Femi Kuti
Fela’s oldest son joined his father’s band in 1979, at age 17. As a solo artist, Femi has gone on to earn six Grammy nominations. He oversees Fela's album reissues and compilations. <femikuti.wixsite.com/femikuti>
What are some of your strongest memories of recording with your father?
Oh! First of all, before he records, he performs the song live for at least, I think, about two years. Then it goes to the studio. And from the time he starts to compose until it goes into the studio, the song probably will have changed a couple of times – in order to add or subtract some things. After he records it, he never performs those tracks onstage again. That's the end of that song.
Right.
He was very strict. Nobody could interfere in his compositions. When people say things like, “Tony Allen used to put the drum patterns,” that was the biggest lie. Fela used to give everybody their parts, including Tony Allen. Yes, Tony Allen was a good drummer. But that he put the drum patterns, that was a big lie. Again, I'd like to let people know – all the journalists – that Fela never said, “Without Tony Allen, there would be no Afrobeat.” I think that quote must’ve come from Tony Allen’s camp on the internet. I think there are about three biographies about Fela, and Fela says nothing like that about Tony Allen in any of those books. Fela was very strict. He would call the rhythm section – which comprises of bass, guitars, and keyboard. He added the keyboard with the Egypt 80 band. Those musicians would play for maybe a week or so. Then he'd call the percussionists, which includes the drums. And when the groove was to Fela’s satisfaction, he’d bring in the horns and then rehearse for another week, or two or three weeks. Whilst all this is going on, he is putting lyrics. And when he’s convinced that this is the music he wants, then he starts to put the words and teach everybody the chorus lines, the singing parts. Then, he plays it in The Shrine [The Afrika Shrine was Fela's venue] for a couple of years. Then he records it. From the 1970s on, this was how he did recording.
He would record 100 percent live, correct?
Yes. But he used to overdub some parts sometimes after the full band recorded live. Solos, chorus, and his parts. This was when he felt some parts weren't performed to his satisfaction.
You say he was strict. Do you think he was stricter with you, or less strict since you were his son?
No, I think he was strict with everybody. When he came onstage you just had to keep quiet, be attentive, and play your part diligently – don't miss your notes! The only time he was strict with me was if I played the same solo line. He called me once and said, "Why are you always repeating the same solo?” I was quite upset then, but that helped me in future. That was about the only time, I would say, that he told me off. It seemed like he was telling me off, but probably it was just his only way of advising or correcting.
And what did you learn most about recording from him.
He didn't joke with his compositions or performance, or in the studio. But he could probably sometimes be a bit lenient in the studio, especially with the soloists. He’d let people play the solo, then ask, "Are you satisfied?” And whoever – the trumpeter, guitarist, saxophonist, me, or whoever – if you said you were satisfied, then we’d leave it. Let it go. He produced all his albums. He mixed it himself. He practically did everything himself. But he would always come to the studio or rehearsals very late.
Like, how late?
Very late. [laughs] He called practice for maybe 4 or 5 in the evening. He might not turn up until 10. And everybody had to be waiting. I mean, very late. Always late. [laughs]
What else do you remember about recording with him?
I think he was more of a composer than an instrumentalist himself. I remember when he was playing the trumpet, and he picked up the sax. He picked up the sax because he and the saxophonist had some issues. I love that saxophonist, Igo “Chico” Ojukwu. But when he left, that was why my father picked up the instrument. Then he taught himself the saxophone – to play the saxophone. But I think he never saw himself as an instrumentalist. He was more of a composer. Because the design process was really on his compositions. I would hear him practicing on his instruments, but…
What were the recording sessions like?
