Switched on Pop - Lost Notes: How Fela Kuti Found Afrobeat in LA

Episode Date: April 20, 2024

Lost Notes by KCRW explores how Fela Kuti’s time in LA in 1969 was instrumental in the creation of his legendary Afrobeat sound. Hosted by Michael Barnes and Novena Carmel. Find a full transcript of Lost Notes at KCRW. And subscribe to the show. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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It's free for iOS users. Hey, it's Charlie. Today I want to share with you a great music documentary podcast called Lost Notes from KCRW. They're in the middle of their fourth season about the kaleidoscopic backdrop of the LA soul and R&B scene from the 1950s to the 1970s. They have this amazing story that I really loved about the Nigerian artist Fela Kuti and how he found Afrobeat during his time in Los Angeles. I hope you enjoy Lost Notes as much as I do. Hey Michael. Yes, Novina.

Have you ever had a moment when you realized you were going about something all wrong? Oh, that's kind of heavy. And I already talked to my therapist this week. I thought this was Lost Notes from KCRW. It is. And don't worry, this is not about you, my friend. Thank God. Okay, but wait, is this about someone I know?

Well, yeah, if you were tight with Felakuti. No, I never met him. I do love his music. And I definitely would not want to be the one to tell fellow. He was doing something wrong. Well, thankfully, you did not have to. And a matter of fact, why don't we hear a little fellacuti to get us warmed up? The story of how Fela truly became the Fela Cuti is pretty incredible.

And much of it happened right here in Los Angeles. Oh, we're going to talk about his first tour of America, huh? Yes, we are. What was that, 1969? Yep, back in the summer of 69. And this is the tour that led Fela to create his. his signature Afrobeat style. I'm Novena Carmel.

And I'm Michael Barnes. And on this episode of Lost Notes, we're going to break down Los Angeles' role in turning Felakuti from a contender into an absolute legend. Them lives all rota tears and blood, a trademark. And lives on rota tears and blood.

But it's why everybody run, run, run. Everybody scuton, scuble. Sorrow Tears and Blood by Fellacuti from 1977, just an absolute master class of a song. There is nothing like that Afro beat groove, those drums and those guitars. Those melodic horns with the jazzy solos. Those call and response vocals. Oof. A truly revolutionary sound from a truly revolutionary artist. Absolutely.

But it's actually kind of funny because I think a lot of people just assume that fella was always, that revolutionary. Yeah, I know what you mean. The image we have a fella now is so strong. It's hard to imagine that he was ever a different kind of artist. Well, he was, and the difference is quite striking, along with the story of its evolution. Yeah, and it doesn't start in a very promising place. By the dog days of the summer of 1969, fella and his band were crawling to the end of their first American tour.

They'd been ripped off by their promoters. They were completely out of money. And worst of all, their visas had expired during the tour. stuck here in Los Angeles, laying low from the feds. It was indeed a desperate situation, but folks might want to know how they got there in the first place. Well, there are a lot of ways into the story. But since fellas often thought of as the African James Brown, perhaps it's good to start

off with Soul Brother No. 1, Mr. Dynamite himself, James Brown. While James Brown wasn't the first soul artist to make inroads into Nigeria and West Africa, it's safe to say that no other performer had the impact that he did. That's absolutely true. In the mid-60s, James Brown's influence was pretty much everywhere in West Africa, and Nigeria was no exception. Brown himself didn't tour the African continent until the end of 1970. But in the meantime, local bands were recreating their own versions of the James Brown experience. Yeah, it's really fascinating, too.

All of a sudden, throughout West Africa, you had what they called copyright bands. These bands were devoted to playing note-perfect renditions of the popular music of the day. And because the original artists weren't touring the continent yet, it was a way for folks to be in the room with that music, feeling it, the way it was meant to be experienced, or, you know, as close as possible to the real thing. And for a period of time in the late 60s, the copyright bands took over the West African music scene.

But fella wasn't into the copyright band scene at all. He'd spent the last few years trying to make his own thing happen. But the copyright band scene wasn't the only thing happening in West Africa. Highlife music was also huge. at this time. High life had been the popular music of West Africa for decades. In the beginning, it had more of a big band sound, sort of like a mashup between melodies and rhythms

from local cultures with European military brass band stylings. But later on, African musicians incorporated rhythms from American jazz, Trinidadian and Jamaican calypso, an Afro-Cubin Mambo. You had cha-cha, you had rumba in the mix. A beautiful synergy of sounds from all. all over the African diaspora. In fact, if you're familiar with Afro-Cuban music,

you'll hear the two-three and three-two clave patterns in High Life. But in many cases, it's not a clave that you hear, but what the clave was originally based on in Africa, the Ghanayan Bell called the Gancoqui, which is used in music throughout Western Central Africa. And since Nigeria in particular was fighting for its independence during this time, High Life became the soundtrack for that struggle, the sound of both celebration and of national pride.

