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In the fall of 2015 I was back in Zambia making another delivery of gear on behalf of Instruments For Africa. I was shocked and amazed that I would be in town and free of responsibilities for one of the two days of the 2nd annual Lusaka Jazz Festival, hosted by Stanbic Bank and taking place in a mall near the hostel where I would generally stay.
Though I was used to the difficulties in finding and obtaining tickets to events in Zambia I still searched low and high before finding the tickets available in the same bar, in the same restaurant where I had found tickets to a boxing match two years before.
I actually had to show ID to buy a ticket from the bartender.
On this trip I had been staying with a friend about 30-60 minutes out of the city-centre (depending on traffic) but on October 3rd, 2015 (despite the fact the wristband is marked as being for the previous night, which included almost all the same performers, save Jagari Chanda) I decided to stay close to the venue and checked into my usual haunt Lusaka Backpacker’s for the night. I dropped my bag, poured myself a drink, and headed out for the short stroll to the festival.
As I walked out of the hostel gate I felt something on my arm. That was strange. Then I felt it again. I looked up and didn’t see a blue sky. Wow, it was raining! Five extended trips to Zambia and I believe this was the first time I’d seen it rain. The drops were fat and sparse, you could almost duck around them. At first. By the time I was halfway to the mall it was coming down solidly and I was starting to get soaked. Not that I minded.
At the mall I went to the parking garage and walked up the ramp to the festival site just as the rain abated. I had bought a General Admission ticket and was surprised to see that over half of the site was reserved for VIP; GA was significantly farther back but again, no worries.
The setup was pretty clever. Being on the second (top) level of the mall parking garage any opportunity to watch the music from outside was eliminated. And as to keeping the VIP and the GA tickets separate, well the ramp that we all had to walk up took care of that, creating a wide and obvious barrier between the two seating levels. There was a large professional stage at one end, all the lights and rigging was top-notch, probably all of it brought in from South Africa and/or Zimbabwe. The VIP section had three large sections of cushioned chairs that were all turned upside-down to try and mitigate the rain, while the GA section had risers with plastic chairs, bleachers and a large dancing area on each side (ironically, throughout the festival people in the cushioned VIP seats had to scramble for plastic bags to sit on while the hard plastic chairs in GA were easily wiped dry). There was almost nobody there at this hour, but it looked like the capacity was around 5,000.
I overheard someone say “We planned for everything, but not the rain.” I elbowed in on the conversation and discovered I was talking with the MC. He told me that the show would be starting an hour late due to the rain but that they would make up the time by shortening the local acts. “Oh no,” I said. “They won’t be cutting Jagari’s set short will they?”
“No,” he promised. “We cannot mess around with Jagari.”
Jagari Chanda was the lead singer (and is the only surviving member) of a Zamrock band from the late ’70’s called The WITCH. They were huge in Zambia and even managed to develop a cult following around the world. It’s a curious sound that owes a lot to the ’60’s San Francisco movement and I had spent a considerable amount of time talking and playing with Jagari when I was filming the debut episode of my travel/music documentary project Earth Beat. He’s a nice man and we had spoken a few days earlier about recording some of his new songs together before I headed back to Canada. He very, very rarely ever performed live and I was really excited to see him play.
I also had the pleasure of arranging to meet with the wonderful and very famous James ‘Chamanyazi’ Ngoma at the festival. We had spent almost two weeks together during the Earth Beat shoot and I never fully got used to hanging out with such a famous person. He was always posing for pictures and getting stopped in public. It’s a weird dynamic, and I’m sure the appeal wears very thin at times.
Anyway, I spent the first two acts of the festival by myself, enjoying beers and meeting whomever I found myself near, standing out as the visible minority that I was. Scarlet with the Elect Band and James Sakala were entertaining enough, but let’s just say I’m glad they weren’t headlining.
Between acts a shockingly catchy jingle advertising Stanbic Bank repeated with lines like “open your account in just fifteen minutes,” and “get 100% financing on your new power generator with your current account.” I’m telling you, it was catchy. Luckily the changeovers were remarkably fast, like five minutes or less.
