Upclose With Rex Lawson

The story of Rex and I eloquently captures the essence of this

biblical statement by Jesus, the Man from Galilee.

I was cofounder and bassist of The Blackstones, which is the first rock band formed in Rivers State after the Civil War. Rex and I lived and performed in the core of Port Harcourt Township. Rex lived at No. 35 Aggrey Road by Sokoto Street and The Blackstones lived at No. 33. Ludo Nite Club was located at Hospital Road by Sokoto Street and Hilsom Inn sat at Bernard Carr Street by Sokoto Street.

Rex was the undisputed global king of the highlife genre and I was a provincial personification of rock music. At the time, rock music with its earthy and heavy underground sound had evolved from pop and was sufficiently threatening the continued existence of highlife with extinction. This was a by-product of the widely prevalent colonial mentality syndrome (colomentasyn), which placed high premium on any and everything foreign over homegrown alternatives, especially amongst the youth. This struggle for social spotlight was exacerbated by the fact that Berepele Davies, a dashing gentleman from Bakana and publisher of Flash Magazine, put my photograph (with my bass guitar in hand) on the cover of the magazine for six months; at the time, Flash was one of the only two monthly magazines in Nigeria. Beyond the difference in music, I was a teetotaler while Rex smoked the biggest wrap of weed I ever saw and could empty a bottle of gin in one fell swoop straight from the bottle. So, we were dealing with the dual difference of music genre and lifestyle. I must confess, we were on common grounds regarding the Third W, if you know what I mean.

That was the setting when Rex had the contract to tour England. With the advent bass guitar venturing into the highlife genre in place of the fiddle bass, Rex sent Francis Oviebo, his alto saxophonist, to poach me from The Blackstones for the trip. While the prospect of travelling to Europe had a compelling allure for me, I could not imagine being a bassist in a highlife band; so, I turned down the offer.

Rex returned from the tour with only three of the nine members of his band. Without a band of his own, Rex showed up during one of our gigs at Romeo Star Hotel on Victoria Street, Port Harcourt and requested to perform with us. He spotted a two-piece deep brown velvet safari suit that complimented his colour and his radiantly glowing skin. Irrespective of  the contagious sociability and  superimposing personality he exuded, I objected to his proposition but was out-voted by the other members of the band. So it came to pass that the first post-British tour public performance of Rex Lawson was with The Blackstones.

Shortly into the performance, Amakiri Photos came to take pictures of us and I moved off the camera-way to avoid being captured in a photo with Rex. However, the camera caught the machine head of my Egmond bass guitar. At the end of the show, Rex requested a group photograph with the band and I refused to be part of it. Peter Brown, Gee Richards, Tammy Evans, Sam Mathews and Johnnie Fibbs, our manager, joined him. That photograph is on page 12b of Cardinal Rex Jim Lawson: The Legend by Sopriala Hutchinson Bobmanuel. This sums up the silent rift between Rex and I before his demise.

As a result of family and societal pressure and the general perception of musicians as school dropouts and ne’er do wells, Peter Brown (lead guitar/keyboards), Gee Richards (rhythm guitar) and I decided to go back to school; this decision was buoyed by the liberal education policy of Governor Alfred Diete-Spiff. Resultantly, Peter Brown went to Manchester University to study Metallurgy, Gee Richards went to Buckingham University to study Law and I enrolled at Murray State University (MSU), Murray, Kentucky, USA to study Radio/TV Broadcasting.

In August 1974, Emmanuel “Iyo” Atonkiri Dokubo (King Emmanuel Dokubo-Spiff, now a traditional ruler) brought an album of Rex to MSU preparatory for Fall Semester 1974. During Christmas break, I was assigned to manage the university Radio/TV station, WKMS, during the break. In the US tradition of hands-on education, I opened, managed and closed the station every day for two weeks. In the early hours of one morning, I played Rex Lawson’s So Ala Temem on WKMS. Shortly thereafter, my head of department, Professor Bob Howard, stormed out of the elevators at the 11th floor of Nathan Stubblefield Building that housed my department. His questions and exclamations reflected a combination of fear and fury. Howard reminded me of the regulations of Federal Communications Commission (FCC), which stipulates that no record of foreign language be played on US radio stations.

On the first day of class the next semester, Howard brought up the issue in class and emphasized the need for students to obey FCC rules. Just as he was about to go into the business of the day, a student requested the privilege of listening to the music in African language. Other students echoed the view and I was asked to bring the record on the next day of class.

On D-Day, I brought the album and Howard brought a turntable. I was asked to introduce the song; so I talked about the highlife genre, its predominance in the West African music scene of yesteryears and its waning popularity, especially amongst the youth given the potent threat from rock. I also discussed the dominance of Rex in the artform especially his being crowned King of Highlife and the fact that he and I come from the same State and I played with him. Thereafter, So Ala Temem was played and, at the request of the students, it was encored three times. Then the reactions followed.

One after the other, the students discussed the song: the sonority of the velvet-smooth voice, the uncanny combination of lamentation and supplication in the delivery of the vocals; the balanced sound engineering; the brevity of the song, which they considered unfortunate and the tightness of the music with one instrument ushering in another in a perfectly coordinated orchestration etc. I folded my arms in total awe. “All these about Rex?” I soliloquized.  Thereafter, I spent many days listening to Akaso Inyingi, Berebote, Ibinabo, Suzana Pango (with the compelling tenor saxophone intro by Tony Obs), Sobebo Ibina, Mekine Wabote, Ayemuba Udeaja and, of course, So Ala Temem, which reconciled Rex and I, albeit post-humously.  Listening to these songs, I heard the music of Rex from the perspective of the comments of my classmates. Jesus was right; Rex was without honour in his country, amongst his kin and in his home.

Ever since, I became an avid disciple of Cardinal Rex Lawson. He was a master of spontaneity, which yields the best in creativity. As a conscience-mending conciliatory gesture, I have published tributes to him in Thisday, Guardian, The Tide etc every January since I returned. Rex deserves to be honoured with a heroic epic movie, which will burn his legend into the psyche of the youth with special reference to the productive potency of focus and tenacity in one’s chosen field of endeavor.

Adieu, Erekosima

Dr. Osai is an Associate Professor at the Rivers State University, Port Harcourt.