Fela Anikulapo Kuti
In 1991, when Polygram released Star Time, its four-CD overview of James Brown’s career, it both climaxed a resurgence of interest in his work and signaled a new wave. After five years of constant plundering of “Funky Drummer” and “Cold Sweat” by every hip-hop and dance producer in the business–and several rock and pop producers as well–the box was a revelation for those who only knew Brown’s work secondhand. It gave the curious the opportunity to get to know the breadth and scope of the man’s artistry as well as his “legacy.”
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Collectively or individually the first ten CDs (each containing two of Fela’s 50 or so albums) may be nowhere near as concisely essential as Star Time–how many miracles do you expect in a lifetime?–but they’re damn near as epochal. We’re talking maybe the most sustained motherlode of titanic funk jams this side of Brown, Sly Stone, George Clinton, and Prince, by a figure who looms as large as any of them–and larger if you’re talking political relevance.
Nearly all of Fela’s work addressed current political concerns, but as a result of his outspoken attacks on the Nigerian government, the political became personal. “Sorrow Tears & Blood” (from the 1977 album of the same name) details a military raid of Fela’s estate on the outskirts of Lagos, which he’d declared an independent republic; “Unknown Soldier” (from the 1979 album) excoriates the goons who threw Fela’s elderly mother, noted feminist and Nigerian independence activist Funmilayo Ransome Kuti, out a second-story window, injuring her fatally. And the cover of Expensive Shit (1975) succinctly explains the title: “The men in uniform alleged I swallowed some quantity of hemp. My shit was sent for lab test. Result negative.”
If you dey for Africa where we dey?…Wey the government now?”
