Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 - Night Dreamer Direct To Disc

“It’s a paradox, in a way, like you’d have in a dream – something that’s both light and heavy,” Wayne Shorter muses, speaking to Nat Hentoff for the liner notes of Night Dreamer, his 1964 album and first for Blue Note as a leader.

 Night Dreamer takes its name from this album, and retains something of the essence of what he was trying to convey.

 Working with Artone Studio, and located above Record Industry pressing plant in Haarlem, Netherlands, Night Dreamer specialises in direct-to-disc recordings – the process by which music is cut onto acetate from single-take live performances, without interference: Neumann microphone to Neumann lathe. From there, it is simply ‘walked downstairs to the pressing plant.

 For musicians recording at Artone, the process speaks to Shorter’s paradox. The levity of liberation vs. the weight of expectation; trust in raw musicianship vs. vulnerability of exposure. It is in such alchemical moments of contrast that the essence of expression can emerge.

 Every Night Dreamer release is produced using a wide range of vintage mastering and recording equipment assembled and painstakingly restored over seven years. With one of just four remaining RCA 76D mixing desks – the same model used at Sun Studios – alongside Westrex Capitol cutting amps, designed specifically for Capitol studios to record the likes of The Beatles and The Beach Boys, it brings together state-of-the-art, often bespoke gear that has never been bettered.

 Shorter captured Night Dreamer in a single day, an art not lost on today’s musicians, who, although afforded a surfeit of choice, are as wedded to the idea of collaboration as those of previous generations. The methods are timeless, and the impulse is as contemporary as ever.


hhv.de
 

Seun Kuti's Black Times: Ignored @ Home, Celebrated Abroad

Originally published @pulse.ng







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One year after its release, we revisit Seun Kuti's Black Times album, its impact and how the Nigerian media has continuously turned a blind eye to it.

On March 2, 2018, the youngest son of the late Fela Anikulapo Kuti dynasty, released his fourth studio album, Black Times, a critically celebrated body of work that enjoyed rave reviews largely from the international media.

Released in the first quarter of the year, the eight-tracker album went under the radar for the major part of the year, only gaining some buzz in the final month of 2018.

In the aftermath of his nomination at the 61st edition of music's most glamorous awards, Grammys in the 'World Music' category, which held on Sunday, February 10, 2019, the media ran amok with stories and eulogies of Seun Kuti's music.

The subsequent news that he had been selected to perform at the pre-award show [Which he, however, failed to attend] further served as juicy content and hot topics within the music community, celebrating 'one of their own' in the loudest of voices with a number of his records getting the occasional spin on radio programs.

However, before Grammy night, the industry especially the media had largely behaved in a manner non indicatory that of the very few really dope projects released during the year, that of Seun Kuti ever made the space and immediately after the Grammys, particularly with the album failing to bring home the prestigious prize, it has been 'same of the same,' forgotten and shut out of conversations or airplays.

A regular flip through the over 20 radio stations that control the airwaves in a metropolitan city like Lagos will have you listening to regurgitated music from some sizeable number of pop artists, with rarely any from the stable of one of the year's standout material.

If the Grammys consider the Black Times as one of the best albums out of the continent in the past year, an album that features the likes of international stars likes Yasiim Bey, Grammy winning R&B musician, jazz pianist and producer Robert Glasper and multi Grammy award winner Carlos Santana, how come the media and music circle back home make it seem so much like an anonymous project?

Outside a few blogs that mentioned it in its 'Album of the year' lists, it was not even considered for any of the notable awards.

While undoubtedly there is a cloud that surrounds his surname with Fela's music only occasionally remembered during a time of crisis or rebellion, the Black Times album is not all about activism as he also offers short, danceable music that will fit into any drive home playlist or music blog roundups.

Songs like 'Bad Man Lighter' is a high-energy, party starter providing a balance to others like 'African Dreams' or 'Theory of Yam and Goat.'

In an interview he had with Pulse's Ayomide Tayo earlier in the year, Seun pointed an accusing finger at the media when asked if he felt young Nigerians are beginning to appreciate his type of music.

''I think if they are exposed more to music they would appreciate it... it is a matter of exposure and visibility.

I think our entire media, and not only in Nigeria really, I think it is a global phenomenon that people that own and control the media and control the institutions of influence want the world to see things from their perspective. They want their narrative to dominate society. In all the media that they own, they want the things that represent them to be showcased.

I just feel that people in Nigeria, young people and old people, should be exposed to as many forms of music as possible especially music that represents us and generally elevates our consciousness. We shouldn't stay on one plane and one basic level.''

Considerably, there is a significant amount of work required to be done on the backend these days to promote one's project but the media have gone through a self-fulfilling cycle, where only popular songs ever get pushed, coupled with Payola still a leading factor in the order of things.

But quite unlike what they have you believe, most people's actual listening preferences are quite different and many of us enjoy a wider variety of music than most OAP's give us credit for, especially when the song is one worthy enough for consideration by the biggest music event in the world.

The impact of Black Times

On the impact of the album since it was released, it will be unfair to restrict Seun’s success solely to his Grammy recognition. [But it very rarely gets any bigger than the Grammys]

Shortly after its release, the album debuted at the No 8 spot on the Billboard world music chart, his very first album to achieve such feat and in the past year, Seun has performed at a number of festivals and concerts across Europe, Asia and America. 

In August, he was on stage at the Haldern Pop festival in Germany and the Blue Note in Tokyo, Japan, and also went on a tour of the United States performing at sold out shows.

The album also helped solidify his presence in certain areas where his music had previously not penetrated confirming his place as a worthy leader well able of carrying the torch of Afrobeat to the next generation.

Music journalists in Nigeria, from the broadcast, print to online, who are supposed to be the industry tastemakers, introducing the listeners to the music they don't usually get to hear have all failed in their responsibility to the audience.

Instead of providing a neutral platform, many have chosen to behave like gatekeepers, limiting the standards of acceptable and play worthy records, focusing only on what is trending, and unconsciously playing a role in the decline of other genres.

Black Times may not in anyway be close to the popular sounds that millenials tune their dials in search of regularly, that doesn't deny the fact that this is a well polished and crafted collection of songs that finds Seun Kuti at the most matured state in his career.

This is his most accomplished album to date, one solid hour of vibrant music that is built on traditional Afrobeat sound with a lot of influence from contemporary styles, an album worth celebrating.

Perhaps his outspoken nature on recent social happenings may also be a factor but that hasn't stopped the radio from playing Davido who in the past few months has fully put on the political garb.

Seun, who heads the Egypt 80, a band he took over following the death of his father, may not have created the Afrobeat sound but he has succeeded in making it unique in his own way and even when we don't readily consider other genres outside the pop sounds, it helps if we indulge in these type of projects even if it is once in a while.

One year after it was released, 'Black Times' provides timeless music and it is upto the Nigerian media to do better and ensure its message widens to the ears of the young listeners.

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Originally published @pulse.ng, written by Ehis Ohunyo

Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 - Black Times

 

Strut presents the new album from the modern day leader of Afrobeat, Seun Kuti. The youngest son of Afrobeat legend Fela Anikulapo Kuti is as incensed by injustice as his father ever was and, with his mighty new album Black Times including features from Carlos Santana and Robert Glasper, he honours the revolutionaries who have gone before and rallies the torch-bearers to come. It’s landing March 2018 and available to pre-order now on CD, vinyl and digital formats. 

 

Black Times is the fourth album by Seun and Egypt 80, the extraordinary dance orchestra created by Fela Kuti as a conduit for the common people. Inherited by the 14-year-old Seun in 1997, the younger Kuti has been building to this, his most accomplished and honest album yet. 

‘Black Times’ is the fourth album by Seun and Egypt 80, the extraordinary dance orchestra created by Fela Kuti. Inherited by the 14-year- old Seun in 1997, the younger Kuti has been building to this, his most accomplished and honest album yet. “Black Times is a true reflection of my political and social beliefs,” says the singer, bandleader and musician, 34. “It is an album for anybody who believes in change and understands the duty we have to rise up and come together. The elites always try to divide the working class and the poor people of the world. The same oppression felt by workers in Flint, Michigan is felt by workers in Lagos and Johannesburg.”

Strut Records 

Seun Kuti remembers ...

... when his father let him join the band




Originally published @ livenation.vice.com 

The Afrobeat virtuoso reflects on growing up under Fela Kuti's tutelage—and what American culture can take away from his music today.

For most musicians, the first step on the road to becoming a master is having a good teacher, and Seun Kuti had one of the best. His father was Fela Kuti, inventor of Afrobeat—a steadily percolating combination of funk and soul with traditional African rhythms—and a political firebrand who enraged the Nigerian government with songs criticizing their corruption and manipulation. Afrobeat was more than just a musical genre—it became the voice of an oppressed people, offering home and encouragement when everything around them seemed bleak.

As a child, Seun would watch his father religiously, eventually working up the courage to ask for a place in his band. Instead of scoffing at his son's request, Fela welcomed him, and taught him how to deliver the music's rich political content while also delivering a stunning live show. When Fela died in 1997, Seun assumed his place at the front of his band Egypt 80 at the ripe old age of 14. Since then, he's carried on both his father's musical and political legacy, singing songs that dismantle unjust government systems and holding audiences rapt while he does it.

On a cloudy day in Manhattan, Seun spoke about the importance of carrying the message of Afrobeat forward, and the amusing reason why he felt he could stand toe-to-toe with his legendary father. Here's his story:

When I was a child watching my dad perform, I remember thinking, "This is the easiest job ever!" [Laughs] "He doesn't do anything! He goes on stage and plays his own music, everybody loves him, they pay him all the money, and women are everywhere. This is the easiest job ever!" I was stupid, and stupid people are very brave.

When I was eight years old, I went to my dad's show at the Apollo in New York, and after the show I said, "I want to sing." He asked, "Can you sing?" I said, "Yes!" I auditioned for him and he said, "You can start practicing with the band when we get back to Lagos." Music is not the easiest job, though. I had to learn how to stay in tune when I sang. During the first rehearsal, I was doing a little show, and my father said to me, "You can't be dancing! You can't be a star during the first rehearsal! You have to watch the band and get the cues right!" So when the first show came around, I just watched the band, and he came over to me in the middle of the show and said, "Why are you watching the band? It's showtime!"

When my dad died, the family wanted the band to break up—but we believed in music, and we believed in Fela. The only way to keep the band going was for me to say, "I'm Fela's son, I have a say, and I want to keep playing with the band." Not everyone agreed with me, but there were a few people in the band who believed in Fela's message.

Even as a kid, I knew my father stood for something. He never related to us like we were children. He wanted us to know that we were part of something bigger than ourselves. Our music is not just entertainment. It's a political statement, a musical statement, an individual statement, a social statement. The music came from a place of representation, a place of love. It's real love to use one's gifts to the benefit of everybody, and Afrobeat was created for that purpose—to give the voiceless a voice. It's the voice of the people.

