Roots revisited

African reissues fuel the world-pop debate

by Banning Eyre

Has African pop lost its way? In its quest to achieve global dance-club viability, or to rub elbows with the Peter Gabriels of the world, has it left its soul behind? Some longtime fans think so; many African artists, on the other hand, dismiss this notion as the arrogance of Westerners who want to freeze Africa in the golden glow of the past and deny it a bright future. While the debate rages on, four new releases are hitting the market with polished-up remasterings of Nigerian and Ghanaian pop from the '70s, and excavated Zairean tracks from the dawn of the continent's recording history. These fascinating documents offer ammunition for both sides.

Start with work by Nigerian pop icons Fela Kuti and I.K. Dairo. Recorded in 1971 at Abbey Road studios under the stewardship of Ginger Baker -- a Peter Gabriel of his day -- Fela's London Scene (Stern's) captures a landmark session. You get a vivid sense of a brave and pugnacious African star applying the general rebelliousness of the early '70s in a country where such boldness had no precedent. But for all the smoldering energy, there's nothing pure about these five tracks. Fela still claims that his music is 100 percent African, but the influence of James Brown's funk and Latin idioms of the day are plainly evident, at a time when the glorious bombast and sprawl of Fela's best work clearly lies ahead.

I.K. Dairo, on the other hand, came to London that same year to record his then mature juju sound. These sessions, newly available on Definitive Dairo (Xenophile), mark an obvious pinnacle for African roots pop. Within years, King Sunny Adé would seize the juju mantle, but Adé has called Dairo his main musical idol, and no surprise, because juju's sound is all here: the rolling, seductive multi-percussion grooves threaded through with light guitar interplay, and the quirky instrumentation -- Dairo goes for accordion, just as Adé would later flavor his sound with pedal steel guitar. The male choral singing is breathtaking. And you can't top Dairo's vocal leads. That throaty cry, so young and vibrant here, soars straight for the heart.

As this disc's exemplary notes point out, Dairo liked to speed songs up ever so slightly as he went along -- just the kind of touch that makes classic African pop so powerful. Dairo and his Blue Spots can seduce you starting with a lazy little guitar line and ending in full-blown boogie heaven. Sadly, Dairo passed away last April, before this release went to press, but he could hardly ask for a more flattering epitaph.

Alhaji K. Frimpong of Ghana recorded Kyenkyen Bi Adi Mawu ("Public Demand") in 1976, breaking a sound he called "funky highlife." Stern's is now distributing a terrific remix of the session. Like Fela, Frimpong latches onto American funk, but he works it into his slinky big-band highlife sound with a more subtle hand. Highlife's regional dominance was coming to an end at this point, so Frimpong's sound embodies both the full flower of highlife and an attempt to invent the future. Great live-band chemistry, Frimpong's sweet tenor voice, and some terrific horn and guitar solos distinguish this release, but the later tracks also find Frimpong experimenting with whiny keyboard sounds that foreshadow the high-tech developments today's critics claim have spoiled the old music.

Ngoma, the Early Years, 1948-1960 (pam/Stern's) digs much further back into history. And since its 25 tracks sample the scant remains of what was once a huge body of recordings, the release sometimes sounds as rough as the oldest blues and jazz on record. But its 27-page booklet with rare photographs and a compelling narrative brings the music to life. And what a story! Ngoma, the first successful record company in what is now Kinshasa, would play a key role in engineering the coming continental dominance of Zairean music. You can hear how that happens on these tracks. Pioneer Antoine Wendo mimics the Ghanaian sound in his folksy guitar playing and in his melancholy vocal inflections. But later, on a track from 1956, the feeling of Zairean rhumba is suddenly there, and the guitars are playing far more aggressively. Add a drum machine and dress up some of these tracks and you've got Soukous Stars. Few would call these early Ngoma offerings the golden age of African pop. But for those who think Soukous Stars have gone too far, they serve as a reminder that this music has never stood still, and that it's absurd to think it ever should.