Next up was the set I was most excited for, Jagari Chanda from The WITCH. He’s only played a small handful of shows since the band ended more than thirty years ago, and I’ve become quite a fan. Then the announcement came: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a major treat for you. Today only we have three legendary Zambian musicians on the stage together. Please welcome Rikki Ililonga, Victor Kasoma, and Jagari Chanda!”
I was shocked and thrilled. I had no idea that Rikki (from Mosi Au Tunya) and Victor were playing as well! I left my seat, grabbed a fresh Mosi and stood as close to the stage as my GA wristband would allow. Nikki Ililonga led the first two songs before turning the spotlight to Victor Kasoma. Seated with his guitar for the entire set, by his third and final song Kasoma really started tearing it up. And then Jagari joined them onstage. Chanda was on fire from the get-go, his vocals were strong and his stage presence was even stronger. Jagari took his stage name from Mick Jagger, and while the big man could probably eat the Stones frontman for dinner he matched the energy of his namesake with manic bursts of frenetic movement. He ended the first number holding the mic stand high over his head and then it was over; they cut him. “Please, just give two minutes,” he said. When the answer was clearly ‘No’ he spat into the mic, “It isn’t fair!” before storming off the stage, and he was right.
I was shocked and disappointed. I booed loudly. The set actually had the feeling of being historic. I couldn’t believe that I was fortunate enough to catch these three legends together in their homeland and i was left with nothing in my ear but that damn between-sets jingle. “Open your new account in just fifteen minutes…”
Chamanyazi found me during set break and we bemoaned the situation together. He also apologized for not being able to secure me a backstage pass, but that was no big deal. Soon the first of the headliners, Zimbabwean Oliver Mtukudzi took the stage while I bought James and I chicken and chips for dinner. Chamanyazi was recognized fairly steadily and I took a few pictures for his fans. Mtukudzi’s set was really good but not so exciting. Everything sat between 98 and 110bpm; the easy pace created a relaxed groove that was reminiscent of Ali Farke Toure but not nearly as engaging to me. The audience certainly ate it up and I wouldn’t mind catching him at a festival again*.
Next up was a South African group called Mi Casa. It was basically a dj with live trumpet and sax and a lead vocalist straight out of N’Sync. The singer commented on how he lost weight recently and that he was concerned that he had lost his bum. Actually, he mentioned his bum a couple of times. It was horrible but it felt good to point my frustration at Jagari’s shortened set at these guys. I spent their set spitting criticism and I used my anger as an excuse to jump from Mosi beers up to Jack Daniels.
In short: Mi Casa = Mi Kaka.
During set break Jagari came and found us, giving me a big hug. He told me they had arranged to play four songs each; they would each start off with two and then one more each and if time allowed they would each do their fourth. “Victor got selfish and played three,” he told me, but it was clear he blamed the festival organizers and not Victor. “Shit happens,” he said, a surprising summary as I had never heard him swear before.
We agreed to get together on Monday to play music (which never happened) and then he returned to sit with his wife backstage. In short order the final act of the night mounted the stage, American guitarist Earl Klugh. He led his band with a steady stream of tasteful lines on his nylon string guitar while the rest of the talented band easily kept up. The keyboard player was exceptional, and his legacy as a founding member of Parliament/Funkadelic explained the inclusion of We Got The Funk midset. The whole day had been a parade of fantastic drummers but Klugh’s was the best; the guy’s solo was incredible and garnered the biggest applause of the set.
While the venue never completely filled (though James told me that it was at capacity the night before), there was probably about 2,500-3,000 people there, and it seemed like almost everyone was still there when the last note dropped at 12:30. James offered to drive me all the way back to Lilayi but I told him I was staying very close and could walk. He insisted on driving me anyway so I took him up on it. Back at the hostel I found things pretty quiet. I poured myself a nightcap and hit the hay.
Overall it was a very professional festival and it was the most fun I’d had since arriving in Zambia more than a week before. I sure wish Jagari had been allowed to play his whole set – his music was by far the most exciting to me – but I get it. He was the last act before the big headliners so there was a definite cutoff time, one that the bands before him did not have. And the decision to put him last in the song circle behind Ililonga and Kasoma only made it worse. I sure was glad to see the one song though. The guy’s still got it.
*I did, at least twice. He has since passed away.
Todd Man Out 