Cumulus without shower Saturday night at the minstrel's I I An overcast of cann. night starts at nonsense word attemumi^ capture the tricky, triple pitch pattern — and cadence of its commence the night's revelry. The matron of the parogo joint is a fetish of sorts, recaflinc such incredulously distari" names of returnee clients gnc customers to her liquor-clinic of instant cure. Her recipes— of a myriad .herbal leaves soaked in spirit—promise a cure of illnesses as varied as asthma, bronchitis, pile, dysentery fever toothache, repressed hbia.o, and low sperm count, just among others The paraga joint is also host of the rumor mill, home of random knowledge, and GLENDORA REVIEW Tile night is long, and the load unsure, so, lellow wnlei, Akin Adeoya momentarily turns lour guide on this sixth weel °l <"'•/ attempt to deaphei Lagos's \wk\i-iwpu-.u al night The suspect heibal brew is taking its loll but, we muring*- I" back out of Iwaya, a suburb of Yalxi in Lagos. < )ui destination is the neaiest agidigbo venue' for a (eel of IKMIIII. ,nrrl musi. , but none seemed to be' in sight tonight Wi-M I,.,perl to observe local favorites like "Agbo|imo" and "Opo be " "I " I ' will suffice," Akin reasons, and we moke a deloui to Yahn's main high streets, off Herbert Macaulay where two nvnl bonds are already sv/ooning far into the nirjhl. The audience seems unperturbed by the drizzle suddenly Inmed shov/.-r Relatively unknown, these bonds an- making tremendous effort to act scion to the- established patrons of the /n/i form Sikiru Ayinde Barrister and Aytnta KoKngfM the Lagos foj' i', no doubt a distant cry Iron, ,ls ,.:I,,,K,MS |,,,s Il,-n //ere (pronounced way ray), •,„„„.. medley of th.- oll.r fast hour jam sessions of Islam,, /oulhs, fau couM spend som- percussive, the fuji artsite's Rhythm-driven, and highly Laqos's modernity is best seen in "the transformation of the instrumental repertoire time listening to narrc ives of the Quran interlaced with moral foreboding. But that was a while ago, long before the era of the black gold. The oil boom changed all that. And with the emergence of patrons desirous of selfacknowledgement, with a fee to back it up, were's slide into secularity was assured. Fuji is its immediate offspring. Yet, fuji is highly indebted to a variety of earlier musical forms such as apah, sakara and even waka, of which their most known proponents are Yusuf Olatunji, Haruna Ishola, Ayinla Omowura and the earlier Salawa Abeni. TUNWf RIVimf lesai SISIL* off I Rhythm-driven, and highly percussive, the fuji artsite's sense of approximating to Lagos's modernity is best seen in the transformation of the instrumental repertoire. The skin drum remains a dominant feature of the fuji band. Generally minimalist in its assortment, a little more investment in claves, % _ maracas, the bell gong and sticks had V S" sufficed. But the Lagos fan is highly discriminatory, short-tempered, with, just as well, a short attention span. The crest and trough of the city leaves him ^ constantly anticipating the groove of the weekend. And the least he would take is a staid form, an expectation that has invariably turned the fu/'i artiste into a sweat merchant. Experimentation—and more experimentation—remains his i IWlEVIxAfncan only means of retaining relevance. The fuji artiste has responded to this by gradually increasing and diversifying his range of instruments. The assured membranophone is suddenly yielding space to wind instruments and, though tentatively, the keyboard. But not just that; its compositional style has been substantially tinkered with in order to amalgamate other musical forms and sensibilities. Traditionally, the fuji artiste intuitively references the oral performer and his mode of narration. The reason would seem clear enough; both performer and style are fused in this tradition, thereby making the oral narrative fuji's premier imaginative space. Hence, fuji's internal structure, tenor and mood ingests this broad range of options from such forms as oriki (praise poetry), ogede (incantatory poetry) and itan (narrative). Although, like juju music too, fuji "portrays a traditional hierarchy mitigated by the generosity of the wealthy," the patron worthy of praise poetry is however not just the politician and the wealthy. Neither is it simply the nouveau-riche. Beneficiaries of fuji's praise poetry also include the neighborhood gang leader. Quite often, his underworld heroism is acknowledged, at least, as an appeasement to a subcultural deity who must ensure that the gig goes undisrupted. Which is precisely why the two performers tonight are attempting to out-compete each other. Yet, the language of gang adoration is far from being obvious. It is a coded transcript. The non-initiate like myself had only apprehended what seemed like mere sexual allusions as the band leader blares out: "hang it