musical works by non-Indigenous composers that reference Aboriginal peoples, languages
and cultures. Incorporated in this term is the extra-musical iconography associated with such
compositions, through sheet music and record cover artwork, and designs for film and stage.
This concept has as its inspiration the practices of artists like Tony Albert and Destiny Deacon,
who re-purpose Aboriginal kitsch objects. I stress that my concept is neither authoritative nor
definitive and can be adapted by Indigenous researchers and academics.

Using this umbrella term, I have started to document all such compositions through an index,
which is an ongoing project on my research blog Amnesiac Archive. I have split compositions
into two separate listings: the first, includes all manner of popular, folk and art songs with
“music and lyrics”; and the second with purely musical and instrumental works, for solo
instrument, orchestra or ensemble, as well as soundtracks and incidental music. The database
will eventually include discographic and performance details for each work, as well all
associated iconography.

This index of “musical Aboriginalia” by default takes a neutral stance to the cultural politics
embedded in the histories of each composition. Anything that falls under my broad definition
is included, even popular songs whose only reference is an Aboriginal place-name. From the
standpoint of de-colonisation theory, even the simple act of compiling an index can be fraught
with danger and difficulty, drawing as it does on that very colonial impulse to rigorously
document “the other.” Hopefully, the use-value of this index will outweigh such problematic
impulses common to the history of Indigenous studies.

Composer and academic Christopher Sainsbury, a member of the Dharug nation, has already
formulated his own terms to describe the practices of Australian classical and art song
composers. “Indigenous referencing” is a term he uses to describe a composer who aligns with
or uses “Indigenous music, culture, themes or narratives”, while “Indigenous posturing” refers
to a composer who uses these themes throughout a body of work. Admittedly, my term exhibits
a bias towards popular music and culture, while the terms that Sainsbury employs are more
appropriate to the composers he discusses, specifically Peter Sculthorpe and John Antill.

The second component to this project is a reissue album of “recorded” Aboriginalia, which
takes a much more critical stance than a simple index can allow. Titled “Before the Boomerang
Came Back: Musical Aboriginalia (1949-1962)” the album features 13 tracks sourced from
archival recordings made roughly in the decade before the release of Charlie Drake’s infamous
ditty. The argument is simple: these were songs recorded during a decade of ongoing struggle
for Indigenous rights, the stolen generations and continued destruction of culture, and they
cannot be swept under the carpet or dismissed as pop culture frivolities - because systems of
representation enforce systems of oppression. Bringing all of these recordings together in the
format of a digital album and re-publishing them with artwork by Tony Albert strengthens this
argument further.

The first track on the album was recorded by the Australian pop ensemble the Horrie Dargie
quintet, titled “Arunta the Hunter”. This song is taken from a four-track EP released by the
Melbourne-based Astor records in May 1960. The notes on the back of the EP outline the
motivations of songwriters Nat Kipner and Clyde Collins, announcing that:

This is Australian popular music in a new idiom. Ironically it took a young American, Nat Kipner, now
living in Australia, to write it. He saw in the ritual aboriginal rhythms and primitive dawn-time culture
of one of the world’s most ancient peoples a new line of departure from the “Waltzing Matilda” and
“Dave and Mabel” tradition of Australian songwriters.
According to the notes, these are “truly Australian songs”, whose claim to authenticity is
supposedly bolstered by the use of Aboriginal instruments like “the gum leaf, digeridoo, bull
roarer and clapsticks.”

Arunta the Hunter (1960)

Arunta the hunter,

the king of the Aborigine.

Armed with boomerang and spear,

Man or beast he doesn’t fear,
Tired of eating witchetty grub,
Grabs his nulla-nulla club.
Arunta! The Aboriginal hunter.

Arunta the hunter,

the king of the Aborigine.

Threw his spear away it flew,

Got himself a kangaroo,
Took his knife and skinned the beast,
Then he had himself a feast.
Arunta! The Aboriginal hunter.

Aborigine, doing the corroboree.

Aborigine, celebrating mighty hunting victory.
Arunta the hunter, the king of the Aborigine.

Built a fire by a billabong,

Pockets hot don’t take too long,
Gorged himself on platypus stew,
Played a tune on the digeridoo.

