If all goes well, this is the first in a series: songs that present author has come across and deemed their existence and story worthy of a deep contextual dive—from the vantage point of the casual listener.
For no ceremonially significant reason than that it's straight flames, we will begin this odyssey into sound and culture with a 2017 classic, Munodonhedza Musika by Boom Beto.
Mr. Editor, I know! I know nobody is asking for this! But I thought this was Riddims and Raps! You've been heavy on the raps, let me rep for the riddims real quick!
Where was I?
"Iwe Levels, va turnere ma tables..."
Before we get to the song itself, it is perhaps prudent to talk about where urban Zim music in general, and ZimDancehall in particular, was in 2017.
Beyond a doubt, ZimDancehall was the dominant sound of the urban youth. Sure, age-old crooners like Trevor, Sani, and Nox were still slipping in one or two ear-worms. While Hip Hop acts such as Ti-Gonzi, Tulk Munny and Noble Stylez were laying the groundwork for the explosion that we've seen in the 2020s, the genre remained parochial, with the popularity of such stars such as Tehn Diamond confined to hip-hop centric digital spaces (twitter, blogs etc.) The one artist with venerable crossover appeal at the time was Stunner, but even then, he was a far-cry from his Godo and Team Hombe days.
Zimdancehall was the dominant sound of the urban youth. But it, too, was in an awkward place. It could be argued that we were in the transitional space between ZimDancehall 1.0 and the advent of ZimDancehall 2.0: let me explain.
While Dancehall culture in Zimbabwe goes back to the 1980s, and the very name "ZimDancehall" to the 2000s, an argument can be made that, as a distinct, named, genre resonated with the masses, that ZimDancehall finds its voice in the early 2010s.
That is to say; the era during which the likes of Winky D, King Shaddy, King Labash, Freeman, Souljah Love, Killer T etc came to the very fore of the music scene, peaking perhaps at fabled Sting clash and the release of the Bodyslam riddim—both in 2014.
Thus, by 2017, mangoma had been riding on that earlier wave still: Winky D was now part of a virtual duopoly, together with Jah Prayzah, as the biggest millennial artists in the country; Killer T had dropped what many consider the greatest album in the genre's history, and the likes of Freeman and Souljah Love are bonafide superstars.
Debates around the greatest riddims ever are stuck on 2014's Bodyslam and No Mercy, as well as Zimbo Flavour from the previous year. With PTK taking his hiatus from the game, Levels, Fantan (and Ribhe) are, far and away, the enduring cultural yardsticks.
The game was in a good, but concerningly comfortable, place. Who, or what, is next? Have we already seen the heyday of the genre? Are the current GOAT (artists, songs, riddims) as good as it gets?
Enter Stage Riddim
Thus, in the seeming nadir of cultural innovation, when it looked like ZimDancehall had come, hit its heights, and was quietly leaving the scene, zvihuta-style, a new riddim dropped.
The riddim, a more bare-bones, stripped of bells-and-whistles effort (compared to the GOATED ones mentioned earlier) was reminiscent of yesteryear Jamaican riddims such as 2008's Red Alert Riddim: but slowed down just enough to allow for intricate storytelling and verbal onslaughts. And when the medley dropped, it proved what many of us suspected: the next great ZimDancehall riddim was here.
Perhaps the next great incarnation of the genre (ZimDancehall 2.0) was upon us? Featuring breakout performances by soon-to-be stars like Jah Signal and Blot, the return of vets like Ras Caleb, a rare (and solid) run on the mic by super producer Levels, and honorable verses by the likes of CC and Likkle and, of course, the runaway hit of the mix: Munodonhedza Musika by Boom Beto.
The Song
Soon as the riddim begins, Boom Beto greets us with languid baritone chanting, in what has to be one of the most iconic openings ever to grace a dance joint.
"Iwe Levels..vaturnere ma tables
Well it's a Boom Beto
Fantan, Wha Gwaan?"
Intrigued, but no inkling what this song is gonna be about yet. From the voice alone, and the general braggadocio-laced lyrics of his cohorts on the riddim, one may have assumed we were getting another self-pat-on-the-back typical of the genre in that moment.
"Imi Mai Makanaka
Ndimi makonzera nyakanyaka
Kuita kudonhedza musika
muchizunza mutaka!"
Oh, it's about a girl! But see, these opening lines are so matter-of-factly and authoritatively stated, it doesn't sound like spitting game. In fact, if you pay attention to the rest of the song, Mr. singer never once gives the impression that he is asking for anything; just applauding. So that soft spoken, almost crooned refrain begins the conversation, and we never hear it again.
Beto immediately follows that up with a, well, booming rendition of the chorus.
"Amai Munodonhedza Musika!"
Y'all know the rest.
I don't know if Boom Beto came up with the "kudonhedza musika" analogy himself. As with many statements put on song; it probably emerged from his community somewhere before he immortalized it in song. But listen, the image works. Not only does it evoke causing commotion with each step, Jurassic Park style, the notion of the marketplace standing still in awe of this woman makes the visual especially compelling.
