The ManicaPost
Moffat Mungazi Post Correspondent
TOMORROW (Saturday) marks exactly two years since Zimbabwe’s arguably foremost musician, Dr Oliver “Tuku” Mtukudzi breathed his last — oh, or is it sang his last (because the man was sure to churn out a mega chart-topper as long as he lived — he had proved that times without number in his living years!). Tuku died on January 23, 2019 from a diabetes-related illness at a Harare clinic.
Boasting a hits-strewn discography of 67 studio albums spanning a four-decade eventful and glittering career over his 66-year existence — which translates to roughly a music project annually — the “Wasakara” singer never seemed to get musically worn out.
The late national hero was a genuinely serious and outrageously talented musician whose compositions, transcending generations and creeds, touched and changed lives. And to think that we shall never get to hear that raspy voice making beautiful and meaningful new music again — with that signature inconsequential cough punctuating it— is tear-jerking. Too bad. So sad. But we will cry as we smile.
Although the Grim Reaper has robbed us, we are, however, not poorer, but left richer with the priceless music legacy he bequeathed us. A remarkable gift from the god of song of peerless distinction.
So endearing and enduring was his music that it would not just strike one’s eardrums – simply hear–but would attentively be listened to with gentle foot-tapping, head-nodding or finger-clicking in melodious tune. It would not be far-fetched, therefore, to suggest that a very bonafide music follower had a Tuku song on their playlist — mine being the inimitably timeless “Mabasa”; the best track, by my book, from the man.
His music catalogue carried a song for every occasion.
The teacher through music
A pioneer on many fronts, including spearheading arts development and championing women, girls as well as young people’s rights, Tuku’s exploits earned him the prestigious UNICEF regional goodwill ambassador for Southern and Eastern Africa role. He sought to speak to people through his music, which they could easily relate to because it mirrored their common place experiences.
Despite their entertaining nature, his songs also exuded didacticism. They simply taught people on many aspects of life. Or, rather, plenty learnt from them. Mellifluously pleasant on the ear, the compositions always carried deeply reflective meaning without the listener struggling to unpack the message and decode the sense.
Such songs as “Tsika Dzedu”, “Chinhambwe”, “Ninipa”, “Rurimi”, “Sandi Bonde”, to mention just these few, prove the teacher through music Mtukudzi was.
By his own admission, the Rirongere hit-maker was once quoted as telling the South African media: “Culturally, you don’t get to sing a song when you have nothing to say. That is how it is supposed to be. You lose the purpose of a song if it says nothing: you must have something to share with the people who are listening. A song is what you are talking about, adding instrumentation is just adding flavour.”
As one of his forthcoming albums at the time was being reviewed, he added: “The new album was quite interesting for me because I focused on people’s concerns. And I came to realise that what concerns most of us right now is that we are not complementing each other; we are competing. I felt this is a topic to talk about. We are all created not to compete, but complement each other. But because we are competing with each other, social ills like xenophobia come up. So the album is called “Concerns” (Hany’Ga). I am lifting my Zimbabwean flag. And my Zimbabwean flag represents all Zimbabweans . . . My flag represents everyone. When you are an artiste, you represent the people.”
Doing his songs in different languages, which tackled a multiplicity of themes, helped him have a cross-sectional and cosmopolitan appeal.
A cultural champion, icon
Not only did the celebrated hit-maker decorate his songs with sagacious lyrics, he also adorned himself with regalia which reflected his traditional background. His distinctive Katekwe dance on stage during live sets and the rich Korekore dialect in which he sometimes sang lend credence to this assertion.
“Mhee mhee atakwira mukaramba/akoromoka awa, atakwira mukaramba,”(“Mhee mhee” is the loud, distraught cry (mhere); “atakwira” is when one breathes their last!)he croons in Korekore in one of his classics, a dirge in honour of his late mother, Gogo Mtukudzi.
As his elephant totem (Nzou/Samanyanga) implies, Mtukudzi proudly blew the trumpet of his cultural anchorage from its tusk.
“We are coming from Zimbabwe where music is like food; you can have it for breakfast, lunch and supper . . . where we use music when we are lonely; oh, yes, where we use music when we are working like I am doing right now . . . you can find us singing all night at prayer or singing all day long at a wedding . . . where we come from we use music to defuse tension . . .” he enunciated to an appreciative audience during a live performance on the Japan Tour in 2013.
For his imperious efforts and sterling contribution to nation building through the mic it came as no surprise, therefore, that he was duly recognised and declared a national hero.
Another first for Tuku!
Humility personified
But Oliver was never one interested in these milestones. An unassuming singer of self-effacing demeanour, Mtukudzi was humble in every sense of the word. Despite his towering status, the lanky crooner lived what he sang in “Ninipa” — as musically elegant as he was, pampering himself with the opulence of self-aggrandizement was not his cup of tea. Even as he got promoted to glory, he kept his feet firmly on the ground, choosing his modest Madziwa rural home in Mashonaland Central as his final resting place.
He even paid homage to the industry’s fore bearers as the late musician-cum-actor, Safirio “Mukadota” Madzikatire and retorts rhetorically in one of his songs: “What is a hero?/What does it take to be a hero/Do you have to die to be a hero?/To me Safirio Madzikatire was a hero . . . a national hero.”
To his eternal credit, Tuku shrugged off the honorific title of “Zimbabwean music’s senior superstar” and yearned to be identified with the rest of the musicians.
A leader, difference maker
As the rule of thumb dictates, the Black Spirits frontman craved creating not followers, but more leaders in the game like him. He was a torchbearer who sought to impact the lives of those around him positively. So much profound was his influence on a whole generation of musicians that the “Tsimba Itsoka” composer must have left indelible footprints in the hearts and minds of many like Jah Prayzah and Killer T who did impromptu tribute tracks in his honour even though their music paths had never materially crossed in the recording booth. When the musically poor —so to speak — cried, Tuku wept with them. And now that he is no longer around, we are all mourning him.
Immortality
It is said “To live in the hearts of the people is truly being a hero.” That is what Dr Oliver “Tuku” Mtukudzi was exactly–two years on after his death, he continues to live in our hearts. A true hero.
Again, it is said heroes do not die but just take rest as legends.
Continue resting in power, Samanyanga.
Pangu pese ndasakura, ndazunza . . . ndima ndapedza!
