Our attendance at the funeral of afro fusion musician, Ray Chikapa Phiri of Stimela fame in July last year involved participating in a number of activities choreographed to befit a luminary of song who was possibly the most famous son ever sired in Nelspruit and its hinterlands. Amidst the solemnity, the pomp and circumstance, great and famous sat cheek by jowl with ordinary mortals to close a final chapter in a life well lived, which in turn had given joy to so many. Ray had succumbed to cancer at the age of 70 and I had offered to drive Uncle John Selolwane, his spouse Ausi Lizzy and Sonti Mndebele, their family friend and singer, whom we fetched from Joburg, to bid final farewell. The two musicians in the travelling group, Bra John and Sonti had played with Ray for many years in various ensembles. Together they had seen the world, wowed crowds and placed the music of Southern Africa on the global stage. As we drove back Saturday after the funeral, in fond remembrance, I selected Graceland: The Harare Concert as the soundtrack of our journey.
Although Bra John and Sonti did not feature on the studio album they were to form an integral part of the touring band and it is the live version we listened to. Anecdotes were swapped in nostalgic reminiscence of the times spent together; the fun, revelry, rivalry, craziness and every antic associated with life on the road. Most hilarious, and touching were tales of the late Miriam Makeba, whom they referred to as Mama Zizi, her pre- show rituals, love for cooking soul food no matter where in the world and her beautiful heart. Nelspruit is far from Joburg and at some point on the way Sonti put in a call to Hugh Masekela because we had not seen him at the funeral. They had a chit chat and Bra Hugh confided he hadn’t made it to the the send off because he was busy in the studio with a musical project for a nephew. Sounding in fine feather, he wished us godspeed.
I was never to hear his voice again except on radio. Now Bra Hugh is himself gone, felled by the grim reaper that took Ray’s life. I think I recall somebody in the car saying that Bra Hugh had not been well but appeared to be recuperating. In fact a news report in April that year revealed a stage fall in Morocco and hence he would be taking a break from live performances pending recuperation. Then some five months later Bra Hugh issued a statement to the effect that he had prostate cancer but was determined to beat the disease upon which he requested for privacy to battle this most formidable of enemies. Even when he shared his medical condition I was never in doubt that given his background, Bra Hugh would prevail because this was one helluva tough guy. My optimism derived from a review of his autobiography I had written for Mmegi newspaper when the book came out. A work of breathtaking honesty , Still Grazing: The Musical Journey of Hugh Masekela, written with D Michael Cheers detailed, warts and all Bra Hugh’s rather quixotic early life fuelled by ample substance abuse.
Till I read This Bitch Of A Life, the biography of Fela Kuti the iconoclastic Nigerian afro beat star, I had never encountered such gritty portrayal of an African artist. Bra Hugh held nothing back. Everything is in that book, the debauchery, the drugs and booze consumed in enormous quantities, which stalled his music career were laid bare. In fact some of the excesses were committed in the reckless company of the mighty Fela Anikulapo Kuti at his self declared Kalakuta Republic shrine in Lagos. So when he vowed to beat his cancer I recalled the rambunctious parts of his life and surmised if he hadn’t died then, he was indestructible. So to me, and millions others Bra Hugh was not the dying type. Not after surviving all the punishment his body had taken over the years.
Like others I still looked forward to seeing the township jazz icon and now anthropological activist regale us in one of his biennial pilgrimages to Botswana, a country with which he shared deep ties. In exile since 1961 and with the yearning for home gnawing at him, Bra Hugh in in the early eighties after a show in Lesotho, decided to settle in Gaborone which was relatively safe from the tentacles of apartheid assassins. It is this choice of sanctuary that led him to the band Kalahari, a local outfit led by a Francistown born guitarist who himself had been away from home for decades sojourning in places diverse as Rhodesia, Zambia, Malawi, Zaire, Kenya and along the eastern coast, imbibing sounds and influences which would in later years distinguish him as one of the greatest guitarists in world music. That man was John Blackie Montsho Selolwane and the guitarist was to ride shot gun for Bra Hugh for close to two decades which resulted in a prodigious output in memorable recordings and energetic live shows. In the period they worked together practically every Masekela album bore the indelible DNA of Bra John, who, beyond guitar made sterling contributions, many of which apparently have never been sufficiently credited. In the music industry credits mean more than just glory. Credits translate into royalties and other forms of income needed for a cushy retirement nest.
Also central to the credits dispute is composition and arrangement of most of the music on Sarafina for which due credit was allegedly not registered. Anyway, when armed incursions by the apartheid regime escalated and after a close shave with death in the infamous Gaborone raid of 14 June 1985, Bra Hugh left for London with Kalahari. Earlier he had recorded the album Techno Bush at the ultra modern Battery Studio brought into the country for the project by his lifetime friend and producer Stewart Levine, again with whom they had produced the epic musical festival Zaire ’74 as part of the build up to The Rumble in the Jungle heavyweight championship bout between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in Kinshasa. After a spell in London, band members of Kalahari went their separate ways. However Bra Hugh and Bra John remained together as the brotherhood. And bigger things were to come when a jaded, burnt out American folk singer ”wondering why he is soft in the middle now, why the rest of his life is so hard and why he needed a photo opportunity and a shot at redemption”* chanced upon Southern African music sometime in 1985. Bewitched by the sounds Paul Simon wasted no time in flying over to record what would become the 1986 Graceland masterwork, which to this day lacks enough superlatives to describe its sheer brilliance and ground breaking role in cross cultural music creation.
Such was the success of the record, selling 14 million copies that it led to a world tour that arrived in Harare 1987. All four, Ray, Hugh, John and Sonti were part of it. Freedom was coming and soon everyone returned home. Bra Hugh finally set foot in South Africa close to three decades after leaving for exile. The brothers in song remained inseparable. The post-apartheid era also brought to an end the days of excess as the duo took on new projects. From the nineties audiences in this part of the world got to see them live. And at every show, a few of which I attended the band member always enjoying pride of honour to be introduced endmost was Bra John who also happened to be musical director. Theirs was a symbiotic musical journey for the times. Then the fallout occurred. The full story of what happened between the brotherhood has not been authoritatively told. For years we have had to contend with tidbits from every gossiper claiming to be privy to the intrigue. Now the behemoth born Ramapolo Hugh Masekela, has departed to blow a storm at the big gig in the sky leaving us none the wiser about the cause of the schism. Sonti’s call to Bra Hugh was followed by a pregnant pause in the car. At that juncture Ausi Lizzy delicately ventured to her husband that perhaps it was time alienation between the brotherhood came to an end. No matter the past it was time for reconciliation. At this suggestion Uncle John was silent, pondering, musing and deep in contemplation.
Lyrics from You Can Call Me Al.
