Odolaye Aremu
Damn Fela! He already got the entirety of the melody in his head. He got it long before the tracks were laid. Longer before the sessions leading to the recordings. He loved to keep everyone waiting unnecessarily suspended, like a Maths Professor with just a bunch of chalk sticks, a blackboard, and, enough time, to break the most annoying equation down to its barest resolution. Fela’s bunch of chalks were sticks of burning cigarette (one at intervals) clamped tightly in between two bony fingers or dangling precariously in between two crusted lips. His blackboard was his old Hammond Keyboard. And, his time was- his time.
The equation got simpler each second of his minute. From one guitar riffs to another; to each whine of the organ; to the Dolby depth of the bass-line, to the synchronicity of the percussion ends, to the submission of the various horns; and to the practiced cacophonies of his choir girls. Then you get it! As you nod along to the melody, you thought to yourself: “this is where this Ol’ Geezer was going all these while. Why he’d had to torture me for long to wait for this simple, yet sweet melody? Does it have to be this arduous?!” You ask yourself.
With Fela Anikulapo Kuti, in the heavily accented voice of Mr. Sanyaolu, a.k.a Etelolu, my old High School Maths Teacher; “There’s NO WURUWURU TO THE ANSWER!” He stripped his music from its ‘clothing’, to the ‘flesh’ and finally, to its skeletal ‘bone!’ Musically, Fela Anikulapo Kuti forever shall remain a musical pedant. Good Night St. Augustine!
First published on FB, August 11. 2013
