FeaturesEdi Lawani: The Road To Showbiz

Edi Lawani: The Road To Showbiz

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March 13, (THEWILL) – In his final year in Class 5A at St Paul’s Anglican Grammar School Igarra in the then Bendel state round about 1981, Edi Lawani was one of the regular readers of prescribed literature text taught by Mrs. Ebiyemi S. Gadimoh. Others were Robert Omoyeni with his patrician voice even at that time, Kayode Sadare Apeji now known as Fred Apeji, Omeiza Adebola and myself.

Gadimoh went beyond rote teaching for her wards. She made us read passages from textbooks aloud to the entire class – not only to understand the characters better but to also correct mispronunciations. She also organised discussion sessions of texts we studied.

For drama there was Macbeth by almighty Shakespeare, Things Fall Apart and Mine Boy by Chinua Achebe and Peter Abraham, respectively, for prose and A Selection of African Poetry edited by K E. Senanu and Theo Vincent for poetry.

Like a stage director watching actors during rehearsals, Gadimoh alternated the characters for all of us. Thus, Edi could be Duncan this week, Omoyeni Banquo, Apeji Macbeth, Adebola Macduff and myself Malcolm and vice versa the following class and on and on. (It must be said however that we were not the only readers in the class but regular readers.)

Just as we were irresistibly drawn to Literature in school, we were also repulsed from Mathematics classes because of an Indian teacher whose mispronounced words flew above our heads. There was likeable Mr. Thomas, for sure, a Ceylonese who scribbled confounding calculations on the board even as he puffed out clouds of smoke from his Benson & Hedges brand. Or was it John Player’s Gold Leaf?

But it was Raybadan – I hope I got the spelling right – a tiny Indian with thinning hair who encouraged our skiving during Maths periods. Apart from his bias for flogging erring students on the back of their palms with the edge and not the flat end of a ruler, he also mispronounced words serially. Instead of minus, for instance, we heard maiyunce.

And then, there were the frightening formulas and cranky calculations that could get you woozy in no time. So, during Mathematics classes, you will find four or many more vacant seats in 5A. At this very time, five of the occupants of the chairs would be ensconced in their beds in the hostel, most times in Oyebode aka Green House, passing James Hadley Chase pulp fictions from hand to hand like proscribed documents in censorious regimes.

Joseph Ebogen who was the fifth chap and alpha male in our group – on account of his being older and taller – provided some of the Chase novels. (Mark you, Edi and Kayode were not in boarding house. Ebogen, Omeiza and I were.) But we were all united by a common interest, our devotion to literature which extended to pulp fictions and aversion for Mathematics in almost equal measure.

Most weekends, Ebogen, Omeiza and I will sneak out of the hostel straight to Edi’s house, a glancing distance from the school. This time, Edi will host us with fresh palm wine sold in his father’s shop. Of course, there would be talk about the characters we read: Poke Toholo the Seminole Indian who knew how to milk the rich through fear; Tom Lepski the police officer who never failed to bag some of the conmen or killers; Al Barney, the man with his ears to the ground; Malik and Mark Girland, two ace spies forever entangled in espionage missions for their fatherland – former Soviet Union and the USA; Jack Maurer and his nemesis Vito Ferrari; Herman Radnitz, the cigar-chomping, eccentric moneybag and financier of some of the continental chase between Malik and Girland and several other unforgettable characters.

There were the titles as well. No Orchids for Miss Blandish, the very first Chase novel published in 1939; This is for Real; Have this One on Me; Believed Violent; The Vulture is a Patient Bird; Knock, Knock Who Is There? Come Easy-Go Easy and so on. At the time, none of us knew Chase was not even an American, neither had he been to the US in person except a visit to Miami. He was an English man named Rene Lodge Brabazon Raymond who relied on maps, dictionary of American slangs and reference books of the American underworld.

We almost always had an audience of one in Edi’s pad, a lone figure sitting, listening to our conversation and watching us deplete his frothy supplies bottle after bottle after bottle, his legs exed at the ankles, his silver beards contrasting sharply with his dark visage – Chief Obondu Lawani, our host’s father.

It was no surprise Edi went on to study English & Literature by the time he gained admission to Bendel State University, Ekpoma now Ambrose Alli University. He was among the second set of 82 and, as a new campus, things were not happening, there was not much fun. Edi himself recalled to an interviewer once that “because it was a new school, the hostel was in one end, classes were scattered all over town…Social life was very low especially for someone like me who was coming from Lagos to Ekpoma.”

Rather than wait and make nothing happen, the young undergraduate “got a few friends together and started organizing Sunday Jams. We would go to University of Benin and Auchi Polytechnic to get artistes who would come and mime on stage. After a while, we started putting pageants together. That was how I started. I saw a need, a void and I found a way to fill it.”

A remarkable talent spotter, Edi will fill a far more important void for someone who had no chance of ever hitching a ride on the entertainment train let alone become a superstar. The story has been told how two young men met Edi at his Ikeja office, a wing of the old PMAN headquarters that has now been gobbled up by Computer Village.

At the time, PMAN was the only place/ venue where budding artistes headed to for a breakthrough, demo tapes in hand. After all, there was nothing like Nigerian Idol or any such talent-spotting shows for aspiring musicians. Willie Walkman, a colleague, introduced the two lads to Edi. Both could sing and Edi was bowled over after they performed an Acapella for him in his office.

