Need To Immortalise Rex Lawson

On Sunday, January 12, 2020, I listened to an audio clip of an unreleased song by Cardinal Rex Jim Lawson; the clip came from the ebullient Daag (Dagogo Josiah). Having had the rare privilege of playing on stage with Rex, I could “see” the entire band as every instrumentalist did his thing throughout the song. It was nostalgic. There was the rich effect of two guitars, which was novel for the highlife genre at the time. I could see Chike Charles on drums maintaining the beat and lacing it with rolls, which constitute cues that conduct the performance of the other instrumentalists; in the same department, I could also “see” Tony “Akatakpo” Odili practically caressing his congas as he joins in conducting the band; Franco Oviebo on alto sax and each and every other member of the band consummately delivered their part that culminate in the unmistakable sound of Rex Lawson and the Mayors/Majors Band. At the end of that reminiscence, I sent a text to Daag saying thus: “it is a tragedy of our history that the greatest ambassador of old Rivers State was never caught on video.” This article is inspired by the above twenty-word lamentation.
At about 5pm on Saturday, January 16, 1971, King Sonny Brown and I stood with Cardinal Rex Jim Lawson at the Sokoto Street side of Afro Bamboo, No. 35 Aggrey Road, Port Harcourt and spiritedly endeavoured to talk Rex out of travelling to Warri that day. Our reasons were very cogent and simple: (1) given the time, it was going to be a night journey, which is usually dangerous in this part of the world, (2) General Yakubu Gowon’s post-war Reconciliation, Rehabilitation and Reconstruction (RRR) policy had not materialised in good roads at the time, especially in the areas affected by the civil war, and (3) the road from Port Harcourt to Warri via Onitsha (East-West Road and Kaiama Bridge had not been conceptualised) was highly treacherous. Rather unfortunately, Rex was in very high spirit such that our admonitions did not hit the target. He had taken delivery of a brand new Ford Transit Taunus Bus from J.O. Allen Motors on Aba Road late that afternoon and that was the kickoff night for his new contract in Warri, a city he loved so much having played there during the formative years of his career. He was worried that the fans will be disappointed and the hotel proprietor will be angered by his absence. Inevitably, the “Pinaoyibo” King and I waved Rex goodbye as they set off.
Rex and I were not great friends; if anything, we were adversaries of sorts: he was the undisputed Global King of Highlife and I was just a provincial personification of Pop and Soul, which were morphing into the Rock genre at the time; Rex believed that my type of music was “transient” while I insisted that Highlife was destined for the dustbin of music history. He drank gin like water and had the biggest wrap of herbs I ever saw while I was a teetotaller. As if taking side in the matter, publisher Berepele Davies gave me a highly effectual shot in the arm by placing my photograph on the cover of Flash Magazine, which was one of the only two magazines in Nigeria at the time; the other one was Newbreed. Rex and I were worlds apart. The previous year, Franco Oviebo (Rex’s alto saxophonist) had offered me to join them on the British tour but I turned it down. Rex’s first public performance on his return from Britain was with my band, The Blackstones; it took place at Romeo Star Hotel, Victoria Street, Port Harcourt. Rex came in the middle of the show and requested to sing; I was outvoted in my objection and when Amakiri Photos came to take a shot of the performance, I moved from camera-way but the head of my Egmond Bass Guitar was captured in the photograph. Again, at the end of the show, Rex requested for a group photograph with the band, I walked away from it and he took the shot with the other members. Interestingly, these two photographs are in a book on Rex written by Sopriala Hutchinson Bob-Manuel. Irrespective of the seeming conflict, Rex and I related with utmost cordiality and that was the general mood amongst us all. It is a reflection of the easy-going attitude of musicians. Virtually all of us lived and performed in the same vicinity: Afro Bamboo, Rex’s residence, was No. 35 Aggrey Road by Sokoto Street; No. 31 Freetown Street, the residence of The Blackstones, was on Freetown Street by Sokoto, LudoNite Club was on Hospital Road by Sokoto and Hilsom Inn was on Bernard Carr Street by Sokoto; so, our world revolved around the same vicinity with Sokoto Street as the common denominator. By the way, LudoNite Club and Hilsom Inn were the happening places at the time. Cedar Palace Hotel on Harbor Road was elitist, Romeo Star Hotel and Land of Canaan Hotel were in the fringes while Copa Cabana and Executive Club 67 were on the drawing board.