on", "press it hard", "stick it in", "yes, just stick to that and resistance can only be minimal". But otherwise? "Explode!" Akin, also reporter of the risque, whispers to the effect that those are praises to the alaye (literally, owners of the earth). I soon discover that the earlier allusions had more to do with the contrasting situations of use of firearms by the gang. Fuji's essential syncretism admits of man, mammon, and God. Eager to expand his income space, the fuji artiste anticipates these disparate concerns and ensures that he fuses them all into his song. The artiste commences his performance with the traditional i/uba or homage, more often, these days, in Quranic references but too quickly veers into other acknowledgements, sometimes Christian in inspiration and at other times Orisa worship. He couples all this with sexual allegory and even social commentary. The fuji artiste remains the master of the fad. Nothing seems to escape his ubiquitous narrator. The latest gossip in the city—of some damsel who cheats on her date—finds accommodation in his composition, just as the nation's feat in the World Cup too. Bebeto, the Brazilian football striker, becomes a synonym for restlessness, the fuji artiste having played a trick on the first syllable of his name in this game of playful distortion. Fuji does not, however, exist in a vacuum. Both within and outside its shores, other musical forms are beginning to impact vigorously on it. The old masters like Ayinde Barrister and Kollington Ayinla have taken their bow since the last GLENDORA KEVKVx African Quarterly on the -4ro> <26> © Ke/echi Amadi-Obi. decade and the stage is now set for the younger and obviously more experimental youths. KWAM 1 (Wasiu Ayinde) remains something like a link between the old and the new. Quite experimental too in his fusions, he nonetheless has contenders in the likes of Obesere (Abass Akande), Pasuma Wonder (Wasiu Alabi), and, to a lesser degree, Mr Johnson (Adewale Ayuba). Yet, in this dominantly Yoruba art form, there is Sonny T. from Nigeria's eastern parts. Four current albums by KWAM 1, Obesere, Pasuma, and Mr Johnson are undisputedly the most experimental in their individual efforts in contemporary fusion music. The two major influences are the African American rap tradition and makossa music, and this is m«st evident between KWAM 1 's Faze 3, Obesere's Overthrow, Pasuma's London Experience and Mr Johnson's But that is not the last of reality check on these clubs as residues of the S t r u c t u r a l A d j u s t m e n t Program (SAP] still have a telling income of a gasping middle class >ui that isiin+t the last rogram have Turn Me On. income of a gasping But then, I race ahead of my story. In a way, the demographic distribution of Lagos also impacts its music. Lagos remains an architectural nightmare. Divided by the Osa lagoon into the mainland and Island, the latter is further distinguished by another strip of island—the so-called highbrow Victoria Island but lately an elite slum intermittently ravaged by a rampaging Atlantic ocean. Indigenous islanders have a ready explanation: the gluttonous landgrabbing elite has in its unquenchable- thirst for more displaced Olokun's shrine, thereby rendering the ocean bereft of its sanctuary of worship. The constant surge, therefore, is no more than a revanchist energy of the ocean god to protest man's meddlesomeness in nature's ways. Until the bulldozers came calling a while ago, the coastline of Victoria Island was dotted by a medley of West African popular music kiosks, particularly at the Bar Beach end. Home to a multinational assemblage, the Bar Beach served diverse musical cultures ranging from soukous to highlife, afrobeat, juju, and the more contemporary makossa. Here also, as in the night clubs, is where the dance steps are practised out. Bands of youth race from the shore, grab their unfinished liquor and join the motley crowd in this quite frenzied motions. For a floorboard, they have the ocean's fine sand particles. Yet they attempt the latest slide recently espied on the South African Channel O. Ga/a/a, fire dance, Womfao/o, and its most erotic variant, wombolo viagra become imperative poetry in motion. GLENDORA REVIEW >< African Quarterly on the >1/?S> n r e n l still They are not oblivious of the clubs down street, also on the same Victoria Island; only that the gates are worth their entire minimum wage. Never mind they are islanders too, but the island's downtown of Isale Eko. The musical and night culture of Victoria Island and Ikoyi, its twin island, can sometimes be quite similar in so far as night clubs are concerned. Ikoyi remains the saner part of the story of these islands, being home to some degree of the old industrial wealth and its bureaucratic elite. With your louvers down, on a random evening drive, you could eavesdrop on the notes of