I think American audiences share that spiritual connection to the music, but they don't share the political connection. An American can empathize, and do what he can through his own system to stop whatever negative impact his system is having on our system. But I don't see African problems primarily as a problem for America, and I'm very skeptical of Americans who say that they are. What is important to me when we're playing for American audiences is that they take away the importance of the music, and how it can affect their own personal lives positively. How the message can help them become better human beings is important to me. It's important to understand that, as Africans, we have to be the ones to tell our own stories. The importance of our lives cannot be more important to any other person than we ourselves.

For me, the major thing I learned from Fela is that he did what he wanted on stage. The stage was his throne, and he wanted that to be his own moment, free from any other kind of obligation or compromises. His stage was a place of honesty and of him being in his complete element. That's something I always take with me on stage. It's where I can be me completely. I'm not compromised, I don't have to explain myself. I can just be what I want to be.

Originally published @ livenation.vice.com

Seun & Femi Kuti & Ebo Taylor concerts!

Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 - A Long Way To The Beginning (new album)

Seun's new album "A long way to the beginning" will be out on February 24th.



Tracklist

01 IMF
02 African Airways
03 Higher Consciousness
04 Ohun Aiye
05 Kalakuta Boy
06 African Smoke
07 Black Woman

Another review of Seun Kuti's "From Africa With Fury: Rise"

After enjoying an amazing concert of Seun Kuti in Hamburg, Germany, yesterday I have to add another interesting review of his new album!

Here we go:

With the mighty new From Africa With Fury: Rise, Seun Anikulapo Kuti heads up Egypt 80, the extraordinary combo first fronted by his renowned father. The album follows Kuti’s critically praised debut, 2008’s Many Things , which was unanimously hailed for continuing Fela’s musical legacy. From Africa With Fury: Rise sees Kuti finding his own idiosyncratic voice as songwriter, singer, and band leader, its songs and sonic approach marked by provocative edge and mature self-assurance.

Produced by Brian Eno, John Reynolds, and Kuti, with additional production by Godwin Logie, and mixed by John Reynolds and Tim Oliver, the album captures Seun and Egypt 80’s extraordinary power, fraught with the scorching rhythms and kinetic funk energy that has earned the band – as ever, under the leadership of alto saxophonist Lekan Animashaun – worldwide acclaim as one of today’s most incendiary live acts. With Kuti’s booming vocal stylings at the forefront, songs like “African Soldier” et “Mr. Big Thief” are fueled by call-and-response hooks, breakneck tempos, and combative, topical lyricism which firmly sets the classic Egypt 80 sound in the modern era.

“I wanted to do something completely different,” Kuti says. “Not different by trying to be American or European with my sound, just trying to make a very different album from my last album. My last album, it was my first time in control, I was not as confident as in saying what I wanted. This time, I said, ‘Okay, I can be more confident in how I express myself, I can say what I want, be as complex as I want.’”

Kuti was concerned that studios in his hometown of Lagos, Nigeria were not up to the job, so the album’s basic tracks were recorded at Rio de Janiero’s Cia. Dos Tecnicos Studios with veteran producer/mixer Godwin Logie (Steel Pulse, Horace Andy) behind the board. In the fall of 2010, Kuti made two visits to London where he mixed the record alongside legendary producers Brian Eno and John Reynolds. Eno – an avowed fan who had previously invited Kuti and his band to perform at Sydney’s Luminous Festival 2009 and the UK’s Brighton Festival 2010 – has nothing but the highest praise for Seun and his band, hailing them for “making some of the biggest, wildest, livest music on the planet."

Co-producer Reynolds (whose work as musician, producer, and mixer spans such artists as Sinéad O’Connor, U2, and Natacha Atlas) agrees, applauding Kuti and Egypt 80’s distinctive Afrobeat as “a musical adrenaline rush.”

“Amazing beats, horns, chants,” he adds, “all beautifully crafted and delivered with the punch of a Jūdan master. A most incredible force, Seun carries a great soul which will touch everyone who meets him.”

Kuti is equally effusive about his co-producers, reminding “Brian Eno is ‘Brian Eno’ for a reason. He has a great mind when it comes to music. He adds new dimensions to the sound. He showed me new ways of opening up the sound I’d never have thought of on my own. Not to downplay the work of John Reynolds, who is an incredible producer. I’m really glad I had them work on the album.”

Eno, Reynolds, and Kuti sought tension and release in the Rio recordings, incorporating breathing room and sonic space into the intricate rhythms and melodies. Further tracks – performed by Eno, Reynolds, guitarist Justin Adams (Robert Plant, Tinariwen), keyboardist Julian Wilson (Grand Drive, Belinda Carlisle), and guitarist Leo Abrahams (Florence + The Machine, Brett Anderson, Bryan Ferry) – were cut to lend further musical flavors to Egypt 80’s archetypal Afrobeat. While Kuti has nothing but the highest praise for his collaborators, he is equally quick to note that the songs of From Africa With Fury: Rise had been written more than a year prior to recording and had long been featured in live performance. Despite the studio craftsmanship, Seun sees the recording process as merely a means to an end, a way of capturing his music’s magic for posterity.

“Afrobeat has to go from stage to studio, not studio to stage,” he says. “I don’t believe in going into the studio to write songs. You create music in the world, outside, in the environment. You create music with nature, not in the studio. You go to the studio to record, that’s it. Music created in the studio is commercial music, music that only wants to sell, that has nothing to do with the world.”

Born in 1983, Seun first began performing with Egypt 80 at the age of nine, warming up audiences with renditions of his father’s songs. After Fela’s death in 1997, Seun stepped up to the front of the band, leading the celebrated combo as both lead vocalist and saxophonist. While his father’s influence cannot be understated, Kuti was determined to cut his own distinctive musical path, incorporating contemporary influences into the traditional Afrobeat approach.

“What inspires me is the time that I live in,” Kuti says. “Basically what is happening today in Africa are the same things that were happening 40 years ago, when my father was songwriting, but they’re happening in different ways. So when I write my music, it’s from the perspective of a 27-year-old man living in 2011, instead of a 30-year-old man living in the 1970s.”

Sadly, Kuti finds himself challenging many of the same injustices his father fought in his heyday, from corporate greedheads to militaristic leaders to the ever-futile war on drugs. Perhaps the album’s most unequivocal battle cry is the blistering “Rise” , in which Kuti impels listeners to fight “the petroleum companies” that “use our oil to destroy our land,” “the diamond companies” that “use our brothers as slaves for the stone,” and “companies like “Monsanto and Halliburton” which “use their food to make my people hungry.” But where Fela’s work often featured an explicit call to revolution, Seun’s goal is subtler. He sees his role as that of an educator, speaking truth to power in order to provoke awareness and debate throughout his beloved homeland.

“In Africa today, most people are struggling in silence,” Kuti says. “The systematic oppression of the people has made them blinded to their reality. Everybody’s just thinking about survival. Nobody wants to stand up for anything, everybody just wants to tow the line. So I’m trying to make people think about these things that they are forgetting. I want to inspire people to want things to change.”

Seun Kuti is determined to speak to the new generation of young Africans born after his father’s glory days. If he learned but one lesson from Fela, it is that that no one has greater impact on hearts and mind than the true artist. As such, the powerhouse protest music found on From Africa With Fury: Rise serves as a kind of musical antidote to the corporate pop that he feels is polluting Africa’s airwaves, distracting its citizens from the things that truly matter.

“Music has great impact on people’s feelings,” Kuti says. “That’s what music should be. Pop music today is all about me, me, me. Nobody is singing about we. But nothing can change if we don’t look out for our brothers and sisters.”

public.because.tv

The Afrobeat savior has arrived - Seun Kuti (2007)

The Afrobeat savior has arrived

Last night Seun Kuti, the youngest son of Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti, made a stunning Chicago debut in Millennium Park, fronting the remnants of his father’s last band, Egypt 80. Since Fela’s death a good number of acts have been scrabbling to grab the Afrobeat throne, from American groups like Antibalas and Nomo to Africans like former Fela drummer Tony Allen and Dele Sosimi, but most have deferred to another of the master’s sons, Femi Kuti, who's been touring here regularly for over a decade. But 25-year-old Seun made it clear who’s in control. His resemblance to his father is even more uncanny than I thought, and while he’s clearly channeling Fela’s creative spirit and sound, his charisma and skill can’t be faked.

At once sexy, funny, smart, and confident, he led his killer band through a relentless 90-minute set distinguished by good pacing, non-flashy showmanship, and a convincing passion. Although only eight members of the 17-piece band actually backed Fela before he died a decade ago, they played with the force of a locomotive and the precision of a clock, expertly heeding Seun’s verbal cues to drop out, cool down, or rev up. The leader sings in a thunderously deep, imposingly authoritative tone, chanting lyrics that do their best to tackle social injustice in Nigeria and Africa at large. His song explanations were cogent without being preachy and he wasn’t afraid to laugh at himself.

Toward the end of the set Seun invited some audience members onstage to dance—all night he mentioned the importance of audience participation back in Lagos—but he clearly didn’t expect several hundred of the estimated 8,000-strong crowd to swarm the bandstand. Having a number of dancers and admirers make short trips to the stage is a common tradition in African music, but the stream of fans that overwhelmed the band looked more like several busloads of the Bonnaroo unwashed than connoisseurs of Afrobeat. Millennium Park security exerted the force of a wet noodle; two guards on either side of the stage literally opened gates, which were stormed by eager fans. Luckily, no one was hurt and nothing damaged, but it was astonishing that the park’s security force was so feeble. It could have been a real mess. While it’s true that Seun invited concertgoers onstage, an informed, skilled security team should have had little problem containing the mellow crowd. Bandleader and baritone saxophonist Tajudeen Lekan Animasahun successfully directed the smooth exodus from the stage once the song ended.

While most American labels and concert promoters seem committed to Femi, Seun and his band are only playing five dates in North America and they’ve yet to land an album deal, although Chicago’s own Still Music has just released a great 12-inch single, the first music made available in this country by them. I don’t think it will take long before folks realize that Seun is the real deal. Femi, who will play Lollapalooza later this summer, has just released a best-of double-CD called The Definitive Collection (Wrasse). I’ve seen Femi three or four times, starting way back in 1995 as part of an Africa Fete tour at the Skyline Stage, and none of those performances come near what I witnessed last night.

chicagoreader.com, 2007

The Afrobeat Diaries ... by allaboutjazz.com (Pt.22)

Thanx again to Michael Ricci and Chris May for the permission to re-post these series!!!

Read the full article at allaboutjazz.com.


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Part 22 - Seun Kuti and Brian Eno Take Afrobeat Forward

It is, almost, too good to be true. With his second album, the aptly titled From Africa With Fury: Rise, co-produced with Brian Eno, Seun Kuti delivers on the promise of his debut, Many Things (Tot Ou Tard, 2008), which inhabited Fela's Afrobeat so resoundingly, and steps forward, his own man.

All the music's original signatures are here: insurrectionary lyrics, sung in Yoruba, English and Broken English; symbiotic tenor and rhythm guitars; voluptuous beats; fat, layered horns; blazing saxophone and trumpet solos; propulsive call and response vocals.