And it's in this spirit, particularly inspired by the King of High Life, trumpet player and band leader E.T. Mensa that Fela forms his first band, Kula Lobitos. And when you listen to their early recordings, that sweet High Live sound, ooh, it is front and center. But Fela's musical education in England also supports. puts him into contact with modern jazz for the first time. He falls in love with Hank Mobley and Harold Lon and Herbie Hancock. And even though he hasn't figured out how to incorporate it into his music yet, it expands his sense of what's possible.

And over time, he develops this new music called High Life Jazz. But Nigerian audiences are not sure what to make of this High Life Jazz. Fela took the High Life music they already loved and, frankly, added too much jazz. Too much information. It was just a lot for them. And he was also extremely threatened by the copyright bands who were tearing up the scene from Ghana to Nigeria and beyond and putting him out of work in the process.

One artist in particular was getting under Fellas Skin, a guy named Geraldo Pino from Sierra Leone. He first came to Lagos in 1966, and fellow went to the show and left it very impressed by Pino's showmanship. He even said that seeing Pino made me fall right on my ass. Damn. Damn. Pino put on an amazing show, and he was a really savvy entertainer.

He and his band The Heartbeat, they mastered lots of other styles before taking on James Brown. And as impressed as Fela was by the spectacle of what he was doing, I think he resented that so many musicians were having so much success impersonating someone else while he was out there trying to invent his own thing. As frustrating as it must have been for Fela, I think a runaway success of those bands forced him to look at his own identity in a more conscious way. Absolutely. I mean, he had a negative reaction to what he saw as the phoniness of the copyright bands, but I also think he could see that his own music, High Life Jazz, was not really connecting with people in the way that he wanted it to. And that realization is what pushed him into finding a new sound, one that was uniquely African. He actually said he wanted his music to be a pride to the black race.

And so he came up with a new term, Afrobeat. And he even alerts the press to announce that his sound will now be called Afrobeat. But at first, the sound of his music doesn't really change, even though he gives it a new name. He essentially changes the brand name, but not the product, right? And it certainly doesn't sound like the Afro beat we know today. So how and when does the music itself change? Well, that story kicks off in May of 1969 in the Arrivals Lounge at JFK Airport. It's important to remember that there wasn't really a world music scene when fellow arrived stateside in 1969,

and the few successful African artists operating in the United States were considered outliers. Nigeria's Babatunde Alatungi had recorded with jazz legends, Max Roach, and Randy Weston, plus releasing his own albums, and by 1967, South Africa's Hugh Massacella and Miriam McCabe, both had enjoyed chart hits. But otherwise, at least as far as mainstream American audiences were concerned, music from the African continent was the stuff of Disneyland's Adventureland or perhaps Folkways Field Recordings. At the same time, the psychedelic movement of the late 60s

had begun to embrace African polyrhythms. That's why at Woodstock later that year, you see artists like Richie Havens, Santana and Jimmy Hendricks incorporating so much percussion into their sets. And America was still the birthplace of all that source. Seoul and R&B that had become so popular in West Africa. In Fela's eyes, America represented a wellspring of untapped opportunity for African artists. So when he's offered a chance to tour the States in 1969, he saw it as the break that could

wipe his rivals off the map for good. But Trouble was brewing before Fela and his band had even gotten to the U.S. The promoter who made the initial offer ended up having to borrow money from his own brother to pay for the band's flights to New York. And when the band landed at JFK in May, their American promoters were nowhere to be found. Instead of a full itinerary, they only had three confirmed gigs for the entire tour

in Washington, D.C., Chicago, and San Francisco. And then to top it all off, they ended up having to drive cross-country to their shows all at their own expense. Musically, though, Fela and his band were really cooking, sounding tight, and he was determined to impress

whoever he could, whenever he could. And if you have a few of the band, their higher profile performances actually seemed like they could give the band the career lift they so badly wanted. Indeed. You know, at one of their early shows in California, Lou Rawls showed up with his friend and collaborator, H.B. Barnum was a superstar arranger and producer. He'd worked with Diana Ross and the Supreme, Sammy Davis Jr., Nancy Wilson, Cannonball Adderley, and so many more. And based on what he saw and heard that day, he wanted to offer a recording contract as well as a series of high-profile concerts at, wait for it, Disneyland.

