The late Hugh Masekela
Bruce Ndlovu, Sunday Life Correspondent
IN MORE ways than one Hugh Masekela, the South African jazz icon who plunged more than just the world of music into mourning this week when he succumbed to prostate cancer, was a fearsome man.
For example, when Bra Hugh, as he was popularly known, spoke to journalists in interviews, he never minced his words. Whenever it was time for him to field questions from the press, he made sure that he always spoke his mind and left you no doubt about what he meant.
This reporter had one such interview with Bra Hugh two years ago. The local showbiz scene had been abuzz with rumours that Bra Hugh, once again possessed by the spirit of music that had refused to relinquish its vice-like grip on him since boyhood, was now holed up in Zimbabwe where he wanted to pursue music collaborations with a few of the country’s artistes.
A globetrotter of note, Bra Hugh’s ear had directed to Zimbabwe, the home of Oliver Mtukudzi, a man who he had long thirsted of having a full length collaborative project with.
With this mouth watering collaboration on his mind, rumour had it that Bra Hugh was in the hunt for a house to rent.
“Speak up. What exactly is your question? You are the one who called me in the morning and called me now again,” Bra Hugh said, suppressing a laugh which was drowned out by the sounds of noisy Johannesburg in the background.
As the interview went on, it became clear that Bra Hugh was not only in love with the sights and sounds of Zimbabwe, but one particular voice that the country had lost: Chiwoniso Maraire.
Collaborating with Maraire seemed to hold a particular fascination for Bra Hugh, who believed that collaboration was a key ingredient of quality music making, one that artistes forgot to include because of their selfish desire to take all the credit for whatever magic came from the studios.
“Music is not like tennis or ping pong where individualism is encouraged. Music is basically a collaborative art form. I have been privileged because I have learnt from various cultures and I have also come across various instruments in my musical life,” he said.
But how could Masekela have collaborated with Maraire, who had passed away a few years prior to that interview? To pull off this improbable act, Masekela decided he would dabble in a bit of studio wizardry.
After Chiwoniso passed away, Masekela had decided that he would still go ahead with a project that they had initially planned to make in honour of fellow jazz legend and Chiwoniso’s father, Dumisani Maraire.
But death, as it showed again this week, cares little for glorious music, dealt a sad and final blow when Chiwoniso passed away before the project could wink at the light of day.
In a way Chiwoniso is like an elusive spirit. An untamed music virtuoso who went to the grave before she had the right to. To capture this spirit, Masekela felt like he had to recruit four women.
The four songbirds whose voices were tasked with raising Chiwoniso’s voice from the grave were Prudence Katomeni Mbofana, Benita Tarupiwa, Joyce Warikwanda and Rumbidzai Tavaziva while jazz sensation Victor Kunonga would serve as the overall producer.
“She had an authentic Zimbabwean voice and that is the direction that my music has taken,” Kunonga said of Chiwoniso’s music. It is this authenticity that perhaps drove Masekela in her search of Maraire’s voice.
Chiwoniso Maraire
So strong was her spirit that Masekela felt that he should recruit four women who would become vessels through which this mbira wielding spirit would once again make her voice heard.
Through them she would sing again. As impressive as Masekela’s desire to see the project come to life, what was perhaps even more amazing to witness was how, despite the vast generation gap between them, Hugh felt that he and Chiwoniso were birds of a feather whose thirst to connect with their roots could only be quenched by dipping into various cultures.
As much as she admired the independence of women Chiwoniso, with her trademark dreadlocks swinging, might have nodded with approval at Hugh Masekela’s refusal to acknowledge young African women with weaves.
Masekela’s trumpet longed for a marriage with Maraire’s mbira and having failed to secure a wedding while she was alive, he would now attempt to woo her posthumously. Masekela was determined not to let the grave silence such a dynamic voice.
When it was announced that Bra Hugh was not only battling with cancer, but losing to it as the insidiously hideous illness continued its assault on his 78-year-old body, some would have reacted to the news with disbelief.
Wasn’t this the man who had blown his famed trumpet in front of the ruthless and inhumane fist of apartheid? Surely his famous trumpet, the one that had healed the bruised hearts of so many black people suffering under brutal regimes around the globe, could come to the aid of its owner now that he was in dire need of a healing touch himself.
Alas Bra Hugh, like everyone, was mortal. And now after it had screamed and yelled whenever and wherever it saw injustice, his famed trumpet is now silent.
