AGIZA HLONGWANE
“I can’t believe ‘uMampintsha wonke’ has died,” is a line I’ve found myself blurting out subconsciously, over and over, to my partner over the past few days.
It’s difficult to reconcile Mampintsha’s nine lives with the finality and eternal silence of death. This likeable, bubbly, larger-than-life persona … this heroic, all-conquering figure, a one-of-a-kind rhyme spitter and hitmaker – uShimora, uMshekesheke, uDiego, uGolide Dayimane, the sometimes chubby, sometimes scrawny, comical, always dancing, doting Baba KaSpontshi.
It feels like the death of a famous old friend you’ve never really met, but whose every move always unfolded, under a microscope, right in front of your eyes. At once stirring with his prodigious talents; and yet seemingly possessed by a painfully self-destructive streak, as a huge fan, I don’t even know how many imaginary conversations I’ve had with him over the years, to try to get him to mend his ways.
Mampintsha’s death is a seismic event which can be likened to the crashing of a big, somewhat poorly maintained aircraft: something majestic and born to soar and travel between continents, but which meets an abrupt, heart-piercing ending, with no on-board survivors.
This loss of talent is as monumental as they come. Regardless of the lens through which it is viewed – personal controversies aside – it is a tragedy of unmitigated proportions.
It’s yet another incredibly sad and heart-breaking (Oh, not again!!!) chapter in the unrelenting plucking away of South Africa’s relatively young, black and gifted lyricists, the crème de la crème of hit-makers … The big ballers with the Midas touch, the number 10 generals, in football terms, who knew how to dig from within their souls and channel their voice mellifluously, almost effortlessly, over a beat … as if travelling on train tracks, to make a hit, as if born to do this thang – from Brown Dash and Mandoza, to PRO(kid) and HHP, to the effervescent young Mpura, and the recently-departed Magesh, the All-Star No 1 Tsotsi.
Now, they shall not grow older.
With Mampintsha, the music industry is bleeding heavily.
Oh, won’t you spare us your wrath, Oh Lord?
True to form, by odd South African standards, news of Mampintsha’s demise could not have been more untimely, coming as it did on Christmas Eve, followed shortly by the deadly Boksburg tanker explosion.
It felt surreal.
It has come at a time when even those with the slightest hint of a musical bone were jiving to Big Nuz’s smash comeback hit song “Ngeke” – from Tik Tok videos to wedding venues and nightclubs all over the country, to Durban’s above-the-law Quantum minibus taxis.
All of this has made for a not-so-festive season, quite frankly; almost as bleak as the Covid-19 calamity at its peak in December 2020.
The felling of the giant Mashimane baobab tree, due to a stroke, has occasioned a deep sense of shock in ‘hoods all around the country, especially in the dog-eat-dog streets of Umlazi, the township of Sandile “Chillies” Bhengu and Senzo Meyiwa, which offers little by way of positivity, with way too many guns in the wrong hands; where darkness thrives, and the bad guys tend to easily assume role model status.
Things are decidedly sombre.
Yet, for the longest time, Mampintsha seemed to have transcended all the trappings of the stereotypical ghetto, becoming the archetypal kasi boy done good, who found his way out of this mess.
Mampintsha, a heavyweight in the figurative and literal senses, was luminous, with the world at his feet.
I have a somewhat personal history and admiration for Mampintsha, which came long before he “two-feeted” the country’s erstwhile national key point in Babes Wodumo, in what would turn out to be a tumultuous union. So dramatic that it spun off a reality TV series (and, no doubt, a few million rand?) which is as entertaining as it can be cringe-worthy.
As far as certifying one’s love for a music band or artist, it gets no better than playing their song on your wedding day, especially during “step time”.
And so it was that Mampintsha and his Big Nuz bandmates R Mashesha and Danger’s vocal talents led my sweetheart and I, and our wedding party, back into the reception venue. It was our finest hour, getting hitched on the historic, lush and scenic lawns of Inanda Seminary, in December 2009.
The choice of song came naturally for me, for Big Nuz’s almost perfect “Undisputed” album, produced by the perennially under-rated Dj Fisherman, had taken permanent residency in my car CD player (It was a white Toyota Corolla 1.6 “Kokoroshe,” with a powerful amplifier and subwoofer), during the weeks and months leading up to the wedding.
“Bhasobha Sok’bhunyela … Ngamabhaked’ othando … (Beware, for you’re about to be showered with bucket loads of love), the lads proclaimed as I led my beautiful bride into the venue, my two left feet messing up the wedding steps in the process.
It’s impossible to consider Mampintsha’s career in totality, without revisiting the nascent days of Big Nuz and their still little-known Zozo album, released in 2005 and available on YouTube, which was essentially a memorable hip-hop offering in what is considered the golden age of local vernac rap; as well as their appearances on Slovas’ Impilo kaLova album, which was released around the same time – and how all of that work would come to influence a fresh new sound that came to be known as Durban Kwaito Music (DKM), with the shrewd Dj Tira at the helm.
Fed up with the lukewarm reception of their album, Big Nuz, with bona fide rap credentials, teamed up with the “Makoya Bearings” and switched away from hip-hop. They hopped on to the exciting new sound of DKM, essentially traditional kwaito with a faster BPM, initially appearing on Uyoy’sholo Wena, off a “Durban’s Finest” album.
Given the technical superiority of hip-hop, Big Nuz transitioning to dance music was always going to be considered a step down for the group. But they made it work for them, peppering their brand of music with proper rap bars, to superb sonic effect.