At the beginning, in the 1970s, the recordings were very intense. I'd been in a couple of those studio sessions. If you listen to the Africa 70 recordings, they were very intense. Maybe that was because he was younger then. He hadn't gone through so many beatings. They probably had not caught up yet. In the '80s, after his house was burned down, at this time, the intensity you could still find in his compositions. But there was a kind of nonchalantness about the recordings. Like, if there was a squeak on a horn, he would let it go. At that point, I think maybe he was more concerned about the message now being more important than the music. He wanted people to hear what was his political message, because now his house was burnt and his mother had been killed. Maybe the emphasis was more on the lyrics, not really the instrumentals. I think, towards the end, you see he was more concerned about those other things. He wasn't as strict with musicians as he used to be. He was kind of broke. He was banned from performing; politically. Many things were not happening for him. This could have been that he was under a lot of stress, maybe. It's very hard to know his complete state of mind, because he was always in deep thought. You could sense it. I think after the burning of his house, and after his mother died, he probably used them to see things from a different perspective. At first, he couldn't believe soldiers would burn his house. I'm sure that day was very impossible. It just seems so surrealistic. Everything just changed around him, I think. But he still tried to be happy. He still tried to find happiness in music. But you could see that that was a very big blow in his life.
Yes. Understandably. What’s the biggest number of musicians you ever played together with Fela?
It was 73 people. He just took his whole household. In 1979, he was the first Nigerian musician to have an international tour. He was invited to the Philharmonie Berlin, and he had two shows. I think he was paid $100,000 for two shows. He said, “Wow, this is my opportunity to take everybody. I want you all to see Europe! You all have to see Europe.” And he took practically everybody in the house. I mean, everybody. He also always took people from his political party with him. I think the Egypt '80 band definitely had the biggest amount of musicians. They had twelve dancers, eight singers, two baritones, two tenors, two trumpets, and one or two saxes. He would travel with three drummers, and also three percussionists. Bass, treble guitar, rhythm guitar, and two keyboardists. And then the next tour was Italy, but that Italian tour broke down because it was for the Communist Party. And this girl – who confessed she was used by the CIA – planted 49 kilos of marijuana in Fela’s luggage. Luckily, he got it on tape, and that was why he got out of that case.
Martin Meissonnier
A French music producer and film composer, Meissonnier has worked with such artists as King Sunny Adé, Tony Allen, Manu Dibango, Papa Wemba, Amina Annabi, Don Cherry, as well as Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. <martinmeissonnier.com>
How did you start working with Fela?
I saw that Fela was in jail in Italy in 1980. I went to see him after he’d just gotten out of jail. He was there for three or four days. Someone in his group had brought 43 kilos of grass in his baggage and Fela was arrested, but he was freed very quickly. I met him there, and I offered him a tour deal of Europe. He accepted. He said, “If you come to Nigeria, we can sign a deal.” Okay, cool. I went to Nigeria. He was actually mixing the track “I.T.T. (International Thief Thief).” That was in the studio [Batakota/ARC, Associated Recording Co.)] that was founded in 1973 by Ginger Baker and then used by Paul McCartney for [Wings'] Band on the Run. It was supposedly the first 16-track on the continent. The studio was in a very bad shape – there were only 11 channels out of 16 on the console that were working. In order to do the EQ on one track, the engineer had to pull out of the strip of a working track on the console, blow on it to clean out the dust, and then stick it into another slot. It was very impressive, because Fela would really know what he wanted, as far as sound. He was extremely precise. It was really surprising how good the record was sounding, considering the quality of the studio at that time. The Black President record came out and we did the tour. I got him the record deal with Arista [Records]. Then we did another album, Original Sufferhead. That one we did in Paris, in a proper studio called Studio Aquarium. That's where we re-recorded the originals of “Original Sufferhead” and "Power Show!” It was completely chaotic, because we had 70 people from Nigeria alone on tour. There were also the French staff on top of that.
How many of those were musicians?
Probably 19 or 20, and there were also eight backing singers. It was really interesting, because Fela would record everything all at once, all instruments at once. The only thing he wouldn’t record were his sax solo and his keyboard solo.
But he'd do his vocals with the band?
