A tribute song recorded by a collective calling itself Trabablas Legendary Musicians has ignited fierce debate on social media, exposing the uneasy intersection of art, politics and survival in Zimbabwe’s music industry.
The song, dedicated to controversial businessman Wicknell Chivayo, praises his philanthropic gestures and frames them as an embodiment of President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s “Leaving no one and no place behind” mantra.
In the lyrics and accompanying visuals, the musicians hail Chivayo for “uplifting creatives” and “empowering communities” through donations that have included vehicles and cash handouts to artists, footballers, politicians and church leaders.
The video was shot at the Trabablas Interchange in Harare — a major road junction named after Mnangagwa’s liberation war moniker.
The group also derives its name from the interchange, symbolically aligning the project with both the infrastructure landmark and the political figure behind it.
But instead of applause, the release has been met with sharp criticism.
On X (formerly Twitter), Facebook and WhatsApp groups, some Zimbabweans described the collective as “spent forces” allegedly angling for financial favour from Chivayo, whose source of wealth has long been questioned in public discourse.
“This is not art, it’s auditioning,” wrote one on Facebook. “They are trying to get closer to the feeding trough.”
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“In Zimbabwe we have made our own God,” posted Munya Mupfuuri.
“We once sang Mombe Mbiri Nemadongi Mashanu, and the country was gone,” posted Sate Nipapa.
On Facebook, Learnado Mbundire posted: “A hungry man can't see right or wrong. He just sees food.”
Among those in the ensemble is gospel musician Noel Zembe, whose personal struggles have previously played out in the public eye.
His inclusion has intensified debate, with some sympathising with his circumstances while others argue that desperation should not compromise artistic integrity.
Critics argue that the emergence of multiple pro-Mnangagwa groupings — in music and beyond — reflects a broader scramble for proximity to patronage.
Cultural commentators say the controversy speaks less about one song and more about the fragile economics of Zimbabwe’s creative sector.
“There are no meaningful royalties to sustain musicians,” said one Harare-based music critic.
“Digital revenue is negligible locally, physical sales are dead, and corporate sponsorship is thin. When someone flashes money, artists will respond.”
Indeed, musicians have long complained about weak copyright enforcement, limited performance circuits and a lack of structured funding. In that vacuum, philanthropy — however controversial — becomes an attractive lifeline.
But others argue that artistic legacy should not be tethered to political winds.
“Legends must guard their names carefully,” said another critic. “When you tie your art to political patronage, you risk reducing it to propaganda.”
Kipa Nemukati posted: "In a few years, children at home and their peers across the world will study a country where citizens were impoverished and forced to migrate everywhere, even into war zones.”
“Those who remained at home were locked out of real opportunities, while groups emerged tethered to the President’s name, producing shameless, uninspiring songs. That is the legacy.”
The choice of Trabablas Interchange as a backdrop is not accidental.
As one of the most visible infrastructure projects associated with the Second Republic, the site carries political symbolism.
By filming there and adopting the name, the musicians situate themselves within a narrative of national development and presidential loyalty.
Zanu PF supporters argue that philanthropy deserves recognition regardless of politics.
“If someone is helping artists and communities, why shouldn’t musicians sing about it?” asked a music promoter who welcomed the initiative. “Music has always praised patrons — from kings to businessmen.”
The debate has laid bare a recurring tension in Zimbabwean arts: where does appreciation end and political alignment begin?