Months later, Edi had the duo as opening acts in a Rothmans Groove tour. They were not billed to perform, though. It is best to hear how the manager himself raised the guys from obscurity to limelight: “I was hired as artistic director/stage coordinator for the Rothmans Groove tour nationwide. Remedies had just made their first single and had been signed to go on the concert; 30 shows around the country which was big, but they needed younger artistes as opening acts. So, I suggested to the client that we can spread this opportunity to many more artistes and, luckily, the client agreed. I gave them a budget that would allow us to have two or three smaller artistes open the gigs.

“I did two auditions where the client and agency were represented at Ozone and we were able to choose the lead act to open the shows. I remembered these two guys that were brought to me and started looking for them because they didn’t have a demo but I wanted the team to hear their voices. I went to Willie to ask for them but he had no idea how to reach them. Those days there were no mobile phones, but we learnt that they lived in Festac. I gave somebody money to go and look for them. They found them after three days and I brought them to the audition and they did very well and were signed on as the sub-head headline acts to The Remedies.”

“By the time we took them nationwide and the show was over, I took them under my wings. They were able to go to the studio to start making their record from the money they made from the tour. Imagine how they got their break, going on a nationwide tour without a record. I was their unofficial manager for a bit because we never had a contract with them.

“My method was just to help in whatever way I could and let the artiste go. I always tell them once they make their record, my interest is in the person who wants to make their next record. So, in the process of making their record, they went out one day, came back and they said they saw a boy and they liked and wanted him to join their group – that was Faze. So I said you are 2face, Blackface, but what are we going to call the new boy? So they said Faze. And that was it.”

Thus was Plantashun Boyz born and thus did Tuface’s career begin. The rest, as they say, is history.

In his line of business, it is impossible to organize shows without something going awfully wrong, at least once, twice or more: a human error, say, a technical glitch or even a pie-eyed star after a cocktail of strong drinks and whiffs of pot. Of course, there have been, Edi told THEWILL. But the most memorable was a concert at TBS in 1998.

Nothing scares events planners more than an unexpected downpour during a show. If it rains after the party, all well and good. But everyone from the organisers to the musicians and spectators may just be nearing a depressive state if the deluge comes before or during the party. So it was that day at TBS. As Edi recalled it, the cables were submerged in water which “reached our ankles.” But the crew worked round the clock despite the rain. Everyone behaved professionally that day, even the paying audience who never complained once. As they say, the show must go on. It did.

The show has been going on for Edi himself these past years. Nothing suggests it’s going to stop anytime soon. Ask any Nigerian musician, actor, director, producer in Nollywood or any big name in the entertainment industry old and young who the most consistent manager/ promoter is and you’re likely to hear one name: Edi Lawani.

From Sunny Ade to Femi Kuti, Remedies and Lt Shotgun, the has-beens and wannabes in the entertainment industry in Nigeria, they all know him with his trade mark flowing beards long before it became faddish, almost always underdressed but one of the most reliable hands when it comes to organizing events, spotting talents, encouraging budding artistes or concert tours.

Now into ‘special events production,’ Edi has been many things in the past: teacher, broadcaster, journalist, music promoter and much else. In a 2019 interview with Raphael Adeniran, he mused on how his career crossovers have sort of blended seamlessly to a whole.

“I have been different things over the years. From being a university undergraduate events promoter, organising beauty pageants and musical shows, a journalist, a teacher, an artiste manager and a music administrator with Performing Musicians Association of Nigeria (PMAN). All that put together kind of guided me through to where I play in the industry right now: ‘special event production.”

Better still, Edi insists he is “a special event consultant – that makes me a specialist in event production and management. And with event production and management, the experience from the music background, artiste management, journalism, experience in radio and TV all come together in helping to create a vision of conceptualizing and creating ideas for events and seeing them through.”

At his quiet times or leisure moments – and there are not many of those in his very busy schedule week in week out round the year – Edi Lawani has more than enough books to read in his rich library, including all Puzo’s publications and even unpublished manuscripts of the eponymous author of The Godfather.

Those who know Edi closely talk of his humility and ordinariness of life which is a remarkable trait in someone who has made stars but does not want to be seen as one or even go around posing as one. But just last month, the organisers of Afro Beat Hall of Fame took exception to that. Edi Lawani was the very first inductee of the first edition, like outing him from the backstage to the front this time to claim his reward. On that day in question, KSA smiled beside him on stage while receiving his award, and several other big name artistes.

Of the award itself, Edi told THEWILL thusly: “I feel honoured to be the first inductee into the Afro Beat Hall of Fame, considering the high-profile names on the list. There was KSA, Rex Jim Lawson and so on. The recognition is most welcome because it shows that people take notice after all, they know that one has been working quietly but consistently.”

His dedication was even more terse, less than a half second: “I will be dedicating this to everybody who works backstage, not expecting a reward, just do your bit to make the things you see upfront possible, people whose names you never get to read about but they play an important role in getting things done. This is for them.”

Vintage Edi Lawani, you’d say, not dedicated to any of the dozens of stars he made or helped along the way to stardom but to those you never get to see – the technicians, camera men, producers and managers like him.

What does all this tell us about our man Edi Lawani? Simply a cut above the rest.

About the Author

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Michael Jimoh is a Nigerian journalist with many years experience in print media. He is currently a Special Correspondent with THEWILL.

Michael Jimoh, THEWILLhttps://thewillnews.com
Michael Jimoh is a Nigerian journalist with many years experience in print media. He is currently a Special Correspondent with THEWILL.

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