We recently connected with Mark Fine and have shared our conversation below.
Mark, appreciate you joining us today. Can you recount a story of an unexpected problem you’ve faced along the way?
The moment they came through the door, I knew I was in trouble. Nothing about them seemed friendly. Their unannounced intrusion into my office had startled me. Brawny, and dressed in government-issued grey suits, the two men were polar opposite to the long-haired, t-shirted guests that regularly visited me. It was 1977, and at the time I was the Label Manager for Island Records in South Africa. We had enjoyed amazing success with Cat Stevens. His hits such as “Morning Has Broken,” “Peace Train,” and “Wild World” were wonderful, and influenced the kind of thoughtful record man I wanted to be, and essentially the kind of music I wished to support. Alas, Cat Stevens’ career had faded away, and I found myself promoting our most recent artist, the Jamaican singer and model, Grace Jones.
I confess that the Disco era was fun, and that I joyfully jived under that mirrored ball in the swankiest clubs in Johannesburg, but musically it was superficial. In short, Grace Jones’ disco hit, “La Vie En Rose” may have had the rhythm but it didn’t connect with my soul. But, another Island label artist did, also a Jamaican, the soon-to-be-legend Bob Marley.
My mission was advancing the broad acceptance of Reggae music in general, and breaking Bob Marley specifically, in South Africa. Problem was that the radio stations were state-owned, and the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) refused to give Bob Marley a spin. So, I resorted to guerilla marketing.
‘The Big Black Sound’ billboards I created were posted alongside railway station platforms in townships like Soweto, specifically targeting daily commuters. The ten-by-six-foot posters were intentionally provocative; a raised black fist with Rastafarian red, gold, and green colors ‘bleeding’ down the forearm clutched an electric guitar. The guitar represented an assegai, the stabbing spear of the Zulu. The names of Bob Marley and his stable mates such as Burning Spear and Toots & the Maytals were listed in a stark white. But my campaign didn’t end there; large quantities of free promotional copies of a Bob Marley album had been distributed to shebeens (illegal speakeasies) and Black dance halls throughout the land.
In retrospect I should not have been surprised by my unfriendly visitors, as the dehumanizing apartheid regime was in power, and it did not take kindly to the notions of freedom of speech and expression. The two men revealed that they were officers of the dreaded Bureau for State Security – colloquially known as BOSS. In the music of Bob Marley, these security apparatchiks perceived an existential threat to the state’s authority, and it had to be silenced.
I was accused of sedition and inciting unrest. Then they threatened me. As a detainee under the relevant State Security Act, I would be ‘disappeared’ for ninety days—there would be no formal charges, no trial, no lawyer. Then on the 91st day, the moment I stepped out of the jail, they would re-arrest me for another ninety days.
Bob Marley’s Rastaman Vibration had become a legend in the townships, and one song in particular had become an anthem – euphemistically referred to as “track nine” – it stirred the spirit of the disenfranchised majority. The song’s actual name was “War,” and its message was potent: it explicitly called for the destruction of the white South African regime unless basic human rights were recognized and racial discrimination was abandoned. The song lyrics were almost verbatim the grave words of one of Africa’s leading statesmen, the Emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie I, in his 1963 speech to the United Nations General Assembly.
BOSS was terrified that the emperor’s righteous message, set to Marley’s compelling vocals and calypso beat, had already “contaminated the minds of local natives,” so they said. Also damning was Marley’s picture on the album cover. Dressed in green paramilitary fatigues, the Jamaican musician channeled the iconic likeness of Marxist revolutionary, Che Guevara. The officers informed me that the record was banned and that the entire inventory had to be immediately destroyed, if I wished to avoid being detained.
I complied. Witnessing so many 25-count boxes of Bob Marley vinyl being drilled through with an electric power drill was crushing. But I hatched a plan. With the blessing of Island Records’ headquarters back in London, I reissued the album under a different title, catalog number, and cover design. As for the song “War?” It became a disguised bonus track tucked away after an interlude of silence at the end of Side 2.
