The Sunday News
Simba Jemwa, Sunday Leisure Correspondent
EARLY, untimely deaths – and the questions and legacies left behind – from Ndux Malax, Solomon Skuza, Marko Sibanda, Fanyana Dube, John Chibadura, Leonard Dembo, Simon Chimbetu, James Chimombe, Tongai Moyo, Sam Mtukudzi, Prince Kudakwashe Musarurwa to Oliver Mtukudzi; the list is endless!
Mass mourning over celebrity deaths is not just a current-generation phenomenon – the Internet and social media only accelerate and amplify how fans process profound, visceral sorrow.
Years from now, the most earnest, intensely felt remembrances on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter – the ones reacting to an untimely, unexpected passing on of an icon like Dorothy Masuka, Cal_Vin, Dembo, Chibadura, Mtukudzi or Soul Jah Love – will serve as yellowed newspaper clippings once did: they’ll take us back to that historic, shared moment of gut-punching, breathtaking shock and sudden loss.
Bulawayo went into a state of paralysis when news filtered through that Cal_Vin had died! And when Dorothy Masuka passed on, her generation shook their heads in shock.
Ndux Malax died way too young for his legion of fans who, for a while felt the Kalanga rhumba genre could have died with him.
The same emotions were felt when Solomon Skuza left this world. Nambians and all of their ilk, young and old, are today still mourning their loss: Christopher Shoko, an artiste who revealed to the world the melody that is the Nambyan language.
Who did you text when Prince Musarurwa died? Where were you when Sam Mtukudzi had an accident? Did you, like many devastated fans, flock to Harare after you heard the news? Which Bhundu Boys song did you play over and over again after Biggie Tembo’s body was found? Do you (or a parent) have a story about System Tazvida’s last day?
Revisiting these memories again and again (and we do) feels traumatic, and the most sensational details still shock decades later.
But there’s a more expansive, alternate history component at work, too, imagining what these legends might have created had they lived, and how their absence has shaped the music and popular culture that followed.
Most cliches begin as essential truths: Yes, the artistes featured and remembered here are gone – but they are never forgotten.
Music for the most part survives the ages, progressing through time and entertaining generations after generations – timeless even! Over the years, Zimbabwe has lost many an artiste who were hugely popular and influential performers.
Their deaths to many fans have felt like music has died, many wondering if they would ever have the privilege to be entertained by quality entertainers as their favoured.
Many of these deceased artistes were amazing story tellers, using their lyrics to tell stories of society’s yesterday, today and sometimes prophesying tomorrow! Remember Marko Sibanda and his hit songs Matsotsi Haagerane and Jambanja PaHotera which showcased his story telling prowess.
The songs were singularly humorous yet oh so poignant.
Then along came Skuza! And boy did he tell them well! The man came back from the armed struggle and produced a hit single, Banolila, which sold over 75 000 copies.
His 1990 album, Love and Scandals, was a commercial and critical success, due to its political content regarding the Willowgate Scandal of the time.
In one song, he asked: “how can someone buy a car and sell it again?” In another, he sings of the love of his life leaving him for “a guy who owns a Cressida”, referring to the Toyota Cressidas assembled at Willowvale.
It was this album that earned him the nickname Jah Solo!
What of Fanyana Dube, that sax playing, often love-lorn poet who overcame blindness to become one of the best in the game.
He sang, played that heart wrenching of musical instruments and music loved him.
And sometimes the death of an artiste is more painful – if ever pain caused by loss is even quantifiable – if the deceased is a young artiste with a lifetime of bringing joy and happiness to music fans ahead of them.
Sam Mtukudzi was 22 when he died in a car crash 11 years ago. Prince Musarurwa was 32, and System Tazvida was 31 when they lost their lives.
All three of these young men died a while ago but like ghosts in the night, their music resonates today as it did fresh from the studio back then.
Over time, mostly because of their obvious talent and the quality of their music, they have become such outsize cultural figures, that it’s almost difficult to imagine a world in which their lives were not snatched away.
It is always difficult to determine the impact of death on culture.
These days, songs by the recently deceased shoot to the top of streaming services as fans dole their grief out on social media.
These moments generally dissipate as the next Big News item breaks. And even though he was a pioneering figure in early sungura, it’s entirely possible that it might have happened to Tazvida — and his bandmates — too.
But these and other artistes’ deaths remain seared into the Zimbabwean consciousness thanks to popular songs they released and their power as social commentators.
It is difficult not to wonder if by creating the song Chitekete, Dembo single-handedly elevated a moment that would have been lost — or at least dulled — to the annals of music history into “the day the music died,” something we collectively “remember.”
While the creation story behind a song that became a myth sure sounds like a myth — the idea of one of sungura music’s most popular songs suddenly appearing in one’s head might taste sweet but is a little tough to swallow — it’s an intoxicating one that music fans in general want to believe; it makes the whole enterprise feel bigger and more important than it is.
And perhaps that is the most telling thing about these artistes’ short lives. One wonders if Dembo, a groundbreaking musician, would have tried his hand at modern music and affected the groundswell in modern entrainment spots, and others wonder if his career would have been so long and varied that he would have performed with modern musicians such as Alick Macheso. Maybe he would have cut a track with Mbeu and Killer T, a la Oliver Mtukudzi.
But legacies get complicated with time.
These deaths left space for mythologizing, and as many a word has been written dutifully, journalists have served as authors to myth that are now forever preserved in the hearts of many for being “culturally, historically, or artistically significant.”
And their music still lives on – quiet, subtle and often heartbreaking whispers from the grave. — @RealSimbaJemwa
