|
My
personal recollections and experiences with the music
of Luck Dube: A Tribute
Saturday,
October 20, 2007
By
Jerry M. Mwagbe (a.k.a J. FUNK)
The news of Lucky Dube's
death hit me like a shockwave. I first read it as a
ticker at the bottom of my television screen, and then
heard a ten-second blurb on the CNN World
newscast.
According to the reports, he was killed in
Johannesburg, South Africa last night, at
approximately 8pm, whilst dropping off his children at
a family member's house."
"I will develop a wait and see attitude as to the
veracity of these reports", I said to myself, but
for now, I want to dedicate my pen to the memory of
the 'Messenger'
and
one of the greatest recording artists in the history
of African Reggae music.
Although
Lucky Dube's musical career began in 1982, I did not
hear anything about him until 1990, when Liberia was
engulfed in the first phase of the civil war, and I
had stubbornly refused to seek refuge in any West
African country.
That fateful day, I was in New Kru Town on a
visit to see my father, who had fled our home in Logan
Town to seek refuge from the rebels.
After spending some time with my Dad, I went to
see “Da Boyz,” so we could cook some
rice with chicken cup, and drink some “shala.”
Of course, during those days, every "crowd –of-
boy" had some kind of short wave radio. So in the
midst of our gathering, we were listening to a BBC
African program, when I heard a reggae song, which to
me sounded like the voice of Peter Tosh.
However, after the song, ended, Hilton Fyle
commented that we had been listening to an upcoming
South African reggae musician, Lucky Dube.
For the next couple
months or should I say years, Lucky was to provide a
great source of comfort and inspiration to Liberians
who were hopelessly lost in the realities and
concomitant effects of the civil war on their lives.
All the little ‘shala” shops had boom boxes and
you were damned, if your ‘shala” shop did not play
Luck Dube songs.
Tunes like Prisoner,
Nobody Can Stop Reggae, Dracula, False Christens, were
very popular. But the one that made the most meaning
to Liberians was 'Remember
Me'. This song resonated with Liberians because
most of them were missing family members and the
opening lines of the first verse gave them the idea
that they were not alone: "You
left for the city, many years ago/ Promised to come
back to take care of us/ Many years have gone by now/
Still no signs."
When a little semblance of
peace came to Liberia after the arrival of ECOMOG
peacekeeping troops, and the sitting of the interim
government, I was one of the planners of the first
post-war talent show in Monrovia. The show took place
at the St. Mary’s High School auditorium in Duala.
As the organist of the host band, I had difficulty
playing Luck Dube songs, since his keyboardist really
makes good use of the pitch-bender on his keyboard.
The keyboard I was using had no pitch-bender, and so I
was limited. All
the same, the two songs on the show that had the
greatest appeal were Prisoner
and Remember Me.
By 1992, some friends of
mine including Ijubar Dunbar, James “Coco” Chea,
Molley Flomo and myself formed the ACAGEM CREW, the
greatest post-war band ever in Liberia.
During most of our gigs, when it seemed as if
we were losing our appeal with the crowd, we would
throw in a Lucky Dube song.
By then, he had released other hits like Born to Suffer, House of Exile, and It is not easy.
Those were the heydays of Rastaman Papee Toe, a
local Liberian artist who became very famous because
he could mimic Lucky Dube. Our band became number one
in the country and everyday Sunday, we relied on Lucky
Dube’s songs to provide therapy for a beleaguered
Monrovia population on the beach.
In 1998, shortly after
moving to Atlanta, I attended a Mini-Reggae Sunplash
that featured Steel Pulse, Barry Hammond, Marcia
Griffith and Lucky Dube.
Unfortunately for me, I got there just in time
to see Lucky perform his last number. I was so impressed by his band’s performance, stage command
and his version of the "I’ threes", that I
hated myself for getting to the concert late.
In August this year, while
at a local Liberian restaurant in Atlanta, I saw a
flyer advertising a Lucky Dube concert that was slated
for August 30. When I told my wife about it, we both
decided to attend the concert.
