He Was A Friend of Mine

It's been two years since my guka died. It was sudden, for me a least but then again his medical history had not been good. The man, a quiet enigma, was the sort of person I pictured everyones granddad to be; benovelant and quitely proud of his grandchildren. He was one of the people who fostered my love for reading. The first book he ever gave me was an old African Writer's Series, Peter Abrahams 'Mine Boy'. I was about 13. The book was simple enough that it could be read and enjoyed in my youth and innocence. Subsequent readings brought about deeper shades of meaning. The main plot never changing, the characters growing more complex. The second book he gave me was A Long Walk to Freedom, a collection of political letters and essays by the then imprisoned Nelson Mandela.

He was a teacher and a pacifist, a man who watched the country he had helped build crumble into mediocrity and utter despair yet he never had a bad thing to say about anyone. His wisdom was sought by all but most of all his children. Despiter their shortcomings he loved his children unconditionally and mostly did not interfere in their lives. The third and final book he gave me made me question the man he was, the man that was. The book is now misplaced, my mother, no doubt found it and destroyed it, I have since forgotten its title. Briefly, the book was a coming of age tale about a handsome but akward young man in 1950s America. The protagonists name, with an obvious sense of irony, was Gaylord and yes he was very gay. Well, the story was touching and it helped me through some stuff I was going through at the time. It gave me a sense of hope, and that perhaps my grandfather was a liberal.

So Guka here's to you, a son of a clergy man, father, grandfather and friend. But most of all you were a friend of mine.

Obituary

Solomon Burke, Entertainer, Preacher and Soul Man, died on October 10th, aged 70.

Solomon Burke’s career was as colourful as his stage performances. His songs were steeped in the gospel tradition, which suited him just fine. Both his mother and grandmother were honest to God churchwomen and by 9 he was widely known as the Wonder Boy Preacher.

Mr. Burke never reached the ethereal heights of his contemporaries like James Brown or even Isaac Hayes. He didn’t need to for embedded in his songs was that unmistakable voice, the voice of a man whose soul was touched by God himself. In concert he often wore flowing robes, a crown and even sat on a throne as if to say all hail The King of Soul.

His eccentricities extended beyond the stage. Mr. Burke leaves behind 21 children, 90 grandchildren and 19 great-grandchildren. This patriarch of soul left behind a legacy of biblical proportions; his music a gift to all mankind. I first came to know Burke, much older then, from his album Don’t Give Up on Me (2002). The album was mellow and without the brassy pulse of Everybody Needs Somebody to Love. This was Mr. Burke at maturity. His voice was soothing but his music was like that, easy listening with a hint of melancholy, it was soul for beginners but veterans also went back to Mr. Burke like Prodigal Children so that he could wipe away the pain and tell us everything was going to be all right, and it worked, like therapy on the cheap. Fast train is one if my all time favourite songs, an analogy of life and all it’s misery but Mr. Burke argued as to move on not despite of this but in spite of it. Always a group of wailing women served as back up vocals making his songs so catchy and endearing as he decried moral decay or the fact that (always and everywhere) Everybody Wants to Fall In Love.

Mr. Burke died in Amsterdam, at Schipol Airport. His website reported that “He was on his way to spread his message of love”. He may not have reached where he was going but his message reverberates around the world in the hearts of many. He sometimes sang about going home, indeed We’re Almost Home (1972) was all about that wholesome place, almost metaphysical in definition. Mr. Burke is now finally home. At peace after giving so much of himself. He gained neither obsessive fame nor excessive fortune and I think he was okay with that.

To King Solomon.