Since that November post, I have continued to feel a sense of guilt; a sense of disproportionate attention to two wonderful things. I felt that I simply had not paid Kapwepwe the attention that it deserved as a moving musical feat -- and feast of the spirit. It's a stand-out light in its own right, radiant in its own glow. A Time bender.
In several ways, Ndaya and Kapwepwe represent, nay invoke, different kinds of engagement. The one is more sonorous, more introspective; the other less pensive and more upbeat. Sunnier. More of a call, with a rousing beat (by Orch. Les Ya Toupas), to the ever receptive dance floor -- a floor so hopelessly intertwined with the days of our youth. Yes, more about the moment than about connections.
Both songs are veritable classics. They are intrinsic to baby-boomer remembrances in and of Eastern and Central Sub-Sahara. They are an enduring part of our fond past.
Alas, for all that flourish, for me the recorded song, Kapwepwe, ends abruptly at 2:35 minutes -- just as we're getting comfortable in our flight of fancy -- though it runs, inexplicably, for another 2:47. If there is any unifying theme in the two halves, it is that they both start with the very same beat, which, to the inattentive ear, is practically over before it even registers in the ear. Still, one is left with the sense that the tune -- that some kind of tune -- lingers somewhere in there in the second half. So that there is a hint of unity in that palpable difference.
Kapwepwe, thus, is, truly, a tale of two musical territories with a jagged borderland one wishes one didn't have to cross. Territories which, like DRC and Zambia, have staked claims to this meme, with all the intrigue worthy of Byzantium. Still...
Here's Kapwepwe:
READ: Simon Mwansa Kapwepwe.
Blog Post updated August 10, 2016