I am glad we did, because had we not done so,
we would have been at a greater loss. We attended the
concert and the twenty dollars each, we paid was well
worth it. Not only did the concert start on time (something that is
uncharacteristic of reggae concerts), but Lucky
stunned the multicultural audience present. There were
people of all colors, ethnic and linguistic
backgrounds.
He played old and new songs
and was very engaging. His showmanship and artistic
craft came to the fore. His background vocalists,
though up and age, provided the rich and harmonious
background that is characteristic of South African
music. His musicians were just awesome. He had two
keyboardists (one doing the skank and occasional horn
leads, while the other was the pitch-bending guy). The
guitarist was cool and focused; his skank and licks
were always perfect. The bass player, dressed in
camouflage pants, played the bass as if he were in a
military drill; huffing and puffing to the sound of
his guitar the whole while.
The drummer’s mastery of the one-drop reggae
beat, and his well syncopated rolls provided the right
punctuation for the rhythm session. Lucky, was clad in
a white outfit and his tall figure moved around the
stage sometimes in solo theatrics and other times in
well-orchestrated choreography with the musicians or
background vocalists.
I shed tears when he played
songs like Remember Me, Prisoner, Born to Suffer, and House of Exile, because
they created feelings of nostalgia that took me
straight back to Liberia and the events of the civil
war. But
the greatest “in-the moment” feeling came when he
sang his global anthem, Different
Colors, One People. The
song started like a normal steel band would introduce
its song; staccato scales in a major scale with a
purely Caribbean carnival feel. Lucky drove the song
with his long sustaining notes and mid-falsetto. By
the time he got to the second verse of the
song, the global appeal became evident: "They
were created in the image of God, and who are you to
separate them / The Bible said He made man in His
image, but it did not say black or white/you look at
me you see black, I look at you I see white/Now is the
time to kick that away and join me in my song/
Different colors. One people."
The crowd became ecstatic. I could see
Jamaicans, Americans, Asians, Africans and everyone of
different colors and backgrounds singing the song.
It was a truly global anthem and created a
feeling of global unity.
So as I close this tribute, I want to pay
ultimate respect to this son of Africa, whose music
first appealed to me in a local sense, when I was
victim of a civil war in Liberia, and created for me a
sense of fulfillment and hope, when I migrated to
Ivory Coast as a refugee.
Now as a college professor in the United States, whose
work is geared towards the globalization of education,
Lucky Dube has left me with a wonderful set of lyrics
that will continue to preface my works and be quoted
in scholarly global presentations that I make.
As a Liberian, I am convinced many Liberians
share my sentiment as to the therapeutic role his
music played in the lives of Liberians during the
height of the Liberian civil crisis. Quite recently, a
Liberian artist sampled 'Remember
Me', and used it as a praise and worship song.
As an African artist and writer, I salute Lucky
for fulfilling the traditional role of the African
artist. As the Kenyan Ambassador to the US puts it,
“The African artist, is the only African
professional who has not fail Africans.” The
didactic nature of his lyrics and the message it
propels will forever be remembered.
It is just a shame that he was killed in his
own homeland, by his compatriot in an act of senseless
crime. To
paraphrase Andrew Lloyd Weber’s lyrics in Jesus
Christ Superstar, “he was hunted and wounded
like an animal, and killed in an act of a common South
African criminal."
Bear with me, my heart is in Johannesburg with
Lucky Dube, and I must pause till it comes back to me.
Jerry
M. Mwagbe, is a Liberian musician, journalist, writer,
poet and educator. He was instrumental in the founding
of the Tubman High Boogies, Cuttington Music Society,
Acagem Crew and several other local music groups.
He was also manager for Jesse Institul and
Peter Sellu Kai, two of Liberian recording artists
from the late 1980’s.
Mwagbe is currently an English Instructor at
Kennesaw State University, where in addition to his
lecturing duties, serve on numerous global projects
and activities. He resides in Atlanta, Georgia, with
his wife Charlotte. He can be reached at jmwagbe@kennesaw.edu.
|
