On June 1st, WaCharie neShamwari DzeRwendo released an incredible, sonically rich and thematically cohesive, album. It’s titled Chidzorogodo, and you would do yourself an eternal favor by adding it onto your playlist. That is the review in a nutshell—in case you’re on the go, or you find long-winded reviews by some internet nerd to be too tedious and would rather just get to the music.
By Shingi Mavima
Because conversation will inevitably lead us there, let’s get one thing out of the way: there is a Tuku-shaped vacuum in the Zimbabwean music space—nay, Zimbabwean society— that is near impossible to fill. That is not because of Samanyanga’s musical brilliance; at least not ONLY because of it. It’s because he stood for the pinnacle of execution in more than just playing music and singing. Not only was he sonically incomparable, he was a symbol of dignity and didactic authority for the community: in music and away from it. He had the international renown that upwards of 90% of contemporary artists from our teapot-shaped nation can only dream of. He also, unsurprisingly, had an indefatigable work ethic; touring and releasing music right until the end and culminating in 67 studio albums. Finally, and not entirely divorced from the previous point, there is the incidental matter of sheer time spent in the industry. Tuku’s career spurned four decades: many of his peers in the GOAT conversation did not even live that long. So while that may well be due to grace and good fortune, it still combines with the other touchpoints of excellence, deliberate or otherwise, to create an inimitable aura around the man.
As we seek—whether intentionally or otherwise—to fill the elephant-sized slippers left by the elder, many hopefuls and pretenders have stepped to the fore. Some blatant in their mimicry, some just inspired, and others innovating the sound and hauteur.”
I have prefaced this review thus in anticipation of the inevitable comparisons. I asked the subject of today’s review about this phenomenon; and I’ll circle back to what he said later.
Enter WaCharie!
Born Tawanda Chari, the Mutare-based Afrofusion artist has been at it now for over a decade, and has been backed by Shamwari dzeRwendo since 2015 following a chance meeting on the circuit. I was introduced to WaCharie’s music perhaps five years ago by…wait, at… does anyone remember life before and/or after during COVID? Nevertheless, I came across his music, possibly on some Mutare-centric virtual platform. It was around the time he released his second album, Tangerima, where songs like “Ziso” and “Kana Ndada” were standouts. I was struck right away. By a richness of sound that was distinctly Zimbabwean, even as it incorporated external elements. By the vocabulary, which simultaneously sounded like it had been crafted on the spot and made sense right away. By the palpable tension present in the voice.
A remarkable thing has happened since then though. WaCharie’s releases have gotten…more foreboding. More pained. More heartfelt. You hear it in recent singles like “Kurauone” and “Zvinorema.” This tonal shift, while staying true to the essence which had drawn me (and others) to the music and artist in the first place, has thus culminated in the release of WaCharie’s third album, Chidzorogodo.“
It is a brilliant album. Allow me to account for each of those descriptors separately, if you will. Brilliant for the musical excellence on show. Dominated by a Jiti-based sonic fusion that, perhaps evokes the earlier mentioned Tuku comparisons, the project also draws in rhythms reminiscent of the musical traditions of neighboring countries (the title track, “Chidzorogodo”, calls to mind traces of sound that wouldn’t be unfamiliar to the Malawian ear, for example.) All the while, the intimate communion between lead singer and band is unmistakable, as the call-and-response brings the listener to the front row of what feels like a family meeting in which grievances are being laid to bare.
And that brings me perfectly to the album part of ‘brilliant album.’ While the transition to a streaming-centric model of music consumption has been a positive shift in many ways, it is not without its problems and contradictions. One such resulting phenomenon has been the near-death of the cohesive album. Because of how easy it is to isolate songs from the rest of the album, and the primacy of the single as a vehicle for streams, views, and playlisting, many albums, even by the biggest artists in the world, often feel more like “here is a playlist of ten to fifteen songs out of a hundred I created since the last time I was here. Sure, they don’t tell one story or have natural progressions; but any of these songs are great and could blow up, so you know, take that.” This shift marked a departure from the traditional album, which was less a collection of divergent stories (unless that was the point) and more a story—or collection thereof— that bookmarked a moment in time, space and music.
