Thomas Mapfumo is one of the greatest African musicians of our time. On the continent, and especially in Zimbabwe, he is comparable to Fela Kuti and Bob Marley. Yet he is mostly unknown in the United States except among a dedicated group of world music lovers. Banning Eyre, a long time correspondent for Afropop Worldwide, aims to change that with his new book and companion album.
Eyre tells the story of the Zimbabwean singer, composer, and bandleader with attention to historical detail, sophisticated understanding of his musical milieu, and unabashed reverence for the man tempered with clear-eyed reality. This is no hagiography as Eyre narrates Mapfumo’s life in the context of Zimbabwe’s pre and post revolutionary history and exposes the contradictions and personal foibles of the man.
I saw Mapfumo three times—twice in 1991 when he performed at the Jazz Fest in April and then again in mid May at Tipitina’s. I wrote a preview before his show at the House of Blues in 2000, which appeared in the Louisiana Weekly. Here’s an excerpt of that column: “Mapfumo is known in his native country as the Lion of Zimbabwe. His music, known as chimurenga, was a critical component of that country’s quest for independence and self-rule. Chimurenga literally means ‘liberation war.’
Like many of the other countries worldwide that have suffered the oppression of colonialism, the people of Zimbabwe, known as Rhodesia under British rule, were taught to look down on their indigenous musical styles. The traditional sounds of the mbira, or thumb piano, were considered primitive and therefore undesirable.”
Eyre describes in exquisite detail how Mapfumo began playing songs based on the traditional styles in his native tongue instead of the English of the colonizers and adapted them to electric guitar. He clearly explains, using his experience as a musician (including appearances with Mapfumo), how he created a spell-binding new style of music that captivated his oppressed countrymen and became the soundtrack of the revolution which overthrew the British.
In a previously published interview, Mapfumo explained why he decided to bring the traditional mbira patterns to the electric guitar. “We wanted to separate ourselves from the colonial era. Playing this type of music actually gave us enough moral support to fight the struggle. And to feel that this is my culture and I am supposed to be someone with a country, someone with a home, someone who is not called a second-class citizen in his own country.
Well, this made me feel very bitter and I composed a lot of militant songs. As you know, a lot of our youngsters were playing copyright music—soul music, funky (sic), the Beatles, the Rolling Stones. When my music came in, with Shona lyrics, it changed everything.”
The book is a deep history of Zimbabwe and puts Mapfumo’s music at the center of both the revolution, which overthrew the British, as well as the ensuing fight for control of the country by the Africans.
It is written in mostly chronological order but rarely gets bogged down in historical esoterica. It’s a credit to the author that he keeps the reader’s interest while elucidating an extremely complex culture and political history. Every foray into politics is buttressed by powerful descriptions of crowded clubs and concerts filled with mesmerizing music, ancient cultural rites, and religious ceremonies and other elements of African society and life.
Mapfumo released hundreds of songs and his music changed a lot over time. The accompanying album does a great job of presenting an overview of it. It is interspersed with brief segments where Mapfumo explains in his lilting accent the genesis and context of his art.
For fans of African music, the album is a must-have. For those interested in the role of art in self-determination and the intricate and convoluted history of oppression and colonialism and the fraught aftermath of self-rule, the book is a must-read.