That alone is a blast, of course. But Rise adds fresh twists and turns to the music, including newly spacious sound design, ramped up bass guitar ostinatos and other echoes of funk, dub and ambient.

"When I write my music," says Seun, "it's from the perspective of a 27-year old man living in 2011, instead of a 30-year old man living in the 1970s."

The album's gestation took around 18 months. Seun and Egypt 80 played the material live for a year, honing the song structures and arrangements, before recording it, in Rio de Janiero, with veteran dub and reggae producer Godwin Logie. "Afrobeat has to go from the stage to studio, not studio to stage," says Seun. "You create music in the world, outside, in the environment. You go to the studio to record, that's it. Music created in the studio is commercial music, music that only wants to sell, that has nothing to do with the world."

It's an old school approach, and it works; Fela operated the same way (and having finally recorded a song, never played it live again). But Rise's susequent sound sculpting process produced remarkable results. The Rio tracks were mixed in London by Seun, Brian Eno and John Reynolds (U2, Natachca Atlas). Seun gives much of the credit for the finished album to Eno, a bold choice of collaborator. Though his work on David Byrne's My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts (Sire, 1981) pioneered the use of world music, Eno's involvement with African styles has been tangential. But he presented Seun and Egypt 80 at Sydney's Luminous Festival in 2009, and at the UK's Brighton Festival in 2010, and calls their music "the biggest, wildest, livest music on the planet." He's done that music proud. Seun talked about Eno's contribution to the album in Part 18 of Afrobeat Diaries.

Production aesthetics apart, Rise differs from Fela's blueprint most obviously in track playing times, which are shorter, averaging six and half minutes, requiring concise rather than extended instrumental solos. And Seun's delivery is, in a different sense, also compressed. He sings about the same subject matter as his father—government corruption and incompetence; state-sponsored violence and other abuses of power; the impoverishment of the majority of Africa's citizens; the malign influence of multi-national companies—for all these things continue to blight the continent. But Seun's delivery is more consistently intense than that of Fela, who, even at his most coruscating, might inject a note of sardonic, hipster cool. Decades on, with much of Africa in at least as bad a state as it was in Fela's day, Seun's urgency and anger are understandable.

The lyrics are evisceratingly direct; well crafted and with Seun beginning to evince more of the rhetorical gifts of his father. "Mr Big Thief" observes how Nigeria's ruling kleptocracy is protected by a corrupt police force and a malleable judiciary, just like any other major crime family; while "You Can Run" warns the guilty that justice will find them one day. "For Dem Eye" relates how Africans have been stripped of self-respect by the venal, often thuggish, behavior of their rulers; a class no different from the "Slave Masters" of an earlier age. "African Soldier" is about "retired" military autocrats who continue to control events from behind the cloak of civilian government. "Rise," the steadiest track on an otherwise scorchingly paced disc , is a call for revolution as explicit as any written by Fela.

A final seal of authenticity is given by Ghariokwu Lemi's cover artwork. Lemi designed many of Fela's most memorable album sleeves, and his work has become even richer, and more nuanced, over the years. There are actually two versions of the front cover design. That to be used on the US CD—due for release on Knitting Factory Records in June, 2011 (and pictured here)—will show a cannabis symbol on Seun's jacket. To comply with French law, the European cover has replaced that symbol with the words "good leaf." Both releases, however, close with the track "The Good Leaf," in which Seun extols the benefits of weed and demands its legalization.

Like father, like son. It is, indeed, almost too good to be true. From Africa With Fury: Rise is a blinder.

Postscript: Lekan Animashaun, The New Champion. Baritone saxophonist Harry Carney famously played in pianist and composer Duke Ellington's orchestra for 45 years, and, until 2011, Carney held the record for length of unbroken service in one band. Moving the goalposts slightly, to count bands led by Fela and Seun as a single entity, gives us a new record holder, and, coincidentally, he's another baritone saxophonist. Lekan Animashaun has been part of the Kuti family's music for 46 years. He joined Fela's Koola Lobitos in 1965, stayed with him through the formation and eventual breakup of Afrika 70 and the founding of Egypt 80, and continues to be Egypt 80's bandleader in 2011, as he approaches his 71st birthday. He was featured on alto saxophone on Many Things and is heard on keyboards on From Africa With Fury: Rise. Afrobeat, thanks in part to its roots in Yoruba culture, values the wisdom which comes with age.

Read the full article at allaboutjazz.com.

Seun Kuti: The sun always shines

Afrobeat bandleader Seun Kuti shares his views on politics, Egypt 80 and the long shadow cast by his father

Over the course of a one-hour interview, Seun Kuti talks – engagingly, entertainingly, animatedly, often hilariously – about a range of subjects. He talks about religion ("Do I believe in God? Of course not! Don't be stupid!"), about his love of Arsenal ("We need a few taller players"), about working with Brian Eno ("A musical genius. He is not Brian Eno for nothing"), about spending time in Paris ("Can I speak French? Not much. Enough for the ladies"), and about events in the Middle East ("The west will make fools of themselves in Libya, mark my words").

He also, inevitably, talks about his father. Seun (pronounced Shay-oon, an abbreviation of Oluseun), is the youngest son of the late, great Fela Kuti, and the one seen as Fela's anointed successor. He first guested on stage with his father aged eight (at the Harlem Apollo, of all places) and inherited Fela's Egypt 80 big band at the age of 14 when his father died.

When he tours the UK later this month, Kuti, 27, will be fronting a band who've been going, in various iterations, for nearly half a century, and still feature a dozen survivors from when Fela fronted them. "My baritone saxophonist Lekan Animashaun celebrates 46 years with the band this year," says Kuti, proudly. "We have musicians in their 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s. Lekan is 71. In fact, I am the youngest member of the band!"

Tough and wiry, with a premature widow's peak, a straggly attempt at a beard and a fondness for strutting around the stage naked to the waist, he could probably pass for his father (although he's a much better saxophone player). He was offered the lead role in Fela! – the musical that took the West End and Broadway by storm – but turned it down. "It would just give ammunition to those who say I am copying my father."

Kuti struck out on his own at the age of 19, when he put Egypt 80 on hold and went to England, like his father did, to study popular music and sound technology at the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts. "For the first time it put me among my peers. I realised I was pretty good at what I did."

What kind of music did he play in Liverpool? "All sorts. Rock, hip-hop, soul. Stevie Wonder covers. Blondie covers. I played with an African funk band called River Niger. We did a version of Paranoid Android by Radiohead." He cackles. "Man, you should have heard that!

"My initial idea was to make it in another genre, like hip-hop or reggae. I didn't want to be continually compared to my dad. Then I realised that was the coward's way out. I could be a really good Afrobeat star in my own right."

He is the youngest of Fela's children, all of whom were fathered with different women. There is talk of a rift between him and his eldest brother, Femi, who has also pursued a singing career. "It's not that there is any big rift, it's just a generational thing. Femi is 22 years older than me. We get on well, we talk a lot, especially about music, but we don't have much in common." He is closer to a half-sister, who is only six days his senior. "It was an unorthodox family life, no mistake," he smiles. "And my dad was not a conventional man."

Kuti paints a vivid picture of life on the Kalakuta Republic, the compound where Fela, his band, his dancers, the mothers of his children and sometimes up to 300 other people would live.

"There was no such thing as an average day. My father kept an open-door policy. Anyone could come in or out. We had ex-convicts, killers, doctors, lawyers, professors, electricians, plumbers, as well as many musicians. For many, their lives had gone off the rails. My dad would give these people a job and some money.

"There was real equality. I'd mix with everyone, and learn what they did. It was a great education, better than any university on earth. There was a market where women would sell alcohol and marijuana. Occasionally someone famous, like Shabba Ranks, would drop by with his posse. It was always uptempo, always exciting."

He remembers many occasions where Nigerian police and military would raid the home. "One time, a car pulled up, four dudes rolled out and started firing machine guns at the house. Five people died. My father survived. He was asleep on the floor of his room."

Depressingly, Nigeria is still run by the same People's Democratic Party elite bequeathed by Olusegun Obasanjo, the military leader who clashed with Fela in the 1970s. Kuti has refused to back any candidates in Nigeria's forthcoming elections (regarding them all as "self-interested frauds") and is pessimistic about any hopes of progress. "Every African country is governed by a dictator mentality," he says. "They give the west their big cuts, they get their own kickbacks, they make money for themselves, they leave the country impoverished, they feel that everything is OK. They are protected."

Kuti's new album, From Africa With Fury: Rise (recorded in Brazil and produced in London with Afrobeat obsessive Brian Eno), pulls no punches. There are attacks on the military, on dictators, on neocolonialists, on multinationals such as Monsanto and Halliburton, and – for light relief – a hymn of praise to marijuana called The Good Leaf. Kuti has said he'd like to become Nigerian president one day, even trying to register his own political party, Movement of the People (Nigeria's ruling elite stopped him, believing – correctly as it turns out – that he was planning to lead an uprising). Is that still an ambition?

"The problem is that if I was president, I wouldn't be able to criticise myself. I would like to have more of an advisory role." Does he have any hope that the Arab spring uprisings could spread to sub-Saharan Africa?

"That rebel leader in Benghazi, don't you think his English is a little too ... sublime?" he says, slyly.

That's an outrageous slur! It sounds like a piece of pro-Gaddafi propaganda. "No, not at all," he says. "In fact, Gaddafi invited me to play for him, in Libya. Unlike your Prince Andrew, I said no. Ha ha! I don't consort with dictators. But I am on the side of the Libyan people.

"And some of them support Gaddafi. Does that mean the RAF should kill them? No. You have to remember that in Libya people get social security. You tell people in Nigeria this, they go crazy!"

So you are opposed to military intervention?

"Listen, blood is shed in revolution. That is why revolution is sacred. And the west must not interfere in this process. I approve of a no-fly zone, but the west has gone too far. Anyway, why isn't there a no-fly-zone in Côte d'Ivoire? Laurent Gbagbo is at least as bad as Gaddafi. Why no intervention in Yemen? Bahrain? Saudi Arabia? All over?"

I suggest to Kuti that the great rock frontman has a touch of the dictator about him. Both control audiences, command fear and loyalty, create hysteria ...

"Yes, there is some truth in that. The difference is that people actually like singers."

Are you as dictatorial a bandleader as your father? Do you fine your bandmembers when they make mistakes?

"I threaten them with that, but I forget to collect the money," he sighs. "I shout when they play a wrong note, but they all know my bark is worse than my bite. That is one reason I must stop smoking weed. It makes you very forgetful. Ha ha."

guardian.co.uk, Article written by John Lewis, published on April 2011

Seun Kuti - From Africa With Fury: Album reviews

Reviews

How times change. Fela Kuti would probably have put out around 10 albums in the time that has passed between his son Seun’s first and second international releases. But in almost every other way, Seun is continuing his father’s legacy.

Most obviously he’s still using Fela’s band Egypt 80 as his own. The sleeve design by Lemi Ghariokwu (whose chaotically busy, subversive art graced around half of Fela’s albums) is another conscious echo – even if the inadequate detail afforded by the tiny CD format underlines its limitations when compared with the old 12" vinyl covers. Seun has even taken on his dad’s ‘Anikulapo’ moniker, which means "he who carries death in his pouch". He’s also adopted more of Fela’s vocal mannerisms, and as the title of this confident new album suggests, his lyrics are just as concerned with "kicking against the pricks".

