‘Lost & Found’ or ‘Requiem for the new Mozambican man’: Musicking transition from a socialist single-party to a capitalist multiparty system (1987–1994)

Abstract

This article examines the transformations in musical activity in Mozambique between 1987 and 1994, a period marked by the transition from a socialist single-party to a capitalist multiparty system. Drawing on data from articles published in local newspapers and complemented by interviews with key individuals, this study focuses on three pivotal domains of musical activity: radio broadcasting, the phonographic industry and entertainment industries. It aims to clarify the importance of musicking activities in reflecting the cultural, social and economic transformations that occurred in Mozambique, particularly in the capital city Maputo, as well as the decline of the ‘new Mozambican man’ cultural project. It also delves into various topics, including the production shift from vinyl records to cassettes, the invitation of international artists as a symbol of ‘openness’ to capitalist countries and the broader revisions made to broadcasting and phonographic publishing policies.

Lost in time: what else could have happened in eight years?

It is not surprising that political efforts to achieve ‘openness’ and a more transparent state led to the rise of artistic expressions that were previously repressed. The use of the female body for commercial purposes in choreographies and musical operettas, whether contemporary, traditional, modernist, or mercantile, is now visible in live performances, on TV screens, and in paintings. In Maputo, these dynamics reveal aspects that break away from conservative minds, challenging the puritanism of some and the taboos of others. It is said that the times have changed and that political games are over […]. This happens to the detriment of normal practices [sic], as unfamiliar cultural values are imposed upon the African population, possibly in the guise of promoting the free market and private initiatives.^{1, 2}

In the early 1990s, the world witnessed many pivotal events: new countries emerged with the fall of the USSR; Germany was reunified; the Gulf War broke out; Nelson Mandela was freed from prison; and Namibia became the last sub-Saharan African territory to gain independence. In 1992, good news finally came from Mozambique: FRELIMO's government³ and RENAMO⁴ signed a peace treaty on 4 October, confirming the end of an arduous 16-year civil war that had claimed the lives of 1 million people. ‘Openness’, ‘democracy’ and ‘transparency’ became the new watchwords, while new voices infused national politics: President Joaquim Chissano (b. 1939) replaced Samora Machel (1933–1986) after his death in October 1986, while Afonso Dhlakama (1953–2018) cemented himself as the undisputed leader of RENAMO, which had been recently transformed into a political party.

The previous quote, published in January 1994 in Tempo magazine, is particularly enlightening about this new era: once repressed artistic practices were now elevated as traits of the ‘new time’. In this case, ‘nudism’ and the ‘commercialisation of the female body’, which were vehemently rejected by FRELIMO after independence, were now tolerated and even seen as ‘art’. Yet there were still those who expressed concern and discomfort with some of the changes at play, as was the case of journalist Paulo Sérgio, who authored the opening quote.⁵ For him, this new era would destroy Mozambique's ‘normal practices’ [sic] in favour of other ‘unfamiliar cultural values imposed upon the African population’; in other words, he feared the ‘Westernisation’ and ‘liberalisation’ of Mozambican culture. The ‘political games’ were over, and the ‘new Mozambican man’ project was crumbling;⁶ for better or worse, any musical genre could now be conceivable in Mozambique. How did that happen?

This article addresses the changes in expressive practices in Mozambique during the so-called ‘transition period’ from a Socialist single-party to a Capitalist multiparty system from 1987 to 1994. It recontextualises research data originally included in the closing chapter of my PhD thesis on the ‘Sonorous Construction of Mozambique’, focusing on three major topics: cultural policy, radio broadcasting and music industries.⁷ I have published various articles related to these three subjects, although their contents were mostly limited to Machel's period in office (1975–1986).⁸ This article, then, serves as the concluding part of an overarching narrative, shedding light on the cultural policy implemented during Chissano's often overlooked first term as president of the People's Republic of Mozambique. To that end, I adopted a qualitative method and developed an ‘ethnography of the past’ (Bohlman 2008; McCollum and Herbery 2014), mainly drawing on a series of articles published in local newspapers (presented in English for the first time), supplemented by interviews with key individuals.

In recent years, the historiography of Mozambique's nation-building processes has grown exponentially. Yet despite some notable exceptions,⁹ most of these endeavours tend to overlook or downplay the significance of music and dance performance – or ‘musicking’ – in enacting national and nationalist symbols. As such, this work was modelled on other studies on music, nation-building and post-colonialism in African countries, as are the examples of Waterman (1990), Turino (2000), Askew (2002), Moorman (2008) and Meintjes (2003), which deal with transitional periods from colonial to postcolonial (or democratic) contexts in Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Tanzania, Angola and South Africa, respectively.

Christopher Waterman notably reflected on the principles outlining the study of ‘musical change’, asserting that scholars should go beyond perspectives that strictly focus on musical sound to the detriment of other dimensions intrinsic to its meaning. In his perspective, ‘sentient human actors, the creators and bearers of cultural patterns, are the agents of musical continuity and change’, further adding that ‘the aesthetic and economic valuation of performance, the rhetorical and ideological functions of style, and dominant modes of musical technology and dissemination are not contextual factors, but fundamental aspects of musical practice taken as a whole’ (Waterman 1993, p. 67). This holistic premise seems to be in consonance with Christopher Small's ‘Musicking’ concept, defined as the act ‘to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance, whether by performing, by listening, by rehearsing or practising, by providing material for performance (what is called composing) or by dancing’ (Small 1998, p. 9). The author extends this definition to other activities, including, for instance, ‘the roadies who set up the instruments and carry out the sound checks or the cleaners who clean up after everyone else has gone. They, too, are all contributing to the nature of the event that is a musical performance’ (Small 1998). As such, not only do I resort to this concept, but I further expand its premise to the idea of ‘musicking a nation’ within an everchanging post-colonial context,¹⁰ while asserting that Mozambique's nation-building processes were determined by a collective sonorous ‘imagiNation’ that was daily performed by musicians, producers, cultural entrepreneurs and politicians, among others. A historical contextualisation covering these transformations may help to explain the reasoning behind the profound value shift alluded to in the quote that opened this article.