Arunta!
The dusky, the husky, the lusty Aboriginal hunter.
This song clearly illustrates how misguided the quest for a truly “Australian” sound can be. If
we are to take the liner notes at face value, this was a serious attempt to integrate Aboriginal
sounds and themes into popular music.

In the artistic, literary and musical circles of Australia in the 1940s and 50s, these kinds of
appropriations were seen as the answer to an ongoing debate about what a truly Australian art
should be. A March 1950 article in the music magazine Tempo, endeavours to answer the
question: “From what sources should the composer of a song about Australia seek to derive his
or her inspiration?” According to the writer, the Indigenous people of Australia have already
provided the answer, in their traditional songs about the land, with “its rivers and lagoons, its
mountains and plains, its flora and fauna, its winds, its waterfalls, the wonder of its starry skies,
the terror of its bushfires and…storms that, every now and again ravage it.” The writer
concludes on the assumption that Aboriginal people “are all about roving, hunting and fighting
too, and, in short, life – the primitive kind of course and more interesting…than that which we
lead.” Sainsbury stresses that this obsessive quest for a “distinctive Australian music” is one
that has not plagued First Nations composers. He writes that instead “Indigenous composers
articulate stories, themes and narratives from their culture” rather than to serve any nationalist
agenda.

Another track illustrating the desire of songwriters to integrate Aboriginal themes is the 1949
recording “The Song of the Dijeridoo”, performed by the vocal quartet The Harmoniques. The
yidaki, more commonly known as the “didgeridoo” is an instrument that was traditionally used
on Arnhem lands in the Northern Territory of Australia. The instrument has often been used as
a racist trope by songwriters and entertainers to draw attention to its so-called “primitive”
sound. The word “didgeridoo” does not originate out of any Aboriginal language and is likely
of onomatopoeic origin from white settlers’ impressions of the instrument.

It is important to note that when the following song was written there were no commercial
recordings available of actual yidaki playing. In other words, no music listener in 1949
Australia would be able to enter a record store and buy a recording of a didgeridoo played by
an Indigenous musician. Instead, a record buyer could pick up a copy of this 78rpm recording
for a few shillings and hear a racist send-up of it performed by white musicians. It would take
another few years before the first commercial recordings of yidaki playing would become
available, released on the LP “Tribal Music of Australia” by the U.S-based Folkways Records,
in 1953.

The Song of the Dijeridoo (1949)

Out from Cunnamulla where the Walla Walla meets the Binnagulla.
There’s a little fella with his spear and nulla nulla, King of the Dijeridoo.
For a reasonable fee he’ll play any corroboree that’s jumpin’
and it’s sumpin’ just to hear him blow.

Chorus
Dum dum doo, zom zom zoo, zom zom zoo, zoodle-oo-zoo
Bom bom bom, bom bom bom, on his dijeridoo.
zom zom zoo, zom zom zoo, zoodle-oo-zoo.
Bom bom bom, bom bom bom, on his Dijeridoo.
Thru the silver kurrajongs in the summer moon
By some misty billabong comes this tribal tune:

zom zom zoo, zom zom zoo, zom zom zoo, zoodle-oo-zoo
Bom bom bom, bom bom bom, on his dijeridoo.

Excitement has reached a feverish pitch,

The King is there with his Dijeri-what? Which?
He sits there with the band to play,
bom-diddely-ah-dah-hooray! The King!

A one, a two, a three, a four...

He thinks he’s the King of Swing on his dijeridoo,

His best friends won’t say anything,
If you was they, would you?

Zom zom bom, bom bom bom, on his dijeridoo.

Another aspect of Aboriginal culture that has been exploited by non-Indigenous composers is
the corroboree. Derived from the word garabari, meaning “a style of dancing” in the local
Sydney language of the Eora nation, it has become the default European word for any kind of
Aboriginal ceremony. Aunty Fay Muir and Sue Lawson write that “each Indigenous clan has
a different name for a corroboree” and that “corroborees are an important part of Aboriginal
culture and spirituality, and involve stories, song and dance.”