And in Nigeria, as in the rest of Africa (see Ivory Coast, Libya, Zimbabwe) it’s very much a case of new pricks, but old tricks, as the striking opener African Soldier spells out in a fiery tirade against former soldiers who become dictators for 20, 30, or even 50 years. Penned by Rilwan Fagbemi, it’s a lean and muscular update of the Afrobeat template, setting the pace of this largely up-tempo record, which only really slows down on its epic centrepiece/title-track Rise. This finds Seun railing against multinational oil and diamond companies as well as Mosanto (sic) and Halliburton. The other standout track is Mr Big Thief, mainly for the snappy interplay between Seun’s alto sax and the brass section, as well as his sharp vocal sparring with the female chorus singers.

Brian Eno has long been an enthusiastic champion of Afrobeat, so he’s an appropriate choice as co-producer (with John Reynolds and Seun himself) although it’s not easy to hear any radical departures instigated by Brand Eno that really distinguish it from the fine work of Martin Meissonnier on Seun’s 2008 debut, Many Things. However, Seun is singing with more confidence – or perhaps, authority – and Egypt 80 are firing on all cylinders.

The album is not without filler, with Slave Masters and For Dem Eye making rather less of an impression. Some may find the relative lack of slower tempos a disappointment, but dancers may well disagree. Overall, then, From Africa With Fury: Rise is a pretty solid second effort.

bbc.co.uk

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Youngest son of Afrobeat firebrand Fela, Seun Kuti has succeeded where most celebrity offspring fail, succesfully updating his father's musical legacy. It helps he inherited a brilliant band, Egypt 80, but Seun has added his own generational voice. On his second album, Afrobeat's loping rhythms are tautened for the digital age, while staccato guitars and intricate horns are laced with electronica (courtesy Brian Eno among others). Seun is a gruffer, less persuasive singer than Fela, but his songs sting just as strongly. Decrying Nigeria's plight, he sings of "Monsanto and Halliburton [which] use their food to make my people hungry". Protest music for modern times.

guardian.co.uk

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Seun Kuti has always had two problems. He has had to battle against continual comparisons with his legendary father Fela (hardly surprising, since he based his early career on a stage performance in which he looked and sounded like his late dad's clone), and he has had to watch the success of Fela's oldest son, Femi. The UK has been blitzed with Fela nostalgia in recent months, with the success of the Fela! stage show and the rerelease of all his back catalogue. Now it's Seun's turn to show whether he can take Afrobeat to a new level. He succeeds – but with a lot of help from others. For a start, there's his band, which includes legendary Nigerians such as band leader and keyboard player Lekan Animashaun, who played with Fela. And there's the production team of John Reynolds and Brian Eno, who have updated the style with a new edge and attack, and the occasional hint of electronica. This is an album that's memorable for its slick, rousing instrumental work, which includes Seun's own saxophone contributions. His new songs attack predictable targets, but at least he is beginning to find his own voice.

guardian.co.uk

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Alarm bells went off when I learnt that Brian Eno was co-producer of Seun Kuti’s second album. The last thing the son of the legendary Fela Kuti needed was his personal brand of Afrobeat to be given a distancing sheen, or diluted by some space-age Enoesque sound effects. But it’s easy to forget that Eno isn’t only Mr Ambient – he also produced the groundbreaking Afrobeat-influenced work of Talking Heads in the late 1970s.

In fact, Eno once stated that the muscular free-flow of African music lies at the route of even his most ambient compositions. Well, here is the proof that such an ostensibly tenuous connection cannot be sniffed at. For Eno - along with co-producers John Reynolds and Seun himself - have created one of the best Afrobeat albums since Fela Kuti himself left us in 1997. From Africa With Fury: Rise is like Fela in concentrated form. With tracks lasting a mere eight minutes - rather than the half-hour the great man himself sometimes meandered on for - this is good news. And Fela’s old band, Egypt 80, whom Seun inherited, are almost frightening in their sinuous, marshalled precision. Beats seem spot-riveted into place, snare drum thwacks are machine-gunned out in ferocious clusters, brass riffs cross-hatch the ongoing flow, and Seun himself delivers his best vocals to date from his father’s pulpit of Righteous African Outrage: “Our ear don’t fool for your words, our stomach still empty”.

But Afrobeat is sometimes at its most beguiling when it goes off on a tangent, so one of the best tracks here is the sublime “Rise”, a slow, mournful number built around a doomy rock guitar riff. Seun – conjuring Fela’s gift for the telegraphed slogan – sings, “I cry for my country when I see it in the hands of these people”. This is a ferociously focused album that sets my pulse racing every time I play it.

theartsdesk.com

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Afrobeat is a vibrant, living music – and there’s no group better equipped to express it than the Black President’s own band, Egypt 80, who pulse through the seven long tracks like it was 1980 all over again. They’ve been playing together for decades – and it shows, as they’re as tight as a duck’s proverbial.

Seun Kuti takes the reins and pulls no punches, his ferocious vocals pinning to the ground the miscreants who have raped his native Nigeria for decades. But it’s the rolling, throbbing music which snaps you to attention track after track. Mr Big Thief starts off with snappy percussion and banked brass before levelling out with outstanding solos and, of course, Kuti putting the corrupt politicians in their place. Rise is a slow, deep cry for food for the impoverished masses and For Dem Eye is almost hypnotic in its insistent rhythm, while The Good Leaf decries hard drug use and extols the virtues of ganja to a blasting brass and scatting Seun soundtrack.

This is what Afrobeat is all about – and it’s the album Fela’s fans have been waiting for since his sad death in 1997.

recordcollectormag.com






Tracklist

01. African soldier
02. You can run
03. Mr. big thief
04. Rise
05. Slave masters
06. For dem eye
07. The good leaf
08. Giant of Africa (only vinyl)

Seun Kuti Is Not Fela

There’s nothing as refreshing as a live performance after weeks of inundating your soul with deejay fare. And so it was with excitement that I made my way into Terrakulture two Saturdays ago, to see Seun Anikulapo Kuti perform. I was surprised – pleasantly though – to see that it was a modest crowd; my pleasure an upshot of that snobbish, self-congratulatory attitude native to fans of ‘niche’ music.

(At least a third of the audience was white, which is to be expected; Afrobeat is arguably Nigeria’s most successful cultural export – to the West). After spending the previous night in overcrowded nightclubs dancing to songs that encouraged me to ‘ginger the swagger’ (or perhaps that should be ‘swagger the ginger’), it was a relief to listen to something different, and to do it with so much dancing space around me. Fate had no choice As I stood there and danced and watched Seun, I couldn’t help thinking how much he dwelt in the shadow of his legendary father. Let’s even attempt to forget the striking physical resemblance for a second, and focus instead on the art. For one, he inherited his father’s Egypt 80 band, led by Baba Ani, Fela’s longtime sidekick. At the time of Fela’s death, Seun was only fourteen, and one of the more recent members of the Egypt 80 band. All he knew, and played, was Fela’s music. His mother was also a band member, one of Fela’s dancers, further evidence of how much his life was circumscribed by the Fela sound. If we therefore assumed that Fate was compelled to make a choice regarding which of the sons would be the direct inheritor of the Afrobeat legacy, we would quickly realize that Fate actually didn’t have a choice. There was only one ‘direct’ successor – Seun. The other son had long wandered off, a talented prodigal. Seun dutifully took over his father’s band, and carried on from where Fela left off. For years he satisfied audiences with his father’s songs. It wasn’t until a decade after Fela’s death that he released his debut album. By the time Fela died, Seun’s elder brother, Femi, had already been playing his own music – not Fela’s – for a decade. Femi broke off from his father’s band in 1988 to launch his own band, Positive Force, an action didn’t go down well with Fela. For years the father refused to speak to his first son. Eventually though, he came to accept Femi’s music, and appeared to resign himself to the fact that his son had to make his own way in the world. By the time of his death in 1997, Femi had released three albums. However much Femi’s sound was influenced by his father, it was distinctly Femi’s, a departure from the raw anger of Fela’s compositions.

A terrible burden You can’t watch Seun perform and not see Fela’s mischievous spirit hovering low over the band. That Saturday night, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that perhaps a good number of those present that day were actually there to see Fela perform; that it was Fela who played in their heads and pranced about on stage. I wondered how it must be for Seun, bearing the burden of Fela, unable to cast it aside, yet eager to be his own man and create his own sound. For while Fela was a creation of the Age of highlife and funk (and Black renaissance philosophy), Seun (apart from the Afrobeat inevitably in his DNA) is of the Age of hip-hop and rap and Facebook. Seun must have realized the sad truth that it is much easier for a hip-hop act to attempt to stray into Afrobeat (as D’Banj did early on in his career) than for Fela’s torchbearer to attempt the reverse journey. The burden of maintaining the sound the world came to love Fela for would prove too much a hindrance. It must be a terrible burden. For those who want Seun to be Fela, he will not quite measure up to the mark. For those who don’t want him to be his father, he will seem too much so. Yabis time Seun, mic in hand, did not fail to treat us to a session of ‘yabis’ – a creation of his father, in which he would break from music to pontificate on politics and current affairs and sundry matters, and rail against dictators and Big Men (For many fans, the yabis was as important as the music). “Seun should stop trying to do yabis and play his music instead,” a friend complained that Saturday. “He is not Fela…” Listening to Seun’s yabis that Saturday night I realized that it was less yabis than yabis-aspiring standup comedy, perhaps evidence of his realization that today’s Nigerians would rather pay to laugh at their country’s ironies than to rage at them.

Once, during a show at the Bar Beach in Lagos, it is said that Fela ordered that the 7-Up flag fluttering in the wind be pulled down, because it was a symbol of capitalist oppression. It seems unlikely that his son would ever do that – not when one of his band members proudly donned an Arsenal jersey. The theme of Seun’s yabis that Saturday night was satellite television (which one imagines his father, were he alive, would have boasted he never watched). Interestingly, he also took a dig at standup comedy, boasting that his jokes were not of the Night-of-a-Thousand-Laughs sort. Fela on Playback? No doubt, anyone who came to see Fela would have been a tad disappointed. Which would have been their fault, not Seun’s, since Seun is not Fela, was never meant to be Fela, and will only be shortchanging himself, and us, if he ever imagined he was. But then again the onstage ‘Fela On Broadway’ banner which provided a backdrop for his three dancers might have only succeeded in inspiring unfair comparisons with Fela’s much larger, far more raucous chorus. Seun ended the performance with Fela fare, which drove the audience into a frenzy, propelling them to within touching distance of Seun. Even Seun himself seemed more animated than before. Fela was in our midst. Or was he?


questionmarkmag.com, published April 2010

The Day Seun Kuti Stormed Helsinki

During the autumn of every year, Helsinki city celebrates Helsinki day, a celebration that features well planed cultural activities of various types spread over one month. During the celebration many international artistes of repute were often billed to perform and in this year’s celebration, our own Seun Kuti and Fela’s Egypt 80 was one of them. I almost missed the show. A yearly happening like the Helsinki Day celebration does not get detailed advertisement. One has to seek information about the schedule and pick dates and activities one is interested in. I was too busy and forgot the date for the gig as I knew already he was on the bill. One can then imagine my joy when my phone started ringing on the evening of Saturday the 16th day of August. First it was Chudi, ‘Ol’boy where you dey’? I could hear a lot of voices in the background, then Olu. Luckily I was within shot to the venue, and most of all I was in the studio rounding up my Saturday broadcast. I quickly packed up my field kit, recorder, video, still camera etall, and headed to the Hakaniemi beach park, the venue of the concert.