Mozart and Beethoven from the hedge fences, or even a thud on the grand piano. That means the old man is indoors brooding on a C Minor or a flat, but not the kids. He hasn't quite succeeded in culturally cloning his caste; and to find the blokes, you've got to go a little farther down the street. Between the two islands you will find a boisterous night clubbing life. For sure there is K's Place, The Dome, After Hours, Tavern, Club Tower and the Atlantic Bar. The music in the past had attempted to replicate East London but locals can't afford an extended pretence, and so consumer pressure has finally won the day. Still quite a' largely western pop environment, you can nonetheless be assured of some Latin infusion and Congolese music. But that is not the last of reality check on these clubs as residues of the Structural Adjustment Program (SAP) still have a telling impact on disposal income of a gasping middle class. The consequence of this is the new operational mode that tends to emphasize some measure of economy of scale. Now, at least since the last two years, admittance into some of these highbrows attract very little in the hope of being compensated by an exorbitant in-house sales. Come to the mainland. "There is no Lagos without its mainland," was Akin's reassurance on one of our circuitous rounds. To sustain my interest, he had promised a rude encounter with a breathtaking stretch of musical options. But even here the mainland is distinguished, thanks to an ever-expanding city. The central part of the mainland includes Yaba, Surulere, Mushin, Anthony Village, Ikeja, llupeju, Palmgroove, Akoka; while the hinterland comprises the entire arc stretching eastwards just after Mile 2 and FESTAC through Egbeda and Akowonjo with the private developer's new layouts and their limited access roads. Save for such exceptions like the Nite-Shift and Leos, whose charges could be as high as five hundred Naira, night clubs on the mainland are less expensive. But they all invariably attempt to break even through exorbitant house sales. This musical taste here is, however, less Western pop as it is the life band and more often than not, juju and or fuji music. This is where the ubiquitous Daddy Showkey and his rancorous reggae form can randomly pop up into your unsuspecting night. After driving on red for half an hour, we ended up at Wilfred's 68 on Adeniran Ogunsanya Street. The night was far spent, yet the medley was in active swing. Dipo Gato's Juju Makossa was on stand and, for the better part of his GLENDOKA BEVIEWx/l/hcan i performance, was revisiting popular songs and compositions of other juju bands, now with an accentuated tempo or a repose to allow for commentary of an improvised raconteur. The intrigue at Wilfred's is its ability to attract a highly segregated clientele, the average age bracket being between forty and sixty-five. Here, the business executive, film and writer commingle with the bus conductor. You also h fellow musicians visiting and the defining moment tonight is the arrival of Dele Taiwo, an accomplished younger generation juju musician. He starts by jamming with the resident band but, after a while, effectively takes over the band and turns round the entire night. It's a June night and, again, the heavens are threatening a shower even as Dele Taiwo transforms the dancing crowd into a frenzy. At once improvisatory and formulaic in his musical references, the penchant is to ensure that everyone is on the dancing floor. Now and again he is applauded but the performer in him is not done yet. To avoid any moment of boredom he resorts to the theatrical by mimicking the dance steps of other well-known artistes. Wilfred's success story has invariably transformed the night life of Adeniran Ogunsanya Street and its after-hour informal economy. Fastfood kiosks adorn the entire surrounding, |ust as much as the invasion of the seedy merchants of flesh. Ayilara Street was most famed in the flesh-hawking trade until the incessant raid of the police enforced a migration. Bui even Ogunsanya Street is a far cry from the pace of Cousin T, clearly a zone for the pop. At any time you can be assured of at least three outdoor bands with an astonishing breadth of musical variety ranging from reggae to |U|u and jazz. Perhaps with the exception of Fela Anikulapo's Afriko Shrine, Cousin T remains the most visible enclav~ diverse West African nationalities. In a way, th them, serves more than a venue. It is also the site ritual where thoy kill boio*iain, i make a sense out of all this expansive space. But • iish on the main street. The clatter reverDerates on, 1,1 ,., ,,,,l(|,. or riny cind n\< Mi,me, br:tw.-,.n Hi.; philoiophii and the rh.loncul, proclaim-,, "the night should be EX f'l.ORFD," emphosil every syllabi.; Ah,, „,„.„., ,,,, n,,. ,,,,,1,, |,((. (,| L a g o 5 t k nlfti 'Mushm can 1" H,,. <,,,,\,,