Scrolling through the comments made on YouTube on Fela Anikulapo-Kuti’s music, one comes across remarks such as: “The greatest unknown musician who ever lived”, “Why isn’t Fela’s music more widely known?”, “His music beats everything I’ve ever heard before” and “Why am I so late to this?”
The truth is that during Fela Kuti’s extraordinary lifetime, the Nigerian’s notoriety as an engaged citizen fighting for social justice was what usually attracted attention – and not his music . His public persona as a cultural renegade, an incorrigible iconoclast and social rebel hugged the headlines. Not his intoxicating blend of Yoruba trance music, highlife-derived harmonies and African American funk and jazz. He was artistically ahead of his time. And nearly 30 years since his passing, the world is still playing catch up.
Fela was a social and cultural misfit during the prime years of his career. He was blacklisted on radio. The DJs who played his records were considered brave. These defiant on-air personalities included Lagos’ Jacob Akinyemi Johnson (JAJ), who broke the mould in the 1980s. It also didn’t help matters that Fela’s complex music compositions sometimes ran for over half an hour. This lengthy format didn’t fit with standard broadcasting durations and was a severe drawback for breaking into commercial radio and record companies.
According to Fela, the value of music exceeded its entertainment appeal. In his view, music had a spiritual dimension and so commercial considerations were secondary. As I wrote in a recent essay, his temperament was uncompromising.
Fela Kuti is one of many prominent names nominated for induction into the prestigious Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this year. Other big name acts include Tina Turner, Foo Fighters and Iron Maiden. We are already late in catching on during his colourful lifetime. It does feel embarrassing. But now there’s an opportunity, with the benefit of hindsight, to reevaluate, redefine and bestow his due accolades. Kuti’s recent nomination for a spot in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is a great start.
The common man’s middle finger
Fela was special and he stood out in his music, lifestyle and activism. There he was, always uniquely dressed in embroidered brocades and African-inspired prints. He lived dangerously, defying brutal military regimes, flamboyantly puffing on jumbo-sized marijuana joints, with a bevy of scantily clad, made-up women in tow, with street thugs as his bodyguards.