The Republic of Mozambique is located in southeast Africa, sharing borders with the Indian Ocean and six former English colonies: Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe, South Africa and the Kingdom of eSwatini. It was under Portuguese political administration until 1975. Widespread discontent among the population fuelled a decade-long war against Portuguese authorities, led by the Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO), spanning from 25 September 1964 to 7 September 1974, when Mozambique's right to independence was formally recognised, leading to its proclamation on 25 June 1975. President Samora Machel led the new FRELIMO government within a single-party state rooted in Marxist–Leninist principles, with the creation of the ‘new Mozambican man’ as the revolution's primary objective. To achieve this, the values associated with the ‘vicious, colonialist, and capitalist man’ had to be discredited and countered (Cabaço 2001, p. 112). To that end, FRELIMO wanted to eradicate the political relevance of ethnicity to unite all populations under this socialist ideology: Machel went as far as to affirm that the unity of all citizens implied ‘killing the tribe to build the nation’ (Machel 1974, p. 39). To fulfil that premise, all ‘ethnic’ or ‘regional’ cultural traits should be dissolved in a centrifugal movement towards a singular ‘national’ identity. However, that idea was challenged once it became clear that FRELIMO was controlled by elites hailing from the south of the territory, especially Tsonga-related.¹¹

Since many ethnic groups did not feel included or did not conform to the socialist ideology adopted, the country entered a new convoluted period marked by a civil war (1977–1992) between FRELIMO's government and a militarised movement known as the Mozambican National Resistance (RENAMO), which was deemed anti-communist and connected to the Rhodesian and South African apartheid regimes. The repercussions of this conflict proved devastating for Mozambique, with a million people losing their lives either in direct combat or succumbing to hunger-related issues. Thousands suffered injuries, and an alarming 5 million people were displaced, predominantly relocating from rural regions to major urban centres. Consequently, the population of the capital city, Maputo, witnessed exponential growth, surging from 751,000 residents in 1980 to 1,516,000 by 1990. This surge contributed to a grim situation where stores faced shortages of essential goods, with food rationing being implemented (Vivet 2015, p. 63).

The first reform that led to the market's liberalisation happened at FRELIMO's Fourth Congress, held in April 1983. Despite preserving the belief that Marxism–Leninism should endure as the main political/ideological model, the government recognised, for the first time, that it could not control all sectors of the Mozambican economy, thus opening up the possibility of creating private companies (FRELIMO 1983). The Minister of Education and Culture's speech at that event (Graça Machel) revealed the priorities of the time, focusing primarily on health and education, making no reference whatsoever to cultural matters.¹² This shift in priority was confirmed in December 1983, with cultural affairs losing its ministerial status to a mere State Secretariat, under the direction of Luís Bernardo Honwana (b. 1942). This change can be explained by other more urgent problems arising from the civil war, which were amplified by severe weather phenomena, such as floods and droughts, triggering a huge humanitarian crisis that placed Mozambique as one of the poorest countries in the world (Monteiro 2010, pp. 49–64). Amid this complex situation, and to everyone's surprise, the plane carrying President Samora Machel and his entourage crashed in Mbuzini (South Africa) on 19 October 1986, leading to his death in still undisclosed circumstances.¹³

On 6 November 1986, Joaquim Chissano assumed the presidency of the People's Republic of Mozambique: while previous watchwords persisted, including ‘revolution will win’ and ‘socialism will triumph’, Chissano introduced the expression ‘austerity’ into official discourse, emphasising the need to ‘use resources correctly, rationally, productively’, and ‘to guarantee wages only for productive workers’.¹⁴ These ideas laid the foundation for the Economic Restructuring Program (PRE).

In January 1987, a series of adjustment measures were announced and implemented as part of the PRE, under the guidance of the International Monetary Fund. These measures included the forced devaluation of Mozambican currency (metical), increased interest rates, cuts in public spending, wage controls, import restrictions and efforts to boost exports. The objectives of the PRE can thus be summarised in two key ideas: economically, it aimed to gradually shift the focus from state-led to private initiatives, while politically, the intention was to move away from socialist ideals and dismantle the single-party system (Mosca 1999, pp. 167–174). However, the effectiveness of such measures would only be realised once a major ongoing problem was resolved: the civil war.

Initially, the government refused to engage in talks with RENAMO, arguing that it was nothing more than a military group with no specific political agenda other than terrorising the population and destabilising the country. A first – albeit unsuccessful – attempt at negotiations occurred in Nairobi (Kenya) in August 1989 (Rocca 2012, p. 31). Meanwhile, influenced by political transformations occurring in Eastern Europe, such as the imminent disintegration of the Soviet bloc, FRELIMO was already preparing for many internal changes, the most important of which were confirmed in July 1989 during FRELIMO's Fifth Congress, with the formal abandonment of socialism and further encouragement of private initiative. After many meetings and countless concessions on both sides, FRELIMO and RENAMO signed the Peace Accords on 4 October 1992, thus ending the war. At last, the first multiparty elections took place between 27 and 29 October 1994, just a few months after the ANC's impressive victory in South Africa's first free elections.¹⁵

All these social, economic and political changes have greatly impacted the country's expressive practices and their related discourses. Given its placement as the concluding chapter of a multiphase narrative, this article has the challenging task of revising previously published information related to radio broadcasting, the phonographic industry and entertainment industries in Mozambique, while explaining how musicking intertwined with the eventual demise of FRELIMO's ‘new Mozambican man’ socialist project. As such, aside from this contextual introduction, this article includes four additional sections: the first, ‘Lost in translation’, focuses on changes in radio broadcasting policy and reflects, among other aspects, on the fate of the radio orchestra Grupo RM; the second, ‘Lost in transition’, explores the phonographic industry's renaissance from 1989 onwards, namely its (very late) transition to cassette, which, in turn, brought new publishing policies; the third, ‘Lost in the rhythm’, evaluates the changes occurred in music concerts and nightlife activity in the capital city Maputo, while the concluding section, ‘Lost & found: A requiem for the new Mozambican man’, clarifies the significance of musicking activities in preparing the cultural, social and economic changes that took place in Mozambique from 1987 until 1994.

