When music becomes perfect...

I like The Unveiled.

They are the best vocal group in Zimbabwe to me and it’s not even close! Their harmonies are tighter than the way I grip my phone when I walk in town these days. Their individual voices are as smooth as Mama’s peanut butter.

But… something is missing

Their music sounds empty, it sounds soulless.

On their last album, The Next Level, I couldn’t help but hope that the lead singer on each song would just go off-script - not in a bad way, but sound a bit more natural and a little less, I don’t know, practiced, regimented.

And I feel that’s the problem that has plagued today’s music. It sounds “perfect”. There are no missed notes, there is high attention to detail and quality is off the charts.

But is it moving? Does it twist your intestines into knots? Does it hit the bottom of your soul and push you to dance or something?

I find myself going back to songs like Mudiwa Janet by John Chibadura or something like Tisaparadzane by Plaxedes Wenyika or Maitiro Enyu by Shingisai Suluma.

And by today’s standards, these songs are simple horrible. Where do I begin?

• So many missed notes
• Very little to no harmonies included
• No amazing two-key transpositions
• Progressions so simple, anyone could play them.
• Mixing levels all over the place.
• Some tracks sound like they were recorded in the kitchen — and maybe they were!

But they are the definition of what music and art should be.

Because the point of music is (or was depending on how you look at it) to tell a story. It’s a form of art. A form of expression meant to make others relate and tap into what you are feeling.

And that’s not to say you should make music that has missed notes to sound authentic. Let making a perfect song be the by-product of your craft, not the whole point, because people can hear it.

Especially in gospel music, where the point isn’t your attention to detail or your crazy runs, but the message and it seems to me, those two have been mixed up and you can hear it.

I know what you’re thinking.

“But Tanaka, God deserves the best! Why wouldn’t we want to give Him perfect harmonies, polished mixes, and high-quality recordings?”

And to that I say: absolutely! God does deserve our best. But who told us that “best” = “perfect”?

David danced until his clothes fell off, not until his moves were tight. The woman with the alabaster jar broke it open — raw, messy, unplanned worship. No Pro Tools, no pitch correction, no rehearsed runs.

The problem isn’t the quality. It’s the priority. When polish outranks presence, when we edit out all the imperfections and along with them, all the emotion, what are we left with?

Sometimes, “the best” is not in the excellence of the sound — it’s in the honesty of the sound