A version of the story we've heard is that Disney wanted Fela to perform in the Park's Adventureland attraction, but in the end, they judged that his music wasn't African enough. Fela wasn't African enough. Yep, Walt Disney knows his stuff. Yeah, I mean, when I think of an expert on African music, Walt Disney, first name that comes to mind. The picture of expertise, indeed. Anyway, none of it mattered because Phala's absentee tour promoters somehow get wind of this offer,

and they reappear and threaten to sue Fela for breach of contract if he signs with Barnum. So the deal falls through, which is maybe for the best in this moment, and those shady promoters disappear into the ethers once again. By now it's nearly August. and fella in the band are broke and exhausted. They end up crashing in a friend spot in Englewood until they can figure out their next move. Fella reaches out to a club in Hollywood

to arrange some shows, but once again, his deadbeat tour promoters intervene. And this time, they take things a step further. They call immigration authorities and report Fela and his band for overstaying their visas, despite the fact that the promoters were supposed to be their custodians.

Lord, your face right now, Michael. The audacity of these people. So now Fela is in a tailspin. He manages to get an extension on their visas before the entire band is forcibly deported. But they're still stuck in L.A. with no way to get home or to even make a living in the meantime. But just as it seems, they've hit rock bottom. Things finally take a turn. Fela makes a connection with the regalettes, a black women's fundraising and social club based in Los Angeles.

And through them, he secures an invitation. for the band to perform at their annual fundraiser in the Palm Garden of the Ambassador Hotel on August 3rd. There's even a photograph of fella flanked on each side by the Regalette's president and their garden party chairman in the Los Angeles Sentinel a few days later.

No one could have known it at the time, but this photo captures fella just as his life and his music is really about to change. Convierte your passion in a business with Shopify and bathe records of ventas with the form of pay with a better conversion of the world.

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a month in Shopify. orgs. Immigration may be Donald Trump's signature issue. President Trump is now targeting

predominantly Democratic cities for race raids and deportations. Dozens of protesters clashing with immigration and customs enforcement agents in Minneapolis Tuesday. We will begin the process of returning millions and millions of criminal aliens back to the places from which they came. But what we want to do in this space is talk about America and politics beyond the current president. So what do most Americans think about deportation and border security, period?

I think that Americans are definitely against the kind of violent displays that we've seen in the street from Iowa. When it comes to the question of deportation, the answer is more complicated. My sense is that people want border at the border. They don't like the idea of having no idea who's coming into the United States at any given time. The view on immigration from the bottom up instead of the top down. That's this week on America Actually. Every Saturday in your audio and video feeds. As with Fela's earlier appearances in the L.A. area, this one was attended by members of the Black

musical, and social elite, including Juno Lewis, who was the percussionist and poet, who wrote and recorded Kulu Se Mama with John Coltrane in 1965. Lewis's piece is based around a long poem he wrote expressing pride in his African ancestry, so he probably very intentionally made a point of befriending Fela when he came to town. As we mentioned earlier, it wasn't every day that African artists were touring the states back then, and Fela himself wasn't yet aware of the massive symbolic. power that Africa exerted on black American consciousness during this time. So his appearance must have been a real event for this audience.

People who would have been actively engaged in all that discourse around African and African American identity. There was a young woman in the audience named Sandra Smith, who later changed her name to Sandra Isidore, and she came to see Phala perform at Juno's invitation. She was born and raised in Los Angeles and became a Black Panther and a student of the nation of Islam when she was still a teenager. But fella, he didn't know any of this when he saw her from the stage. All he knew was his interest was more socially oriented, shall we say.

Socially oriented. Love it. Between sets, fella finesse is an introduction to Sandra through Juno. Sandra remembers that the first thing fella did was to ask if she had a car. When she said that she did, he replied, good, you're going with me. In her own car. Yeah, in her own car. But Sandra was young and she said that she actually.

found his arrogance intriguing. Fellow was an opportunity to expand our own education around what Africa meant from an African perspective. But at least as far as fellow was concerned, she learned that Africans and Black Americans had very little common ground in their ideas about what Africa represented. According to Fela, while Black Americans wore traditional African fabrics and played talking drums, Africans at the time were embarrassed by those things. They wanted to, in their eyes modernize and to compete with their former colonizers on the world stage. And it shocks Sandra to realize that Fela had a rose-colored view of black folks' lives in the United States. So Sandra and Fela embark on this somewhat unlikely relationship in which she becomes his teacher. She introduces

him to the philosophy of the Black Panthers, writings from France Fennon like Ritchard of the Earth, and gives him a copy of the autobiography of Malcolm X, all of which truly raises his consciousness The autobiography of Malcolm X in particular revolutionizes his understanding of not only Black Americans history, but also his own. While reading it, Fela said everything about Africa started coming back to me. It really does say something about how much of life is context. Because Fela came from a long line of politically engaged people. Both his grandparents and his parents were deeply involved in issues around labor activism, education, feminism, nationalism, I mean, his mother in particular even had a staggering list of achievements, which would take a whole episode to talk about.