Lost in translation: charting the radio

After 17 or 18 years of independence, a period characterised by a ‘grey atmosphere’ filled with eulogies, political speeches, and revolutionary anthems, we now witness a much-improved radio broadcasting landscape. Despite being a government station that relies on State subsidies, Rádio Moçambique has recently prioritised quality programs while producers are continuously motivated through much-deserved payments. In practice, the radio station is evolving towards a more commercial model, building trust amongst listeners, and providing high-quality services unrivalled in Africa.¹⁶

This quote by radio producer António Alves da Fonseca, published in Tempo magazine in March 1993, summarises the history of radio broadcasting since the country's independence in 1975, particularly during Samora Machel's period in office. In truth, the history of this station goes back to 1934, when a group of Portuguese enthusiasts decided to create a radiophiles guild that eventually turned into Rádio Clube de Moçambique. The station faced an impressive boost after the Second World War, becoming one of the largest commercial broadcasting companies in Africa. In 1974, it had three orchestras and a choir, in addition to transmitting more than 60,000 hours per year in 14 different languages. One such channel – LM Radio – especially directed to South African audiences with announcements in English and Afrikaans, became very successful, providing more than 60% of the radio budget, mostly via advertising.¹⁷

After independence, Rádio Moçambique (RM) was created as a result of the nationalisation of the territory's broadcasting systems; it was thus subsequently instrumentalised at the service of the ongoing revolution. For instance, music groups were called to record their traditional and popular music repertoires, while the songs’ lyrics abided by FRELIMO-centred values and revolutionary content; only around 1977–1978 did other routine themes, such as love, started to appear. However, following some disagreements about the appropriate music to be played on the national radio, a much-heated debate broke out in the newspapers (1981), with RM's management deciding that the station should broadcast 40% Mozambican music; 40% African music or music with African roots such as rumba, calypso, or samba; while the remaining 20% should prioritise the music of socialist countries, restricting, on the other hand, music from North American and Western European ‘capitalist’ countries. Simultaneously, and aiming to boost the production of Mozambican music, radio executives decided to create, in January of 1979, a popular music orchestra – Grupo RM – that played ‘old Mozambican music’, composed new repertoire inspired by traditional rhythms, and provided accompaniment to other musicians on recordings.¹⁸

Following Machel's death in 1986 and the implementation of PRE in 1987, Rádio Moçambique maintained its undisputed status as the leading communication medium in the country. Even with the improvement of television transmissions by TVE, only RM could reach the entire population,¹⁹ as its jingle promptly reminded everyone: RM was heard ‘from Rovuma to Maputo’.²⁰ It was precisely in 1987 that RM created a new programme in a ‘top’ or ‘music chart’ format – Ngoma-Moçambique – following examples of international radios and well-known programmes from the colonial period. Radio producer Américo Xavier explained the reasoning behind its creation: ‘We felt the need to infuse some excitement to the Mozambican Popular Music scene, and that's when we created “Ngoma” – the programme – which still exists today.²¹ Objectively, we wanted to create new ways of promoting music, and it was very well received … many artists were eager to participate’.²²

The programme comprised a music chart where listeners could vote for their favourite songs through coupons. It had a weekly frequency, starting in March/April and running until December, when a final gala event was held, including songs’ performances and awards. According to Xavier, ‘when a song didn't have enough points, it would drop some places until it was eventually replaced by others’.²³ However, unlike similar charts produced in other countries, the songs featured on the programme had not been previously released on vinyl records or cassettes; they were unpublished songs recorded solely for broadcasting purposes. Only after 1989 did phonographic publication become part of the project as a product – and not a prerequisite – in cassette format, including the most-voted artists of that particular year. In the early 1990s, music videos were produced for winning songs (in partnership with TVE), which were also used in submissions to international competitions, such as Grand Prix Découvertes of Radio France Internationale (RFI).²⁴

The voting method proved to be ineffective since coupon availability was limited to Maputo and rarely reached other provinces. As such, with a few notable exceptions such as Eva Mendonça (Cabo Delgado), Aida Humberto (Nampula) and Stewart Sukuma (Niassa),²⁵ the majority of artists came from the southern part of the country and predominantly sang in Xichangana and Xironga languages. However, even if these exceptions came from other provinces, they were living in Maputo by the time they participated in the programme, reinforcing the idea that only the artists who had access to RM studios could actively participate, which proved to be a challenge for musicians from other provinces, especially during wartime.²⁶ As such, just like the NGOMA recording label before it, one may argue that this initiative missed its main purpose: to ‘give voice’ to different ethnic groups from all over the country; actually, it may have worked against FRELIMO's desired objective of ‘unity’ among all Mozambicans, especially since populations from the centre and north felt ‘lost in translation’, as they could not even understand the songs’ lyrics.^{27, 28}

