Zimbabwean music sensation Kae Chaps has released his third studio album,Tarantino, an emotionally charged body of work that showcases his evolution as an artist. Just like the name suggests; borrowed from the legendary American filmmaker and actor Quentin Tarantino. Essentially, it’s a film in audio form. Except here, the director is Kae. It’s about coming to terms with heartbreak, success, disillusionment, and the price of chasing dreams. The project is cinematic in tone, real life experiences, and dark in places that mirror the shadows of a creative caught between love and loneliness, growth, guilt and the often brutal realities of the music industry – a “film by Kae Chaps,” indeed.
The album opens withNdaikuda(I Loved You), which isa two-part opus standing as a double-edged sword of success. The first half is a candid reflection on a past heartbreak. Kae Chaps recounts a period of financial struggle and increased drinking, leading to a breakup that, while painful, ultimately fueled his musical journey. He poignantly tells his ex-girlfriend, “Wakandiramba (you broke up with me) but I loved you,” he tells us. The heartbreak hurt, but it became the catalyst for the very songs that elevated his career.
The second part ofNdaikudashifts gears, offering a metaphorical commentary on his relationship with music itself. It’s a love-hate dynamic; where success brings numbers and recognition, but also the gnawing anxieties of maintaining relevance the pressure to outperform himself become suffocating. He laments the loss of genuine feedback, noting how the some people around him have become “yes men,” afraid to offer criticism to the now-famous artist. The pure, unadulterated joy of creating music he once felt has been replaced by the ills that come with succeeding.
A twist in the narrative comes in the trackMai Vevana, a striking deviation from what fans have come to expect from Kae Chaps (he is mostly known for soul bearing heartbreak anthems especially his breakout during the COVID-19 era, which cemented his brand as the heartbroken bard of Zimbabwean music). Kae Chaps has often been the victim in his stories. An assertion made in jest thatsomeone should break Kae Chaps’ heart so we can get another hitis not far-fetched.
UnlikeNdaikuda, the opening track where he mourns a lost love that he once cherished, here we meet a man haunted by regret not because he was left, but because he left. Whether it’s autobiographical or purely fictional is beside the point. What matters is the vulnerability and emotional honesty in the storytelling.
He admits fault. He owns the pain he caused. The line between art and life blurs, but what shines through is the universally relatable sentiment: the ache of realizing you let go of something good.
He still thinks about her; day in, day out. He scrolls through the memories, even the undeleted photos. Her birthday is engraved in his mind. He knows what he did, and he’s not trying to spin it. He’s simply saying, “I messed up.”
But as he reflects, there’s a quiet acceptance that going back isn’t easy. It’s one thing to be heartbroken, but it’s another to be the heartbreaker and still feel lost. The doors we close ourselves often feel heavier when we try to return.This song doesn’t just show a different side of Kae Chaps, it humanizes him in a deeper way.
Then comes the trackShamwari.The first time I heard this track, I thought it was about death. The haunting production, the weight in the vocals, and the overall mood led me to that conclusion; like it was grappling with the finality of loss. That’s how it felt on first impression, especially with the song playing in the background while I was working. But music has a way of unfolding itself with each listen.
By the time I played the album the second, third, and fourth time, things began to click. The lyrics reference a previous song –Let It Burn– from his last project. That changed everything. By referencing his older trackLet It Burn, he makes peace with the fact that people come and go.
Let It Burnwasn’t about death either; it was about releasing something that no longer serves you. When you burn something, whether it’s a bridge or a relationship, you’re discarding it; letting it go. And that became the key to unlocking this song too.
This is not necessarily about death in its morbid perception; but more about the death of relationships, the loss of people who were once close, and accepting that we have no control over it. Sort of an invitation to be at peace with this.
Source: ZimSphere
Source: ZimSphere
