June 29, 2003
Sunny Ade.
Sunny Ade gets my vote over Fela Kuti anyday. There's too much redundancy in Fela's music, saxaphones and organs meandering all over the place. Shaggy ain't my thing. While the political ire and philosophical stance of something like "Kalakuta Republic" are rousing, in preference I'll take the sheer sonic thrill of Tony Allen's edge-of-climax drum pans on the more "superficial" dance craze record "Open and Close". That record retains the JB's hyper-tense instrumental dynamics and one-mind co-operation, without degenerating into marajuana miasma.
Sunny Ade's records are more quietly and keenly thrilling than Fela's (all stomp and bluster). The "rush" dynamic centres on the way the pedal steel guitar soars over the busy knitted bed of talking drums, one of the most exciting instrument sounds in music, up there with Thelonius Monk's piano-being-thrown-down-a-mineshaft vamps and Bob Dylan's ham-fisted yet wildly ennervated harmonica. Every time I hear it I get uncontrollable shivers wracking my body.
Sunny Ade probably made more records than Sun Ra. The catalogue numbers of the three I have on his Sunny Alade Records label stretch up to 25 between 1974 and 1981, obviously that doesn't include his manifold international releases and equally constant output since 1981 (22 years ago fer chrissakes!). There's a record out this year, still using the same template, which kicks arse! One thing about Fela, and this is in spite of apologisers for records like "Perambulator" and "Army Arrangement" (the domestic mix natch), is that he only made halfway decent records with the Egypt 80. Juju (and Fuji) bandleaders come into the spotlight from time to time, Ebeneezer Obey, Dele Abioudun, Shina Peters, Segun Adewale and Barrister- but none of their work touchs the magnificent peaks found on Ade's records. A cheap jab at Ade would be to say all his records sound the same. In fact very often the same Yoruban chants, melodies, riffs and songs (even) are recycled. I prefer to see this as an endless evolving quest for perfection, each re-version racking up the tension. The same criticism gets levelled at James Brown, and the closer one tunes in, the greater differences become apparent.
The first Sunny Ade record I bought was "Juju Music", the first in the trilogy he made for Island. It's truly marvellous. There's alot of spite directed at world music stars getting "chi-chi" in Paris, having their fangs pulled out, getting washed out with synthesisers etc. But the work Martin Meissonier did with Sunny Ade is pretty much exemplary. "Juju Music" is one of the most successful "Fourth World" records made. Synths are set to bleep and chatter. Talking drums become chromatic and abstract. The groove elevates off the desert road into a low orbit. Great too is the 12" Waka Mix of "Jah Funmi", even bleepier and more abstract, vocals sucked through the pinprick eyes of the dub. This is apparently available once again on a new CD which has just been reissued, er, you do the work.
"Synchro System" is disappointing. Island didn't get their new Marley (what a dopey idea!) and packed the tracks into twelve small suitcases. SO Talking Heads filched the high concept of "Juju Music" for "Remain in Light", but thats no excuse to turn in a West African Noo Wave "Fear of Music" (yikes, sounds great on paper!) There's a nice Nigerian-only release "Synchro Series", Meissonier at the helm, but which is the same tunes stretched out over half LP sides. And "Aura", well it's very flat, a duff. It's a shame in many ways because drum machines don't NECESSARILY spell the end for African music (there's alot of great African music which uses them and makes a merit of them, one off-the-cuff example being Cheb Khaled's "Hada Raykoum"), it's just that in this instance the musical dynamics are all wrong. I recently heard mention of Ade's Soundtrack to Robert Altman's movie "O.C. and Stiggs" (which he and his band feature in too) which is supposed to be as far out as the aforementioned records. If you think you'd like the Juju Dub sound, also track down the Dele Abiodun "Confrontation" LP on Earthworks.
Which brings me to this. I was trying to fathom how Sunny Ade must have felt being sucked into the spaceship that is the pan-global arm of the record business only to be beamed back down a few years later. Journalists don't tend to talk about industry machinations. What one reads in the press nowadays tends to be "advertorial" (picked up this word yesterday at a celeb hacks picnic, me serving drinks in a tight black suit), writing to give "luft" to a record. One blows a big multicoloured bubble, slips the CD in it at one's last gasp with the tip of one's tongue, and it sails over the city. As a wee kid I was shocked when I found out the opinions expressed by some music writers were not actually their own, but a response to the marketing department or "owed" to the record company. Aw Boo Hoo!* Sometimes though, looking at the real-politik of artist/company dynamics can be very psychedelic. Psychedelic like a walk down the high street. Lets have a look at the cover of these three domestic releases for clues...
Firstly check out the absolutely stunning cover of this record. Voices in my head give me a hard time about being a "record fanboy", but take this exquisite object. Sitting in a bargain bin for £7 sterling. It's come all the way here from Lagos, maybe on an old cargo liner. It's from 1974. I was three then! It's a rich physical object, not pokey undersize and sterile like a CD. Look at Sunny Ade the young buck. This is his first record on his OWN label. He does look slightly cocky, but also tender. An insouciant smile. He wasn't as massive in Nigeria as he would soon become. He looks like he's sitting on a bench on Hampstead Heath. Wearing that cool jigsaw shirt on and natty brown leather boots, western style. He's looking beyond the boundaries of Nigeria already. However it's an image for his home market. "Look at me!", it says fixing the camera/viewer, "I'm International, I'll be a big star, just you see!"
This one is from 1980. We have Ade in ethnic garb, he's "King" Sunny Ade now. Radiating happiness and success. A generous buoyant mini-afro. A huge star at home. Now a figure operating on a cosmic level, as great men and women often believe they are. Eyes now off 45 degrees left, dwelling in the delight of his own status. "Nothing can stop me!", he feels.
Then this, which is widely acknowledged (along with "Bobby") to be his classic recording. It's from 1981. Here at the absolute pinnacle of his success. "Aura" the final chapter of his dalliance with Island comes a couple of years later in 1983. If you ask me though, he's SEEN the future. He knows it's not going to work out on the international level. The smile has gone. His scar fully visible. His hair cut back. His clothes dusty superfly. And his eyes, how different, now turned stage-left back to Nigeria. Wiser. Hurt. Figuring how best to go from here. Crashing down to earth. Sunny Ade has never been a politicised musician (like Fela) but one senses "The Message" hinted at in the title; "There is more to life than this..."
If you get the chance to see Sunny Ade live jump at the opportunity. I saw him in the Queen Elizabeth hall in 1989. The place packed with respectable-looking ex-pats, dressed up to the nines, cooly seated to witness their ambassador. I danced fervently and frenetically through the three hour concert looking for all the world like a spastic insect (hey didn't we all!), attracting many embarassed and disapproving looks, though no-one minded really. Awesome music!
Posted by Woebot at June 29, 2003 09:47 AM