The following track, “Corroboree Rock” was recorded from verses written by Helen McEwan
for a 1957 song-writing contest. Recorded in true rock n’ roll style by Tom Davidson and his
band, featuring lead vocals from white blues and jazz singer Joan Bilceaux, the song’s lyrics
appear on first-hearing as rather benign and naïve. However, if we view the song in its larger
historical context of the 1950s, during a decade of ongoing destruction of cultural practices,
the lyrics can take on a violent, if not more sinister meaning. Or does the song instead represent
a kind of Aboriginal modernity, fusing as it does the traditional corroboree with the raw energy
and momentum of rock n roll, a genre that itself owes a debt to black musical traditions?

Corroboree Rock (1958)

Hello Australia! What’s new Australia?

Rock rock rock, Corroboree Rock,
Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock.

We’ll rock in the wool sheds, rock in the towns,

Rock in the wheat fields, rock in the downs,
You rock in the paddocks when they’re feeding the flock,
Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock.

Rock rock rock, Corroboree Rock,

Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock.

The black man taught us in days long ago,

The rhythm and rockin’ really make you go,
So when you feel you’re just ready to flop,
Get up and do the Corroboree Rock.

Rock rock rock, Corroboree Rock,

Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock.
Now if your friends would like to start,
To do this rock with all their heart,
They can bring a kazoo or a didgeridoo,
They can bring a kangaroo to Corroboree Rock.

Come on now, let’s rock!

(Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock)
Rock rock rock,
Rock rock rock.

Rock rock rock, Corroboree Rock,

Everybody’s doing the Corroboree Rock.

Moving on to another track from the album, the song ‘Mine Tinkit Gibit Love’, recorded in
1951 by popular jazz musician Les Welch, shows a clear link between the representation of
Aboriginal people in visual culture, and its equivalent in popular song. The song’s title and its
use of Aboriginal pidgin English is derived from a racist advertising campaign by local clothing
manufacturers Pelaco Ltd. From the early 1920s the company’s advertising began to depict a
bare-foot Aboriginal man in full stride, wearing a white dinner-shirt while exclaiming: ‘Mine
tink it they fit.” Aboriginal buckjumper Mulga Fred (c.1874-1948) was reportedly the model
for the company’s iconic character, although he was never officially recognised as such nor
paid for the use of his likeness. However, the song’s narrative does not relate in any way to the
campaign. The lyrics centre on an Aboriginal man named “Jacky” who goes out into the bush
in pursuit of a “pretty gin” that he can settle down with and marry.

The use of the word “gin” presents us with another issue as it relates to the representation of
Aboriginal people in popular song, especially women. A borrowing from the Dharug language
of the Sydney region, simply meaning woman or wife, “gin” came to be used in a highly
derogatory way for an Aboriginal woman who was sexually exploited by white men. Another
derogatory term for an Aboriginal woman that has an equally contentious history is the word
“lubra.” It most notably features in the song “Eucalyptus Baby” recorded in 1927 by Stiffy &
Mo, stage-names for comedians Nat Phillips and Roy Rene. Australian academic Liz Conor
has dealt extensively with settler impressions of Aboriginal women in her published work,
including the term “lubra.”
Mine Tinkit Gibit Love (1951)

Black feller, Jacky, me

Plurry soon go walkabout,
Searchum bush for pretty gin,
Findum dere or roun’about;
Me, Jacky, wantum Mary
all belonga plurry soon.
Getum in a plurry hurry
Underneat’ t’ whiteman moon1

Mine tinkit gibit love,

Getum Mary marry me,
Makeum mia-mia by a tree,
Mine tinkit gibit love;
Mine tinkit catchum gin,
Buildum camp by billabong.
Cookum snake and singum song,
Mine tinkit life begin,
Jacky, him marry wit’ Mary in June,
An’ go a walkabout alonga honey moon;
Mine tinkit gibit love,
Get um Mary marry me.
Habum big Corroboree,
Mine tinkit gibit love.

The previous four songs that I have presented should give one a general idea of the larger
corpus of “musical Aboriginalia”, as well as the obvious problems involved in their
dissemination. While compiling the album I drafted a list of questions and concerns regarding
the project, many of which I am not qualified to answer, nor respond with any certainty. These
included:

1
The first verses of the song (in bold) were not performed in the 1951 recording by Les Welch & His Orchestra.
Sourced from the original sheet music.
 - What can or can’t I say about these recordings considering that I don’t have the lived
experience of being Indigenous?
- How can these recordings be de-colonised by Indigenous creatives? For example, as
samples in hip-hop or rap songs, or through theatre and performance.
- Do the benefits of re-issuing these recordings outweigh their potential to be mis-used
or cause harm?
- Who really “owns” the representations of Indigenous people and culture in these songs?
- Is it fair to include songs on the album by white musicians like Slim Dusty or Ted Egan,
when they were well-loved and respected by Indigenous communities?
- And ultimately, what can we learn from these recordings?