Approaching the parking lot, I could already hear the unmistaken pulsating sound of afrobeat renting the air. Man, was I excited? As I walked through security, a fine lady in security outfit stood there. I smiled at her and even patted her on the shoulder as I danced my way to the entrance of a large tent, venue of the concert. The place was already jam-packed with happy faces and I managed to squeeze my way to the front row, smiling to every face that turned my way, and getting in return broad genuine smiles, a good sign that we are all in for a great evening of fun.

The show was just starting; Fela’s Egypt 80 band was playing the intro with the baritone sax player, Showboy Adedimeji leading the pack upfront, so I have not missed a thing. It was a great pleasure to see the faces of these guys again, the Egypt 80, some of whom had been with Seuns celebrated father of blessed memory, Fela Anikulakpo Kuti (Abamieda), from the days of his early musical carrier, talk of someone like Tajudeen Animasahun (Baba Ani).

The Power of Afrobeat

The power of afrobeat is undisputable. When I started out here on Radio City Helsinki, Finland’s pioneer commercial station in 1989, I clustered the airwave with a myriad of African and Caribbean music genre, and of course, afrobeat was top in my play list. Being the first time hearing an African voice, telling African stuff on Finnish airwave, the reaction from the listeners was magnificent. I remember a caller who told me that when he was a young school leaver in the70s, he went on inter-rail trip, as it is common with European youths, to familiarize himself with the rest of Europe. While in Berlin he saw a poster of Fela’s concert, and for some reason decided to go and see what it was all about, though he had never heard about Fela before. He got to the venue, and after the show according to him, did not continue with his original inter rail travel itinerary, rather he followed Fela and his band’s concert schedule until he ran out of cash and decided it was time to go home. I got to know this guy in person later, and I was amazed by his collection of Afrobeat. He had almost everything Fela ever produced. Such is the power of afrobeat.

In my youth days, I had my first job after secondary school at Lagos. It lasted for one year before I got a place to further my education, and I spent almost every weekend of that year at the shrine. That was in 1974. I sat almost on the same spot in the front row on Fridays, (yabis night), and Sartudays (Comprehensive show). I remember one occasion when I almost broke the rule of ‘no movement’ during the comprehensive show, when Fela goes to do the rituals of offerings in the shrine. He had just finished announcing the commencement of the ritual, with the usual warning that none should move when I emerged from the men’s room heading towards my usual seat, almost in front of him. He pointed towards me and said “una siiam,see dis one, no be de tin I jus dey tök now, dis one….” I quickly raised a black power sign and shouted Babao!. He smiled and said “ hm, una no sometin, dis guy, efry weekend, na for dis same conner him dey tanda, abi u buy dat chair, anyway sha, because of dat I forgive you” and the audience applauded. That was when I realized that he took notice of me, and men, did that feel good?

My retro on Fela while the subject is Seun is not in digression; I say this because seeing Seun felt a little bit like bringing Fela back to life. I guess this had more to do with their striking physical resemblance. Also his moves and the fact that the band is Fela’s Egypt 80 sealed the whole thing. It was my first encounter with Seun. I was involved in Femi Kuti’s first visit to Finland in 1997 for the World Village Festival. During the fest, I was their official host. But for Seun, all I knew about him was from what I got on the net, and had wished to see him perform live. My wish came through during this concert.

The Show

After the band delivered a couple of their repertoire, the band’s baritone sax player, Adedimeji Fagbemi (Showboy) announced Seun, and the crowed of over a thousand people went wild. Seun after greeting the crowed went into business, first delivering the song titled ‘Many things’ a song that highlighted the poor condition of things in Africa, and Nigeria in particular. He went on to the delight of the audience to deliver more of their powerful and polyrhythmic repertoire that Afrobeat is noted for. He sang songs like ‘don’t give that shit’, Fire dance, etc. One of the climaxes was when he did one of Fela’s old songs ‘Suffering and smiling’. The few Nigerians at the venue were as over excited as I was, we were all wriggling to the rhythm. Many people were sited at the beginning of the show, but when the place became supper charged, and the spirit of Afrobeat took over, everyone jumped unto their feet, dancing to the rhythm of the beat. It was one great feeling, one great night to relish.

When the band ended their last repertoire, the crowed refused to bulge. They applauded for a very long time, and when it seemed the band wasn’t coming back, some people started leaving the venue. But suddenly there was a loud roar, and a mad rush as people ran back to the tent. Alas the band was back for an extra.

Backstage

At the end of the gig, I found my way backstage to comhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifmiserate with Seun and the boys. It was a happy moment for all of us. What interested me most was the simplicity exhibited by the entire crew. Seun had time for everyone, cracking jokes, hugging and shaking hands; giving photo opportunity to anyone who dared to ask. I used the opportunity to chat with the old hands of the band. One of them told me it was a good thing that they were able to keep the band together after Fela passed. According to him, they were worried about their future, but luckily they had Seun whom he called their boy, because he had always been there with them right from when he was a little boy. I was very happy that I did not miss the show, and I am sure that everyone that was there had a great time. This is proved by messages I saw on Seun and the bands site on Myspace, one of which read.

nigeriavillagesquare.com, written by Ikechukwu Ude-Chime

The Afrobeat Diaries ... by allaboutjazz.com (Pt.XVIII)

by Chris May, allaboutjazz.com

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Part 18 - Seun Kuti talks about From Africa With Fury: Rise

Seun Kuti's From Africa With Fury: Rise, the follow-up to the ferocious Many Things (Tot Au Tard, 2008), is under starter's orders—and Afrobeat Diaries' sneak preview attests that it's a monster, a stone delight of epic proportions.

Produced by Brian Eno with John Reynolds and Kuti, with additional input from dub wizard Godwin Logie, the new album features Fela Kuti's son once more fronting Egypt 80 under the leadership of veteran saxophonist Lekan Animashaun, its founding bandleader, whose time with Fela stretched back to the pioneering years of Afrika 70 and, before that, Koola Lobitos in the mid 1960s.

From Africa With Fury: Rise was originally slated for release on Knitting Factory Records in June 2011, but may now be brought forward to April. Watch this space.

Meanwhile, here are some of Seun's thoughts about the album.....

"I wanted to do something completely different," says Seun. "Not different by trying to be American or European with my sound, just trying to make a very different album from my last album. My last album, it was my first time in control, I was not as confident as in saying what I wanted. This time, I said, 'Okay, I can be more confident in how I express myself, I can say what I want, be as complex as I want.'"

Seun is effusive about his co-producers. "Brian Eno is 'Brian Eno' for a reason. He has a great mind when it comes to music. He adds new dimensions to the sound. He showed me new ways of opening up the sound I'd never have thought of on my own. Not to downplay the work of John Reynolds, who is an incredible producer. I'm really glad I had them work on the album."

Despite the studio craftsmanship, Seun sees the recording process as a means to an end, a way of capturing his music for posterity. "Afrobeat has to go from stage to studio, not studio to stage," he says. "I don't believe in going into the studio to write songs. You create music in the world, outside, in the environment. You create music with nature, not in the studio. You go to the studio to record, that's it. Music created in the studio is commercial music, music that only wants to sell, that has nothing to do with the world.

"What inspires me is the time that I live in," Seun says. "Basically what is happening today in Africa are the same things that were happening 40 years ago, when my father was songwriting, but they're happening in different ways. So when I write my music, it's from the perspective of a 27-year-old man living in 2011, instead of a 30-year-old man living in the 1970s."

Despite this, Seun finds himself having to challenge many of the same injustices Fela fought back in the day, from exploitative multi-nationals to militaristic kleptocrats to the futile war on drugs. Among the album's unequivocal battle cries is "Rise," in which Seun encourages listeners to fight "the petroleum companies" that "use our oil to destroy our land," "the diamond companies" that "use our brothers as slaves for the stone," and "companies like Monsanto and Halliburton" which "use their food to make my people hungry." But where Fela's work often featured an explicit call to revolution, Seun's goal is subtler. He sees his role as that of an educator, speaking truth to power in order to provoke debate.

"In Africa today, most people are struggling in silence," Seun says. "The systematic oppression of the people has made them blinded to their reality. Everybody's just thinking about survival. Nobody wants to stand up for anything, everybody just wants to tow the line. So I'm trying to make people think about these things that they are forgetting. I want to inspire people to want things to change.

"Music has great impact on people's feelings," Seun concludes. "That's what music should be. Pop music today is all about me, me, me. Nobody is singing about we. But nothing can change if we don't look out for our brothers and sisters."

From Africa With Fury: Rise will make history. Afrobeat's DNA is intact.

Seun Kuti - An interview from Feb. 2009

Information

This is an interview Bob Baker Fish did in inpress with Seun Kuti, the 26 year old son of legendary Afrobeat superstar Fela Kuti. He’s just released an incendiary debut album with Fela’s old band Egypt 80 called Many Things (Cartell Music) and is playing with them at Womadelaide.


Interview

I’ll start with an easy question (laughs). Do You think music has the power to change things?

It is a question of opinion. I think music has the power to change things. But just like anything it can not be done by just one person or one group or ten groups it has to be a collective thing. All the musicians in the world have to have it in the back of their mind that music is a gift that should be used not just to get rich in their pocket but also to uplift their people. If every musician in the world is putting their music to advocate for some kind of change then definitely change will come.

Were you always going to make Afrobeat music?

Definitely. Being Fela’s son there’s no escaping it. (chuckle). But at the same time if I live this life to know what I know today I would still want to use my music to try and increase peoples awareness of what is going on in the world and also try to change the lives of my people.

Is Afrobeat inherently political?

I don’t think Afrobeat is the only genre that can do it. Afrobeat was created to do it. I think if you’re a rapper or a pop singer, or a working musician whatever you are and want to use your music for positivity it’s possible. Not just your voice, because what we’re seeing in the news for a while is gone but our music lasts forever.

I heard you were originally a backup singer in Egypt 80 is that true?

I’m not a backup singer. I’ve never been a backup. I used to open the shows for my father. I used to sing a little bit or one of his songs.

So you go back quite a way with the band.

Even before I started singing on the stage I knew all the members of the band because my dad used to take us to every gig and I used to go on every tour. Even my manager I think I met him as a little boy. I don’t think I met him then. But if I did I must have been a little boy. My dad so everyone in the band is like family to me. I’ve known them since even before I started singing in the band you know. It wasn’t just because of the band I would always be around them growing up.