Yes, in one take. What Fela would do was that he would perform the tracks with his band for months. Then he’d record with the band live. Once he'd recorded it, he would never play the song again. After the track was recorded, that was it. When the band would go in the studio, they knew exactly what they were doing. When Fela would make his solos, he had the same type of feeling that artists like [John] Coltrane, Don Cherry, or Albert Ayler – all these jazz artists – had. Like, “I do one take and that's it. If there is a little mistake or something, that's part of the feeling.” He would not do it again. So, that's what you hear on the records. It's very raw. As far as the mixing, it was really interesting, the way it would be done. At that time, Tony Allen wasn’t in the band anymore. The bass drum would be mixed lower than the bass guitar, and the congas would be very prominent as well. It was extremely interesting, the way Fela's architecture of the sound was built. You can hear that in the tracks.
The bass drum would be low, but the congas would be high?
Yeah, exactly.
Were they all in one big room, or were they separated?
Yeah, there was one big room.
And he was in the same room singing?
Absolutely, yeah.
And that was the album [Original Sufferhead] that you produced?
So, no. When you say “produce,” I can say with Fela you don't produce. You just shut your mouth and do what he says.
You'd got him a record deal with Arista, then you did those two albums with him.
Exactly, yeah. But Arista dropped us very quickly because Fela refused that we do radio edits for singles. The sales wouldn't follow with no radio play. We did two tours in three months, and then I helped hooking up the film, Music is the Weapon. I was fired in the middle of the film by Fela. Fela was not happy because I started working with Tony Allen – Fela was very unhappy with that. Also, I started working with King Sunny Adé. Fela didn't like that either. Island Records was interested in signing Fela, but Fela was already signed to Arista at the time. I suggested Island sign King Sunny Adé, and also to do an album with Tony Allen and Sandra Izsadore, who was the former partner of Fela’s, who turned him onto the Black Panthers. For King Sunny Adé, Island hooked me up with a sound engineer, Godwin Logie. We also recorded with a French woman, sound engineer Katherine Lesevre, and she was very good. She was working at Fela's place in Lagos, Nigeria, at the time as a live sound engineer.
What microphones were you using for Fela’s vocals, amidst all of this with the noise of a big band playing in the same room?
A Neumann U 87 for his vocals. And that was that. There was no automation then. All of us, we were doing the fader moves together all at once for mixing.
Was Fela one of the people doing the faders with you?
Absolutely!
Did you use baffles for the different players? You were all in one room, but did you put baffles in between?
Yeah, as much as possible.
How would things work on tour with him?
Fela would do the soundcheck himself. He wanted to be next to the sound engineer as the band was rehearsing. After that, he didn't want anybody to touch the board. The problem is that when the audience came in, the whole sound was changed. It's a very big difference when you have an empty hall and then you have a room full of people. It was always a bit of a tense process, because it was not easy for a sound engineer to mix.
I’ve heard that the shows would start late a lot.
Yes, always late. It was never on time. I mean, we were always looking for people. We had two buses to search. At the end of the tour, we’d lost 11 people out of the 70. They just disappeared. It was very chaotic. But Fela himself was also often late.
And then they would perform for how long, usually?
In Europe, they would perform for two hours or something like that. In Lagos, at The Shrine, he would perform for five, six hours – all night. The thing with Fela is that nothing was improvised. Even his solos; he was so well written. What was fascinating with Fela is that his solos were absolutely very precise and written, and so once he would play the song live there were no changes.
He would write out the solos on paper?
