Album Review: ‘Lokeshenships’ by Dingo Duke - Arguably the best hip-hop album of the year

TAWANDA CHARI & TAKUDZWA HILLARY CHIWANZA

There is something deceptively simple yet deeply introspective about calling an album 'Lokeshenships'. See, “lokeshen” is urban slang derived from the English [pejorative] word “location”, but the word carries considerably more historical weight than its casual usage suggests. It is not merely another word for high-density suburb. In the Zimbabwean context, the location is a product of a particular colonial urban order, specifically a space created to accommodate Black African labour while keeping Black life spatially separated from the European city. That history matters because Dingo Duke's much-awaited album (well, it was the hardcore, loyal Zim Hip Hop enthusiasts who were impatiently waiting for this album) 'Lokeshenships' is ultimately less interested in the architecture of the location than it is in the relationships produced inside it. 

 

Dingo Duke understands that distinction. The colonial location was not an accidental form of urban development. The Native Urban Locations Ordinance of 1907 effectively forced Africans living in Salisbury into an officially designated “African Location”; Mbare's early development therefore needs to be understood within a system that restricted African residence in the colonial city and tied urban presence to labour.

That is where the word lokeshen becomes interesting. There is a linguistic and historical relationship between ruzevha and lokeshen. Ruzevha is derived from the English “reserve”, particularly the colonial concept of Native Reserves, while “location” became associated with the designated urban spaces in which Black workers lived. The distinction eventually became culturally embedded: ruzevha came to mean the rural home, the ancestral place, the place you return to; lokeshen became the urban Black space.

The two were different geographical manifestations of the same colonial logic of racial separation, although their legal structures and functions were not identical. And that history is important because 'Lokeshenships' could have been a very different album. You simply cannot divorce the historical elements of our society from this album.

With a title befittingly steeped in segregation, poverty, labour and displacement, Dingo could easily have produced a miserable, self-pitying record about the suffering of the “ghetto yut” but that is a path he rightly eschews. Instead, he makes a record about living. And living in the lokeshen has never been one dimensional.

Perhaps the most compelling thing about 'Lokeshenships' is how much of the album happens outside the physical walls of a house. This takes primacy because the physical design of the location itself encouraged that kind of social life; a degraded kind of existence, but existence, nonetheless. Colonial African townships were (and still are) often dense, regulated spaces, and the shortage of adequate housing meant that domestic life inevitably spilled into streets, yards, shebeens, bottle stores and communal spaces.

That is where Dingo's lokeshen exists. It is where people fall in love and cheat; where somebody gets a job and somebody else is unemployed; where somebody is trying to make an honest living and somebody else is stealing; where drugs are bought, sold, consumed and confiscated; where somebody's drinking gets out of hand to the detriment of everyone else around them; where an elder gives unsolicited advice; where somebody dies; where somebody gets their drink spiked; where the sober person somehow gets caught up in the chaos anyway; where people have prostitution rings; where friendships are forged and fall apart; where money changes relationships; and where everybody knows everybody else's business. That is a lokeshenship. As much as it is about geographical placement, it also becomes a state of mind.

The album's title therefore operates almost like a conceptual equation: location, people, history, behaviour, and memory sum up into lokeshenship. Dingo goes beyond the mere act of just documenting a geographical area in an urban setting. He comes off as an astute observer (and participant) documenting the complex social ecosystem that makes what we refer to as “the ghetto”. And that’s an act of artistic ingenuity – documenting the myriad happenings of the lokeshen through rhymes and impeccable rap instrumentals.

There is an uncomfortable current of continuity running underneath the album. Politically the pre-independence location and the post-1980 high-density suburb are obviously not the same thing. The colonial state constructed African urban space as part of a racial and labour-control system. Post-independence Zimbabwe fundamentally changed the political meaning of citizenship, residence and belonging. But the socioeconomic problems attached to dense urban Black settlements did not disappear in 1980.