So what’s it like being their leader now for both you and them?

I think I’m only the leader when it comes to doing something like this and everybody is having a good time and I’m being interviewed until 8 in the morning or something. I think this is when I am the leader (laughs). And maybe financially too (laughs again). But I think the way the band is run you don’t need something like the leader. Every decision is made democratically. And the band trust me. They know I want the best for the band. I’ve given my whole youth for the band. My whole life and everything has been about the band I think everybody close to me knows that whatever decision I make is for the band to grow.

After Fela died I’m wondering if maybe the band wasn’t going to continue.

Yes definitely. I was surprised to find out the family didn’t really expect the band to go on. That’s why I’m the one playing with the band today, because nobody was going to do it and the band didn’t get any support from the family to keep going on. So what did I have to do? What could I do in order to keep playing with the band. So don’t come to us for any assistance and keep what you make. So here we are today.

When did you start this?

We’ve been doing this for a long time. 1997. Immediately when Fela died we continued. It was very tough in the beginning trust me. But that’s our history.

Why has it taken so long to release your debut album?

It’s a whole combination of factors. From my personal issues to getting a proper record contract . From my point of view I didn’t want to do an album as a teenager or too quickly and as an adult I’d be wondering why did I do this album I really don’t like this album I made. And Afrobeat is a way of life, you have to live your music. You can’t just sing Afrobeat and do something else. I can’t be singing Afrobeat and go to a government launch like many African artists do. I had to decide. Afrobeat was my calling you know. After making this decision then we were looking at doing the album.

Is Afrobeat more accepted now in Nigeria by the government?

Afrobeat is still seen as the opposition music. It doesn’t get as much support as other genres of music in Nigeria. Because it was created in Nigeria and because it would talk about Nigerian politicians, Nigeria would be tougher on Afrobeat than anything else.

How do you and the band go about composing songs?

I write the music, that’s it. Yeah. It’s not so hard.

I find that hard to believe. It can’t be that easy.

The writing of the songs is really simple. Trust me (laughs).

Okay. I’ll trust you on that. Did you ever feel any pressure when writing lyrics to live up to your father’s words?

No no no no. If I thought like that I would never have finished making my album. I don’t think music should be compared you should just enjoy music. I had some things I wanted to say so I said them in my own words. I didn’t think about what my father would have said in that instance or the words he would use. That being said I’m still inspired by his style and words you know.

Is it hard to be something other than your father’s son? Particularly after making an Afrobeat album?

It’s not hard for me. I am my own person. It’s hard for people to believe I can be my own person. I don’t think that there is a tradition that I have to handle, So I’m living my own life as my own person. One of the things my dad actually taught me was the only person I have to impress in this world is myself. I’ve been able to do that quite comfortably. I’m impressed with who I am. I don’t feel any obligation.


Source

Seun Kuti - Interview 2008

Information

His father, the late great Fela Anikulapo Kuti, was the godfather of the politically sharp, seriously funky music genre known as Afrobeat. Seun Anikulapo Kuti is carrying the torch forward, blowing sax and singing as leader of Fela’s old band Egypt 80. An album titled simply Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 is set for release June 24. Seun was on the European leg of a world tour getting ready for a show in Paris when I caught up with him via cell phone on Tuesday to talk about his dad, the power of music, and Barack Obama.

The Egypt 80 tour hits North America this week for a series of shows in June and July starting in Los Angeles and working up the coast to Humboldt County where they play Monday, June 23, at the Mateel Community Center. (All concert dates are listed below.)


The interview

So you’re in Paris with Egypt 80?

Yes. That’s my band.

As I understand it, you were a member of Egypt 80 when you were a boy.

Yes, since I was eight. I used to open the shows for my dad. I used to sing every Friday night at the Shrine.

What do you remember about your dad?

There are so many memories. You know I was 14 when he died. I saw him every day. He was a very integral part of my life, so I don’t know. He was not the kind of dad who was like a dad, he was more like a friend, you know.

Was he also your musical teacher?

Well, in practical terms yes. He gave me the opportunity to get on stage. But he was not like a music teacher; he didn’t have time to be teaching me physically. He helped me with my musical ambitions anyway I wanted. He sent me to the best schools. When I wanted to start singing it was my decision. He told me that and supported my decision. That was the best lesson he could give me at such a young age.

And I assume he was a role model.

That definitely goes without saying.

When he died, did his band, Egypt 80 continue on immediately?

Yes, although it was not my plan to lead the band. I wasn’t thinking it was going to be me who would keep the band going. It was something all of us had in common, that we wanted to keep going. It was not easy. Nobody was supporting the band. At that moment I made up my mind and stood up to say I want to keep playing. When we continued it was tough, when we took someone like Fela out of the equation. It was a very hard thing.

I’ve been listening to this new album that’s about to come out in the U.S. It seems like you have brought the Afrobeat movement into the 21st century.

I don’t think so. Afrobeat has always been in the 21st century. Afrobeat was about to go global in a big way when Fela died. He was about to do a world tour that would have brought the music worldwide, but he died. We went on without him, but it’s a misconception when they say Afrobeat sounds like old music, that it needs to be changed, to be fused with new music. They said we had to add some funk and some soul to make it new. I don’t believe that. Afrobeat is evergreen, the albums are classics. One of the rules of Afrobeat is that every song has to have an everlasting meaning to it. I believe Afrobeat has always been in the future. The world is just now catching up to it.

Is it still the music you hear on the street in Nigeria?

Of course, it is the music of the masses too for all times. It does not always get the support given to the bubblegum music that we have everywhere now.

Like your father you are speaking out against the corrupt leadership of tour country. That’s what got your father in trouble with the government. Have you faced the same kind of resistance from the authorities?

Of course, of course. It goes without saying in Africa. It’s been the same for years. I understood from a young age that Afrobeat was more than just a genre, it was a movement, you know. So I decided to leave behind my education in Liverpool to join the movement, and that’s what I did. Now I fight with the movement. And I know the consequences.

You’ve said there’s a change: instead of get up and fight, the people must get up and think. What do you mean by that?

We are not lacking for fighting in Africa. There are wars everywhere at the moment. What we are lacking in Africa is the right ideology. The mentality behind this fighting, the revolutionaries want a bloody fight. What I want is to correct injustice. We have to fight with our minds.

We don’t here much in America about what’s really going on in Africa. What we know about Nigeria is that it’s a source for oil and there are disputes around oil over there. Is that what you are talking about in your song “Na Oil”? Is that about oil?

Not only. It’s a parable really, about the importance of human life. In my language is says, “Na oyeli ide carry,” which means, it’s oil that I’m carrying on my head. It’s red oil, palm oil. It’s also what we call crude oil, but [traditionally] it is palm oil. It’s an old traditional saying. It’s about our rulers who only wan to get rich. I call them rulers, not leaders, because they do not lead us, they rule us. There’s a big difference. For them their Swiss bank account is more important than our lives. So we speak to them in the song sarcastically, asking hem to respect our lives in Africa.

So as the price of oil goes higher and higher, it’s only the rulers who proper.

It’s always been that way in Nigeria. Ninety percent of the resources are owned by one percent of the population. Those who own the resources have actually stolen them from the people. The world ignores that fact and continues to do business with them.

You say you came back to Egypt 80 to rejoin the Afrobeat movement. Do you think a musical movement can change things like the oil problem?

Music is a very powerful weapon. It has the power to do incredible things. So yes, of course. One thing I learned from my father is that music does not stay in one place. It goes all around the world, but you have to dedicate your whole life to that. But music gives you back in turn, it gives you long life, it gives you grace. Music has the power to change people’s minds, to change the course of mankind.

It can get people to get up and think, as you say.

Yes, of course. Because people listen to music all the time. That’s why I don’t think it’s a coincidence that only bubblegum music is what is hyped everywhere in the world.

Because the rulers don’t want people thinking…

Exactly. Of course there are a lot of conscious bands out there and many musicians who are activists. In the ’60s and ’70s you had Jimi Hendrix and many others. People were listening to people like Malcolm X and they were listening to intelligent music. And you know intelligent music actually makes people intelligent. The rulers couldn’t handle that.

So instead they gave us bubblegum so we’d stop thinking for ourselves.

Exactly. Trust me, I don’t mean to insult any artists. I listen to nice music myself. But you must remember, music has power.

I have one more question for you. I heard that you had trouble with your visas and immigration on a previous trip to America, and a Senator from Illinois helped you out. Senator Obama…

He’s not Senator Obama, he’s President-to-be Obama, future President of the United States.

What does that mean from the point of view of someone who lives in Africa?

You know, this is the first real hope for Africa, the first in a long time, in terms of political leadership. We’ll have to judge history by what he does. He owes the black race and I’m sure he understands that because he’s an intelligent guy. He owes Africa, and a lot is expected. Being an African, he knows that Africa needs to be free. He knows what needs to be done. He knows the influences that need to be curbed. We hope for the best.

Same over here. I don’t want to keep you much longer, but I have to tell you, your music is great and I think what you are doing is very important.

Thank you. And we will see you soon.


Source

Seun Kuti - Interview 2007

Information

At the WOMEX fair in Seville, Spain, in October 2007, Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 of Nigeria were perhaps the most electrifying of all the many acts that performed. Afropop’s Banning Eyre, along with Marco Werman of public radio’s The World, were fortunate to interview Seun in his hotel room before the show. Seun’s long awaited debut CD, Seun Kuti and Fela’s Egypt 80 (Disorient), is scheduled for a June 2008 release, and the band will tour North America in the summer of 2008, including a stop at Central Park Summerstage in new York. So, here is the complete transcript of Banning’s and Marco’s conversation with Seun.



The interview

Seun [SHAY-oon]. Am I pronouncing your name correctly?

Yes, you are. At least good enough for a white guy.

Tell us your personal story. How you became a musician, and how you inherited your father's band.


Well, obviously, the best things are not planned. It was not really my dream per se to lead the Egypt 80 band. I always knew I wanted to be a musician. I was not thinking of my father's death, and I was not thinking, even after his death, I would be in charge of Egypt 80. You know, I started with the band when I was eight, always opening the gigs for my dad. To me, it was just fun on Friday nights. When I just started, it was just fun, very much. But then, sometimes it got to be a pain in the ass. Because sometimes, I'm just so tired from school. I want to sleep till Saturday, but it's just impossible, because you have to do the Friday night gig. But I also used to see it as a way to stay up late. Because all my friends at school used to go to bed at six or 7 p.m., but I got to stay up all night in The Shrine.

And what did you sing?

I used to sing Fela’s tracks. I started singing "Sorrow, Tears, and Blood.” That was the track I auditioned with. Anyway, let me give you the story of my audition. While in America on tour in 1991, I went to my dad, and I said… Because I went with him to the Apollo theater. I can never forget that gig. It was such an amazing gig, and I said to myself, "When I grow up, this is exactly what I want to do." So I went to him and I said, "Fela, I want to start singing." You know, and he looks at me. "You? What you want sing?" Because he was speaking pidgin. "Can you sing?" "Ah, what you mean, can I sing? Of course I can sing." "Okay. Sing for me. Let me hear."