As he had always done, Mampintsha – like Magesh with TKZee and Mandoza with Chiskop years before – took centre stage as the leader of Big Nuz. Next came albums like “2nd Round Knockout” in 2008, rather generally loose in its production qualities; but nevertheless with hits like Ubala Lolo, and one of my personal favourites, “Is’thakathi”, produced by Professor, with a dense, phat, slow bassline that would make S’pikiri The Great a proud man.
Quite remarkably, Big Nuz suffered absolutely no sophomore blues.
Like Mamelodi Sundowns with the PSL league title, but without being annoying, they went on to dominate the local music scene, regularly winning industry awards and the coveted Song of the Year on Ukhozi FM, which singularly ushers the country into the new year.
I have previously alluded to the completeness of “Undisputed”, their next album, which is a classic – Big Nuz’s own Halloween if you will – with hits like Newlands West, S’yagijima (featuring Sliquor), where DJ Fisherman “qongqotha-ed” the drums and basslines as if it was the ransom required to release a kidnapped daughter (Have you heard the drums on Fisherman’s “Owethu Wena”?).
There were songs like “Yes Please” (Ungabathethisi, Ba-buy’el’ i-Hennessy); “Gibela” (Khwel’ Uval’ is’caabhaaaa); and, of course, the massive “Umlilo”, which is right up there with some of the biggest songs to ever come out of this country.
There was also “Pound for Pound” (2011), containing a whopping 25 tracks, among them bangers like “Serious” (which would later become the theme song for Supersport in what ought to have been a lucrative deal); “Sting Ray”; Imisebenzi Iyabonakala; Asispani (S’phila ngok’hlanganisa); “Idedele” (Eyamapantsul’ ishey’ntele); and “Ntomb’enhle”, which is a love proposal that is strikingly not dissimilar to the currently trailblazing “Ngeke”.
“Made in Africa”, which was released in 2013, had many tracks which gained traction with Big Nuz’s following, such as “Hawaii” (reminiscent of TKZee’s “Fiasco”, which should actually have been “Fiesta”); “Inazo and Incwadi Yothando”, another wedding song, featuring their fellow Umlazi homeboy Khaya Mthethwa, of Idols fame. Another album, titled“ For the Fans”, came in 2015, at a time when Mampintsha was already setting up his own West Ink Records, with his protégé-turned-love-interest Babes Wodumo already bubbling under.
Big Nuz suffered a major setback with the subsequent death of R Mashesha, a formidable lyricist in his own right, in August 2015.
In no time, there was a much-publicised acrimonious split from Afrotainment, followed by the runaway success of Babes’ Wololo, which notably made it into the soundtrack of the Black Panther blockbuster film.
Books can be written about all that transpired between Babes and Mampintsha between then and now, which I won’t venture into. There is enough righteous indignation about it from all the saints on social media.
But as the country was in the grip of the Covid-19 pandemic, Mampintsha and Babes were evidently hard at work. Soon, Mampintsha released his debut solo album, titled “Bhut Madlisa”, while Babes simultaneously released her own album, “Idandokazi”.
Cooked with the beat-making prowess of Distruction Boyz, Madanone, and new producers such as DJ Skillz, “Bhut Madlisa” is a collection of some of the most infectious, go-to Gqom songs to lift any dour mood or make the party jump – notwithstanding the discomfort of veiled references to drug use (“Fun’ukudl’ ipharishi; Aw’ngiph’ i-straw, ngizenzele,” which were too reminiscent of “Ngibambe Mercedes … Ugad’ ungaslimazi!”)
In spite of all his flaws, perhaps an infinitely redeeming feature of Mampintsha’s life is his work ethic – and devotion to his young family, a badge that he wore with massive pride throughout the dramatic soap opera that was his life.
Some of us were already getting excited over reports and video footage of Mampintsha’s or Big Nuz’s flirtation with Ama-Piano, as the duo increasingly hung out with some of the sound’s biggest pioneers and proponents, such as DJ Kabza De Small and Young Stunna.
Big Nuz’s appearance on DJ Sumbody’s Azul, and the ease with which they adapted to the Ma-Piano beat, seemed like an exciting taste of things to come.
It’s the same with the snippets of a track called “Vul’ imoto”, from a widely-shared Tik Tok video.
It was all a nod to Mampintsha’s adaptability, and the sheer potency of his biggest asset: the magic of his distinctive voice, whether rapping or simply ad-libbing.
On the microphone, Mampintsha’s superior musical interpretation meant he could turn almost any good beat into a hit song, in a manner that many of his peers and pretenders can only wish for.
In his latter years, the lanky Mampintsha – his knees bent forward, stomach protruding, arms and shoulders jerking rhythmically as part of his laid back and almost effortless signature dance routine – became an experience.
A whole vibe. The ultimate court jester on Tik Tok, where his multitudes of followers had great fun imitating some of his skits.
But he always knew when to get serious.
At a time when Gqom’s own obituary had already been written (because, well, that’s just how we roll as South Africans: too quick to kill off musical genres, instead of allowing them to live side-by-side and thrive in this actually tiny music industry of ours) Mampintsha stuck his head out and went against the grain, riding proudly for Gqom and its irrepressible dance culture. For iTheku.
Mampintsha has left an indelible mark on urban youth culture.
As an artist, he will yet prove to be a tough act to follow.
It’s the unbelievable end of an era.
With heavy hearts, we say hamba kahle Mfana kaMseshi.
Jack ka-Spade.
Our beloved kingpin.
Mkhwenyana was’ eLamont who rocked stages.
EDurban, eJo’burg.
You truly were one of a kind, the quintessential Original Shandis.
#RIPShimora
Daily News