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Author: Sonhala Olumnese
Posted to the web: 5/28/2006 6:50:37 PM

SOMEWHERE on my person, especially when I step out of my home, there is usually a tiny piece of technology. You are unlikely to find it, unless I show you, and in this forum, I will not elaborate on its nature. It carries the Greatest Hits of Rex Jim Lawson, as determined by his greatest fan, this one, ready to be played at any time. For most of my life, I enjoyed the Cardinal's music with very little conception or concern for what he was trying to say; I was so taken by his music that wherever I was, there was some of him. I own what used to be known as 'records,' compact discs, and MP3s. I have found that even on a bitterly cold day in temperate weather, with snow and ice coming down in buckets, Rex Lawson's full-throated rendition of whatever he pleases can anaesthetize you against every pain. If you ever found yourself the intended victim of a snowstorm or rain, leave the Lord alone to attend to people with real problems; tune the radio station in your head to a Rex Lawson number and see how gloriously the world is coloured. Rex Lawson is one of those few Nigerians that we can all claim. Actually, although the truth is that he was of Kalabari and Igbo genes, I have usually challenged my Rivers State friends to prove that point, since the famous artiste and I share such a close Esan 'resemblance.' As a student of the University of Ibadan, I enjoyed the friendship of a Rivers State indigene that was gracious enough never to try to win an argument in which he claimed dear old Rex Lawson for his people. In the late 1970s, Stadium Hotel in Surulere boasted the only jukebox that I knew in Lagos. You could put as much money as you liked into the machine, along with other patrons, but only I.K. Dairo's music popped up from time to time to share the spotlight with Rex Lawson's. And while I thought I had a patent on the Cardinal's numbers, I was surprised, upon arriving in Gongola State for the National Youth Service Corps in 1978, to meet a Fulfude man who not only had a larger collection of the musician's works than I did, but who also, to my shame, 'sang' him better. No, neither of us could interpret the lyrics.  I proudly retained my badge of ignorance of the content of Rex Lawson's philosophy until my 30s. It was tremendous excitement to recognize that his work as an artiste had validity not only in terms of his message, but also in the quality of his sound. Inspired by three friends who have made a lifetime of learning from radio (Benson Idonijie, Tom Odemwingie and Emeka Izeze), I took to the radio dial and discovered a fresh appreciation of Rex Lawson. The artiste was not just mine, after all; he was not just the famous Kalabari man who could sing in many West African languages. Within Africa's musical subculture, especially the highlife belt - which has vast territories in areas as far-flung as East Africa -- there were musicians swearing by Rex Lawson's deep voice and instrumental control.  And then, of course, there was my uncle, a Public Works Department retiree. John Ighalo would stare at the ceiling for a quarter of an hour after the radio announcer had transited to the news at the top of the hour by using a Rex Lawson song to combat dead air. Lost in time, and space, and missing the news that followed, my uncle would utter just one word, 'Cardinal!' There was so much that the old man could not say, but I read them in his knees and his head that he would not stop shaking, gestures that expressed everything from reverence to regret.  I confess that I have been known to dance. As a youngster, I was stubborn enough to dance at those state cultural festivals. There is a certain danceable-ness to Rex Lawson, however, that - once upon a friend's wedding in America - I decided to do a solo dance routine to one of his most memorable numbers. There was only one problem: having lined up my attire and conspired with the dee-jay about this surprise, the bridegroom had other ideas a few hours before we were due to give him away. 'Who will propose the toast, then?' Stagger Lee asked me.  I did, but it is still a testimony to the international reaches of Rex Lawson's music that the dee-jay, himself of deep Yoruba ancestry, played his music all night long. On the other hand, he may also have thought, mistakenly, that either the bride or the groom was a relative of Rex Lawson's.  It has been my added pleasure, in later years, to discover the depth of Rex Lawson's philosophy and his commitment to the betterment of the people around him. For that, I had to engage the private services of an interpreter.  This should not be. Rex Lawson's music did not die with him. As a matter of fact, if the store shelves that I see abroad indicate anything, some people are making a lot of money out of his genius today. His publishers ought to commission an authoritative translation of his lyrics and publish it as a book, the profits going to his family, the full history of this special man being made available to younger Nigerians.  It is also a tragedy that a full generation after this hero died in a road accident, our nation is enduring more road tragedies in which we lose even more talent. Nigeria can afford safer roads; especially if Nigerian voters refuse to be used send misfits into office.  Despite this, I was pleased to learn, last year, of Rex Lawson's nomination to Nigerian Music Hall of Fame. I am equally thrilled at the efforts of the government of Rivers State to immortalize his name.  In my view, a society can only shine as brightly as the recognition it gives to its true heroes, or be as tall as the statues it erects to them, for they reincarnate in the energies of new talent. On the other hand, it is easy to be as petty as the fake shrines we build in an effort to deify thieves and common criminals; it is easy to disappear in the smoke and ashes of our own hypocrisy and lack of history.  Nigeria may be one of the world's poorest nations, but contrary to popular arithmetic, that is not because of what we lack, materially. The greatest poverty a nation can suffer is of a dearth of heroes, or - even worse - the hero-worshipping of false prophets and statues. May Rex Lawson's tribe increase.   March 2003