283: Sabhuku, by Jonah Sithole

Jonah Sithole (Zimbabwe)
Sabhuku (1995)
10 tracks, 70 minutes
YouTube

In this blog, we’ve looked and listened to some of Zimbabwe’s most joyous and danceable pop music in the forms of the jit of the Bhundu Boys and Biggie Tembo and the sungura of the Four Brothers. Those styles are guitar-based and heavily influenced by Cuban music (via the Congo and Kenya) and were – in their time – the music of the bars and beer halls of Harare. Today’s artist – a guitarist – had a great impact on those styles, but was also foundational in the creation of another most important Zimbabwean style.

We need to go back a little bit first, though. The mbira is the iconic instrument of Zimbabwe. A lamellophone, it is constructed from tongues of metal attached to a wooden frame, which are plucked with the thumbs and fingers in an interlocking pattern – first plucking a note with one hand and then the other. This way, the mbira creates wonderful rolling tunes that can go on indefinitely. When played acoustically, it is usually covered in cowrie shells (or bottle caps) whch shimmer and resonate to create a buzz when the tongues are plucked. It is very easy to ‘fall into’ the sound of the mbira, and its main historical purpose for the Shona people of Zimbabwe was to induce trance; mbira is said to talk to the ancestors and bring their spirits to commune with the living. As such, it is an incredibly important and powerful instrument.

During the colonial period, the music and esoteric powers of the mbira were seen as Satanic by British and later Rhodesian rulers, who banned its use. While the practice of mbira in spirit ceremonies persisted in an underground fashion, far fewer people learnt to play the instrument – especially for non-religious reasons – and the tradition began to die out.

That’s where Jonah Sithole comes in. Based in Harare, Sithole was a guitarist in soukous bands including the famous Lipopo Jazz Band, where he styled his playing on the great Congolese guitarist Franco. During his time with the Lipopo Jazz Band, however, he also began experimenting with his own style. He would translate traditional mbira pieces onto guitar, using the strings in the same interlocking manner as the tongues on the mbira. By playing in this manner in the context of the soukous band, Sithole became one of the main pioneers of mbira guitar. In doing so, the ancient and culturally iconic sounds of the mbira became a popular sound once again, and the (secular) tradition was carried on in the open, on the medium of guitar.

Sithole’s most famous work was made alongside the singer Thomas Mapfumo. Mapfumo’s music was a radical new genre called chimurenga – struggle music – and Sithole’s guitar-work was key to the sound. Chimurenga was music of protest, against minority rule and for black liberation. The lyrics were obviously all important, but the music was different too. It was still heavily influenced by the Latin sound, but unlike jit and sungura, had much more rock’n’roll to it and often used mysterious minor keys rather than the sunny-sounding majors. But it was also deeply Zimbabwean. By incorporating Sithole’s mbira guitar and replicating the distinctive 6/8 rhythms of the hosho gourd shakers on the hi-hat, Mapfumo and Sithole invoked these powerful symbols of Zimbabwean resistance alongside the political lyrics. It’s a potent sound even today.

He worked with Thomas Mapfumo and his band the Blacks Unlimited for stints of varying lengths from 1975 until his death in 1997. He also worked with other bands and, as is presented here, recorded solo material too. Although the chimurenga music of the Blacks Unlimited is probably the definitive context for mbira guitar, I chose this compilation of Sithole’s solo music because it has elements from all across his career. The mbira guitar is the main element, of course, but here you can hear it across different styles from soukous to jit to chimurenga, and even alongside real mbiras too. Jonah Sithole isn’t as well-known as some of the bigger names in Zimbabwean music such as Thomas Mapfumo, Oliver Mtukudzi or Biggie Tembo, especially abroad, so it’s only right that he gets his own recognition. In creating a unique way of playing the guitar, he helped to save the music of a very different instrument, and an incredibly important symbol of Zimbabwean and Shona heritage.

192: The Shed Sessions (1982-1986), by The Bhundu Boys

The Bhundu Boys (Zimbabwe)
The Shed Sessions (1982-1986) (2001)
29 tracks, 146 minutes (2 CDs)
Full album stream on YouTube

The Shed Sessions is a compilation of the early music of the Zimbabwean jit band The Bhundu Boys. Taking its name from Shed Studios, the recording studio responsible for these recordings, the album brings together the tracks from the group’s first two LPs, Shabini and Tsvimbodzemoto, as well as a bunch of other tracks that were released here and there, or not at all. This is probably the best collection of the Bhundu Boy’s work; after these early years, they attained relatively huge success around the world, especially in the UK, as one of world music’s first megastars – they even supported Madonna at Wembley Stadium. After this success, their music became closer and closer to the UK pop music at the time, getting cheesier (and, yes, worse) in the process. But in their recordings for Shed Studios, they were still full of life, energy and fresh sounds, with their mixing of traditional Zimbabwean mbira (thumb piano) music, Congolese rumba and American rock’n’roll and country making an irresistibly dancey, sunshine-happy music.

