Posted: 2024-10-11 23:40:02

Michael Hogan strums the strings of his electric guitar, letting the desert wind carry his voice away.

The musician lives in Blackstone, about 1,700 kilometres north-east of Perth and just 70km west of the Surveyor General's corner, where the borders of WA, SA and the NT meet.

A bearded Aboriginal man in a beanie and dot art t-shirt sits playing guitar outside a blue shed.

Michael Hogan is one of a growing number of desert reggae musicians across the Ngaanyatjarra Lands. (ABC Goldfields-Esperance: Emily Smith)

If Central Australia has a soundtrack, it would be the brassy tones of reggae.

The genre's proliferation among local bands and solo acts saw desert reggae emerge as a subgenre, capturing the sounds emerging in the outback.

But, years before, on his primary school's playground, then eight-year-old rock fan Michael Hogan was already dreaming of a music career.

"I grabbed a stick, and I was singing away, dreaming I'd be a lead singer," he says.

The sound of country

Hogan now tours across the region with his band, the Daylight Reggae.

But stepping on stage still makes his legs shake.

"I feel scared for maybe 10 seconds, then I feel proud for what I'm doing, for myself, my community," Hogan says.

A composite picture showing a foot, close up of hand playing a guitar and a concert.

Now its own subgenre, desert reggae is popular across the isolated desert communities. (ABC Goldfields-Esperance: Emily Smith/ Supplied: NG Media)

He relies on familiar faces in the crowd to boost his confidence: friends, family and neighbours who dance, sing, and sometimes cry to his music.

His lyrics are in English, Pitjantjarra and Ngaanyatjarra, the languages of his ancestors — with local crowds often singing along.

"Sometimes when you sing in language, it's like you are singing to your people," he says.

A mural showing the symbol of the town: two goannas staring at each other.

Hogan says reggae can be a bridge between Aboriginal and Western modes of storytelling. (ABC Goldfields-Esperance: Emily Smith)

"I just tell them: I'm singing about my home, our grandfathers' land, our grandmothers' land."

Hogan believes desert reggae keeps culture strong "both ways", merging Western and Aboriginal modes of storytelling.

The good times and the bad times

Singing the story of a community to its members means celebrating its strength, but also warning them about threats.

A view of remote community with red dirt streets, wire fence, water tank, trees.

The Moonlight Reggae band has its roots in Wanarn, another of the region's small communities. (ABC Goldfields: Giulia Bertoglio)

Fellow musician Isaac Bates Jr is the lead singer of Wanarn's Moonlight reggae band.

Across the Ngaanyatjarra Lands, a region about the size of the UK covering WA's far northern Goldfields, the scattered communities have plenty in common.

"Music is important for the Ngaanyatjarra people. It brings families and friends together," Bates Jr says.

Close up of a white cloud in a dark sky.

The musicians sing about everything from social issues to the desert landscape and weather. (ABC Goldfields: Giulia Bertoglio)

His band's repertoire includes songs about country and songs about prison and drugs.

Bates Jr hopes these lyrics will make his people reflect and "stop them going to jail".

"My song is like a message to everyone," he says.

Serious Aboriginal man wearing grey beanie, blue and green  striped tee, beard, shoulder-length hair, in front colorful wall.

Isaac Bates says music has the power to change.  (ABC Goldfields: Giulia Bertoglio)

Music has power to 'change'

And it's the young people in his communities that Isaac Bates junior wants to reach with his music.

He sees too many teenagers "sitting around at home, doing nothing", drifting off the right path.

"I just grab them by the hand saying, 'come on, get up,'" he smiles.

"They change, you know, when they get onto music, they change."

Learning to sing was a turning point for sixteen-year-old Keith Barney, who joined the Moonlight Reggae band.

"I used to shame … when it came to music, I changed," he says.

"It makes you really excited, really proud. It's like football, you know: when you are happy, people shout."

Serious Aboriginal man with rasta and a slightly smiling Aboriginal teen standing at the door. Both wear grey hoodie and jacket.

Keith Barney (right) says joining Moonlight Reggae was life-changing. (ABC Goldfields: Giulia Bertoglio)

Future voices rising strong

When he talks, Michael Hogan's voice is no more than a whisper, but when he sings, it's powerful.

Like other desert musicians, reggae helped him find his voice.

He's using it to inspire the next generation, starting from his young son, who sings and taps all the time.

Aboriginal man sitting on a plastic chair and playing an electric guitar on his house's veranda.

Hogan hopes to pass on his musical gifts to his son. (ABC Goldfields-Esperance: Emily Smith)

Hogan says his son "has the voice, has the energy", but he just has to learn to use it well.

"The future for my son and me is to keep playing music together," he says.

"I'm going to mentor my son. When he needs me, I'll help him".

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