Chidzorogodo does that, and does this excellently. There is a definitive and concise theme holding the album in perfect cohesion, and it is this: the absence of effective communication and accountability is at the heart of both the individual and community-level crises rampant in society today. And before you accuse me of reading too much into for the sake of my own grandstanding, allow me to get mechanical real quick
- Track 1, “Gangaidza” draws upon the Shona proverb “Igangaidza mukwenyi, (mhezi) yavavira mumoyo”, which translates to “it bewilders the scratcher, like an itch/skin disease on the heart” (i.e that which remains unsaid soon becomes an insatiable irritant.) Later in the song, WaCharie croons “ichocho chandituma kurima murima kana kubika ndakahwanda husavi rudzii ko?” (what is it that I’m growing and cooking that requires that I do it under the cover of dark?), a lament that evokes the age-old concepts of ubuntu and rebuffs the individualism that is status quo in contemporary society.
- Track 2, “Ndaneta” draws upon two Shona proverbs that seem, at least on the surface, contradictory: “mwana asingacheme anofira mumbereko” (“the baby that never cries dies in the shawl” or, in essence “closed mouths don’t get fed”) juxtaposed with “(mugoti) unopihwa anyerere” (the whisking spoon (or “insert childhood treat here”) goes to the quietest child.) Seemingly trapped by this paradox on whether to speak or not, the protagonist essentially lets go and lets God.
- Track 3, “Chadzimira” draws upon the Shona proverb, “Seri kweguva hakuna muteuro” (“there is no prayers from beyond the grave”; so don’t leave unspoken then what you can resolve today.)
- Track 4, “Chati Homu” draws upon the Shona proverb “Chati homu chareva” (“If it barks (a la Baboon) at you, it’s spoken to you” meaning don’t disregard warnings or counsel because you harbor disdain or a low opinion of someone.) In this case, the singer is chastising someone who looks the other way and pretends they didn’t hear the singer’s advice to them.
- Track 7, “Mbwende” calls out domestic abusers, with the title meaning “coward” and the song bemoaning the poor communication skills and intellect that leads someone to punching their loved one. The tune sees WaCharie repurposing an old Dutch prov..no, I;m kidding, you know where this is going! He repurposes a common Shona proverb trope to create his own, “seri kwachibhakera kumire gwara; kutaura kunoda njere” (“behind the punch stands a coward; healthy conversation requires intelligence.”
- Track 10, “Ndambakuudzwa” draws on the Shona proverb “Ndambakuudzwa akaonekwa nembonje pahuma” (“he who never listens tends to be the one with knots on his forehead.”) Another allusion to the fallout of defective communication, this song does something especially clever; as it encourages introspection. Sometimes we don’t listen- even to ourselves.
That’s half the album making explicit reference to the age-old communal wisdom surrounding communicating. “Msikanzwa” is about how infidelity begins the moment you even entertain advances from outside the marriage, and the title track “Chidzorogodo” tells the story of someone whose peers/family will speak and laugh in his absence and get quiet when he comes around, leading him to ask, and I’m paraphrasing here, “how dumb do you think I am? I know you’re talking about me.” Even a song like “Mharadzano” (track 5), which departs from the theme of broken communication and is instead a farewell to poverty and other tribulations, it still begins with the turn of phrase “kukurukura hunge wapotswa” (“if you are still able to share your story, it means you survived.”)
I promise, I had no intention of doing a song-by-song breakdown of the album; but such is the thematic cohesion of the project that it was all right there waiting to be put together: pieces on a big-piece jigsaw puzzle, as it were. Said cohesion makes for both a profound experience in social commentary and easy listening.
Oh, and the hullabaloo about the Tuku comparisons at the beginning? You can’t miss it. “Mbwende”, for example, is reminiscent of “Todii” in its sound and feel, and the rhythm of the aforementioned “seri kwechibhakera kumire gwara” refrain is inspired by/in homage to Mtukudzi’s “seri kweguva hakuna muteuro,” also on “Todii.”
Asked how he felt about the sonic and thematic parallels drawn between him and the elder, the ever-magnanimous WaCharie responded “I learnt a lot from the Legend I can’t run away from that, but i try to steer away and create my own sound from what i learnt because among a few others, he isn’t my only influence…Im proud and happy if Tuku is picked from my sound, but i work and hope to sound not detached from his sound, but to be identified as my own person despite a few similar elements.”
With projects like Chidzorogodo, you and Shamwari DzeRwendo are well on your way to our musical pantheon.”
(You can listen to Chidzorogodo on YouTube)
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