The implementation of programmes in the format of a ‘music chart’ or ‘top’ became the first musical initiative to emerge in the transitional period to capitalism. The absence of this type of format until 1987 can be explained by the fact that the idea of a ‘top’ – where songs (and artists) would be hierarchically ordered based on public voting – could be generally misunderstood in a context where efforts were being made promote equality among all Mozambicans. On the other hand, voting opened the door for songs with ‘alienating’ or ‘trivial’ themes to surpass other songs cherished by the regime. So, why did this change in 1987? When I asked Xavier if there was any connection to President Machel's death, the answer was unequivocal: ‘No. It had nothing to do with it. It appeared naturally’, further adding that ‘since all international radio stations had charts, we thought … why not create one in Mozambique? But for that to happen, we immediately understood that it was necessary to produce more songs. We had to create our idols. Objectively, it was a question of searching for a national identity’.²⁹ In subsequent years, Ngoma-Moçambique gained great notoriety, still enduring today as the main platform for creating and disseminating Mozambican popular music.

Many other initiatives also aimed to infuse vitality into radio broadcasts, as radio producer Alves da Fonseca explained in the quote that opened this section. One of the most significant changes happened in December 1992, two months after the signing of the Peace Accords, as the Expanded Consultative Council of RM presented a new editorial statute to symbolise the country's ‘democratisation phase’. Containing 80 articles divided into 17 chapters, the new regulation was characterised by the ‘non-subjection of journalists to external interference’, namely by the government.³⁰ It is plausible that this transformative shift extended to other domains, fostering the adaptability of song lyrics and themes, consequently promoting the democratisation of musical creation in the country.

Fourteen months later, in March 1994, Tempo magazine announced that RM was ‘on the verge of financial collapse’. Its director-general at the time, Manuel Tomé, mentioned the need to transform the radio station into a public company to ensure its survival,³¹ with the law approving this conversion being passed on 16 June 1994, four months before the first multiparty elections.³² Following this change, a surprising measure was announced: after 15 years, the radio orchestra – Grupo RM – would no longer be under the jurisdiction of Rádio Moçambique. As a direct consequence, musicians would lose their salaries and their state employees’ status.³³ In an article published in Tempo magazine in June 1994, its members provided a general assessment of their work over the past 15 years, stating, among other ideas, that ‘the radio station paid for our salaries without ever worrying about the working conditions that the group longed for’. It was also mentioned that, between 1979 and 1983, the group had a very prominent activity, partaking in many ‘highly profitable’ shows: ‘I remember a time when the radio station couldn't pay its employees, and thus Grupo RM concerts revenue was used to pay everyone's salaries’.³⁴ Finally, they also mentioned that, after 1983, radio executives gradually lost interest in the group and that neither the international success achieved in its first transformation as Orchestra Marrabenta Star de Moçambique (1987) nor the subsequent success through the ‘Amoya’ project (as the result of the ‘Grand Prix Découvertes 90’ award from RFI)³⁵ prevented it from disbanding from RM. In the following years, Grupo RM eventually split after the entry and exit of musicians and some interruptions (Figure 1).³⁶

Figure 1. Grupo RM line-up in 1990. From left to right: Sox (lead guitar), Mingas (vocals), Paíto (bass guitar), Zeca Tcheco (drums), Matchote (saxophone), Chico António (trumpet and vocals) and Virgilio Soquiço (rhythm guitar). Source: Loforte 2007, p. 148.

Lost in transition: from vinyl to (a very late) cassette culture?

Since Rádio Moçambique resumed phonographic production, there have been no complaints about the low quality of the records sold, such as warped or dented discs. There is quality now! And according to [phonographic producer] Domingos Macamo, this is the result of efforts made to bring out a worthy product that does not compromise the reputation of Mozambican records domestically and internationally. The achieved quality is the result of dedication and professionalism, even though our country's disc factories still use pressing technology that is neither very advanced nor automated. Automation will only be employed when there is a need for large-scale production. For now, present conditions do not compromise the process.³⁷

This quote, published in Tempo magazine in February 1990, acknowledges some aspects of the renaissance of phonographic production in Mozambique after its forced halt in 1985. Indeed, the pathway this industry has endured since the country's independence has been convoluted. After the extensive exodus of music entrepreneurs and producers in 1975, Mozambique's phonographic industry became centralised in four companies: Rádio Moçambique and Instituto Nacional do Livro e do Disco (INLD) (both public), and the economic groups formed by Somodiscos and Teal Discos (both private). None of these companies could support all production phases, so a mutual aid agreement was cut between them, ensuring the division of musical markets. For instance, since the only studios available in the country were those of Rádio Moçambique, the station took charge of the production of national music (in articulation with INLD), while private companies were authorised to publish foreign music. Teal Discos boasted a monthly production capacity of 70,000 discs,³⁸ while Somodiscos published, only in 1980, a total of 461,480 albums, comprising 26 singles (with a combined total of 416,129 copies) and 45 long-plays (with a total of 45,351 units), a majority of which were related to imported albums.³⁹ However, since there was no way of producing matrix discs on Mozambican soil, these companies depended heavily on South African counterparts; as such, those figures were achieved very rarely. Therefore, Mozambique's recording industry was underdeveloped, and with no copyright laws in place, sales profits reverted almost entirely to the recording companies and Rádio Moçambique.