That's how our dialogues were. Because my dad didn't believe in being like a father to his kids. We called him by his first name. He wanted to be our peer. Because he said it's easier to influence your children when you are like their age than when you are an authority. They just do it behind your back. So anyway, back to the gist.

He says, "Okay, sing the song." So I sang "Sorrow, Tears, and Blood." Well, he corrected some few words. That was all. Not key, not notes, just words. So he said, "Ah, okay you can sing." When we get to Lagos we started rehearsing with the band. Boom. That was my audition, right there in the back of the bus. I got the job to open the gigs now. So I started doing that now. You know, every Friday, it was fun. Go to Shrine, do the gig, make extra money, at eight. I was like king among my peers, you know. Feeling like, you know, when I grow up I'm going to be a musician, or else playing for Arsenal. One of the two.

What year was this?

This was still like when I was 10. I started supporting Arsenal from the age of like six, when I knew what football was.

When were you born?

1983. Now, we're talking like 91, 92, 93. 93 I was 10. After that, I kept performing, all the tours.

What was it about that Apollo show that was so amazing?

I don't know. I can't really remember, but I remember that that's the night I was inspired. Because I had seen my dad perform hundreds of times, because I used to go to all the gigs. So we kept doing what we were doing. Fela stopped touring and recording in 1992. He said he didn't feel like touring. There was this rumor all over the world that he changed his mind, you know, about the deal. He never changed his mind. He didn't want to do it, and he didn't do it. So you know, I kept doing the shows. I didn't try to improve myself as an artist or be a professional. Then, I was just like, “Let me now throw out for my early teens…”

My father died in my second year of my teenage years, when I was 14. So when I was like 10, 11, 12, 13, I was performing with him all the time, but I wasn't improving. I wasn't doing it to be a star. I was doing it because I had to open the show for my dad. It was fun. You know. After high school, after college, I started thinking of what to do, and suddenly my dad died. I won't say suddenly. He was ill for a long time. From like April, he was ill till he died in August.

But you know, most people don't know my dad. Nobody thought that man could die. [LAUGHS] You know, so even when he was extremely ill, everybody just kept doing everything the way it was, because everyone was expecting him to get better and come back. And you know, when things are not done right, he's going to kick our ass. So everybody kept on doing what they were doing, so we lost my dad. We lost Fela. In August. A great shock. Turmoil everywhere.

Then the family has a meeting, my uncle, my elder brothers and sisters. My aunts. We've had other meetings about the family. I mean, basically at that time life to me was just upside down. Every day was a blow. I was even talking about this period when my dad was ill. There was a little three-week period when he finally agreed to let us taken to the hospital. Because he didn't believe in Western medicine. He believed in self-healing. In the beginning, he didn't believe in Western medicine, so he took only African medicine. Then, he got to a stage where he believed in self-healing. He stopped taking any form of medication, for years, and years, and years. Anytime he was ill, he lay down on the bed until he got better. So finally, Fela agreed to let us taken to the hospital, there was this three-week period. And I was discussing with my friends yesterday. That three-week period seemed like 10 years. We had little discussion yesterday, my friends and I, and I was amazed. "It was only three weeks. Damn. Looked like three years."

But anyway, after his death now, things were like... We just lost Fela. Big hole. Big void. Catastrophe. Chaos. Everybody trying to do what they can. Anyway, they had this meeting, and basically, the family was saying, "To hell with the Egypt 80 band. We cannot keep funding the band. Fela is no longer alive. Who's going to listen to the band?" You know, for me, I was thinking, because although I was performing with the band, I was actually thinking of members of the band like Lekan Animashaun, Banbani Oshogboyi. You know, now that Fela is dead, these guys are going to become huge stars. You know, like all these legends that die, their bands still play, and make a lot of money, doing all these festivals, and doing more albums even after the head of the band is dead.

But here I am, sitting in the living room with the family of my dad, and they are basically telling the greatest band in Africa, “You are no more important. Just go away.” And it just hit me. Because growing up, my dad used to always say, "Before even all of you, my band is the most important thing in this world to me." I remember one time there was this little squabble between one his girlfriends and someone in the band, and he made this statement. Even when I had some problems with the band, even as a kid, he made that statement. He let me understand I am a member of the band, a part of the band. And the band is the most important thing, even before the family, even before himself. The band comes first.

So I'm surprised that this family, his family, everybody is basically trying to throw away this incredible group of people. Some of them have worked with my dad for 30 years. 20 years. You can’t just tell these people to go to hell. You're not giving them any money. Nothing. But basically, it wasn't their welfare that may me really decide at that moment. Because it was a spur of the moment thing. It was the fact that it ran through my head that: "My band is the most important thing in my life." So I said, "Can I say something?"

They're like, "What?"

And you know, in Africa, it's not the same as the way you Europeans treat your children. You say, "Junior." "Yes, Dad." "Come here." "No, Dad. I feel like going out with my friends." It doesn't happen that way in Africa. You don't talk back to elders. So it took a lot of summoning up of courage for me to say, "What if I keep playing with the band, and we keep what we make?" Exactly what I said. They said, "Well, you can keep what you make with the band, but don't expect any businesses from us because, you know, da da da da da da….” So, here I am, 10 years after. In fact, some people even gave me a timeframe. "You have five years, and this band is going to collapse." It's the 10th year!

So, if the axiom in Africa is that young people don't speak up, then why you, the youngest in the family, and not Femi to take over the band?


Well, I guess probably because he had his own thing going. He had Positive Force already, and he didn't want to stop all that. But to me, and it didn't stop anybody from saying, "We will support this band." We had absolutely no support. Trust me. Everything I've achieved with this band, I have achieved it with the help of the band alone, and myself. The only people I owe anything to is my late mom, and my late uncle, Beko. Because he was in prison when Fela died. For his political, human rights activism under Abacha. He was in prison. And he was the closest to my dad. So he was not part of that decision.

But when Beko came out of prison, he gave me 120% of his support. That was like 18 months after my father's death. He helped me out a lot. God bless his soul, anywhere he is right now. Probably I would have stopped if it wasn't for that guy, you know. Because I had a lot of flak. I was surprised. People were actually being mean to me for keeping the band going. What? This is opposite. People should be part of what I'm doing. I got all this negative press, sponsored by some people, just to keep me down, and the band. I was wondering why they were trying to erase this band.

What were their criticisms?

I don't know what it was. They were just chatting a lot of rubbish, as the British would say. Saying I was too young to be leading Fela's band, you know, I'm not musically inclined enough. And at that time, I heard he finished grade 8, music theory. But it's afrobeat for Christ's sake, not salsa meets Latin jazz … I don't understand. Afrobeat is beautiful simplicity. With a basic idea of music, you can be an incredible afrobeat musician. You just have to have good ears, and you have to be inspired. Talent is very important.

So that was it for me in the beginning. What can I say? I'm still here today. It took a lot of work though. It was not planned. That's why I still try not to plan anything, because I realize that planning things is like a stupid thing to do. You are not in control of the world. You can't plan anything, because you want to do something now, and someone 10,000 miles away can be making a decision that's going to affect your little project you've been trying to put up for the last five years. And you know come in 20 minutes, some guy says something on TV and it's gone. So I don't plan stuff. I believe things happen. I plan for the next second. The next breath. That's what I do.

That's an inspiring story. What about recordings? I know there's this new album about to come out, but have you recorded before?


No, no, no. I've never really done any record. I have featured with like one or two guys on their songs, but I've never really done any records. Basically, I feel all the flak and criticism I got in the beginning for doing what I did kind of helped me. Because I then realized that I had to be ready to come out. I can't give these people the opportunity to crucify me. You know, so, even though, then I could have come up with something earlier. Like everybody does. Just put an album together. But I thought we should wait, just keep doing a live thing. No matter how hard it got. One day we would be ready. And you know come here we are. I've not really done much recording a last 10 years, but now I've been recording a lot in the last two.

Tell us about this record.

I don't know. What can I say? It's the best record ever made. It's my record. What do you want me to say? I think, maybe after the interview you guys can listen to a few tracks, and you guys can say something. If I talk about the record now, it's going to be like me blowing my own horn.

Can you tell us about what some of the songs are saying?

Yeah, yeah. Afrobeat was created for a certain purpose, and for a reason. It's a movement. And until the goal is achieved really, the basis of what the music is about cannot change. You know when people will be talking about, "Why don't you put some salsa, some calypso, other African music, some jazz, some funk in afrobeat." And I'm like, "Man, all these other genres should put some afrobeat in their shit. You know, I don't want any of that in my own music. Because my music has something is doing to the world, and I believe in the originality of afrobeat, you know, being my source of strength, and what raised me."

I think that afrobeat was created for the emancipation of the black mind, and the freedom of the black race, and until that is really achieved… Basically, we have rulers in Africa right now. Once we begin to have leaders. We used to have leaders in the 50s and 60s, but you Brits, Europeans and Americans all conspired and sent your CIA to kill all of them. [LAUGHS]

You laugh, but it's true. Lumumba. Sankara.

It's true. But what can you say?

Do you address those on this album? Do you address any specific contemporary issues?

Specifically speaking, we didn't do that, because this is our first album. We need to let them give us a chance. And then we can be more specific. But you know, we still speak of the issues we have in Africa. Probably I'm not mentioning names or saying anything to anybody directly, but I'm speaking in general terms. This album is basically like social commentary, my views. When I laugh about this, when I say it and I laugh, because you don't expect me to suicide bomb myself. Laughter is the best medicine for it. You say it, and you laugh. But it doesn't mean you don't think about what to do about it.

Your dad recorded some very long tracks. They would start on side A and go on to Side B, and last up to 40 minutes. How long are your songs? Are you restrained for the music business, so that they can be downloaded?


Very restrained. I think the longest track we've got is like nine minutes, which is very long. I have not really checked the timing, but I know they're not as long as my dad’s. My dad had beefs. He said, if Bach could release after his death some decades and decades ago, and release albums that are three hours long and they are still published, he doesn't know what he can to do a song at 40 minutes long. Because he's just as good. You know, so. Even towards his death, he used to call his music Classical African Sound. Not afrobeat anymore.

Tell us about a couple of other songs?

We've got "Many Things." It's a track I wrote about the interesting things I see in my country, happening politically, about our lives. We have "Na Oil.” It's a parable, but the parable actually pleading to our rulers in Africa to respect our lives. Sarcastically. You know, we are pleading to them. And we have "African Problem.” It's my crossover track. My manager, Martin, hates the track. I love it though. I put a bit of hip hop in there.

Let's talk about the oil track. What's going on in the Niger Delta? What do you see going on?


