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BY RICHARD CHIROMBO
Their music still holds the stage today, a sure sign of the nation’s
satisfaction with their unconventional minds and mastery in phrasing.
Some of them arrived onto the music scene at a time the national bar
line had regimented Western music into a stable series of some two,
three or five beats to measure, some of which were being fused into
Malawian music.
To a large extent, both colonialism and mono-partism never injured the
traditional local beat.
The beauty about Malawi’s veteran musicians like the late Allan
Namoko, Stonard Lungu, Michael Yekha, Daniel Kachamba, Robert
Fumulani, among others, is that they knew how to ignore the bar line.
The effect was breath-taking: Western music never impeded the flow of
local music but was merely a convenience, not a mathematical division
or equation for success.
Take, for instance, the late Kachamba or Fumulani. They might never
have graced the walls of music schools as a first call towards the
journey we call music, yet one notes the rich harmony in their music
and resourcefulness.
That is why we still dance to Khunju Reggae, Bambo a Tereza,
Mbambande, Mlendo ndimame Luo, Baba Mika, Chisoni, Ulendo Wanga,
Ndikakwatira kuMangoni, and yearn for more. It is the powerful
effects, suspended dissonant notes and orthodox arrangement that
strike the chord of sweet memories in us.
Theirs was probably the pioneering generation of local music, diving
in unnavigated waters and, yet, leaving prints on our
entertainment-tuned minds. A generation that could arrange a series of
suspensions in different voices, each of whose resolutions intensified
the emotional effect of the whole, while lending nobility, authority
and unmistakable force to the rhythm at a time of simple technologies.
Well before computers took over the natural sound of the banjo,
guitar, and visekese. Of course, some music experts have questioned
the music of the likes of Namoko, arguing that the legendary
musician’s instruments sound more Afro-jazz than Tchopish (as in
Tchopa) to be Malawian.
When the computers took over, rendering guitar wizardly a pastime, it
was as if most veteran musicians knew what was coming and never wanted
to see ‘real’ music die. Most died before getting a full dose of the
corruption that is called local music. Off they went, their music
uncorrupted.
However, the most remarkable thing about them is how they died in,
mostly, a state that never befitted their status in society. In life,
it was their talent that stood out, with the likes of Kachamba being
bestowed the coveted Doctorate of music accolade. In death, it is
their abject poverty that strikes us.
Should we say the voice of conscience is never loud in our nation? If
not, why does history keep on repeating itself? Music scholars agree
that in the keyboard, for instance, you have everything to do with the
perfection of harmony. Why is it that those who play the keyboard are
starved of real life harmony? Why don’t they live the life of a
keyboard?
When Namoko died in abject poverty, people thought it was the end of
neglect over music greats. But, until recently, his grave lay
unattended to. At least until Zodiac Broadcasting Station remembered
the ‘Lameck’ star.
Other concerned citizens, the likes of human rights activist Undule
Mwakasungula and lawyer Ralph Kasambala have also taken to the
sympathetic road, remembering national anthem composer Michael Sauka.
A well-paved path now marks the road once an abode of unkempt grass
and mice.
The truth is that it is all too late; the dead never take a walk up
their graves to appreciate how impressive the sorroundings are.
The world will judge us by the way we take care of our living greats
while, at the same time, appreciating how we honour the living-dead.
Because their music still lives, and they live in us (our hearts), the
Namokos, Kachambas, Yekhas are the living dead.
And, then, we have the living-living. Those who still live, and their
music lives in us, too.
These include the likes of Guides Chalamanda of the Line fame, Maurice
Maulidi of Ulendo Wanga, Batson Kapalamula, George Khombe, Herbert
Makuluni and Lommie Mafunga.
For his old age and music prowess, financial constraints stood in the
way between Chalamanda and the studio for his debut album. Thanks to
Edgar ndi Davis, the acoustic-guitar addict has shed off the tag that
for decades stood more galling than the sound of his single playing on
radio.
