News of his death was devastating. Too sudden for the country to comprehend, too painful for his fans to live with, and a void too big to fill.

It all came on a Friday morning, October 12, 1989, and it shook Kinshasa. Although gossip about his ill health had circulated like a stubborn whirlwind around Kinshasa for two months, nobody really thought he’d die or was prepared for that. For over three decades, Luambo Luanzo Makiadi had become a mystical figure in the country, so revered that he seemed immortal. His band, OK Jazz, had become the country’s biggest brand due to its iconic status.

The once little boy from Sona Bata, who strummed his self-made three-string instrument to attract patrons to his mother’s business in Ngiri Ngiri, had transformed into a global music powerhouse.

The sombre aura in the band’s first concert after his death captured it so aptly. Lukunku Sampu, the veteran Telezaire broadcaster, attempted to interview the band members, but he himself got overwhelmed by emotions, and his eyes became teary. Indeed, Franco was gone. Truly gone, never to come back again.

It is in the song that the composer Simaro Masiya passionately asks Prof Liyolo, a renowned sculptor, to create a monument for Franco, which he delivered before his own death. When Jabulani Radio inquired from one of the most successful Congolese guitarists why he disbanded his band only to later find himself at OK Jazz as a mere employee, the response was that the band was the home of fame and money. It was every musician’s dream to be at OK Jazz.

Born in Sona Bata in the Bas Congo in 1938, Franco discovered and pursued his talent early in life, true to the words of the adage that states that it isn’t difficult to know which of the young chicks will grow to become the family cockerel. Franco did his maiden recordings on November 17, 1953, backed by Watam Band of Ebengo Dewayon, aka Paul. By then, he was just 15. It is the songs "Kombo Ya Loningisa" and "Lilima Dis Cheri Wa Ngai" that opened the floodgates of recordings that made Franco rise fast as a superstar.

Franco and colleagues from Watam had joined Loningisa as studio musicians, and this was the much-needed boost that set his nascent career on the path to success. It was at Loningisa that Franco had an opportunity to showcase his wizardry on guitar, as he had been taught by Ebengo Dewayon, who afforded him his very first opportunity to play a real guitar, away from his improvisation.

His guitar skills were exemplary, and anyone who has sampled his music can attest to that. So was his songwriting acumen, which is easy to understand by identifying the songs he composed. His versatility is effortlessly covered by the instances in which he played almost all instruments and sang in the 24-minute song "Nalingaka Yo Te.”

His managerial capabilities are admired by many, as manifested by the way he held the band together for three decades. In one of the recorded interviews at Un Deux Trois, Franco introduces his band members by mentioning their names.

When prodded by Lukunku to state who Mayaula Mayoni was, Franco says he had been a footballer and a scholar. Lukunku, the interviewer, then makes a wild conclusion that if the musician had been a footballer and a scholar but chose to switch to music, then apparently that was where the money was.

“Elengi,” Franco interjects, stating that music was fun. Of course, Franco tried to convince him otherwise, but it remains factual that he may not have been as wealthy as speculated, though he surely had the money to pay his musicians — not so well, but better than other bands — and to some extent, that was the glue that held his band members together. He never struggled to pay them. Nonetheless, this shouldn't be misconstrued to mean that he never treated his musicians unfairly.

With the Loningisa label, which he worked with until he established his own record label, Epanza Makita, in 1962, with the help of Grand Kale, Franco released more than 250 songs. It is this batch that drew the world’s attention to him. Franco grew to become a phenomenon. While in Tanzania on a 1973 tour on a state invitation from President Julius Nyerere, he traveled from Dar es Salaam to Arusha in a presidential convoy, complete with the coat of arms, as narrated to Jabulani Radio by Johnes Lemghe, who coordinated the tour as one of the senior government officials then.

When he visited Khartoum in Sudan, a stampede resulted in several deaths, as documented by one of his biographers. The urge to catch a glimpse of the superstar was overwhelming, thus the stampede. When he visited Kisumu, fans had to bring down a brick perimeter wall to forcibly gain entrance into Moi Stadium. No one was willing to remain outside, insulated by a wall from the arena as Franco performed. These episodes illustrate how music fans adored the icon.