Out of the nearly-30 tracks on this compilation, though, there has always been one track that stands out to me. While most of The Shed Sessions have that light, airy tone that makes jit such a feel-good music, the track ‘Manhenga’ is different. To start with, it’s actually a lot closer to mbira music than their usual fare, and to the angrier, more acidic musical form of chimurenga, especially with its very strong 6/8 rhythm (compare it to the track ‘Ndave Kuena’ by Thomas Mapfumo from 1987, which clearly has its roots in, or from the same source as, ‘Manhenga’). But there’s something else. There’s a darkness to it. When I was younger this track legit creeped me out; it’s spooky in a way that is hard to describe…but I’ll try. I think it may have something to do with the fact that it is musically quite close to their other stuff with the lighter vibes, the high-pitched guitars, the interweaving lines, the close harmonies, but the big difference is that it’s in a minor key as opposed to the otherwise consistent major of the rest of their oeuvre. And that slight change of scale turns it all on its head. The guitars that usually sound jangly instead feel paper-thin and fragile, the endless repeating of phrases and riffs that usually sounds so jubilant instead feels claustrophobic. Even Biggie’s shrill whistling adds a creepiness rather than jollity. It’s unlike any other track on this album, and in The Bhundu Boy’s recording career, as far as I’ve heard. It doesn’t freak me out as much as it did, but it makes me feel things that I don’t expect to feel from their music, and that’s surely a sign of a very special piece.

141: Makorokoto, by the Four Brothers

The Four Brothers (Zimbabwe)
Makorokoto (1988)
10 tracks, 45 minutes
YouTube

It’s not that often that you get a band fronted by its drummer, but The Four Brothers were just that, led by Marshall Munhumumwe from behind the kit – even more impressive is that he was also the lead singer too. It’s like if Phil Collins [insert unprovoked and probably uncalled for musical insult about Phil Collins here].

But for all Munhumumwe’s impressive musicianship and musical direction, The Four Brothers are a sungura band, and in sungura, it’s all about the guitars. The other three Brothers – at this time – were Edward Matiyasi on lead guitar, Aleck Chipaika on rhythm guitar and Never Mutare on bass, and each of them played an absolutely essential role in the band’s sound. It’s not like in so many of those two-guitars-bass-drums set-ups where the lead plays the solos, rhythm plays the chords and the bass for the most part plays the root notes. No, here, each musician has their own melody, each unlike the others and unlike the vocal melody either. You put them all together and they interlock, creating a really tight lattice of interweaving lines that still manages to sound airy and light.

Sungura is a big mix of styles from all over the region – soukous and rumba from the Congo (with their own influences after Cuba and Guinea), benga from Kenya and maskanda and Township jive from South Africa. Its unmistakably Zimbabwean sound comes from the country’s own traditional music, most notably the distinctive interlocking sound of the mbira lamellophone of the Shona people. Whereas other Zimbabwean music is quite serious, such as the ultra-political chimurenga style or the deeply spiritual bira ceremonies, sungura is primary music to dance and drink beer to, the quintessential sound of the pubs in 1980s Harare. The music’s easy-going attitude also extended to the opinions of musicians – sungura itself means ‘rabbit’ in Swahili, a mischievous animal that reflected the musicians’ renown as those that freely enjoyed fun, beer and women.

Makorokoto is actually a sort of ‘best of’ compilation, although it’s put together so well that it doesn’t really sound like it. It brings together the band’s material since the early 80s, including their biggest hit, 1980’s ‘Makorokoto’, meaning ‘Congratulations’, which celebrated Zimbabwe’s independence. Unfortunately, all four of the Brothers have now left us, and sungura music and its evolution, the jit of bands such as the Bhundu Boys, are no longer really performed. As such, this album may well be the best collection of the music that you’re going to find out there. So if you’re ever in need of a good dance or a soundtrack to some beer – this is the perfect record for you.

015: Out of Africa, by Biggie Tembo

Biggie Tembo (Zimbabwe)
Out of Africa (1991)
8 tracks, 41 minutes
(I couldn’t find anywhere to listen to the full album online, but you can hear the opening track ‘Punza’ on YouTube, here, and you can buy the CD second-hand on Discogs, here. Alternatively, hit me up, and we'll sort something out.)

When people ask, ‘Tupac or Biggie?’ I know my answer – Biggie Tembo every time. Ahh! See what I did there? Haha I am so funny.

Biggie Tembo was already fairly well known in the UK as the frontman and lead singer of the Zimbabwean jit band The Bhundu Boys, who were championed by both John Peel and Andy Kershaw and who, at the height of their fame, were performing with Madonna at Wembley Stadium. By the 1990s, though, Biggie had left the Bhundu Boys acrimoniously, and Out of Africa was his attempt to stay in the spotlight.

The album was his first solo effort, and it’s not a masterpiece, by any stretch. But it was the sound of many of my childhood summers, and therefore objectively good and I won’t hear otherwise. Although he skewed it a bit for modern UK-based audiences, Biggie kept mainly to the script of the jit music he helped to create: the potent mix of sungura dance music (itself a style with influences from Cuba via the Congo and Kenya), jive and rock'n'roll from the US and traditional mbira thumb-piano music adapted for twinkling electric guitars.

Some bits of the album have aged badly, but in a rather endearing way. The synths especially – and that’s probably why they’re one of my favourite bits of the album: completely untamed use of the pitch-slider and occasional timbres that sound straight out of the Tron soundtrack. Bonkers and brilliant. The whole album is all very cheesy, but cheese is tasty, so whatever.

The critics weren’t kind and the record sold poorly, and Biggie slipped into a deep depression that ended up killing him in 1995. As recorded in music history, Out of Africa is probably regarded as the point where Biggie’s turn of fortune became obvious, but I do urge you (if at all possible) to revisit this album and approach it for what it is: a fun, sunny album that’s a bit naff but ultimately charming and mostly undeserving of the negativity it has been burdened with in the past.