Yeah. Absolutely. These solos were like chants. If you listen to his music, the solos are always very melodic. Fela went to a trade school, Trinity College London, where you learn music – he mostly focused on trumpet. He was very proud of having gone to music school. In contrast, King Sunny Adé would be more like a blues musician; he wouldn’t read or write music. But Fela wanted people to know that he was an official musician because he’d studied at school and everything. It's funny how now Fela’s becoming so big, because nobody was interested at the time. He was a very hard sell in the '80s. It really started to peak much later. But he was also his own enemy, because he refused to have edits for his various tracks in order to do singles. At that time, radio was the main vector to promote an album. If you didn’t have a single, you wouldn't be played on the radio. Simple. He was condemned to be underground. That's why King Sunny Adé had much more success than Fela at the time. Because King Sunny was okay for single remixes and stuff like that. With King Sunny, we succeeded commercially. We had two albums in the Top 50 on the pop charts in America, UK, Europe, and Japan, which was unbelievable for an African band at the time. We sold a hell of a lot of records. The two of them had very different approaches. Completely different. King Sunny Adé even got a Grammy nomination back in that period [“Best Ethnic or Traditional Recording” in 1984]. Fela never did. But today, Fela is a legend.
Rikki Stein
Managing Fela Kuti from 1982 until Fela’s death in 1997, Rikki Stein continues to work as “a self-appointed guardian of Fela’s legacy” to this day. Mr. Stein also managed the Master Musicians of Joujouka, Les Ballets Africains de Guinée, The Pan-African Orchestra, and additionally had affiliations in Europe with The Kinks, Jimi Hendrix, the Grateful Dead, and the Glastonbury Festival. His memoir is Moving Music: The Memoirs of Rikki Stein.
How was it with Fela in the studio?
The songs that we went into the studio with were very rehearsed. I tried to persuade Fela to bring in [French producer/musician] Wally Badarou to produce. He said, “Ah, what foolish Yoruba bastard you want to bring me, man? To produce my music?” I said, “Yeah, man. It's that mix of high-tech and skin that I'm after.” Anyway, Fela reluctantly accepted the idea. But during the recording, Wally had nothing to say. It was all Fela’s show. Once we'd finished the recording, the band went back to Nigeria, and Fela and I stayed to go into a mixing studio. While the studio console was being prepared, Wally went into the main room and was playing piano. Fela edged over to the door with one ear, and said, “Hmm. Motherfucker plays clean.” [laughs] While Wally was mixing, Fela fell asleep sitting on the couch next to me. Eventually, Wally finished the mix and turned around and said, “Yeah, you want to have a listen?” I woke Fela up, and he listened. Fela said, “I never thought I'd say this to anybody, but you really know how to mix my music, man.” He got up and left the studio, never to return. Every night I would take a cassette of that day's work. Fela had a little cassette machine next to his bed. I’d plug it in and play the cassette. He’d say, “Okay, good.” We finished, I made some acetates, and we went back to Lagos. First night there, we went to our favorite club and took the acetates with us to put it on. It was Teacher Don't Teach Me Nonsense. Fela suddenly swung around, glaring at me, “BASTARD!” I said, “Huh?” He said, “Listen to the brass, man! It's not my brass.” Brian Eno [Tape Op #85] described Fela's brass as, “Like Mack trucks hurtling across highways with their horns blaring." This powerful, dirty tone. I said, “Bastard, yourself. If you'd have been sitting next to Wally, shoulder to shoulder, you wouldn't be saying this to me, man. Where were you? In your bed. So, bastard yourself, anyway.” I listened to it carefully after, and it's true; it was clean, man. It was clean, but it was good. Fela, during that same session, was recording a sax overdub and he said, “I quit. I’m finished.” I pushed the talkback button and said, “Fela, that was cool, man, but there was some serious qua (“bad notes”) inside there.” He replied, “Ah, Rikki! Life has got qua inside it, man!” In the studio, Fela was very, very competent. Competent in knowing what he wanted. Was he that competent in knowing which buttons on the board to push? I wouldn’t say so. Which is why having a highly competent trained engineer was an essential.
I’ve heard that he often referred to his compositions as African classical music.