Freedom of speech remains of high value to me, as I have learned the hard way. The restriction of these profound rights under apartheid’s stringent rule I found reprehensible. I had had enough of this insidious and censorious government’s activities that banned cultural and artistic expression for a host of gratuitous reasons: too sexually explicit, blasphemous, political, subversive, or promoting black consciousness. The last matter troubled me the most as all examples of black excellence were removed, which did so much harm. Concerned by the ever-expanding role of state censorship and my personal brush with BOSS, I made plans to live abroad. I exited South Africa in 1978 and immigrated to the United States.
Mark, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?
When folks in the United States first chat to me, they are struck by my accent. My voice is measured, and spoken with the properness of a long-suffering boarding school inmate from one of the British colonies. Indeed, from age eight until seventeen I lived several hundred miles away from my Johannesburg home, near the coastal city of Durban. Boarding school prepared me well for my tour of duty in South Africa’s Navy Signal Corp, in Simonstown, near Cape Town. There I learned Morse code—and touch-typing. The latter military-necessary skill was the first step toward becoming an author.
A lifetime career in the music industry began as a record store clerk. While working in the South African record business, one of the most defining moments of my life took place. I found myself facing the wrath of an authoritarian government; accused of being a subversive for distributing ‘revolutionary music’—Bob Marley’s reggae. That threatening encounter served as the catalyst for my permanent relocation to the United States. In this way the path of an understated artistic activist chose me, and much of my behind-the-scenes creative work moving forward now had an air of gravitas about it.
A successful music industry career led me from Minneapolis, New York and then Los Angeles. Through global music giant PolyGram (now Universal Music), I founded Hammer & Lace Records in 1993. The label had a unique mandate: to be the industry’s only imprint dedicated to highlighting specific social or health issues by creating benefit albums that promoted awareness and could save lives. For a decade I proved adept at uniting non-profit organizations, corporate and media sponsors, and the creative community in support of freedom of speech, breast cancer research, at-risk children, the blind, HIV/AIDS, substance abuse, and wildlife conservation. I also had the privilege of working with many wonderful recording artists including Sheryl Crow, Sting, Bryan Adams, Boys ll Men, Jon Bon Jovi, Vanessa Williams and Melissa Etheridge.
For these initiatives I was voted by Variety Magazine as the “Music Executive with 20/20 Vision” and addressed the Industries’ Coalition against Cancer on the topic, “Going beyond the Corporation: How Companies Take Their Health Messages to the Public.” For my efforts in the fight against breast cancer, the ‘Women For Women’ album series garnered over 100 million media impressions for its life saving early detection message. I’ve been fortunate to have been honored by the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, the National Breast Cancer Awareness Month Board of Sponsors in Washington, D.C, and received both NABCO’s” Celebrate Life Award” and SELF Magazine’s “Creative Initiatives Award.” I’m also proud of my “Paws of Fame” award which I received for my commitment to animals worldwide, specifically the protection of endangered species such as elephants and rhino. As such, animals always make an appearance in my writings.
Ironically perhaps, due to my dedication in the fight against breast cancer, my wife succumbed to the disease in 2006. In striving for a hopeful future for my two young sons, and not wishing for them to be raised by surrogates during this challenging period, I retired from the record industry. Now bound to our Los Angeles home as Mr. Mom, I was another step closer to becoming an author. And as a man needing to do something of substance, to have the people in my life know I love and support them, and to do something within my power to make things just a little better for being a part of it, I began to write.
As I had reached a new point in my life, I took on the task of showing the world a snapshot of my metaphorical backyard. It has been my journey of truth telling – but with a Southern African accent. I’ve created a world in ‘The Zebra Affaire’ that tells the truth of my homeland via the freedom that fiction provides—the theme being a mixed-race romance under the oppressive 1970’s apartheid racist regime, and a broader look at the travails of Africa; a topic that concerns me greatly. And in seeing where South Africa has been – whether it is in choosing to follow the rules regardless of how nonsensical or cruel they might be, or to challenge the system, we may see a piece of ourselves as well. I’ve tried to put human faces and hearts into my pages, and as a reader we follow Elsa and Stanwell’s story; their loves, trials, conflicts, and it is an incredible story of the human condition as it endures some of the most unspeakable horrors.
