Dear editor: There is been a war of words regarding to explicit words used by some local artists. Below is my contribution regarding the pro...
Dear editor: There is been a war of words regarding to explicit words used by some local artists. Below is my contribution regarding the proliferation of vulgar lyrics by some artists. It has a humor touch that is meant to address the critical issues.
Regards.
Derick
Derick Matsengarwodzi – NO doubt, I adore music. I prefer compositions with a clearly defined message. A well choreographed act can draw me to a live performance, though they are limited.
Let me proclaim, my harmonious well-being is secure with the old generation of musicians. Their message fits my era and flavor.
You can call me old school. I care less.
I was past my teens when urban grooves hit the airwaves. So I never offered them maximum attention.
When dance hall music descended, it was too strident to disregard.
They came onto the music scene with a loud batter; they were certainly a fresh beat unto our ears. With generous air play to reinforce their energetic exploits, most were destined for lofty podiums. Their target audiences, the youths welcomed their unsullied talents that was a direct substitute of American artists.
Now they had their own tangible idols. With their profound bling, loud regalia and flair of flowing vernacular lexis they conquered much spectators. We had thought lyrics and rhyme were only limited to the English vocabulary until we were introduced to the likes of Maskiri and Extra Large, just to spot a few.
How short-sighted we were.
Little did we know that swearing words could be translated into local lingo and have the same vulgar, lasting effects. While some tried to conceal behind metaphors and similes, we could gather their intentions very clearly.
The harm had been done. There was soon a divide between listeners.
They were aptly labeled, vapfanha vekuimba zvisina basa – those shameless guys; a title they fought hard to preserve as they churned more copious hits.
You would hear mothers say: “If there is nothing better on radio, just turn it off.”
Family time was severed.
When finally some songs were censored on radio our mothers were relieved, they had been taken hostage by brazen vitriol and dicing of characters. Artists’ collaborations were even more perilous. One was guaranteed of excess obscene; listening to lyrics in company of elders brought total relationship carnage.
Although the love theme is dominant like most songs, they go deeper, stripping their listeners naked to the last undergarments, such that at the conclusion of the song; one could attain an orgasm if you can last the whole song.
Now, watch how ghetto youths gyrate to these phonographic niceties.
To them it’s an arousal minus the actual sexual act. But no doubt, the entertainment value is elevated by this imagery. Watch how they holler under the influence of illegal drugs and cough syrups.
To them it’s a remedy to idle minds. Not bad to the youths, but it’s insulting to the elders.
There is a sharp contrast to when we grew up. Yesteryear, we could dance the day away with our elders sampling Chitekete by late Leonard Dembo. Although it was lengthy, you were guaranteed of money and educational value. No wonder the song featured at a beauty pageant in Botswana. This was not bubble gum beat, play it today it sounds original just like decades ago.
No doubt, mature musicians would take their time to compose songs, but thanks to technology, music can be composed and loaded on the internet in record speed. In return, the songs are losing value as fast as they are released; hence the term bubble music sticks to them.
Not that the new breed is dominated by an avalanche of naked lyrics, far from it. But the few who have dominated the scenes have stripped their potential listeners. I have a soft spot for young musicians when they indulge into social commentary ravaging our society.
Their sprinkle of humor brings me on abandoned knees. Contrary, an obscenity offered in vernacular has a lasting effect.
But they stuff my ears when they extol sex orgies and alcohol indulgence, and then expect me to collect their music for my children, how obscene. Seriously, they expect my children to value me whilst they recite lyrics that describe a lady’s wavy bottom or an extended manhood.
I may be naive but certainly not dim. Though, this world would be dim without music.
So let the beat go on. And let sober idols take an echoing stand.
Regards.
Derick
Derick Matsengarwodzi – NO doubt, I adore music. I prefer compositions with a clearly defined message. A well choreographed act can draw me to a live performance, though they are limited.
Let me proclaim, my harmonious well-being is secure with the old generation of musicians. Their message fits my era and flavor.
You can call me old school. I care less.
I was past my teens when urban grooves hit the airwaves. So I never offered them maximum attention.
When dance hall music descended, it was too strident to disregard.
 |
| A war of words regarding to explicit words used by some local artists. |
Now they had their own tangible idols. With their profound bling, loud regalia and flair of flowing vernacular lexis they conquered much spectators. We had thought lyrics and rhyme were only limited to the English vocabulary until we were introduced to the likes of Maskiri and Extra Large, just to spot a few.
How short-sighted we were.
Little did we know that swearing words could be translated into local lingo and have the same vulgar, lasting effects. While some tried to conceal behind metaphors and similes, we could gather their intentions very clearly.
The harm had been done. There was soon a divide between listeners.
They were aptly labeled, vapfanha vekuimba zvisina basa – those shameless guys; a title they fought hard to preserve as they churned more copious hits.
You would hear mothers say: “If there is nothing better on radio, just turn it off.”
Family time was severed.
When finally some songs were censored on radio our mothers were relieved, they had been taken hostage by brazen vitriol and dicing of characters. Artists’ collaborations were even more perilous. One was guaranteed of excess obscene; listening to lyrics in company of elders brought total relationship carnage.
Although the love theme is dominant like most songs, they go deeper, stripping their listeners naked to the last undergarments, such that at the conclusion of the song; one could attain an orgasm if you can last the whole song.
Now, watch how ghetto youths gyrate to these phonographic niceties.
To them it’s an arousal minus the actual sexual act. But no doubt, the entertainment value is elevated by this imagery. Watch how they holler under the influence of illegal drugs and cough syrups.
To them it’s a remedy to idle minds. Not bad to the youths, but it’s insulting to the elders.
There is a sharp contrast to when we grew up. Yesteryear, we could dance the day away with our elders sampling Chitekete by late Leonard Dembo. Although it was lengthy, you were guaranteed of money and educational value. No wonder the song featured at a beauty pageant in Botswana. This was not bubble gum beat, play it today it sounds original just like decades ago.
No doubt, mature musicians would take their time to compose songs, but thanks to technology, music can be composed and loaded on the internet in record speed. In return, the songs are losing value as fast as they are released; hence the term bubble music sticks to them.
Not that the new breed is dominated by an avalanche of naked lyrics, far from it. But the few who have dominated the scenes have stripped their potential listeners. I have a soft spot for young musicians when they indulge into social commentary ravaging our society.
Their sprinkle of humor brings me on abandoned knees. Contrary, an obscenity offered in vernacular has a lasting effect.
But they stuff my ears when they extol sex orgies and alcohol indulgence, and then expect me to collect their music for my children, how obscene. Seriously, they expect my children to value me whilst they recite lyrics that describe a lady’s wavy bottom or an extended manhood.
I may be naive but certainly not dim. Though, this world would be dim without music.
So let the beat go on. And let sober idols take an echoing stand.
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