Naming your own music style is not a particularly difficult accomplishment. Having a few hundred thousand other people concur is another story. Zimbabwe's Oliver Mtukudzi became known for (and as) "Tuku" soon after his first single in 1975, combining mbira, mbaqanga, jit and Korekore drumming into widespread acoustic format. Tuku really hit his stride after a brief stint with Wagon Wheels in the late '70s, where he played alongside fellow innovator Thomas Mapfumo, also heir apparent to his own style (chimurenga). Whereas Mapfumo's "music of struggle" was, and remains, unapologetically political, Mtukudzi takes a less direct approach on Nhava.

For Tuku, affiliating oneself with politics is choosing sides, and he remains officially unaligned. Mapfumo, for his part, is musically encoded with social undertones - he was sent to prison camp in 1979 for subversion and currently records and lives effectively in exile in Oregon. His more electric- and roots-based music, inspired by individual and social quests for liberation, comes through strongly (although his softer edge can be equally compelling). Tuku, however, is all about studio sheen and shine - one reason Putumayo released his smash Tuku Music and Paivepo in America. Nhava, his first on Heads Up International, follows suit.

"Nhava" translates as "carrying bag," and the record's dozen songs gather together various modes of wisdom. On "Handiro Dambudziko" Mtukudzi implores the listener to find the root of an ailment, be it physical or spiritual; rather than treating the effect, uncover the root. The sonic background is simple, as is most of Nhava: clean rhythm and lead guitars spaciously grooving between percussion stabs and light bass lines. A similarly soft palate is expressed on "Hope," a metaphorical tale of getting out of bed and "waking up." The embedded keyboard/guitar interplay find common empyreal ground to share, making it one of the most uplifting cuts.

Tuku's messages are universal, though at times risk sounding generic. "Tiregerereiwo" begins with a rather routine synth/six-string call-and-response before the chorus sounds like a tourist commercial. The meaning - a communal plea to God for forgiveness for life's weightiness - fits the rhetorical repetitiveness of his gospel. It is during songs like this that one might wish Tuku would join Mapfumo in his enduring struggle, remembering that you can't hide the grime with polish. There is a certain beauty in melancholy but also a time to ask why, perhaps even identify culprits, that might balance Nhava, reminding Tuku that Pandora carried a wise pouch as well. This does not detract the overall craftsmanship and scholarship Mtukudzi exudes, as this record makes a great addition to his memorable catalog. It may just serve to remind us that shadows, as well as light, can bring cause for celebration, depending on how you navigate the terrain.