Yes, he did. I once asked him who his favorite musician was, and he said Schubert. Is that a surprise? Yeah, it was a surprise to me. He’d say, “I'm playing African classical music. You don't fuck around with Tchaikovsky. So, why are you gonna start on me?” I do remember one overdub horn solo that one of his young musicians was doing during that same session with Wally. The guy started playing, and something went wrong. Fela said, “Ah, play that again now.” He played it again, and after Fela shouted, “Two days!” Which meant two days allowance that the player was being docked. “Play it again now.” The guy did it and Fela said, “Five days!” Wally was standing next to me and protested, “Hey, but the guy just doesn't know the part.” I said, “Wait.” The next take the sax player did, he played it perfectly, man. [laughter]
Sodi Marciszewer
Founder of Zarma Studio in Paris, since 1994 he has worked with the likes of Lenny Kravitz, Lauryn Hill, Beth Orton, Prince Charles, Baaba Maal, and Mick Jones of The Clash. Sodi worked with Fela from the mid-'80s through Fela’s final six studio albums. Since that time, Sodi has continued to record with Fela’s sons, Femi and Seun. <zarmastudio.com>
Fela was recording everything live?
Yeah, Fela always recorded everything live – a full live process. We would only overdub for the lead vocal, backing vocals, and fix some horn spots as well. But yeah, most of it was totally live. He would do his vocals during the live take. After the live take, we would overdub his vocals.
The band was separated? You had isolation booths?
Yes. The best we could, depending on the studio we were at. Let’s say that the drummer was in the drum booth, the horns were in the middle of the room, and Fela was in the middle of the room with an electric piano. Maybe the backing vocals were in some booths, and the percussion as well. The guitar and bass amps were in some booths as well, but the players were in the main room. We had some panels for separation in the main room, but it was a really full live recording.
How many people would he be recording with, in most cases?
Well, I would say usually the band was like 15 to 20 musicians. The whole session was quite big. There might be eight to ten horn players.
How many backing singers?
The backing singers were three to five women. But all of the musicians would do backing vocals as well. Around ten background vocals, total.
How many tracks were you recording to for this size of band?
We had the luck of working early on in digital. Just Like That was recorded on a Mitsubishi X-880 32-track at 44.1 kHz. That first digital tape machine changed Fela’s studio life. First of all, we could easily record more than 24 tracks. Of course, in those days we were already able to sync two 24-track analog machines together. But the difference with a digital machine was that we could record more than 15 minutes or 30 minutes. Fela’s problem was that, in those times, his songs were always 40 to 50 minutes long. It was not possible to record the full pieces on analog. With analog we would record at low speed, 15 IPS [inches per second]. Moving to digital gave the opportunity to record with a higher resolution, and also to record longer songs. When he’d had to record on analog for those long numbers, he would divide the song by two. He would record the first half, the A-side, which would be the instrumental part of the number. The B-side of the vinyl would be the “single,” with the vocals part of the number. Meaning that the first 20 minutes or so would just be the musical part of the song, which would be intro, solo spots, solos again. That would be one take. Take two would require editing, because the part with vocals was longer than could fit on one side of a disc. In that time, what Fela would do is that he would compose a number and then he would play it a lot at The Shrine, his club in Lagos, Nigeria, in order to refine it with an audience. He would finish writing it that way, and he would be getting the best version he could by playing it live for weeks and weeks. Then he would go on tour and play those same numbers on tour. Remember, we're saying that the numbers are up to 50 minutes, which means that when he would do a concert he wouldn't play more than two or three different numbers, total. After he would tour the number, he would record it in the studio. After that, he wouldn’t play it again live ever. He would jump to the next number and repeat the same process. Whenever we were recording and mixing the numbers, that number was already very ready to being recorded because it had been played quite a lot. After that, it was time for him to move on to the next thing.
What vocal mic would you use for him?
The Neumann U 67. It has always been one of my favorite mics for vocals.
And he was using headphones?
Yeah, yeah.
