By Edd.
When they announced themselves on the local scene, everyone thought of them as the usual musicians whose lifespan on the unpredictable Ugandan market is as tiny as a drinking straw. Okay, to save you from an irate migraine as you try to connect the dots of the lifespan and the drinking straw, I meant, they were perceived as one-hit-wonders, that they would soon sink into oblivion. But Goodlife (a moniker they coined, perhaps, when they had gotten a few bucks and they could manage a rolex) have stayed longer on the yellow brick road of Ugandan music and when their bus zooms past, it leaves behind a ball of dust that literally hangs in people’s ears.
They have been steadily churning out good music; hit-after-hit and they have not only proved doubters wrong but also proved to the world, that calling them superstars won’t warrant you an arrest for underestimating the word. Here, they come off with Amaaso, literally translated as “Eyes”. Amaaso, which I have dug in the archives, has been on the airwaves, clubs, smokey bars, hoofers in a University student’s rathole et al and, as it turns out, has easily found an abode in people’s hearts.
It is a typical Goodlife song; the temple with which it carries itself and the way it rattles to the last beat and leaves you pale and giddy and your tongue blue. Mowzey Radio, he of the sullen voice, carries the whole song on his rickety shoulders, alone. He is renowned for his state-of-the-art song writing (if there is a word like that). His ability to write songs cannot be gainsaid. He has proved it on several projects he has laid his talented hands (rather voice) on.
The lyrics are the usual heap of praise a seductive lovebird wears on his sleeves and spews out to a girl he fancies. He, Radio, starts off belching from afar and seems to be on his knees, staring up in the girl’s burning eyes and wailing like a kid whose lunchbox has been stolen; only he wails in an organized manner, perhaps, with a smile tearing his boney cheeks. Then amidst the song, Pallaso falls in, too, with flattery lyrics. “…you know I will jump in front of a train..,” he says.
The Mess and Weasel are other voices on the song who seemingly don’t bring much to the song. If they yanked away their voices, the song will still survive the storm. Maybe Weasel’s unbridled energy towards the end is one heck of a thing you look forward to on this ballad; the energy which he carries himself with as he spits his lame patois and other tedious words he is fond of using.
The song is a piece of art. A typical dancehall song though played in a steady low key. But much of the credit should be directed to the beat used on the track. The beat somewhat swallows the voices in the song; the only voice that seems to struggle to be heard is Radio’s voice that sound as though he is being strangled. But, nonetheless, it is a fairly decent song that won’t ruin your party when the deejay plays it.
“Vote for your favourite artistes to win in the #ZZINAwards this April. Visit; www.galaxyfm.co.ug or Vote on your phone by dialling *289*4# and follow prompts. Voting closes on April 26th 2014.”