While compiling the album, I also became aware of the issues involved if I frame these
recordings too negatively. For example, if I present these recordings as simply racist
anachronisms, or suggest that they should be treated with trepidation, disgust and shame, am I
sabotaging their potential reclamation and use by Aboriginal people?

In particular, I read criticisms received by academic Liz Conor for her article “the politics of
Aboriginal kitsch”, published online by ‘the conversation’ on March 3rd, 2017. A response to
her article appeared on the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies
(AIATSIS) website in July 2018, featuring a conversation between Sally Brand and Wiradjuri
elder Kerry Reed-Gilbert. Reed-Gilbert strongly criticised Conor’s negative approach to
Aboriginal kitsch, saying that:

…she attempts to convince Aboriginal people and others to think the same way that she does that we
shouldn’t like Aboriginalia or have anything to do with it. How dare she! I know there are others like
her, and I just want to say that they have no right to speak for us and they can’t determine what we
should or shouldn’t like or love…Some people think there is nothing Aboriginal that can be seen as
good or beautiful in the world of Aboriginalia. I believe that this is the view Conor is spreading. These
are absolutely objects of this country, not objects of disgust. The majority of us love them…There is
much sadness for us because of this academic propaganda that makes some Aboriginal
people feel shamed to have these things. I find that troubling. Aboriginal people should not be made to
feel shamed to care for and treasure these objects. We are emotionally invested to them and the people
they depict. What upsets me most is the idea that we can’t have a beautiful picture of a naked Black
woman painted on velvet because it’s said by people like Conor that Aboriginal women are only seen
as sexual objects to white men. How insulting is this? We, as women are as beautiful as any woman of
this world. We are very proud of our beauty.

When Reed-Gilbert proclaims that these are “objects of this country, not objects of disgust”
can the same also be said about the recordings on the “musical Aboriginalia” album? Are we
as non-Indigenous settlers instead imposing our own guilt and shame in deciding what is
offensive or not offensive, or what Indigenous people should or shouldn’t like or listen to, or
indeed pass any judgement on how they connect with their representations, be they kitsch
objects or racist songs? Is this not another example of white paternalism at work?

At the conclusion of this talk, I stress that it is not my place to answer these complicated
questions. I have endeavoured instead to draw attention to this controversial aspect of
Australian music history, and not to write the final word. Perhaps the following quote by Martin
Luther King is the way forward. In a 2009 artwork by Tony Albert, King’s words are
emblazoned on a pyramid of playing cards filled with Aboriginal kitsch designs. It reads: “I
have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.”

The final track that I have chosen to conclude the Aboriginalia compilation is a fitting farewell
to the sounds presented across the album’s 35 minutes. Featuring kookaburra calls and
idealistic evocations of the Australian landscape, the echoes of an iconic Aboriginal bush call
are heard as the song fades into silence. “Cooee Call” was recorded by Australian country
musicians The LeGarde Twins for their first full-length LP, titled “Ballads of the Bushlands”
in 1959. Their keenness to forge a distinctly Australian identity for country music is shown by
the use of an Aboriginal artwork on the album’s cover. The moral dilemma posed by this, and
one that every Australian songwriter should consider, is ultimately: is this ours to use?
 “Before the Boomerang Came Back: Musical Aboriginalia (1949-1962)”

Track notes

1. Arunta the Hunter

(Nat Kipner & Clyde Collins, 1960)
The Horrie Dargie Quintet
Recorded in Melbourne, released May 1960
“Dig the Didjeridoo with the Dargies”
Astor AEP-4001 (EP 45rpm, 7”)

Collection: Michael Alexandratos

Transfer: Michael Alexandratos

2. Dreamtime for Jedda

(Leslie Raphael, 1954)
Bob Gibson & His Orchestra
Recorded October 1, 1954, Sydney
Columbia DO-3668/Mx: CT3181 (78rpm, 10”)