But even up until this moment, Fela claimed he was not a political person himself. What's even more interesting is how meeting Sandra seems to also galvanize his musical philosophy. You'll remember that Fela had been yearning for a new kind of music with a uniquely African identity and perspective. And maybe there's an irony that he had to come to Los Angeles to unlock this more authentic vision of his music. But that is absolutely what happened. You know, I also think it comes down to a fundamental shift in perspective from those ego-driven goals that he had of becoming the best musician, the most popular band leader, all these titles, you know, that depended on the outside world, giving him something, to then this more expansive sense of who he is in the world. Fela had been inspired to become a messenger of ideas and he was reinvigorated to apply himself as a serious artist.

And there was another major influence on Fella at this time as well. Marijuana. Although Fela had first tried cannabis during his college years in London, it became a cornerstone of his life in L.A. Fella would later comment on how much it helped him to get out of his own way, both as a performer and as a composer. And as anyone who has smoked weed can tell you, it definitely affects the way you hear music.

I wouldn't know. But anyway, while Fela is out here undergoing this personal transformation, the rest of the group is still struggling. It's been slow going as August turns into September. And then Juno Lewis comes back into the picture. He's the one who brought Sandra to see Fela at the Ambassador Show back in August. And he tells Fela that he's just run into Bernie Hamilton, who is the brother of jazz legend.

Chico Hamilton and a hustling actor. Well, Bernie had recently turned his own love of music into a funky little spot at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Las Palmas called Citadel de Haiti. By everyone's account, Citadel de Haiti was a unique place. They offered a palm reader, a jewelry shop, a 2 a.m., quote-unquote, voodoo breakfast, and an acre of free parking, which Hamilton turned into a Christmas tree lot in December. They also operated without an entertainment license. which meant fella and his band could work there without the oversight of the local musicians union. Hamilton offered the band $300 a week under the table to play three nights a week.

And he also hooked the band up with a house to call their own. But by Fella's account, Bernie's place was a dump. It was late September and the weather was starting to change. It was getting a little chilly by L.A. standards. And the house was so threadbare that they had to wear coats inside. Fela initially thought he should stay with the band out of solidarity to be, you know, a good bro. But in truth, almost immediately he went off to stay with Sandra. You know he just wanted an excuse to go to Sandra.

Probably. But that was a good thing because it was at Sandra's that Fela finally had the musical breakthrough he had been seeking for so long. Even though he came up with the name Afrobeat back in Nigeria, the music he had been playing was still basically High Life Jazz. But at Sandra's likely helped out by copious and... amounts of weed. He could now hear the sound of Afrobeat with perfect clarity. He sat down at the piano in Sandra's house and began working up a new tune that he called My Lady's Frustration. This one was a song written with Sandra in mind. He was acknowledging how difficult things had been for them and how much of a strain it put on her and on their relationship. And here is actually

where the atmosphere of personal and political transformation he experienced in L.A. really starts to filter down into his art. For the first time, he says, I want to write African music. He starts with a baseline, then adds the other elements, and instead of his usual habit of adding lyrics almost as an afterthought,

he lets the music speak, using only wordless syllables, influenced by Yoruba chants, to anchor the voice. By now, Fela had renamed the group from Kula Lobitos to Nigeria-70, and their appearances at the Citadel expanded from three to five nights a week

with a nice little pay bump to 500 bucks. The house swelled to more than 200 patrons for those weekend shows, and one night in October, he gets crazy and decides to premiere their new sound to the audience. He's feeling it, and they break into My Lady's frustration for the first time, and the house erupts with energy.

Everybody is dancing. Bernie Hamilton himself jumps across the bar with excitement. Whoa! And the sound of Afrobeat finally comes alive right here on Sunset Boulevard. Now things are finally starting to catch fire. The band plays another high-profile gig back at the Ambassador on October 11th. This time is part of the musical lineup for the NWACP's annual Image Awards. And Nigeria 70 continues to pack the citadel well into November. By now, they've been working up this music night after night, and they are a well-oiled machine. An acquaintance, Sifella's, Duke Lumumba, arranges for studio time to capture the band in this moment.

