An English rose in Africa
- Sharon Gill
- Jan 26, 2017
- 3 min read
South Africans know her as Miriam Erasmus, a folk singer extraordinaire, who has earned the title of “African Rose” in the UK where she has performed as Miriam Backhouse for more than forty years. Miriam invited Sharon Gill to her Botha’s Hill home for coffee and a chat …
Miriam Erasmus has been performing since the age of five, touring the UK and Europe in the 70s as Miriam Backhouse, and later as Miriam Erasmus after marrying and relocating to South Africa.
The UK folk scene felt that it had lost her when she moved to South Africa, but she continued to tour in the UK, and vindication came with her inclusion in Rob Young’s Electric Eden – a book about the visionaries of English Folk Music.
While I could fill the page with biographical details about Miriam, there’s so much more to her life than a chronological record of her achievements.
“My life has been a gentle unfolding of sharing music – and its waves of unfathomable emotions – with others,” she says, adding that it’s not the journey of fame and fortune that she has travelled, but one of gratitude for the gifts given, nurtured and shared.
“I feel very blessed to have been able to become a part of those people’s lives for however short a time, from the youngest birthday party with the shrieks of laughter to the oldest person, who, with tears in their eyes, tells me the songs have brought back so many memories.”
Over Africa – written and performed by Miriam Erasmus
Recorded by John Lindemann at Downtown studios, Jo’burg, 2006 Photos taken in Miriam’s garden, 2010
Miriam has written many, many songs over the years, but has only recorded four solo albums, including the 1996 release of Over Africa – an album of “musical snapshots of a country in transition”. I asked her why there are so many unrecorded songs.
“Bear in mind that I have a classical background and was raised on Opera, Lieder, Broadway Musicals and wonderful British folk songs,” she explains. “Also, when I started on the folk scene in the ’70s, the standard of song writing was epitomised by songs like The streets of London and Where have all the flowers gone?
“I don’t regret writing anything, it’s just that my standards are incredibly high – some of the poetry isn’t up to scratch, some of the melodies are not good enough, and some of the songs are incomplete.”
While festival performances expose Miriam and her music to huge audiences, she prefers the smaller, more intimate gigs.
“When I’m with an audience, something in the songs triggers a deep bond. The words and the melodies carry us all into their worlds for a while. We can wander through an English country garden, traverse a South African mountain pass, recoil in horror at historic dastardly deeds, sail the ocean waves as we belt out a good old sea shanty, and mourn the passage of time.
“One of my fondest memories is of singing, not to thousands at a huge festival, but to three people at The Hermit. We just sat at a table and sang everything that came to mind … spontaneity at its best!”
It’s the act of singing songs and creating music together that’s so powerful. Nothing pleases Miriam more that when an audience joins in, especially with one of her own songs, which I have always believed is the ultimate compliment for any musician. But people are conditioned not to sing, mainly because they think they can’t sing. And that, says Miriam, is a tragedy.
“The mere act of opening the throat and singing, in tune or out of tune, brings immeasurable joy. I’ll bet more than half the fun of the Neil Diamond concert was singing along! My goodness, the number of times I’ve wanted to burst into song in the middle of a supermarket when I hear an old favourite. Can you just imagine the whole store singing along? But we’ve become so used to background musak everywhere we go that we don’t become a part of the music, we just hear it like an audio blur.”
Indeed, when I think back on all the places where I’ve seen Miriam perform, it’s a small gig at Tina’s Hotel in Kloof that remains indelibly printed on my memory, when Miriam inspired my microphone-shy friend to sing “Annie’s Song” to his wife.
“This anecdote just about sums up what I feel about music,” says Miriam. “I remember that it brought tears to my eyes. What a magical moment that was!”
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