In the last months of 1978, the national label NGOMA was created, being initially published by INLD and, after 1982, by Rádio Moçambique. From 1979 until 1990, it published an impressive collection of over 160 albums, encompassing 45 rpm singles and 33 rpm LPs (Freitas 2023a). Its LPs comprised almost exclusively local productions, mainly música ligeira ⁴⁰ sung in southern languages. Another aspect worth mentioning is the lack of women artists, which stems from profound issues related to the musician's weak social status in Mozambican society. The lyrics revolved around moralising themes and social problems, such as home abandonment, delinquency, school disinterest and veiled critiques of the war between FRELIMO and RENAMO, although naturally aligned with FRELIMO's perspective. The 16 year war eventually took its toll on the phonographic industry: the lack of essential materials for phonographic production, such as vinyl and paper, the lack of foreign trade for producing matrix discs and the non-existence of turntables and musical instruments contributed to the phonographic industry's collapse in 1985. In the following years, most recorded music served only for radio broadcasting purposes (for instance, for ‘Ngoma-Moçambique’).⁴¹

The first efforts to reanimate this industry happened in mid-1988 with the announcement of a new collaboration between the German Democratic Republic and Indústria de Electrodomésticos (INDEL), similar to what happened beforehand with ‘Xirico’ radio receivers.⁴² This time, a new turntable prototype named ‘Xirico-festa’ was produced, aiming to boost LP record sales, especially in rural areas, with the stipulated price of 42,450.00 meticais (approximately 42 meticais in the current conversion; Figure 2).⁴³ Additionally, the shortage of resources was partially resolved with the acquisition of 72 tons of polyvinyl chloride (PVC), an essential raw material for disc production.⁴⁴

Figure 2. ‘Xirico-Festa’. Source: Tempo, no. 1009, pp. 49–53.

The possibility of producing turntables in Mozambique, the acquisition of raw materials for record production and the signing of new contracts with South African companies to produce matrix discs, pointed towards this industry's revival in 1989. However, the situation was not as straightforward as it seemed: despite PRE's advantages, the purchasing power of the Mozambican population has drastically waned with the forced devaluation of the metical.⁴⁵ In this initial phase, an average of 3000 copies of each LP would be produced and sold for 3000 meticais (approximately 3 meticais in the current conversion). Although not a very high price for that period, it was still unaffordable for most people.⁴⁶ In February 1990, nine records had already been released as part of this phonographic revival: ‘Paradas-de-sucesso’ volumes 3 and 4, as well as solo albums by Fanny Pfumo, Alexandre Langa (Figure 3), Paulo Miambo, Salvador Maurício, Fernando Azevedo, Xidiminguana (Figure 4), and an LP featuring ‘dance rhythms from Mozambique’.⁴⁷

Figure 3. Alexandre Langa – ‘Amnistia’ (NGOMA LPL0147, 1989).

Figure 4. Xidimingwana – ‘Xidimingwana’ (NGOMA LPL0147, 1989). Source: www.discogs.com.

Simultaneously, Rádio Moçambique studios (where these LPs were recorded) acquired new equipment that allowed 16-track recordings for the first time in the country. Although the increase in quality was immediately noticeable (as confirmed in the quote that opened this section), the low sales of these records led producers to rethink their production strategy. Initially, they even reduced the number of copies by half, from 3000 to 1500 units. However, they quickly realised that the revival of the phonographic industry would have to embrace another format – the cassette.

Several factors supported the transition from vinyl to cassette. Firstly, its lower duplication costs allowed for a reduction in consumer prices. Secondly, cassettes offered greater portability than vinyl discs since they could operate on batteries, whereas the latter depended on access to an electrical network, which was often inadequate in Mozambique, especially in rural areas. Thirdly, the duplication process could be done entirely at Rádio Moçambique, eliminating the need for external factories like Somodiscos or Teal Discos. More importantly, Mozambique's phonographic industry would no longer depend on foreign countries to produce matrix discs, as the entire process could be developed domestically. At last, the adoption of cassettes placed Mozambique within an extended international phonographic circuit that used it as the main medium for music circulation.⁴⁸ According to an article published in Tempo magazine, this change was projected to take place in mid-1990, an extremely delayed date compared with neighbouring countries and even more delayed when compared with countries in the Northern Hemisphere, which were already transitioning to compact discs:

Rádio Moçambique will produce blank cassettes, cassettes with Mozambican music, and international popular music that interests the youth. It is already known that cassette production will be profitable compared to vinyl records. We are so confident that we have already acquired the equipment for cassette recording and duplication. The first editions will include music previously released on vinyl discs to benefit those who do not have turntables but own cassette players. Later, there will be simultaneous releases of vinyl discs and cassettes with national rhythms.⁴⁹

With the introduction of cassette, a new (surprising) publication policy emerged: ‘regarding the music that comes from abroad, such as reggae, beat, and rock rhythms, Rádio Moçambique, as a publishing label, does not impose any barriers’, states an article in Tempo magazine, emphasising that ‘Humbe Benedito has composed a “reggae” titled “Free Nelson Mandela” sung in English, while three or five other artists have already recorded songs with non-Mozambican rhythms. There are no guidelines against or favouring the recording of such songs’.⁵⁰ Simultaneously, international promotion was also referred to as aspirations for Mozambican producers: ‘The language question should be seen in terms of international representation; for instance, a Mozambican Beat in English would help us be better understood abroad’, explained producer Domingos Macamo.⁵¹ This direction marks a huge departure from past protectionist policies that explicitly avoided music sung in English or with foreign rhythms. Gone were the days when producers ‘suggested’ that musicians sing music with revolutionary themes and forced them to answer a questionnaire to control their political aspirations.