The whole band had headphones on while they were playing live?
We had a complicated headphone setup. In those times, I was quite used to recording with bands, so we would be able to manage this kind of complex situation.
And then how many takes would he do of a song? Just one?
Yes, that was the goal. But in case of a big mistake, we’d have to stop and start it again, or try to punch-in. But maybe the punch-in wouldn’t work, so we’d have to go back to the top.
But in general, you’d try to come in, and once everything was set up, just do it.
Sure, but the band was very ready for that because they had played the number so many times live by then.
Since he liked keeping things natural with the mix, he didn't EQ much, he didn't use much reverb, much compression? He kept it all pretty unprocessed?
He was not a technician, so he wouldn't go and hook up the compressor. But he would hear what I was doing and say “yes” or “no.” I remember quite precisely that on one mix – because of all those instruments in his band – I was enjoying a lot to pan quite wide everything I could, in order to give a great stereo frame. But he asked me to go back to a more mono-ish mix, and I was very unhappy with that. He explained to me that the reason is that in Nigeria, in Africa, most of the people then would’ve had a broken stereo system – where the left side wouldn't work, or maybe the treble of the right monitor wasn’t functioning. The best way to make sure that the full music would pass on to everyone was to not pan too wide.
Yeah, to keep it centered.
Giving a bit of pan, but also not wanting the different tracks to be too wide and get lost. And in terms of compression, Fela wanted very much to preserve the original dynamic of his music, because his music is a bit like classical music. It would go soft and suddenly very strong. In his writing and directing the band, he’d give a lot of importance to the dynamics. In that era, dynamics were a kind of problem with analog. That's another reason why Fela was very happy with the arrival of digital technology, because the problem with capturing dynamics disappeared. He could instead very much enjoy the dynamics. He wouldn't say, "Don't set the compressors this way." But he would ask to respect the dynamic of his music, which was now possible. If we speak about digital process, we have to speak about the full process, and CD would allow these dynamics, contrarily to the vinyl. Despite that, in that time, vinyl and cassette were still strong in the marketplace. So, we had to make something that would work somehow for every format.
How did you start working with Fela?
At that time, I was a very young engineer, starting to do some work collaboration with the publisher/manager, Francis Kertekian. I knew Fela’s music very well because I was a sax player during this time, and I would practice my saxophone playing along with Fela’s records. They were trying to mix a number, and the mixing was not happening easily. Francis called me in at 11 p.m., asking me if I wanted to come around. I came to the studio where they were mixing, which was not with the original team who did the recording. I sat next to the desk, and then very slowly started to help with the mixing. The mix was a success. Fela was happy with it. Fela called me back to do some more work after that, and this is how we started.
And what did you learn from Fela most about working in the studio?
He was very experimental. And one of the specific good things about being experimental is that anytime he could, he would avoid using the technology and instead try to use the natural way of doing things. This was coming from his experience. For example, we would record some percussion. If I would go to EQ and give it more or less treble, Fela would first ask me to wait and see if we could try to get the right sound from the instrument itself – meaning that we would pad the instrument by putting some newspaper inside the percussion or something to change the sound. He would always try to go this kind of way. Which is easy, and it makes sense – to achieve some sounds by staying natural, which was something he was looking for. He wasn’t afraid or an enemy of the technology, but any time we could solve something without the technology, he would push in that direction. That's a very good school – to do some work in the studio not being so precise and super controlled. But instead to just let the control go and leave the music being alive. Why not include some small mistakes? Doing so wasn’t a big problem for him, in the moment. I mean, yes, the music had to be played right. He would fine the musician if the musician was doing mistakes. He was very strict with his position. He would do this in concert as well. When you watch some of his live performances, you can see him reach back and point at someone in the group if a big mistake happens. If he points at someone, he’s fining them. He wouldn't write the score of his music, but he would compose every line of every instrument. He wouldn't give the musicians the liberty of bringing in another bass line or horn line. He wrote every pattern for every instrument. The liberty the musicians would have would be during the solos that they would play. But the solos that they would do were not something totally improvised. Because, as I said, they’d been playing the song live for months before that, so they ready. The other thing I learned from Fela improved my experience working with big bands. With many musicians it is not only a technical challenge you have to deal with, but it's a human challenge you have to deal with as well. When you have many musicians, you have to deal with different characters, and the goal is to make the session happen smoothly. Because what you want is a great musical result. For this to happen, the vibe of the recording has to be good. Because if the studio vibe is great, then the music is going to be great.
