Rise Up [Calabash Music; 2005; r: Real World; 2006]As far as nicknames go, you can't do much better than the "Lion of Zimbabwe." Forget, for the moment, that much of Zimbabwe's lion population has fallen prey to poaching or succumbed to the depletion of its habitat. Concentrate instead of the power conveyed by that title. Lion. King of the Jungle. King of All Beasts. The Lion King.
Hmm, that's another word to consider. King. King. If there's one word that trumps "lion" it's "king." No wonder, then, that musician Thomas Mapfumo, Lion of Zimbabwe, is considered a security threat by the paranoid, oppressive government of his homeland and in particular leader-for-life Robert Mugabe, Mapfumo's fellow former freedom fighter turned monster.
The lion is the national symbol of Zimbabwe, and Mapfumo has long been one of the country's national treasures. Yet even Mapfumo, an outspoken critic of Mugabe's destructive and dangerous dictatorship, can no longer call Zimbabwe home, having relocated from Zimbabwe in 2000 to the not-very-exotic environs of Eugene, Oregon, where he's lived as in exile ever since, safe but homesick. Much of his family remains in Africa, and so, clearly, does his heart.
That certainly explains how Mapfumo has been able to sustain his anger over three productive decades of music making, which have not just extended but deepened his reign as folk hero. What's been even more remarkable has been the prolonged power of his songwriting itself. Even in Oregon, away from the horrors and vast disappointments of Zimbabwe, Mapfumo's no lion in repose. He's kept up a prolific pace, releasing nearly a disc of his Chimurenga (or "music of struggle") a year while constantly touring with his band Blacks Unlimited.
Originally released as a download-only album but picked up last year by Peter Gabriel's Real World, Rise Up features a slightly more pared-down Blacks Unlimited, who now include a few Americans in their midst. Yet most of the hallmarks of classic Mapfumo remain intact: the circular guitar patterns, the pulses of organ, the pluck of multiple mbira, the call of horns, the cry of female backing singers. Mapfumo's often drawn comparisons to Bob Marley, and the melodies and performances here do share a certain soulfulness, spirituality, and conviction. If Mapfumo chose to sing in English rather than his native Shona, who knows? Maybe frat guys across the country would be listening to him as well.
They're not, of course. Nor are they likely troubled by the same issues that trouble Mapfumo, even if they're delivered with a hint of a reggae (particularly in the drum fills) and hypnotic polyrhythms. As Mapfumo's anthems helped fuel Mugabe's 1980 rise to power-- Mapfumo's "songs of struggle" were originally enlisted against then-Rhodesia's white-minority rule-- the singer no doubt feels the need to pay penance in the form of his critical songs, his moral authority heightened not hampered by the ironic role he played in the corruption of his own ideals.
That's not to strike idealism from the repertoire. Like Marley, Mapfumo excels at lifting your spirits even as he decries the things bringing his people down. There's a pulsing, double-time bass drum pattern in "Vanofira Chiiko? (What Are They Dying For?)" that helps transform the lament into an unlikely fist-pumper. The synth-bass prodding "Ndodya Marasha (I'm Mad as Hell)" lends an almost imperceptible urgency to the repetitive, deceptively static chord progression, until an upbeat break busts you out of the funk.
Then there are the other moments of outright ingenuity, invention, and surprise. The first few minutes of "Marudzi Nemarudzi/Different Races" shames, say, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Snow (Hey Oh)" while using a similar melody and a straight backbeat, but then jumps the rails in the best sense and heads off on a skanking half-beat tangent. "Ndodya Marasha" uses the same trick, only the other way around, suddenly shifting gears and picking up the pace when you least expect it to.
Maybe the tempos are slightly slower than they once were, and Mapfumo himself sometimes sounds surprisingly sedate for a man with so much on his mind. He's older, after all. But if there's anything Rise Up proves, it's that you don't need to scream to be heard.
-Joshua Klein, January 29, 2007
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