By the end of 1993, RM had already released 45 cassettes since transitioning to this medium. Providing an overview of the situation, Macamo's initial enthusiasm eventually turned sour as he finally acknowledged that the production conditions were far from ideal. Journalist Paulo Sérgio further elaborated on the matter:

Both the radio station and musicians need more financial power to achieve the ideal scenario: a fast, efficient, and, above all, a timely recording service with even higher quality. This would partly contribute to improving the visual appeal of the cassettes and generating financial returns. […] Rádio Moçambique has invested in acquiring blank cassettes, ranging from 8000 to 11000 meticais each, further compounded by copyright costs. The lack of sponsoring from economic agents means that, at a minimum, the profit margin per cassette should be 4000 to 5000 meticais, restricting new investments in music production and improved royalty payments to artists. As such, why not double the unit price from the current fifteen meticais? It is because the public does not have sufficient purchasing power for that price increase.⁵²

With the end of the civil war, conditions for safe travel throughout the country were restored, opening the door for previously unavailable music to finally be sold nationwide. This attempt at decentralisation had already taken its first steps in the late 1980s with the creation of recording studios in the city of Beira under Rádio Moçambique's auspices, which finally enabled the recording of artists from Sofala and surrounding regions. However, judging from what musician Romualdo (from Beira) wrote at the time, many musicians from Sofala did not view favourably the quality of Beira RM studios: ‘There is still preference in recording at the central Maputo studios, as the technical conditions and artistic support are far superior’.⁵³ Other musicians, such as Imano Hagee, also complained about the policy of privileging artists from the South at the expense of those from the Centre and North: ‘The studio is always occupied for musicians from outside Maputo, […] on the other hand, Maputo artists are always recorded, whether they have quality or not’.⁵⁴ Agostinho Vieira, from Nampula, confirms this idea, stating that ‘it is rare to hear new music from Nampula on the national broadcasts of RM’.⁵⁵

Whether exaggerated or not, these statements demonstrate that, notwithstanding the adoption of new technologies and recording policies, the phonographic industry saw itself as ‘lost in transition’, as it could not resolve the already recurring discourse that only musicians from the south were privileged, namely those from Maputo, Inhambane and Gaza provinces. It is also worth noting that many artists viewed with scepticism the possibility of releasing their music domestically, especially those with more knowledge of how the recording industry operated. Zeca Tcheco, the drummer of Grupo RM, further elaborated on this matter:

The radio orchestra [Grupo RM] has no interest in publishing an album here [Mozambique]. Since there are no copyright laws, our compositions would fall into the public domain, our songs would be exposed to possible international plagiarism, and we would be harmed in terms of ownership and artistic representation. If we were only interested in money, all we had to do was to sell our repertoire to anyone who wanted to reproduce it internationally.⁵⁶

For this reason and benefiting from the interest generated by the World Music market,⁵⁷ private companies like ‘Movimento’ preferred to record and release Mozambican music abroad, already in compact disc, making it inaccessible to the Mozambican population. One such case was the project Orchestra Marrabenta Star de Moçambique, published by the label ‘Mapiko Disco-Vídeo’ and coordinated by businessman Aurélio Le Bon.⁵⁸

Lost in the rhythm: music concerts and nightlife in Maputo

The Shows Regulation enabled the control and verification of many aspects related to the organisation of concerts and shows. For instance, it requires event promoters to comply with stipulated guidelines, including penalties in cases of non-compliance. Furthermore, it encourages businessmen to adopt a responsible attitude towards recreational events.⁵⁹

If the phonographic industry did not achieve significant growth, the same cannot be said for the entertainment industry; on the contrary, it turned out to be the area where most progress was made after the implementation of PRE. The above quote by Arnaldo Bimbe, a show and concert inspector at the Directorate of Cultural Action [Direcção da Acção Cultural], highlights the initial results of the application of the ‘Shows Regulation’ approved in 1988. However, the journey towards that pivotal moment was also tumultuous, as the following contextualisation attests.

Immediately after independence, late-colonial shows like ‘Xitimela’, ‘Expresso’ (both led by Produções 1001) and ‘Foguetão’ (led by Delta Produções) were heavily criticised for allegedly perpetuating ‘reactionary’ values related to the late-colonial period, including genres such as pop, rock, Portuguese traditional music and dancing/singing contests. As a result, its producers were labelled ‘capitalists’ and ‘reactionaries’, and their shows were outright banned from Maputo. The popular music genre ‘Marrabenta’ was also side-lined owing to its association with the colonial period and bohemian lifestyle. In truth, it was believed that ‘the seed’ that led to the creation of the ‘new Mozambican man’ was not to be found in the city but in rural areas, an ideology deeply rooted in FRELIMO's warfare experience. As such, national and international popular music genres were deemed inappropriate owing to their urban and ‘vicious’ characteristics. Naturally, many rumours and misinterpretations arose, reaching their peak with a supposed ban on nightclub dancing, which despite never being formally implemented, conditioned the musicking practices developed in clubs, shifting from a participatory style to a more presentational format (Turino 2010).

By the late 1970s, and in line with other activities that, at last, aimed at stimulating popular music production in the country, as were the already-referred cases of Grupo RM and the NGOMA record label, the Ministry of Information financed the creation of EME – Empresa Moçambicana de Entretenimento – which became responsible for most entertainment venues in Maputo. However, the rejection of past performative models was not accompanied by alternatives. In truth, FRELIMO was not prepared to deal with the idea of a ‘commercial artist’ who would make a living solely by their music and, as such, no legal instruments were created to regulate their work. For instance, musicians were frequently exploited by entrepreneurs, who would then disappear without paying them (Freitas 2023b). In this sense, more than ensuring the quality and safety of performances and the scrupulous fulfilment of contracts with musicians, the approval of the Shows Regulation in 1988 represented the moment that FRELIMO finally acknowledged that these so-called ‘capitalist venues’ were here to stay (Figure 5).⁶⁰

Figure 5. The first page of ‘Regulamento do Espectáculo’ [Shows Regulation].⁶⁶

In the early 1990s, the number of concerts held in Maputo increased drastically to a weekly frequency, which was an extraordinary feat considering that the country was going through one of the toughest phases of the war. However, criticisms quickly arose in newspapers, denouncing that the majority of invited artists were from South Africa (to the detriment of Mozambican musicians), such as Zia,⁶¹ the reggae group Jambo,⁶² Mango Groove⁶³ and Soul Brothers,⁶⁴ even though they espoused a clear anti-apartheid stance.

