Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article contains images and names of people who have died.
In May 1981, singer-songwriter Shane Howard was unwell.
Between late nights touring Victoria relentlessly with his band Goanna and early mornings helping to raise his young family, he'd ended up "physically debilitated".
On doctor's orders, Howard took a break. He travelled to Adelaide, boarded the Ghan, and headed to Uluru to camp for a while.
"I guess I went looking to [see] if Indigenous culture was still being practised, was language still being spoken," he said.
"… because growing up in south-west Victoria, all we saw around us in those days was the wreckage and the decimation of Aboriginal people from the colonial imposition."
The first day at Uluru, Howard wrote some lyrics: "Out here, nothing changes, not in a hurry anyway, you can feel the endlessness with the coming of the light of day."
Soon after he saw a woman posting a notice on the campground shower block, advertising an "inma" being held on the other side of Uluru.
She explained it was a corroboree — an Indigenous song and dance ceremony — and invited Howard along, and he dutifully made the long walk to the other side of the rock, arriving about sunset.
"And at that moment, where the dancers are dancing in the firelight with the white body paint as the full moon rises over the back of Uluru … it profoundly affected me and changed my life," Howard said.
Signs of change visible
Howard returned to his home in Geelong with the bulk of a song called Solid Rock, which he quickly finished and took to his Goanna band mates.
The song addressed the colonisation and Indigenous dispossession of Australia in increasingly outraged lyrics, peaking with the accusatory line in the third verse, "white man, white law, white gun".
Goanna recorded a demo produced by Kerryn Tolhurst of The Dingoes in July 1981, which Howard said contained "all the elements" — that propulsive beat, the insistent guitar riff and an anthemic chorus.
Solid Rock quickly became a highlight in Goanna's set list.
"As soon as we started playing it live, we could feel the energy in it," Howard said.
The band's profile rose and in September 1981, Goanna was hand-picked to support American folk icon James Taylor on his Australian tour.
"When we got to Adelaide, which was the last show of the tour … at the newly minted Festival Hall … we performed the song [to finish the set], and we got a standing ovation," Howard said.
"That's kind of unheard of for a support act, but I remember in that moment thinking maybe our generation was ready for change."
Solid Rock statement on land rights
Goanna had previously released an EP through EMI Music but was without a record deal.
The buzz of the James Taylor tour attracted major label attention, and Goanna signed with Warner Music offshoot WEA Australia in February before heading into the studio to start work on their debut album Spirit Of Place.
"I felt really strongly that [Solid Rock] should be our first statement as a band," Howard said.
"It felt like an important and appropriate thing to say and to put out there.
"The record company didn't want to release it — they wanted to release Cheatin' Man as the first single, but I stuck to my guns.
"Eventually, they gave in — the head of the company [Paul Turner] said to me, 'Shane, the poets, the writers, the painters, the artists … they paint, write it, sing it and 15 years later, it's legislation'.
"In retrospect, he was very astute and very brave, and I'm eternally grateful for his support."
Solid Rock was launched as a single in September 1982. The band made a memorable appearance on Countdown, performing in front of a picture of Uluru, and the song rocketed up the Kent Music Report singles chart.
It was all over commercial radio and even made it into the Billboard charts in the US.
Howard is keen to point out that it wasn't the first song to talk about land rights.
He cites Ted Egan's Gurindji Blues — a tale of Vincent Lingiari and the Wave Hill walk-off that predates Kev Carmody and Paul Kelly's From Little Things, Big Things Grow by almost two decades — and US band Paul Revere & The Raiders' cover of Indian Reservation.
But it was the first Australian rock song about Indigenous rights and colonisation to hit the Aussie charts and mainstream radio in such a big way.
"I'd been home from Melbourne visiting mum and dad in Warrnambool, and I was heading up to the Grampians to do some writing … and I had the radio on in the car … and all of a sudden Solid Rock came on," Howard said.
"It was the first time I heard it over the radio and it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating."
Initial backlash from some
The song and its message attracted a wide range of responses.
"[To the people] in the pubs, it was probably just a great rock song, but it threw you headfirst into some very real and difficult conversations with people," Howard said.
He recalled a run-in with a taxi driver in Alice Springs who proudly declared how much he hated Solid Rock, telling Howard as he exited the cab that he hoped he never ran into him again.
There was even some initial backlash from Indigenous people.
"Archie Roach told a beautiful story about the first time he saw Goanna on Countdown performing the song, and all these fellas from the Charcoal Lane days going: 'What would these whitefellas know about anything?'" Howard said.
"An old fella said to them: 'Hang on, when was the last time you had a whitefella sticking up for us blackfellas?'
"And Archie says, 'We couldn't think of one'."
Howard said he could see the song reaching Aboriginal people as Goanna toured the country.
"Everywhere we went … there'd be a group of Aboriginal people come to the gig.
"A lot of the time, we'd have to sneak them in because of 'the dress code' — they would be prohibited, even if they're in a three-piece suit [so], we'd have to sneak them into the band room or backstage.
"The racism was real everywhere you went."
Howard said everywhere they went they'd be up all night talking with the Indigenous people.
"[They'd] be telling you the stories of what had happened in their country.
"It got to a point where I could no longer be proud of the country I lived in.
"I was ashamed of this country and how we had come to occupy it. It was totally without any honour."
