Chewing Fela by ‘Tunji Olalere

There are many things one could do with a Fela riff. Eat. Sleep. Smoke.  Masturbate. Cremate. One could hum it till it became a psychotic refrain or a psychedelic mantra. One could ignore it, and it would still be the first tune on the lips at the moment of arousal. Small blessings from 1989.

Many things rise out of Beast of No Nation to meet the ears. When I am chewing the words or the music, I find that it resonates with what is on CNN, BBC, Aljazeera and Alaroye: Buhari is still president, though he hasn’t jailed any one yet. Thatcher is dead, but there is Cameron and the unholy alliances in the world. The world is still trying to ‘dash’ us human right.

There are many things one could do with a Fela line. One could curse with it, aim it at the establishment and ire them till they convulsed. Sometimes I think of P W Botha in his grave turning each time the song is played. I then put the tune on repeat:

‘Beast of No Nation, Egbe k’egbe’.

In some corners where I have drank beer, Beast of No Nation is considered the peak of Fela’s artistry. Here, the phoniness of the L.A Sessions, the exuberance and experimentations of the early ‘70s, and the abrasiveness of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s have mellowed and melded into a coruscating amalgam.

The bass guitar’s riff opens and threads the piece all through. It is the backbone from which the almost thirty minutes of rapture is suspended. The lyrics are carefully worked into the sounds. The pace is breathable. Tangible. In the first largely instrumental half, each musical instrument is allowed its solo before being layered into the melody of melancholy that supports the song.

The metaphor of disguise ingrains this magnum opus. Faces and garbs. Actions are not to be taken at face-value. Intentions cannot be known. Everything is a palimpsest. Having been recently released from jail, the broken man, who never quite recovered from the death of his mother a decade earlier, probed appearances in the local and global politics of the time:

‘See these leaders as you see them’
Na different disguise dem dey o
Animal in human skin
Animal dey wear Agbada, Animal dey put tie o…’

It is a sad song. Fela is edgy. He laments the structure of the United Nations,  gives perspective to the apartheid situation, and questions the sanity of the world and the humanity of his jailers― Buhari and Idiagbon.

There is almost no Fela.

It is 2015. Buhari now wears agbada. Oritsefemi has bought and wrecked a Range Rover on the strength of Double Wahala; D’Banj, Wizkid, W4 and other scions of Afrobeat have taken up a bit of Fela and always wished they had bitten a softer part to chew. I am chewing too; everyone is chewing Fela these days. And the juice… oh the juice!

18 years after death crept out of his pouch, Fela lives on.

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‘Tunji Olalere is a doctor and poet. His writings have appeared in Prosopisia, Saraba and elsewhere.

Image credits: Righteous Vibes