My uncle once told me that things come in pairs. In fact, it was a warning more than just an announcement. He said once you have a stroke of fortune or misfortune, there is a chance that there would be another on the horizon.
And there I was, minding my own business when the venerable arts editor of the Mail & Guardian handed me a copy of Nat King Cole’s greatest hits (yes, another Cole greatest hits compilation), Unforgettable. I did what any sensible person who has heard of Cole would do — no, I didn’t listen to it right away — I looked at the date of the release. It said 2006.
Then I looked at the songs on the sleeve. They certainly were the greatest hits one of jazz’s greatest balladeers ever recorded (and his recording companies re-recorded). It certainly was a compilation of Cole’s most unforgettable songs.
Free of the intimidating arts editor, who expects me to deliver reviews for all the CDs he magnanimously passes on, I was listening to the radio at home when a certain Corlea burst into song. It was Kana Kuchema, Yvonne Chaka Chaka’s hit song.
Then a funny thing happened when I switched on my TV. There was the same Corlea I had heard on radio. She was white. I thought there must have been a mistake. Worse still, it turned out her last name was Botha. As if to prove something to me, she repeated Kana Kuchema live in studio. The bigot in me had been outed. I thought of asking her if I could wash her feet, but I stopped myself in case she thought I was objectifying her and living out some fetish.
My uncle’s warning sounded. Things do come in pairs!
A story is told (my father swears it was in the Bantu World) about how a fan in the 1960s went to welcome Nat King Cole at Jan Smuts Airport (as it then was). To his shock and horror, Cole was black! The fan was white. He was horrified and certain there had been some mistake. To cut the story short (the venerable arts editor is not omnitolerant and wants people to make their point quickly), the poor guy was last seen alive running out of the airport screaming: “Nat King Cole is nie ‘n kaffir nie, Nat King Cole is nie ‘n kaffir nie!” When he was found, he had committed suicide. He was ashamed that he had been such an overt kaffirÂ-boetie.
Happily things have changed. Not least that the same airport is now named after a former “terrorist”.
Corlea’s debut offering, Shades of the Rainbow, speaks to the need to disabuse ourselves of the fixation to compartmentalise musicians on the basis of their skin colour. Or worse, the ethnic origins of their name.
She does what Cole did for so many decades before her, singing to the heart of music fans regardless of their continent of origin. There may be debates about the jazz-ness of her album but that is beside the point. They are a haughty lot, those jazz aficionados.
Unfortunately, in South Africa, we still judge a CD by its cover. No wonder her record company sees the need not to flag her last name on her cover.
As for Cole, calling a 2006 album Unforgettable may work against it, especially for Cole’s old fans. It sounds like something that has been done before.
If it survives that, new fans will find in Unforgettable why Cole has remained the standard bearer in jazz vocals so many decades after his premature death.
My only regret about Corlea’s album is that the sleeve does not say who plays the trumpet on the song If I Never Have You. It could be that record company boss Hugh Masekela does not want to steal the young woman’s thunder by attaching his name to the project. I think it would have done no harm.
In all, Corlea has bundles of Stardust, to use one of the song names in Cole’s latest greatest hit list. She is bound to be as Unforgettable as Cole.
My uncle was, once again, right. Things do come in pairs.