The success of Solid Rock and its album Spirit Of Place catapulted Goanna to national and international acclaim, but Howard found himself "caught between worlds".
"It was a hard place to be.
"At the same time that Goanna has national success, and we're being feted by the commercial music industry and winning awards and whatever, you're visiting Aboriginal people's houses wherever you travel and see people living really, really hard lives with no money, and Aboriginal people are copping the brunt of racism every day, all the time.
"But Archie [Roach] and I talked about the fact that we had to build bridges to each other so that our children and our grandchildren could cross them freely."
'He changed my life'
For Yorta Yorta musician Scott Darlow, Solid Rock is not only his favourite song, it's the song that changed his life.
"This is the first time any of our family ever heard a song about us on mainstream commercial radio — that's massive," he said.
"It still gives me goosebumps when I read that [third verse] — it's so beautifully written … but then also storytelling-wise, it just smashes you.
"I can't believe radio played that song in 1982."
Darlow was working as a musician-educator going into schools to talk about Indigenous culture when he recorded his own version of Solid Rock.
He reached out to Howard to get his blessing, telling the songwriter that "if you don't like it, I won't release it because you're my hero and it's my favourite song of all time".
"He was like, 'Yeah, I really liked it. The guitars sound awesome'," Darlow said.
Empowered by the feedback, he asked Howard to sing on the song with him.
"I didn't think he'd say yes because at the time, I was unsigned — I was just some dickhead from Shepparton."
Darlow's version, featuring Howard, became a mainstay on commercial radio in the summer of 2015-16. Howard even joined Darlow live on Triple M, travelling from Warrnambool to Melbourne on his birthday to perform the song.
"Michael Gudinski happened to be there that day, and long story short, I signed a publishing deal, got a record deal and got a better booking agent, all because Shane Howard was unbelievably generous and kind," Darlow said.
"He's the best bloke ever. He changed my life."
'Most important song ever written'
Darlow's cover of Solid Rock is one of the dozens of versions of the song.
Howard is hesitant to pick a favourite but he's chuffed about quite a few, such as the heavy-metal version by Dead Kelly, a spoken-word version Joan Baez did live in Melbourne, and a tape of the song he received in the 1980s performed by a Cherokee Nation group.
He's also quick to highlight a cover by South Australian-based artist Loren Kate, which Howard called "the most beautiful, delicate, very feminine version of the song".
Kate said that feedback made her "tremble and cry".
"He's on a pedestal for me. I think it's one of the most important songs ever written."
She donated her cover as a fundraiser to the Kimberley World Heritage project, having recorded it initially as a love letter to the song.
"As a 10-year-old in the early '90s, I remember sitting religiously in front of Rage and watching this song and wanting to be a Goanna backup singer, singing into my hairbrush and wanting big hair like [Marcia Howard and Rose Bygrave]," Kate said.
"But later on … I kept listening to it and it inspired me to look up what 'genocide' meant, and then it made me look further into Aboriginal land rights.
"It's just such an important song — it's education for white people.
"I really believe it changed the world. It changed me; I expanded my knowledge and my truth-seeking."
Song a 'journey of discovery'
Troy Cassar-Daley has come a long way since playing Solid Rock as a gig closer in a band in Grafton called Little Eagle.
"For me and my cousin, who were obviously Indigenous kids, it really made us feel like it's OK to talk about Indigenous issues in our songwriting," the 37-time Golden Guitar Award winner said.
"And when we heard the kids singing it back, I [remember looking] at my cousin and I said, 'I think this is amazing. We're spreading a message of truth'."
Cassar-Daley said the song sent a lot of people on a journey of discovery.
"It actually educated people as it was being played, and that's serious. That, to me, is one of the best things a song can ever do."
Like many kids, Cassar-Daley remembers watching Goanna on Countdown and becoming a huge fan, buying Spirit Of Place and the singles, and then seeing the band live when they played the Saraton Theatre in Grafton.
But Solid Rock was more than a song — it was also a talking point in the town's Indigenous community.
"The discussions around our table were, 'These fellas are so game to mention this stuff in a song — and they're not an Indigenous band'," he said.
"We just thought it took a lot of courage for any artist to come out and talk like this in that day and age."
Cassar-Daley still plays Solid Rock, performing it recently at a gig at Uluru, and he's passed his love of Goanna on to his kids.
"My son has waited until he's 24 to get his first tattoo … and it's the plane off the cover of Spirit Of Place.
"He sends through this text to his mother and me, and he said, 'I've got my first tatt. I hope you like it'.
"I nearly cried."
'Song came through me'
Goanna released a follow-up album to Spirit Of Place — Oceania — in 1985, but by early 1987 they had sputtered out before the members went off to their various solo careers.
The band reformed in 1998, releasing their third album Spirit Returns, as part of a short-lived reunion.
But the legacy of Solid Rock has endured, and Goanna has reunited this year for one last tour to mark 40 years of the song and its album Spirit Of Place.
"I'm really, really proud of it," Howard said of the song and its legacy.
"Bobby Jabanungga, who's passed now [and who] played didj with us for some time in '83, he said to me, 'Shane, you went out there to that country, and that spirit from that place has been following you around'.
"In many ways, that song came through me and not from me. It's a great honour and a great privilege.
"My mother [when] she was in her late 80s, I asked her, 'How do you deal with mortality?'
"And she said, 'I just tried to be useful'.
"So I hope Solid Rock was useful."