This is why 'Lokeshenships' works particularly well as a contemporary album. It does not need to constantly explain colonialism because its consequences are embedded in the environment it is describing. In each and every of the 17 songs in the album. The colonial location was designed around Black labour. The contemporary lokeshen is still deeply shaped by work, unemployment, informal economies, overcrowding, economic precarity and the struggle to create a meaningful and decent existence from limited resources. Dingo doesn't turn the contradictions inherent in his sometimes-visceral stories into a lecture. He turns it into rap; and more specifically, Shebeen Rap. "Shebeen thing!" Dingo exclaims in the opening track of the album, Every Monday. 

This is also where the album's intertwined relationship with shebeen culture becomes particularly important. Shebeens have a long history in Zimbabwean urban life. Under colonial restrictions on African access to alcohol, municipal beerhalls became part of the state's management of Black urban leisure, while illicit shebeens emerged as alternative drinking and social spaces. Research into Mabvuku or Mbare, for example, shows how different drinking spaces revealed the complicated social divisions and forms of community that existed inside the township.

And importantly, shebeens were not simply places where people went to get drunk. They functioned more as businesses, social spaces, and informal welfare networks. This is where the music played, and where people met. The role of women in that history is definitely not one to gloss over. Colonial authorities outlawed and disrupted businesses run by women brewing and selling beer, while shebeens nevertheless became important sources of income and community activity. So, when we talk about Dingo's “Shebeen Rap”, the phrase should not be interpreted merely as a stylistic gimmick. In actuality, it is a historical tool. The shebeen was born partly out of restriction, but its cultural life was not defined exclusively by restriction.

That contradiction is all over 'Lokeshenships'. What would undoubtedly be the greatest highlight of 'Lokeshenships' is that the subject matter can be bleak while the music remains enjoyable. And that is precisely the point: the project exudes an unmistakable the-music-does-not-sound-miserable vibe. This might be the album's biggest conceptual success.

'Lokeshenships' is about poverty without sounding impoverished. It is about crime without sounding like a police report. It is about drugs without becoming an anti drug pamphlet. It is about alcoholism without becoming a morality play. It is about unemployment without turning into a motivational speech simply because the music grooves. There is an inherent contradiction between the content and the sonic experience, but it is the same contradiction that exists inside the shebeen itself; in the lokeshen at large. People can be broke and still dance. People can have problems and still laugh. People can be surrounded by economic hardship and still have a great night.

The tracklist itself reads almost like a sociological survey. The opening track, Every Monday establishes the mundane repetition of life, and it sets the tone about what the album is, i.e., a state of mind. Smoke Session and Dope Story move into drug culture, but with beautiful storytelling and without being moralistic. Hari NemaSahwira examines relationships and friendship. Bedtime Stories introduces another layer of intricate interpersonal storytelling (this track is one of the absolute peak moments of this album). Kumaraini Kwedu could be considered the zenith of explicating the essence of the lokeshen, for the title is self-explanatory. This is what happens in the hood, Dingo basically says with admirable excellence. 

Bottle Store Blues says exactly what it needs to say. Tsotsi deals with the criminal element. A Henny for Calfire stretches the narrative into another social environment entirely; it is particularly plaintive, as it is a heartfelt tribute to Calfire, Dingo Duke's late friend from the hood who was one of the very first people to pay for his studio sessions. This song is truly touching. Every Sunday closes the album - and it highly contrasts with the opening track Every Monday in that as Dingo closes the album, his contrition becomes the major underpinning factor of the album; this I-am-feeling-bad-for-this-lifestyle message he conveys. It shows the importance of spirituality and how it informs Dingo's daily lived reality as well as his art. Some of the standout tracks on this album include BP, 626, Zvaunondiita So (it is refreshing hearing Dingo being so romantically affectionate, but without discarding the central aspects of his own individuality), and Away (this track lays out all the intricacies of escapism poetically). 

The only reservation we have with this album is in regard with track three, HOVHIOO. The verse by Yung Parka Baby ruined what was going to be a flawless song. For starters, we don't have an inkling of what he is talking about here. His placement on that track just feels off. We had hoped Dingo to do better there. Even though Dough Major valiantly rescues the track, the damage done by Parka's awful verse riddled with unclear enunciation is too much to undo. There is something uncanny about Parka's delivery.  