Jabulani Radio presenter Shady Shihusa says that, of all African musicians, Franco’s songs are the most requested and offers an explanation:

“Over the years, he always had a masterpiece for every new release, and this kept fans hooked and yearning for more.” He goes ahead and states that this created a near cultish following from his listeners. Indeed, looking at Franco's discography, one notices that almost every year he had new releases that captured the audience's attention.

In his early days, “On Entre OK, On Sort KO” of 1957 gained immense popularity, so much so that it became the band's unofficial anthem. Just before 1963, there were several releases big enough to forecast the fierce competition that was in the offing between OKJ and African Jazz in the 1960s, with Franco capitalizing on new talent — guitarist and composer Simaro, singer Kwamy Munsi, singer Mulamba Mpanya, saxophonist Verckys, among others.

By the mid-1960s, it was now evident that OK Jazz was the biggest musical ensemble in Congo, with songs like “Somele” becoming instant hits. “1966 was the band’s most creative year,” opines William Naz Okoko, while counting more than 50 hit songs of that year, most of them pachanga and bolero subgenres.

Indeed, as much as the band’s guitar formation of Simaro on rhythm with Franco on solo soared in the 1960s, with stiff rivalry from the rival formation of Bavon and Bholen at Negro on bolero, with Vicky Longomba — often referred to as the king of bolero — OK Jazz had very minimal competition.

The band expanded significantly going into the 1970s, with new talents like singers Youlou Mabiala, Josky Kiambukuta, Ndombe Opetum, and others. In the 1980s, Franco spent most of his time abroad in Europe rather than in his native DRC. He was literally globetrotting. When he wasn’t in Europe, he was touring either the USA or Africa. Petit Pierre, aka Pierre Monongi Mopia, narrated to this writer how successful their tours were in Ndola and Lusaka in Zambia. In one of the shows, they had to perform a just-composed song for President Kaunda without any prior rehearsal.

Franco had done and recorded songs for Presidents Léon Mba of Gabon, Eyadema Gnassingbé of Togo, and a host of local Congolese politicians — Bomboko, Kisombe, Luton Mpboti, and others. For Mobutu, he did more than a dozen songs, some on his own volition, while others he was hired to do.

Franco was in a love-hate relationship with Mobutu. In an attempt to dig out Franco’s religiosity and learn how he became a Muslim, this writer learned that Franco never even practiced Islam. That was just a clever trick to beat Mobutu, who had formed a habit of asking Franco to perform at his children’s birthdays, something Franco never liked. Once he converted to Islam, he’d decline such invitations, citing nonconformity to his new religion.

The sheer musical genius of Franco and the country’s love for music made Franco so popular that Mobutu always tried to find a way to associate with him. This, Franco capitalized on and gained much from the arrangement, though his indifference to Mobutu on some issues was also glaring.

This nearly godly status of Franco has not been enjoyed by other musicians before or after him. On guitar alone, Franco belonged to the trinity of the greatest from Congo, which also had Dr. Nico Kasanda and Papa Noel. Alastair Johnston, an American musicologist who has made a bold attempt at documenting African music, points to an instance where Nico passed by Franco’s Un Deux Trois and was able to blend with the band and play Franco’s songs with much ease — as a pointer that Dr. Nico may have had an edge over Franco on guitar, as he doubted if Franco would easily imitate Nico’s guitar.

Otherwise, apart from these comparisons on guitar, it seems that in any other aspect, Luambo was incomparable. He was in a class of his own. True to the words of Mangwana, as captured in Ewen Greame’s book on Franco, it takes the world a century or so to produce a Franco. He was indeed iconic.

Music lovers surely miss him. A series of concerts has been planned to mark his 36th anniversary in Nairobi, Paris, and Kinshasa. Among them is a Jabulani Radio Franco 36th Anniversary Fete to be held at Hotel Mercury at the heart of Nairobi CBD on October 18th. This is one man the world isn’t in any hurry to forget.

By Jerome Ogola