However, when it came to promoting Mozambican artists abroad, companies complained about the lack of conditions to compete with their international peers. Augusto Dimande, responsible for the company CTHM-Entretenimentos, mentioned that international companies often asked for videoclips by Mozambican artists to showcase their quality, but none existed.⁶⁵ Other entrepreneurs, including Alex Barbosa, argued that Mozambican artists lacked the necessary quality to be promoted internationally, except for Orchestra Marrabenta Star de Moçambique.⁶⁷ Musician José Guimarães provided a strong response to Barbosa's claims, asserting that if things were not going well, it was due to the poor remunerations musicians received from managers (including from him).⁶⁸ In truth, in May 1992, Tempo magazine highlighted that ‘the role of music promoters is currently losing credibility. They cannot organise shows, production costs are leading to financial losses, and there is a lack of civility among spectators, as frequently reported in the newspapers’.⁶⁹

Regardless of the typology, origin and artistic calibre of invited performers, it was evident that the country's cultural landscape had undergone significant changes fuelled by PRE and the regulation of such events. These changes resulted in the inclusion of artists that would have otherwise been overlooked. They were, indeed, part of a state-wide political strategy to demonstrate a supposed openness to the Western and capitalist world, as dictated by the overall context, following the fall of the Berlin Wall and the ever-growing crisis in Eastern European Socialist countries. For instance, artists like Brazilian singer Joana (whose concert was ultimately cancelled)⁷⁰ and rock/funk groups like the Danish GNAGS would certainly never have been invited to perform in Maputo during Machel's presidential term.⁷¹ However, none of these concerts matched the magnitude of the one held on 30 July 1989, during FRELIMO's Fifth Congress, when it was finally decided that the country would transition to a multiparty system. This extraordinary event featured the participation of renowned artists and groups such as PJ Powers, Brenda Fassie, Sipho Mabuse, Steve Kekana and Eric Clapton.⁷² Yes, Eric Clapton. Organised in the same stadium where Samora Machel had declared the country's independence 14 years prior, this concert was defined as a strategic attempt to clarify the ‘true image of the country to the world’ and contradict the widespread narrative that everything resorted to war, suffering and death.⁷³ Actually, this event was publicly confirmed to be an elaborate plot to symbolise, on the world stage, the ongoing social, cultural and economic transformations that the country was facing (Figures 6 and 7).

Figure 6. Eric Clapton's live performance in Maputo.

Figure 7. The audience at the Machava Stadium at Eric Clapton's live performance in Maputo. Source: Tempo, 982, 53–8.

Simultaneously, Maputo's nightlife started to exhibit timid signs of recovery, with the emergence of dual-function spaces – serving as restaurants and discos – especially after the closing of most dancing venues during the first 10 years after independence. Restaurants began rearranging their establishments by moving tables to create space for dancing, despite most of them not having legal licences for such activities. Moreover, entry to these establishments was often free of charge, posing a challenge to legally operating clubs that charged for entrance:

Finding a place where you can have fun in an atmosphere filled with music and good refreshing drinks is easy these last few days in our capital. Almost all establishments with permits to sell drinks have already embarked on ‘offering’ live musical rhythms to their customers without guaranteeing the necessary conditions for such activities.⁷⁴

In the early 1990s, the woman's body became, once again, the subject of aesthetic reflections, as mentioned at the beginning of this article, following the organisation of events such as Miss Maputo-88, representing the resurgence of an entertainment aesthetic that was prevalent during the colonial period but soon became taboo after independence.⁷⁵ Nightlife embraced new sounds and dancing rhythms until they were disregarded or even ostracised, while young people adopted increasingly ‘Americanised’ behaviours:

The entertainment scene in Maputo is mostly shaped by ‘lambada’ and ‘beat’, which serve as catalysts for youth recreation. It is common to see young people dressing and behaving like they are in competitive dance circuits in New York. They enjoy imitating and being influenced by the music they see on television and in videoclips. Unfortunately, this trend has diminished the presence and recognition of Mozambican music.⁷⁶

Maputo, once a moralistic city built in opposition to Lourenço Marques (its ‘vicious’ colonial counterpart), was thus once again ‘lost in the rhythm’, in this case, to foreign rhythms, aesthetics and genres. Simultaneously, there was a surprising resurgence of groups related to the frenetic colonial nightlife, personified by events such as ‘Festival Velhas Glórias’ [Festival Past Glories] organised by EME on 12 May 1990 at the Maxaquene Pavilion, including groups for a long time absent from the city's musical scenes.⁷⁷ Lastly, nostalgia reached its peak in May 1992, on the eve of the Peace Accords, when Victor José, the host of late-colonial shows ‘Expresso’ and ‘Xitimela’, announced his intention to recreate these before-condemned formats.⁷⁸ Indeed, times had changed and ‘the political games have ended’ … there were no longer reasons to be accused of being ‘reactionary’ or ‘imperialist’.⁷⁹

Lost & Found: a requiem for the ‘new Mozambican man’

Samora's dream would dissolve with the communal villages destroyed, the burned plantations, the dynamited factories, the looted schools, the torched health centres, the millions of refugees scattered throughout the territory and abroad, and the displacement of those who seized control of his beloved Mozambique. […] With collective strategies vanishing, individualistic mechanisms emerged in their place anchored in the experience of pre-independence bourgeois society. As Samora had foreseen, once the fight against the exploitation of man by man was abandoned, the old system would be reborn. (Cabaço 2001, pp. 115–16)

In 1994, Mozambique was a very different country compared with the year of its independence in 1975. While tidying up the past and facing the future, some values that characterised the socialist era were lost, as noted in this quote by Mozambican Anthropologist José Cabaço. The transition from a single party to a multi-party regime, the rejection of Marxism–Leninism, and the pursuit of a new economic model focused on market openness and increased private initiative were factors that decisively conditioned the ‘new Mozambican man’ project. More than presenting the effects of these changes on musical activity, this article aimed to understand if music, dance and performance were, indeed, used to prepare and eventually anticipate the transformations at hand.