For Maulidi, society continues to treat him unfairly through
non-payment of loyalties. Having played with the Songani Strings Band
and dedicated more of his 67 years to music, the veteran musician
feels it is not worth it to be a musician in Malawi.
Like Chalamanda, he looks forward to the day when he will double as a
living-living and living-dead when the time comes. This comes through
album production.
“Money is the biggest problem,” Maulidi sums up what, to most
musicians, is an everyday reality.
Memories are often sweet. It’s the present that mostly pains.
“The way Malawians pretend everything is okay with old-time musicians,
yet poverty has become a way of life; it pains,” chips in Lommie
Mafunga, one of the surviving musicians.
Mafunga, of the Baba Mika fame, a song that once took Malawi
Broadcasting Corporation’s (MBC) airwaves by storm between the late
1980s and early 1990s, is no stranger to Malawi music.
He considers himself lucky to have brushed shoulders against the likes
of Allan Namoko. Brushing shoulders is one thing; it is beating the
greats at their own game every musician dreams of.
Mafunga and his Tinyade Sounds did just that on April 12, 1992 during
a festival of local acoustic bands. The pint-sized musician scooped
first position, beating the likes of Namoko. As a result, four of his
songs captivated a British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) crew it took
them to London.
The songs are: Kumwalira Kwababa, Chiwerewere, Miseche, Munthu Sakondwera.
It did not end there for the Nchalo, Chikwawa-born musician who looks
younger than a product of June 27, 1968. On October 15, 1994, while
working for SUCOMA’s Nchalo factory, an entourage of music production
experts from London came looking for him and his Tinyade Sounds. They
wanted him to become part of a Malawi video film on travel, alongside
Namoko and Chivu River Jazz Band, Fumbi Jazz Band, Ndingo Brothers
Band.
The crew, led by George Clever, captured the Ndingo Brothers in
Ndirande Township, used children pushing bicycle rims as background
for Namoko’s music. So impressed were members of the crew they
promised to source band equipment for Mafunga in the United Kingdom.
“I thank the then District Commissioner for Chikwawa (Chikhwawa)
district, Mr. Dakamao and the then culture and sports organizer for
the district, Charles Chibwana. They did a commendable job in trying
to truck me down. This was a life-time chance and my music even played
on BBC radio,” said Mafunga.
For that, he received 85 British Pounds which translated into K4, 095,
according to Mafunga.
At this point, his smile disappears as fast as it came. He dives
straight into present realities.
“It will take time for Malawians to appreciate old-time musicians;
people who shaped the face of current music. We have lost respect for
our music veterans and now look up to Western musicians for
inspiration. Very bad,” said Mafunga.
He has caught the veteran musicians’ bag, too; the bag of poverty.
Like Chalamanda before 2009, and Maulidi now, Mafunga has no music
album to call his own. A patch of singles here and there is all he
calls a measure of greatness. What is more?
“I am not even married. A wife needs food to eat, clothes to wear, and
may even get bored with a routine meal of sun-dried fish. Children, on
the other hand, need uniforms to wear to school, school fees, and
clothes. I can’t afford all these because I need band equipment for
myself. Life is tough,” said Mafunga.
He added: “For the past three years, I have been surviving on Chimtuwi
for lunch.”
His hope in releasing an album seems to have been realized last year,
when he recorded Bwato Ndimoyo album. It has 10 songs including Munthu
Sakondwera, a rendition of Baba Mika, Zikomo Makolo, Safunsa,
Mebzyala, Tichezera, Mwana Wamasiye, Dziko, and Serena.
While the album- whose title truck warns Lower Shire people to move
upland from their flood-prone habitats- was released last year,
Mafunga has been failing to source K5, 000 for covers. He has failed
to utilize an opportunity O.G. Issa offered to sell his music. Most
musicians struggle to reach this.
K5, 000 stands between him and the future; the old song for veteran musicians.
“The fear of dying poor keeps me going,” he said.
To the other veteran musicians, it is the hope that ‘tomorrow will be
fine’ that pushes them forward.
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