Coloured Stone – Koonibba Rock (1985).

When Koonibba Rock landed in 1985, it didn’t just introduce Coloured Stone to the world—it carved out a new, unapologetically Aboriginal space in Australian rock. This wasn’t a token record, a passing curiosity, or some anthropological footnote. This was the sound of a band rooted deep in culture, fluent in rock ‘n’ roll, reggae, and soul, and fully committed to telling their story on their terms.

Formed in the South Australian community of Koonibba Mission by singer-songwriter-guitarist Bunna Lawrie, Coloured Stone fused driving guitars and funky grooves with lyrics that carried both celebration and challenge. The track “No More Boomerang” is pure joy—a stomping, good-time anthem that’s equal parts dancefloor invitation and hometown tribute. It’s a song that can light up a pub crowd or a community hall with the same electric charge.

But just when you’re settling into the party, the band hits you with the other side of the coin. “Black Boy” is the album’s lightning bolt—a reggae-infused call to pride and self-belief that resonated far beyond the Indigenous community. In a decade when mainstream Australia often refused to see Aboriginal excellence, Coloured Stone put it on wax and beamed it across the airwaves. Its message—“Don’t be discouraged by the things they say”—wasn’t just a lyric, it was armour.

Musically, Koonibba Rock is anything but one-note. There’s the sly funk of “Dancing in the Moonlight,” the breezy, island-tinged rhythms of “Kapi Pulka,” and the straight-up rock chops that pop up throughout. Lawrie’s guitar playing is nimble without being flashy, and the rhythm section locks into grooves that feel effortless but land with real punch. The reggae influence—uncommon in Aussie rock at the time—adds an undercurrent of warmth and sway, a musical nod to the global struggle and solidarity of First Nations peoples.

The magic of this debut lies in its balance. Coloured Stone could put their foot down hard on protest without losing the party. They could sing about racism, land rights, and stolen culture in the same breath as celebrating community, love, and connection to country. They didn’t compartmentalise—because life doesn’t.

What matters is that it gave a new generation of Aboriginal musicians a blueprint: you can be rooted in your mob’s history, speak hard truths, and still make music that gets the whole room moving.

Nearly 40 years on, these songs still carry the same energy and urgency. This is more than a debut album—it’s a community gathering, a protest march, and a Saturday night dance all rolled into one.