Sunday, January 17, 1971, The Blackstones were performing at LudoNite Club; at about 11pm, a crowd of young men and women came to the gate and announced that Rex was dead. We froze on stage, Mr. John Oki, the proprietor, was in shock; however, shortly thereafter, the music went on; we could not stop the show because that required refunding the patrons, which was not an option at all. At about 1am Monday, January 18, 1971, an enlarged crowd returned with rage and patrons, band and staff of the club scampered to safety and the show was over.
Rivers State (present Rivers and Bayelsa States) went into mourning. Governor Alfred Diete-Spiff announced that the State Government will underwrite the burial. On D-Day, we gathered at Port Harcourt City Council Hall where Rex lay in state with his trumpet and its mute lying still beside him. Every one of note in the State was there; people from far and near were also there; so also were all the musicians in town. For The Blackstones, we wore black on black. King Sony Brown did not look kingly at all; he was obviously devastated. Rex had sheltered all of the Rivers musicians during the war and they lived like brothers at Afro Bamboo; with Rex gone, Brown had an oversize shoe to wear. And Rex was interred with great fanfare.
Fast forward to 1975, Emmanuel Dokubo had joined me at Murray State University, Murray, Kentucky, USA to study Radio/TV-Broadcasting and he came along with a music album by Rex. For a course in Directed Public Performance, I was assigned to manage WKMS, the university radio and television station, during mid-semester break. At about 6.15 one morning, I played Rex Lawson’s So AlaTemem and other songs from the album and was savoring the sonorous voice and tight instrumentation in the songs on the seventh floor of Nathan Stubblefield Building when my Head of Department, Professor Robert Howard, stormed into the studio and ordered me to stop the record; I did and he gave me a brief lecture on Federal Communication Commission (FCC) laws that forbid playing songs delivered in foreign language. He was more worried than irate not knowing if the monitors at FCC would pick up the slip-up. When classes resumed at the end of the break, Professor Howard, addressed the issue during our first meeting. He dwelt more on FCC laws and eventually zeroed in on Rex. He subjected So AlaTemem to critical analysis and surmised that it must be a love song; when he turned to me for a verdict on his adventure in music appreciation, I was lost. The class was rather surprised that I did not know the words of the song meanwhile I had told them that Rex and I are from the same State; I had to deliver a brief lecture on Nigeria’s multiculturalism and multilingualism. In the end, Professor Howard’s analysis of So AlaTemem and the enthusiastic responses from my Caucasian fellow students opened my ears to the beauty of Rex Lawson’s music and, of course, my eyes to the genius that he was. While Ibo language was virtually the lingua franca on the streets of pre-civil war Port Harcourt, Rex had crowds in Onitsha, Enugu, Warri, Lagos, Calabar and other cities in Nigeria joyfully singing in Kalabari language and energetically dancing to the rhythms of Sea Water percussions.
As we remember Rex on this forty-ninth anniversary of his demise, I appeal that efforts should be commenced to produce a film on him. Granted that some structures have been named after Rex and one or two books, and a few articles written on him, the visuals and dialogues of film give details of the story and, therefore, leave an indelible imprint in the minds of the public. Within the timeframe of one year, this objective can be achieved and presented to the public on the fiftieth anniversary. Tony Odili is still strong and kicking, Dumo Oruobu who, I hear, wrote his project on Rex, yours truly and a few others who knew Rex can help in the narrative. Department of Mass Communication in Rivers State University and Department of Theater Arts in University of Port Harcourt should be able to help in the production. Thank God for technology, Jamie Fox played Ray Charles and “sang” his songs effectively through the technology of lip-synching; this technology is available here today.
Towards the above project, I hereby appeal to Governor Nyesom Ezenwo Wike, the Governor of Rivers State, to shoot the first salvo by directing the Ministries of Culture and Information to constitute a team to drive this objective. Also, the Chairmen of Asari-Toru, Akuku-Toru and Degema Local Governments should be able to support the State Government in underwriting the cost of production and presentation.
Cardinal Rex Jim Lawson earned this; he deserves it. Let us oblige him.

*Dr Osai is a lecturer at the Rivers State University, Port Harcourt.

Jason Osai