Collection: Douglas Paisley

Transfer: Michael Alexandratos

3. The Square Dance by the Billabong

(Vernon Lisle, 1951)
Bobby Limb & His Band
Recorded 1951, Sydney
Fidelity FY-1004A/Mx: MX 40648 (78rpm, 10”)

Collection: David Crisp

Transfer: David Crisp

4. The Song of the Dijeridoo

(Frank Coughlan & Jim Riley, 1949)
The Harmoniques
Recorded late 1949, Sydney
Pacific 10-0005B/Mx: M27102B (78rpm, 10”)

Collection: Graeme Deacon

Transfer: Michael Alexandratos

5. The Bunyip Will Get You

(John Wheeler & Werner Baer, 1943)
George Trevare & His Orchestra
Recorded February 26, 1952, Sydney
Parlophone A7792/Mx: A884 (78rpm, 10”)

Collection: David Crisp

Transfer: David Crisp

6. Poor Fellow Me / King Billy’s Song

(Lyrics: W.E. Harney & A.P. Elkin – Music: Alfred Hill, 1950) /
(Lyrics: Richard Baylis – Music: William G. James, 1922)
Alan Coad with Albert Fisher Orchestra
Recorded March 15, 1951, Sydney
Columbia DO-3391/Mx: CT2647 (78rpm, 10”)
 Collection: Douglas Paisley
Transfer: Michael Alexandratos

7. Jabbin Jabbin
(Collected: Mrs F.J. Murphy – Translated: Dr. H.O. Lethbridge –
Arranged: Arthur S. Loam, 1937)
Lionel Long
Recorded 1962, Sydney
“The Wild Colonial Boy” SCXO-7674 (LP 33rpm, 12”)

Collection: David Crisp

Transfer: David Crisp

8. The Walkabout Rock and Roll

(Reg Lindsay, 1958)
Reg Lindsay & His Coltbreakers
Recorded October 23, 1958, Sydney
45DO-4008/Mx: 7XCT-416 (Single 45rpm, 7”)

Collection: David Crisp

Transfer: David Crisp

9. Boomerang
(Kenny Graham, 1955)
Ted Heath & His Music
Recorded March 31, 1955, London
“Kenny Graham’s Australia Suite”
DFEA-6300 (EP 45rpm, 7”)

Collection: Jordie Kilby

Transfer: Jordie Kilby

10. The Story of Wilga Mia

(Unknown, 1957?)
“Australian Aboriginal Legends” Special Souvenir Series
Recorded c. 1957, Sydney
Philips 421726 RE (EP 45rpm, 7”)

Collection: Michael Alexandratos

Transfer: Michael Alexandratos

11. Corroboree Rock

(Lyrics: Helen McEwan – Music: Tom Davidson, 1957)
Joan Bilceaux with Tom Davidson & His Orchestra
Recorded in Melbourne, released January 1958
W&G WG-SL564 (Single 45rpm, 7”)

Collection: Nick Weare

Transfer: Nick Weare

12. Mine Tinkit Gibit Love

(George S. English & Deryck Barnes, 1951)
Les Welch & His Orchestra
Recorded 1951, Sydney
Tasman W-078/Mx: MX40827 (78rpm, 10”)

Collection: Michael Alexandratos

Transfer: Michael Alexandratos
 13. Cooee Call
(Le Garde Twins, 1959)
The Le Garde Twins
Released August 1959
“Ballads of the Bushlands” Columbia 33OEX7506 (LP 33rpm, 12”)

Collection: David Crisp

Transfer: David Crisp

Song lyrics and transcriptions can be accessed for each track through the “Musical
Aboriginalia - Index & Database” on Amnesiac Archive: https://amnesiac-
archive.com/2017/03/02/musical-aboriginalia/
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Acknowledgements

A special thank you to Tony Albert for his generosity in allowing his artwork to be used for
the album cover, and for his positive encouragement and advice.

I would also like to thank the following people who helped me source the rare archival
recordings used in the album: David Crisp, Graeme Deacon, Jordie Kilby, Ross Laird,
Douglas Paisley, Clinton Walker and Nick Weare.