The sequencing matters because Dingo doesn't construct the location as one continuous tragedy. There are multiple realities happening simultaneously. The hustler and the worker occupy the same geography. The addict and the sober person occupy the same geography.The thief and the victim might know each other. The unemployed person sits next to someone who just got paid. The person giving relationship advice may have a disastrous relationship of their own. The person selling drugs may have a mother who thinks they are doing something completely different. This is how communities actually function.

But let’s talk about the song Dope Story for a bit here. This is one of the album's strongest demonstrations of Dingo's technical ability. Rather than simply rapping about weed from the conventional perspective of the consumer, Dingo effectively changes the narrative lens. The weed becomes the centre of the story. And suddenly its meaning changes depending on who encounters it. Dingo assumes the voice and persona of the cannabis, and it becomes the weed telling its own story. It is funny, playful, witty, and insightful.  That shifting perspective is what separates storytelling from simply listing things that happen in the ghetto.

Dingo understands characterisation and point of view. He understands that the same object can have completely different meanings depending on who is holding it. It is a literary device, but he never makes it feel literary for the sake of showing off. In essence, the technique serves the story.

There is also another distinctive element that characterises this album, which speaks volumes about Dingo Duke’s unparalleled penmanship: he doesn’t have any bad verse. Now, not many rappers are quite able to pull off such a task. From a pure rap-performance standpoint, 'Lokeshenships' is remarkably consistent. Dingo's pen is probably the album's biggest weapon. The storytelling is precise without becoming excessively technical. His use of Shona – often spiced with English raps – and everyday colloquial language gives the characters in this album (as well as himself as a first-person participant) an identifiable social environment rather than making the album sound like an outsider's academic reconstruction of township life.

And then there is also the humour. Dingo understands that comedy is an inseparable part of realism. People living in difficult environments are still funny. They still make jokes, exaggerate stories, mock each other, and gossip. They find absurdity in terrible situations. If you remove that humour from the location, you have not actually represented the location. The album's comedic moments should therefore not be perceived as distractions from the serious themes. They form an inextricable part of the documentation.

Technically, Dingo also demonstrates impressive control over narrative perspective. He can move between observation, dialogue, characterisation and punchline without breaking the conversational quality of the writing. That is difficult to do; and across 17 tracks, he maintains it with relative ease. 'Lokeshenships' is not a collection of Dingo Duke simply telling you that the lokeshen is hard. This album is all about Dingo Duke painting a vivid picture that shows you how people behave inside the lokeshen.

There is a particular relationship people have with the places they come from. You can hate what a place does to you economically while loving the people who made you there. You can want to leave and still defend the place whenever an outsider talks badly about it. You can complain about the noise, crime, poverty and congestion and still miss the same neighbourhood when you are away. You can spend years trying to escape the lokeshen and still carry its language, humour, friendships, music and worldview with you. That is the central paradox – the location is simultaneously a place people want to escape and a place they refuse to disown.

In all honesty, and by all accounts, Dingo Duke has outdone himself here. 'Lokeshenships' is a brilliantly constructed concept album because the concept never becomes bigger than the music. You can understand the historical framework behind the word “location”, the colonial architecture that produced the urban township, the history of shebeens and the complicated relationship Zimbabweans have with their high-density suburbs, and the contemporary setup of today; but none of that is required to enjoy the record.

That is the achievement simply because history adds another layer. It does not become homework. And that distinction matters because 'Lokeshenships' is not a self-pitying account of a loathing individual documenting how terrible the ghetto is. Dingo isn't standing outside the location pointing a camera at misery. He understands why someone can be desperately trying to leave the lokeshen while simultaneously being fiercely proud of where they come from. And that is why the album's title works so well.

Perhaps the most difficult thing to separate from this review is that 'Lokeshenships' is not an album we merely listened to; rather, it is an album we have an unbreakable relationship with, an album that gave gave us room to share historical perspective and allowed us the chance to connect it with our present material lived realities. A lot of what Dingo is describing here feels familiar, not necessarily because every experience belongs to the authors of this review, but because the world he is documenting is recognisable. The language, the humour, the characters, the contradictions, the way people can be deeply frustrated with the lokeshen while simultaneously being fiercely protective of it.

The album is available on all major streaming platforms.

Album Rating – 9/10