And now, unlike back home, Felon is banned with their new sound, our recording in a proper studio. Their earlier recordings were made under conditions of necessity. Probably have the band all playing around one single microphone in one room. Old school. Yeah, but this is L.A. in the late 60s, and even a lot of the smaller studios could give the band an enormous sonic boost. It really gives you an opportunity to appreciate the changes that fella and his music about are gone, from the time of High Life Jazz to now at the birth of Afrobeat. Right. It's really a stunning transformation when you think about it. Oh, yeah.

Why don't we listen to some of that music together so we can all hear the difference for a moment? I have a few tracks in mind, if you're game. All right, yeah, let's do it. What do you want to start with? Okay, how about one of those Cule Lobito's tracks? Let's start with Me-O-Moll. Right away, everything hits you, right? And you can hear that 3-2 rhythm pattern and the Ghanian bell under the verse. There's a density to the music in this period.

You got those horns and all those layers of rhythm and that busy bass line. And you hear that in a lot of Phela's early work from 64 to 68. But with the first Afrobeat recordings, the tempo slows down. And there's going to be much more of an emphasis on the beat that drummer Tony Allen creates. Allen's background is a drummer raised on African Juju and High Life, as well as American jazz drummers like Art Blakey and Max Roach gave him a unique style and his ingenuity and creativity is a big part of what made Afrobeats sound so special.

Just leaning into it. And you watch it and it looks so simple, but sounds so complex. Rest in power. Okay, so just to make the evolution crystal clear, let's cue up a track from the Los Angeles sessions. A number called This Is Sad, it'll be good to hear. This one's an instrumental, but I think that it really, really helps us zero in on the musical innovation.

Okay, this is already night and day from the beginning. The first thing you hear is all that space. So much spaciousness. Yeah, and a part of that is the improvement in recording quality. But Fela also has consciously reduced his music to the essential elements. He's breaking it on down. And even though it's at a slower tempo, it lands right in the pocket. Yeah, everything in the locks in this really beautiful,

way. The bass guitar takes its time, playing fewer and longer notes. The guitar work is clean and simple. And finally being able to hear Tony Allen's drum work with such clarity, huge part of why Alan becomes such a legendary drummer during the 15 years he was with Fela. Just listen to that interplay between the hi-hat and the snare drum. My God. It is money. And you can easily hear one of Fela's vocals from his early 70s period working over this, too, such as Black Man's Cry or Let's Start. So many of the essential elements are all locked into place. And again, we're talking about only a couple of years from me-o-mo, from Cula Lubitos,

to this at most. But the dividing line between those eras was drawn right here in Los Angeles. Shortly after these sessions, in March of 1970, Phelan and his band finally returned to Nigeria. All told, they'd spent 10 months in the United States. Fellow returned home not just musically awakened, but politically as well. And when James Brown made his way to Nigeria in late 1970, he and his band stopped by Fellas Club the Afrospot. And while Brown never has admitted it, both Bootsie Collins and David Matthews, Brown's arranger, have admitted that they were influenced by the sounds that they heard there. And the interplay of all those elements created the conditions for fella to later become Fela Anaclapu Kudi, he who carries death in his pouch.

the master of his own destiny, the black president, and the legendary revolutionary artist that we think of today. Yes. So the next time you're driving down Sunset Boulevard, go ahead and cue up a Felakuti track on the stereo and crank it up a notch as you cross that intersection with Las Palmas. You just might enjoy a little energy exchange with the former location of Citadel to Haiti,

where Fela found his groove. Oh, yes. Lost Notes is a KCRW original production. It's made by Michael Barnes, Ashley Brown, Novelina Carmel, and Mike Dodge-Weiskoff. You can read up on this and other episodes at KCRW.com slash Lost Notes. Special thanks to Gina Delvac, Jennifer Farrow,

Ray Guana, Natalie Hill, Anne Litt, Arnie Seiple, Desmond Taylor, and Anthony Valadez. Extra special thanks this week to Eothan Alapat of Now Again Records, H.B. Barnum, and Todd Simon. If you're still listening, drop us a line at Lost Notes at KCRW.org with the name of the Nigerian bandleader who inspired fella to play trumpet and we'll send you some free swag. I'm Novina Carmel.

I'm Michael Barnes. Thanks for listening. If you enjoy Lost Notes, you can find more of them in our show notes. I recommend checking out their episode on the true story of the song, Tainted Love. Check out Lost Notes from KCRW anywhere you get podcasts. Attention, Spotify. has arrived the new Good Girl Jasmine Absolute of Caroline Herrera, a fragrance intense with character gourmet and addictive.

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