FEMI KUTI: HORN OF PLENTY

When Fela Kuti died in 1997 and worldwide interest in Afrobeat spiked, his eldest son Femi’s success seemed assured. His two major-label albums made him a consistent draw on the road, but while his detractors acknowledged that Femi’s discs were energetic, they dismissed them as over-polished bait for a pop crossover. (Such backbiting became typical after Femi had split with his father in the mid-’80s.) He continued to focus on live performance, touring frequently and releasing a blistering DVD recorded live at his home/nightclub the Shrine in 2005. But without a studio recording for a perplexing seven years, his younger half-brother Seun stepped into the breach with an aggressive debut disc, a Damian Marley to Femi’s Ziggy.

Femi’s recent and long-awaited album, Day By Day, is not an unqualified success, but it nonetheless represents one of the most varied Afrobeat records ever made. The tempos range from laconic to frenzied, and his new lead instrument, the trumpet, punctuates a much jazzier variety of Afrobeat than before. Unlike his previous albums, his vocals display vulnerability and a sense that, through his struggle, he’s been just barely hanging on.

In conversation, Femi Kuti chooses his words carefully. Still, a few flashes of emotion sneak through. When asked about the perception of his music as too slick, especially in comparison to that of Seun, he snarls.

“Slick? People that criticize me don’t have the same kinds of challenges I’ve had in my life. When I left my father, nobody gave me any hope of being successful. When they criticize now, it’s out of envy. I don’t listen to them anymore. They didn’t understand why I made the moves I did. Now today, if I had been under my father, would I be where I am? Would I have a unique sound? No! I would just be under his umbrella until my death.”

Asked further about Seun, he describes the relationship as good, though his tone betrays more complexity to his feelings. “Yeah, he comes around, he plays at the Shrine. The only time we didn’t get along was when people were making him think he was my father. But he has been apologetic, I have no problem…. I am not interested in being a critic. I will not discourage young people from doing what they do.” About Seun’s music, he says simply, “we’re not similar. He sounds very Egypt 80–ish [Fela’s renowned outfit]; that’s not where I wanted to go.”

The role of heir apparent, a job he never wanted, has passed to Seun, who embraces it with greater enthusiasm. Femi is just trying to stay his course. The personnel of his band, Positive Force, have turned over twice in the last four years. “You have to be very strong to see America and still want to fight for Nigeria,” he says, explaining the defections. “People see America, and they think [emigrating there is] easy.” He’s had trouble at the Shrine, which was closed briefly by Nigerian authorities a few months ago. There have also been rumours about his health. Earlier this year a tour was cancelled due to malaria, and clearly this is a sensitive subject with him. “I wasn’t feeling well. Now I’m much better. When I die, you’ll know I’m dead.”

But at age 47, an age at which his father had long passed his peak years. Femi remains unbowed. Judging from early reviews and footage from this tour, he still plays like he has something to prove every night. It will take more than gossip and jealousy to bring down a man whose family name (Anikulapo, a middle name inherited from Fela) means “he who carries death in his pouch.”