Yorrick Benoist
With RUN Productions, Yorrick has been bringing international musicians to France since 1986, such as the Royal Drummers of Burundi, DakhaBrakha (Ukraine), and Staff Benda Bilili. The trajectory of Yorrick’s career was largely shaped after visiting Fela in Lagos in 1981. <runprod.com>
I recall you telling me once about driving down to Africa, through Spain, when you were very young, and then all the way to Lagos. And you spent time at The Shrine and in Fela’s Kalakuta Republic compound.
In 1980 and 1981, after my university studies, I traveled across West Africa by truck and bicycle for nearly one year. When I was in Yaoundé [Cameroon], I decided to go to Lagos by taxi – since it was too risky to drive by truck – so that I could go to The Shrine and meet Fela. I didn't know if he would be there, but he was, so I spent some time there and I went to The Shrine at night. It was a fantastic experience. The Shrine was a very special place, with food, books, places to dance, and places to rest. One of the things that was very interesting is that even without Fela, the band was great. With Fela, it was great too. But without Fela, it was very, very good musically because the musicians could solely improvise and do many things that they couldn’t do after the boss arrived. When you were at The Shrine – let’s say from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m., Fela wasn't there, and the band was grooving. The brass section were terrific Ghanaian and Nigerian musicians. After Fela and his wife, dancers, and chorus arrived, the music changed a little bit.
How long would they play for?
From the start, without Fela, four or five hours. From 11 p.m. to 3 or 4 a.m. Sometimes Fela would stop and come back, but the band would never stop playing, for like five or six hours. The musicians would change. Some people would arrive and join the brass section, and some would leave. It was many changes. It was very interactive with the public, too. The public asked questions of Fela and he would respond. It was a very special concept.
Fela would take questions? People would just shout out questions while he was performing, or in between songs?
Yeah, when he was performing the people would ask him something. Fela would take time to answer when people would say something in the crowd, but he did answer, especially between the songs. When the show finished, then everybody was finished and The Shrine closed.
How many musicians did he have playing with him?
The brass section must’ve been maybe seven or eight people. Then guitars, percussion, and bass guitarist. The dancers were sometimes chorus singers, and sometimes they danced at each corner of the stage. There were some risers with mosquito nets and a strong light – pink and green and yellow. Maybe between 15 and 20 musicians on stage, with Fela playing keyboard and saxophone. At his house, it was very interesting. The first time I went there he was sleeping. He arrived sometime after 3 p.m. He was nearly naked. He just had on little bikini briefs. He’d receive people for many different things, not only for the music, but for problems with the neighbors and things like this. It was like a conciliar. He was like a king. We were very welcomed. We were just little young French people who’d shown up at his door. But people were waiting for him, and whenever he woke up, you’d be led into a room. Fela would sit in a big chair, and people would come and ask his advice. They’d ask him to solve issues that they had with the administration or with finances. It was very impressive. Each day there was a queue of people extending outside the house, waiting for an audience with him.
At The Shrine there were books. Was it like a bookstore or library?
Yeah, many books about Pan-Africanism. There was food, books, chairs, mattresses, and places to dance or rest. When you entered The Shrine, you were searched at the door to make sure that you didn’t have any knife or weapons, or something like this. Then, when you entered that place, it was more than a concert venue. It was a place of resistance.