Verse 1:
amai munodhingura skero
muneka step kanofizura mamero
ndimi murikudhingura mafero
hamuna kuchipa kunge bhero
Hona step ne body shape
Chamboko chewaya baba chiwepu
Hameno type yenyu yakabva nepi
masiya munhu wese ari happy
Sonically, the eight-bar verse consists of two 'rhyme' schemes. I say "rhyme" because here, the chanter is taking liberties with organic rhyming. So while, in all fairness, only scale (Skero and bale (bhero) rhyme, fellows and mamero work perfectly to complete said scheme.
The second half is even more intriguing, as the rhyme consists of shape/whip (chiwepu), nepi, and happy. But if you for a moment thought that would stop Boom Beto, you got another think coming - bro killed it. Yet if the melody itself is intriguing, the lyrics are captivating.
"amai munodhingura skero" (ma'am, you obliterate the scale!) So here, he reiterates the central thesis of his song. In case anybody unschooled to the culture has stumbled upon this; I promise you, this is a compliment in that space; absolutely!
"muneka step kanofizura mamero" (your lil step annoys the haters.)
While "mamero" can be gender neutral; it a term often reserved for the fellas. You know how bad a baddie has to be for men to feel some (negative) type of way? That's bad bad. They hate to love it.
Let me skip forward to, possibly, my favorite couplet in the song:
"Hameno type yenyu yakabva nepi
(I don't know where your type came from)
masiya munhu wese ari happy
(you left everyone happy!)
So incredible was this woman that, not only was he sure she wasn't of the stock that he is familiar with, but for the life of him, he can't possibly imagine where she could have come from! Then it goes a step further: she left everybody happy.
Not impressed (I'm sure that, too, but...) not burning with passion (that too), but happy. You know how hard it is to make ALL the people happy! You say ice cream, you say lactose intolerance and PETA; you say Messi, you say Ronaldo; You say Winky, you sa (no I'm not touching that one, are you crazy?): the point is...nobody makes all the people happy. All of them!? In this economy?
But Alas, she did. Just happy.
And if the song ended there, it would have already been a touchstone moment in 2010s Urban Zim music. Oh, but it didn't end there.
Verse two found Boom Beto flowing flowing. After sultry singing the firt few bars, bro doubles his pace from verse one, all while dropping gems still.
Here is a bit of it.
yangova tsviriyo tsviriyo
(There's catcalls acros the place)
nekwamabva nako mhiriyo
(even back where you came from)
ndambofunga kuti pane aba mirion
(I thought perhaps somebody had stolen a million)
imi ndimi madziya mavhiringidza mafia
(You are hot right now, you've confused the mafia)
hamusirimi here mai maria
(Are you sure you're not Mother Mary?)
Again, let's marvel at the rhyme scheme that brings together tsviriyo, mhiriyo, million, mafia, and maria so seamless as if those words were made to go together.
Lyrically, what a story to behold. The catcalls made him investigate whence she cometh, and in what state she had left said place; and found that, true to form, she had left havoc there too. What type havoc? Like somebody stole a million dollars. In Ghetto Zimbabwe?
Of course everybody is screaming out if she looks like that. And the gang gang? vexed. So vexed, that Boom Beto has to ask this baddie if she is, in fact, the immaculate embodiment of humanity in its paramount form; the very Virgin Mary. I mean, what are we doing here!?
Chorus comes back in and, after three minutes and fourteen seconds of sonic bliss, the riddim rests. Genre saved.
Oh, did I mention that Boom Beto is from Glendale, over there by Mazowe? Seems like a throwaway detail, but ZimDancehall, at least in the mainstream, is very Harare-centric. Don't get me wrong, the talent exists everywhere.
A Dangamvura boy myself, I can speak of the likes of Bad Gun di Radical, Sabhuku, Captain Br...Well, Bad Gun and Sabhuku are good. But the mainstream? From Winky to Freeman to the four kings of Mbare to Sigi to King Shaddy; all Harare (and all neighboring townships at that.)
Every now and then, you get a star break out from the other towns and cities; but it's fleeting and inbetween, unless they move to Harare like Blot did from Kwekwe. So it bears mentioning that, in breaking in to the scene and creating one of the biggest Dancehall hits of that era, Boom Beto was defying the very odds.
He followed the song up immediately with another hit, a collaboration with fellow Stage Medley alum, Jah Signal, who himself was on his way to summit of the game, where he would be for a couple of years. While Boom Beto has gone on to drop one or two other songs that got some play, he has come nowhere close to the heights of Munodonhedza Musika (partly a result of the apparent larger regression in the genre's appeal in the last couple of years.)
Still, he reigns eternal with the masterpiece that was.
Did this moment usher in ZimDancehall 2.0? An argument could be made for that; given the ascendancy of Jah Signal and, to a lesser extent, Boom Beto and Blot in the aftermath thereof.
While I consider it impactful in keeping Zimdancehall 1.0 going at the tail-end, I would argue ZimDancehall 2.0 proper begins with 2018's Panom*ama Munhu Riddim, a moment which would go on to launch the careers of Enzo Ishall, Bazooka, Poptain, Pumacol (and, later, Hwinza etc.) But that's a discussion for another day.
And that was your moment in song.