A very vicious cycle. It's all about money. The government gets money from the companies. They bribe the elders of the land to appease the people. They in turn don't give the people anything. They keep it in their pocket instead. They leave their people suffering and crying, instead of the government or the multinationals looking into it directly. They are happy, because they have the chance to drain the soil, so they don't pay attention to where the money is going… The multinationals, first of all, don't pay attention to where the government is putting the money. And the government now, they don't pay attention to where the so-called leaders of the community are putting the little change. The little change that the government gives to them. You know, so basically, attitude reflects leadership. So me right now, I feel that violence is not really the answer to it, because even the so-called movement of the Niger Delta, the so-called freedom fighters, are fighting for themselves. They kidnap people and make money, and spread it among themselves. Instead of taking that money and putting it into the community, putting it new schools, these so-called freedom fighters drive around and state-of-the-art SUVs, the best cars, the best clothes. They're just doing it for themselves basically. Because the government in Africa made Africa into a kind of… I don't want to say Nigeria alone, or the Niger Delta. The whole of Africa is now in a kind of survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Nobody really wants to think about politics. Nothing. Everyone just wants to make money. Because they've made surviving so difficult.

You can give up whatever you're doing in Europe or America, and say, "I want to be a freedom fighter." Even if you are not working. You are a volunteer. You are not doing something. Your government gives you some certain kind of welfare that helps you survive as a human being. But in Africa you don't have that. If you're not doing something for yourself, nothing is being done for you. So you could either choose to eat, choose to live, or choose to die. It’s like that. Either you choose to live or choose to die. And people definitely want to live, but also I'm trying to say, "If we all want to keep living like this and die like this, then our kids will also live like this and die like this. What we have in Africa will not last forever, and until we start making it work for us, we have a very short time to really appreciate, to really get the benefit of our continent. A very short time left. Time is truly, truly running out. Because when we run out of all these things that are making all these big multinationals and colonialists come to Africa, we are going to lose all importance to the world. They're going to forget us. The black continent. We will keep suffering and living like this for the rest of our life.

So that's why I say it's a vicious cycle what's going on in the Niger Delta, because still, it's all about money and oil. And still, people take money and don't do what they're supposed to do, or kidnap people, and still don't do what you're supposed to do. So what's the difference between you and your government? If you're going to try to make change, even if it's with violence, you decide it, but make change.

That's why I have a song called "Think, Africa." Because if we are doing all this fighting, even making our new children, giving them guns, the ideology behind the bloodshed has to be right. If everybody fighting the fight is still thinking for himself. "Ah, let's win so I can loot some money and be rich." If that's what you are fighting, after the whole fight, and even if you win, you are still going to be where you are, because you're still going to do the same thing you are now rolling over, and they are going to pick up guns against you again, so they're going to keep on going in that circle until we start to change our ideology.

You've spoken out against violence and the use of guns before…

It's necessary. I'm not against the use of guns in Africa, although we don't manufacture guns. I feel right now we still have a chance for dialogue in our own country. Really, when Europeans look at Africa, they see a lot of rebels fighting, killing innocent people as they see it, but you know, if you put yourself in the shoes of the oppressed, until you are that dog that is backed into a corner, you cannot really blame a man for how he reacts. When a man has been turned into an animal, really turned into an animal, he has to go really straight back to basic instinct. And this government that he's going to against has guns and weapons. He's not going to go in there with fists. He is also going to try to get a gun. My problem is not the guns, it's where are these guns coming from. That's my own problem.

But given that you feel there's very little time to solve these problems,…

Yeah, probably two or three generations.

… do you understand why the rebels in the Niger Delta have picked up weapons?

No, I still don't. Because even though they have picked up weapons, they are still not improving the situation. So I still don't understand. As I've said, they've picked up arms… That's what happens in Africa. We don't want to do the hard part. We hate going through that. And the hard part is actually the mental aspect of the struggle, getting the mind right, before we… Well, if I was in the Niger Delta, with guns kidnapping, I wouldn't kidnap white people. I would be kidnapping government officials, man. Those guys, I would make sure they are the ones kidnapped, without kids at least. And I'm sure they could make the change. I'm not advising anybody to do that. I'm just saying if it was me. I'm just saying. Because I feel that getting a Shell worker, that is basically working nine-to-five trying to earn an honest living in this situation, it's not fair to his own family. Because I'm telling you, if you kill him, it will not stop Shell from doing what they do, or Chevron, or all his companies.

Do you think the last best chance for dialogue was Ken Sarowiwa, and why do you think he died?


Well, Ken Sarowiwa is a very, very—I don’t know--complicated issue. [PAUSE] I don't want to speak about it, boy. He was not the last opportunity. He was not even the solution. He was a great guy, you know, at the end. Toward the end of his life, he tried to write a lot of things, but he had already dined with the devil. So.

As far as change goes, Nigeria has had an election. There is a new president, Umaru Yar’Adua? What you think about him? Have you written any songs addressing this change?


No, no, no. Actually, we are finished recording. I'm writing songs almost every day, so he will get in there soon. I'm still watching him. He hasn't even spent a year in office, but I don't think.. It was not an election. It was a selection. They didn't elect anybody. Obasanjo just selected his best people and put them in power, to continue his reign. You have to understand that these people… We have men that still live in the country who are older than the country. Nigeria is only 47 years old. It turned 47 on the first of October. These men are 75-year-old, or 80-year-old men. They were there in the beginning. They created the chaos. They know what to do about… Right now they are busy laundering. They are cleaning up their money with our economy, putting their money in the economy, hiding it. Cleaning up. That's what they're doing right now. People say Nigeria is getting better. Only the banks are improving. That is all that's improving. The banking. You know, to help them clean up their money. They are trying to bring all these monies, because the international community is looking at their finances internationally, and seizing some money. Not all of it. Not even enough of it. They are seizing some little guys, so everybody's taking precautions. The banking system in Nigeria is six star. We have six star banking. Trust me. I'd rather bank in Nigeria than any other country in the world. That's how good our banks are.

Being in a situation like that, you know, well, you have to understand the reasons why people…. That's why, before in my life, I didn't want to be in politics. But you need power to make change. There need to be a lot of changes.

When you say there's nobody in politics who is free of that colonial history, or that they are all older than the country itself, do you think that's a bad thing? If you imagine 50 years from now, when that's not true anymore and nobody knows colonialism from first-hand experience, do you think that's going to be better? Do you think that experience of having been through the transition is part of the problem?


Well, that's why there's history. So anybody who cares to find out where he's from will know the history of Nigeria. So I don't think in 50 years time when all these people are gone it's going to make any change, if we don't change it now. Because they're only going to hand over their ill-gotten wealth, ill-gotten material things, and over inflated egos to their children, who are going to use this money to continue buying up the country. Because these people have enough money to last more than 10 generations -- I tell you. So until somebody comes to correct that… I don't see why a farmer, who is working every day and night for the last 40 years cannot even afford to own a two-story duplex. He lives in a little house with his two wives and kids, and you, just because you are a general in the Army for 10 years, you own refineries, companies, houses. It's just not right. And I'm telling you, if Patton knew what Nigerian generals were making, he would probably be a Nigerian army man. [LAUGHS]

You have invoked your father’s word “Democrazy” in talking about democracy. Tell me what you hear that word, but also, compare your sense of democracy with the United States right now. George W. Bush for the last eight years.


We taught Bush well. People don't know. He is very trained by Nigerians, by Obasanjo. In how to rig elections. Towards the beginning of the second term, Obasanjo visited him twice, and gave him some tips. I'm sure he must have given him some tips. He also came to Nigeria, and he was so happy to say, "Oh thanks. It worked. I'm there."

Bush has been promoting democracy around the world. What's the difference between his sense of democracy and yours?


Well, my own sense of democracy is actually a democracy or freedom is real. Not where freedom is just for the rich. Because people don't understand what they are doing. People think they try to make life hard. They want to watch everybody. No. What they want to do actually, in my own sense, is try to make the rich-- not the rich like we are; we are comfortable; we are not rich-- they are trying to make the rich guys above the law. Life is easier for a rich guy. For example, you are in the airport. I'm trying to travel with my bag. I have my laptop and I have my saxophone, and I can't take two bags across Heathrow. I have to try to stuff my laptop in my saxophone, or drop my saxophone. It's crazy. But a rich man, he gets to Heathrow. He says hello. Go to the back. Sit down in the VIP lounge. Walk to his private jet with whatever he wants. Nobody searches him. He gets into his plane. "Oh, hello. This flight is supposed to be six hours. Please, make it in 4 1/2 hours." Then he sits down. Ahhhh.

Just by looking at the airport you can see where the world is going. Five years ago, seven years ago, you could take two bags to the airport. Like a rich man. No stress, no harassment. But since this new change in the world has been happening, things get harder and harder. When you are not known, things get extremely hard. But the rich guys don't see it. They're just like on top of everything. So that's what they're trying to do as I see it, to the world basically, in terms of democracy. Probably, it's not democracy that's going to give us that system. So probably we need to start looking for a new system where people are actually equal, not equal to their bank account. You know?

Do you get as much political inspiration from the older members of Egypt 80 as you do musical inspiration?


Yeah, well, they are all activists. Some of them have been through beatings with my dad, arrests and all that. Everybody, they all have their political views. But they can't be as defiant as that of the Kutis. I think it is in our genes to be very, very defiant. I'm telling you, man. Because some things, people can just take and smile. And I'm wondering how can these people smile about these things? I can't smile. I can't even sleep.

I want to ask about your audience now. You talked about all the resistance you got from the family, the press, and so on. But what's it like now?


The last gig I did in Lagos was at my brother's place, the New African Shrine. We did a gig together for my father's 10th year celebration. And it was…. Yeah. You know, the thing about Nigerians is that they know good music. They enjoy the music, so we get a lot of support, but no support from high up. Because in Nigeria, basically the only two afrobeat bands are me and my brother. Really. I mean a band that's trying to be, not just a flash in the pan, but trying to be a proper band, running the same set of people for years, going and tours, record contracts. Not locally, but internationally. Also trying to get international appeal. Getting critics to come down and watch your gigs and write about them. Just me and him at the moment.

And it's because it's so hard in Nigeria. You can't understand how hard it is to own an afrobeat band in Nigeria. You know? Even when the government sponsors thing, they won't put any afrobeat. They're trying to make afrobeat seem like old music, crazy people's music. But the youths identify a lot. My brother's place is the only place at the moment where you can go and listen to afrobeat live. In the whole of Nigeria! Ohhh. Incredible. There are at least 20 places in New York where you can do that.

Although, the resistance is not physical. They are trying to crush the movement, but the music is a very powerful weapon, especially when it is backed by truth. It is very hard to stop.

People play up the rivalry between you and your brother.

Yeah, they try. But there's no rivalry. We are very cool with each other. I always tell people, "Just enjoy the music. Then don't disturb yourself with comparing and trying to find out differences in trying to start something." People try, because you know, that's what people do, trying to make the most of everything I guess. But there is no rivalry. At least from my side.

Have you got a name for the new record?

Well, tentatively, we are saying Think Africa. But I don't know. I might change it. Something came up, and I had a good idea to say A Long Way to the Beginning. So I want to check and see if any album has been named that. If not, I just might name it A Long Way to the Beginning.

Sounds like a great title to me.

Yeah.

Seun, thank you so much.

Ah, that's why I like interviews with you professionals. In Nigeria, by now you're just setting up all the stuff.

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