Memories of Oliver Mtukudzi

World renowned Zimbabwean musician, Oliver Mtukudzi, who died on 23 January 2019 has been remembered by many across the globe this past fortnight in formal and informal ceremonies to mark his sad passing. Other than his music, his work and friendship with other musicians across the region stands out sharply to this day. Top on the list is his closeness to the other global icon, Hugh Masekela, the Afro Jazz maestro. Ironically enough, Tuku died on exactly the same day a year later than Hugh Masekela! It is said that the two musicians first met in an unusual way in the early 1980’s. At Masekela’s memorial in 2018, Mtukudzi recounts his first meeting with Masekela, “I was performing at this small night club, and this guy came unlawfully on my stage and started blowing his trumpet. I don’t like people who disturb my choreography … I was performing ‘Ziwere’ and I remember he played very well.” At the time, Mtukudzi did not know who the trumpeter was, but the two musicians were later formally introduced to each other, marking the start of a long friendship. “For over 30 years since I first discovered him, he never stopped to amaze me,” Masekela told the BBC in 2015. “Our synergy comes from the fact that we draw our sources and resources from heritage … We happen to come from the same rural beginnings, and as a result, we fall easily into each other’s music.” The two friends last performed together in Harare in 2017, and their last joint recording was of ‘Tapera’ – a down tempo guitar-trumpet conversation between the two greats. The song was from Masekela’s last album ‘No Borders’. Their passing saw an outpouring of tributes from around the globe, with many praising their musicianship and artistic effervescence. Tapera (we are getting depleted through dying) is a song about elderly men who constantly chase women who are much younger than them, dying from various diseases in the process. In his inaugural lecture held in September 2014 at the University of Johannesburg during the Annual Hugh Masekela Lecture, the Zimbabwean music icon praised Masekela thus: “Each time I meet Hugh, his music, his status as a legend and his accolades, have grown. But he as a person, his humanity, what we call in Shona “hunhu” or as you would say here “ubuntu bakhe” – remains the same. If you approach him as a celebrity, yes you get the celebrity, the man who is trying to deal with a fan – but I have seen over and over again the magic that happens when people approach him as another human being.” In 2003, Mtukudzi agreed to join a temporary regional group called Mahube which was directed by Steve Dyer. Mahube means ‘new dawn’ in Sotho and the group was a collaboration of 12 musicians from different groups from four countries. They played together fusing their art forms and toured many parts of the world. Oliver Mtukudzi did vocals, Suthukazi Arosi (vocals as well), award-winning singer and actress, Scorpion Madondo (on saxophone and flute), Malawian George Phiri (vocals, guitar), Bheki Khoza (guitar), Phinda Mtya (vocals), Barry van Zyl (drums), Feya Faku (trumpet, flugelhorn), Andile Yenana (piano, keyboard), Herbie Tsoaeli (bass guitar, double bass) and Tlale Makhene from Swaziland (percussion). On that album they do a touching rendition of Mtukudzi’s song Ndiwe Muroyi and Neria and nothing tells you that the musicians do not speak a single Shona word in their lives. They prove that music is an international language. Always generous, Mtukudzi says of the Malawian guitarist who he met at Mahube, “George was a great artist, he represented Malawi very well while I was representing Zimbabwe and it’s a pity we lost him.” In 2018, Tuku released a compilation album titled Abiyangu (My Colleagues in Kore-kore) that featured a number of Zimbabwean and African musicians, including Black Mambazo, Chama Girl, James Sakala, Tocky Vibes and Mathias Mhere, among others. Tuku met up with Ringo Madhlingozi in 2000 and the two remade Ringo’s hit-track Into Yami. On the track, Tuku sings some parts in Shona while Ringo does the Xhosa version yet this is just a song in which a man is asking his lover to come sit close to him. The song was an instant hit across the region as it carried the party and festive spirit. In Zimbabwe it was not easy to try and claim that you could say any new things about prominent musician Oliver Mtukudzi. He was public property. He made a total sixty seven albums by the time of his death, a feat unmatched by any other Zimbabwean singer, dead and alive. He had been around since the late 70’s and alongside Thomas Mapfumo, he had literally ‘ran other musicians out of town.’ His music is everywhere and there are as many Tuku-specialists as there are listeners. Anyone could contest your interpretation of what is now ‘Tuku music’ off the cuff in Harare, Gweru, Bulawayo … Oliver Mtukudzi music, especially the lyrics have an amazing ‘staying power.’ You hear his lyrics at the back of your mind long after you switch off the radio. You catch yourself singing a Tuku tune in the middle of a shower. One could work on several aspects of ‘Tuku lyrics’ in order to establish the source of their ‘staying power.’ Maybe it is the Zimbabwean sensibility. Tuku lyrics come from the heart of Zimbabwean soil and tree bark. Tuku wrings the Shona proverb or idiom and stays there like no other Zimbabwean singer. The idioms and proverbs scatter across his songs: Pangu pese ndasakura ndazunza (I have thoroughly done my part), Gudo guru peta muswe (The elder monkey must behave), Kugocha kunoda kwamai kwemwana kunodzima moto (The elders have given themselves the licence to err), Mave kuziva seri kwesadza kune usavi (You now know the deeper meaning of things) and many others. The trick is he does not go very far for wisdom where other singers plod and sweat and wail with abstract lines and thoughts. Tuku strikes you as ready-made. Maybe his other magic wand is his decision to stick relentlessly to simple pastoral Shona images. In one song he goes: “Usave mombe ndonda inozeza joki” (Don’t be the sickly ox that fears the plough) and “Gungunguwo, gunguwo rakapona nekuparapara vakomana, iya honde hoyere!” (O, the crow survives on striving) These are images that take the listener, willing or unwillingly, back to ‘the source.’ Mtukudzi selects very classic pastoral Zimbabwean images. He repeats an image over and over and it cooks like braai. Listening to Tuku music, you usually come face to face with images that reared you. You wallow in times and places that are long gone. He sings on and coughs, and sometimes you wonder whether he knows at all what he is doing to you! But then the man was always conscious that he is a singer and the humility comes home like a pigeon: “Basa rangu kufara/ basa rangu kutamba/ basa rangukushanda iwewe” (My job is akin to play but the truth is that I am working you to a required frenzy). If that is not enough, he goes: “Mese-mese munoziva gwenyambira ndichipangamazano wani?/ Ndichipangamazano wani?” (But I think you all know that an artist is an adviser.) However if you are naïve you might not realise that Tuku’s lyrics sometimes play hide and seek. You might even sing along joyously to a song that could be lampooning you. Often you see overdrunk revellers jiving and gyrating to the Tuku song which goes: “Mumwe wako kusaziva kuti chinodhakwa muviri hamuchina!” (Look, your overdrunk pal cannot realise that he has reached saturation point!”) But, more importantly, Tuku can go for layers of meaning. Listening to him can be a process of peeling a huge onion, going to a layer beneath a layer, beneath a layer. The recent ‘Zvauya sei’ remix could easily be a domestic song, advising family members not to fight. But considering the political polarisation in Zimbabwe, the following lyrics have something for every Zimbabwean: “Zvauya Seiko baba?/ inga tiri vanhu vamwe chete?/ mitupo yedu mimwe chete/ dunhu redu rimwe chete/ maitiro edu mamwe chete…/ (How did we come by this tragedy when we are one people, body and flesh?) The song ‘Bvuma’ also comes to mind. In the same polarised set-up the song ‘suffered’ a lot. To some people Tuku had finally taken a political side. But others thought this was an ordinary song about coming of age and admitting that the body is not a permanent thing. Critics came to the crossroads with that song. Some people turned that song into a new anthem. But some, rather dumbfounded and disappointed at their neighbours’ interpretation of the song, simply suspended it from their shelves only to play it much later with the help of pain-killers! Tuku did not seem to worry much about how his lyrics are taken. At least that is his ‘known’ stand. In a recent interview with The Herald of Zimbabwe he seemed, ironically, enticed: “It’s not a problem for people to say whatever they want or think about a song although it is a problem for people to make the interpretations basing them on a small part of the whole song.” And yet some people insisted that he should have declared his political position. Are you with us or with them, they ask. It is true that Zimbabweans can be very self-seeking if not downright narrow when it comes to politics. There is that temptation in a country whose politics are mired in ‘real issues.’ Maybe for now it is still safe to say Tuku is with Zimbabwe regardless of his private political opinion. He surely must have had a side. But in the arts, unlike in many other fields, it is still very possible to question that which you hold dear in order to love it ‘properly.’ It is also possible to criticise without having to be blatant. In the Shona traditions the sahwiras do that. And in one such mood Tuku sings: “Aiwa mapedzana pachenyu/ maroyana pachenyu imi/ (You people are honestly getting at each other and I will state it now). The older Zimbabweans who have followed Tuku for over twenty five years know that some of Tuku’s lyrics can be very sad, providing something called ‘sweet-pain.’ These fellows know some other people in their communities who would buy a mug of beer, sit somewhere solitary and play these songs in order to just cry. What else can you do with ‘Jerry’, ‘Rufu ndimadzongonyedze’, or “Dai ndine mukoma, ndainozvireva/ Dai ndinemukoma, hamaimbozviita/ dai ndine mukoma pano, ndainozvireva/Ho-here mukoma kani/ hohere mukoma/? It has not been easy for many Zimbabwean singers to come up with diverse lyrical varieties. Most of them specialise. But with Tuku you know that with every album there is a song for everybody. Maybe Zimbabweans now agree on the fact that Tuku was not only for them together but also belonged to people beyond the borders.