The first major change occurred as soon as 1987, with the emergence of a new aesthetic in the radio station, namely through the creation of music competition programmes, such as Ngoma-Moçambique. This format would have been unlikely to occur during the socialist period owing, on the one hand, to its competitive nature, and on the other, because it opened up the possibility for songs with ‘ordinary’ themes to appear hierarchically higher in the charts compared with other songs thematically consonant with FRELIMO's politics.

The second change concerns the artistic freedom granted to musicians, allowing them to finally create the music that they desired, even if it was inspired by external rhythms or by other influences that have been previously criticised or ostracised, thus representing a surprising turn of events given the tight control exerted over musicians during the first years after independence. This new policy was supplemented by the transition from vinyl discs to cassettes, a process which was, until then, obstinately postponed, probably owing to concerns that the more democratic and flexible medium (with the option to erase and record again) could open the door to the circulation of recordings beyond FRELIMO's control (Freitas 2023a, p. 90). However, with the multiparty elections lurking on the horizon, that tight control was no longer necessary and, as such, cassette editions became a reality.

The third change concerns the invitation of foreign artists from ‘capitalist’ countries to perform in Maputo, a practice until then restricted to the so-called ‘socialist countries’. For instance, Eric Clapton's concert in 1989 represents the height of this new aesthetic, as it was strategically booked for the aftermath of FRELIMO's Fifth Congress when the multiparty system was officially announced.

The fourth change concerns the timid revival of the nightlife musical scene, bringing back musical aesthetics and rhythms that were once suppressed, but could now freely flourish. International pop and rock music, lambada, hip-hop, and beat are among the new additions compared with the previous period. Moreover, the more ‘reserved’ style of dancing imposed during the socialist period has given way to the revival of a performative aesthetic that prioritised overtly sensualised movements.

In light of the aforementioned contingencies, a crucial question arises: were these ‘musical changes’ a by-product of national and nationalist ideologies, or, more significantly, a pivotal force driving and constructing those very same ideologies? Ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl drew attention to the fact that musical changes and sociocultural changes may not always be consonant; indeed, they can sometimes contradict or mitigate what would be expected in a given context (Nettl 1996). The author later expanded these ideas, identifying four general trends for the study of ‘change’ in musical activity: first, a radical cut with the past; second, radical change, but not a complete cut with the past; third, juxtaposition between continuity and change; and fourth, minimum change or variation (Nettl 2005). I already had the opportunity to identify and explain several ‘musical changes’ occurred during Samora's Machel period in office, that, in turn, can be classified under these four tendencies, including the abrupt change that occurred in the song lyrics between the colonial period and the first years after the independence (Freitas 2022b, 2023a), and the juxtaposition between continuity and change of some musical categories and genres, despite the existence of an abrupt political change (Freitas and Carvalho 2022). In contrast, the artistic changes observed within this article reveal a much more gradual transformation that seems to be in consonance with the steady opening towards Western economies. One should then question whether these changes occurred naturally over time or if they were part of an elaborate plot to inform the international community of the changes taking place in the country. According to the referred ‘sentient human actors’ alluded to by Waterman in the introduction of this article, the answer seems to be two-fold: although radio producer Américo Xavier acknowledges that the adoption of musical charts in radio broadcasts (1987) was not directly related to the change in government (referring to as something that ‘appeared naturally’), producer Aurélio Le Bon left no doubt regarding the instrumentalisation of Eric Clapton's concert in Maputo (1989) to sonorously showcase a shift in cultural policy in a period marked by ongoing economic reforms and peace negotiations.

In any case, there is no doubt that the analysis of ‘musical change’ can provide us with many clues to understand – and even anticipate – the construction of new ‘contexts’, as seemed to be the case presented in this article. More importantly, it is evident that ‘musicking’ played, indeed, a crucial role in signalling the transformations that were happening in Mozambique, not only domestically but also internationally. As I explained elsewhere (Freitas 2023c), this process was even expanded to the first Mozambican experiences tailored to the ‘world music’ market from 1987 onwards, such as Orchestra Marrabenta Star de Moçambique, which were similarly instrumentalised to promote the ongoing state reforms and the sonorous reconfiguration of the nation on an international level.

However, not everyone was happy with those changes. For certain individuals, this was the moment when the socialist ideal of a ‘cultural worker’ whom the state would protect and eventually provide a salary to was substituted by the conception of a ‘commercial artist’ that should find its own revenue;⁸⁰ Grupo RM's detachment from the national radio was, indeed, a clear consequence of this ideological change from a socialist model to a more liberal one. On the other hand, for others, this period represented a compulsory correction of Mozambique's cultural policy following an ‘authoritarian’ period that constricted musicians’ creativity and interests. Indeed, the poetics of being ‘Lost & Found’ fully encapsulates this process, underscoring the need to sacrifice something to gain something else. For some Mozambicans, it was during this transition that the ‘new Mozambican man’ died; for others, this so-called ‘new man’ never really had a chance to breathe, having perished in the incubator of ideas and utopias. Regardless of the perspective, there is no doubt that musicking played a crucial role in foreshadowing or catalysing these changes, consistently remaining a vital element within Mozambique's nation-building backdrop.