When asked to compare my career in the music industry to that of an author, my response is that I’ve always been an integral part of the creative process, and had the privilege of working hand-in-hand with remarkably talented individuals. But my role was to enable, nurture and support others. But writing ‘The Zebra Affaire’ novel, I was finally the sole creator. It’s given me a true appreciation of the solitary challenges of the creative process.
However, my single greatest regret of my storied record business career is that I never wrote a song. So, when pushed to explain this lapse, I have to admit it wasn’t for lack of trying, but I couldn’t get beyond writing down a catchy song title. It’s sobering to think of ‘The Zebra Affaire’ as the successful debut novel of a frustrated, wannabe songwriter. But that’s the truth. And what I was unable to express in a three-minute melody, has evolved instead into 350 pages of historical fiction. There’s such elegance and creativity needed to condense a big idea into a song. I really do admire the songwriter’s craft. However, I needed 85,000 more words—none that rhymed—to tell my story.
I’ve co-authored a subsequent book, “Undercover with Mandela’s Spies” which is a best seller in the Southern Hemisphere, and I also enjoy ghostwriting the memoirs of others. I have found we all have interesting stories to tell, and it’s satisfying helping others get their stories onto the printed page.
Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?
As a child, I was very slow at reading. It was a struggle so I feigned disinterest. Fortunately, my grandmother noticed my innate curiosity, and a personal pathology where I refused to do something—unless I could do it properly. So, she “bribed” me with Superman, Batman and Archie comic books. My step-mother was appalled. She was convinced the comics were, to quote, “rubbish and would rot my brain.” Granny’s wisdom prevailed, believing the comics would only prime my interest in reading, and stimulate a hunger for more substantial writings.
It worked! By my early teens I had read substantial historical fiction works by Leon Uris (Exodus, Mila 18), Herman Wouk (Winds of War), John Le Carre (The Spy Who Came in from the Cold), and Irving Stone (The Agony and the Ecstasy). Now I am a published author. I wish my grandmother had lived to read my work. But the most important lesson I learned is that there is not a specific, correct way to accomplish something; and that it is okay to choose one’s own pace and path.
Can you tell us about a time you’ve had to pivot?
My father was wise. He had had his challenges but took inspiration from the notion that “every cloud has a silver lining.” He believed, and his success in life was proof positive and made me a believer in this philosophy.
My story is not unique. Most of us have been frustrated in the workplace. I was in a senior management role at the PolyGram headquarters in New York, responsible for a creative/marketing division. However, the leadership had its eye on entering the motion picture industry and was ignoring our core business, producing and marketing music. I found myself in a state of stasis, unable to make progress on the deals I was developing.
That’s when I began producing my metaphorical ‘apple’. Whenever I hit a corporate roadblock, I would burnish this ‘apple’ – knowing it was under my dominion, and that no other permissions or approvals were required. Compared to the mega-deals I was developing, this ‘apple’ was a small project. But it was mine, and when I worked on it (with the passion of a favorite hobby, I might add), I felt the burden of frustration lift. Significantly, I felt momentum. That I was no longer stuck.
My ‘apple’ was a benefit album called “Say What You Want” by Artists for Rock the Vote. With Rock the Vote as partner, we marketed it under the banner ‘Censorship is a Serious Joke’ with the help of artists such as Tears for Fears, Cinderella, The Soup Dragons, Michelle Shocked, and John Mayall (his “Mr. Censor Man” is terrific).
Result? Besides building freedom of speech awareness, the enrollment of young voters increased. And, “Say What You Want” became the first release of my own record label that was financed and distributed by PolyGram, and that I subsequently moved to Los Angeles to run it.
Those dark clouds, the visit from the authoritarian Bureau for State Security (BOSS) officers in long ago South Africa, and the disinterest from corporate management were a direct line to the silver lining, the birth of the Hammer & Lace record label. I have such satisfaction from the good works we accomplished by finding that exquisite balance between creative need, commercial need, and community need. Finding that win-win-win proposition was the purest experience of my career. Hence, I don’t fear the dark clouds because I look for opportunity in them. By the way, I appreciate having this opportunity to share my experiences with you and your readers. For those curious, the link to “The Zebra Affaire” book is https://www.amazon.com/gp/
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @markfinewriter
- Twitter: @MarkFine_author
- Youtube: youtube.com/c/MarkfineAuthor