Afrym
Music & Dance

Fela Kuti and the Birth of Afrobeat

Long songs, blazing horns and fearless lyrics: Fela Anikulapo-Kuti built Afrobeat in Lagos and used it to challenge Nigeria's military rulers. Here is his story.

By Amos Hope Jnr · · 3 min read

Illustration of an Afrobeat band with horns, drums and dancers performing for a huge night-time crowd in Lagos

A Fela Kuti song does not hurry. It starts with a guitar pattern, then a bass line, then drums, and builds for minutes before the horns explode and the singer finally steps to the microphone. By then, the whole room is dancing. And when he starts to sing, in Nigerian Pidgin English, he is not singing about love. He is mocking soldiers, corrupt officials and the powerful. The music is called Afrobeat, and the man who created it was Fela Anikulapo-Kuti.

A remarkable family

Fela was born Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome-Kuti on 15 October 1938 in Abeokuta, in southwestern Nigeria. His family was extraordinary. His father was a respected clergyman and school principal. His mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, was a pioneering feminist and political activist who led campaigns for women's rights and against colonial taxation, and was one of the first women in Nigeria to drive a car.

In 1958, Fela went to London — supposedly to study medicine, but he enrolled at Trinity College of Music instead, studying classical music and playing jazz in the city's clubs.

Inventing Afrobeat

Back in Nigeria in the 1960s, Fela led a band called Koola Lobitos, playing a mix of highlife and jazz. The turning point came in 1969, on a tour of the United States. There he met activists linked to the Black Power movement and read the writings of Malcolm X. He returned home with new music and new ideas.

Renaming his band Africa 70, he built a sound he called Afrobeat, mixing:

  • Yoruba rhythms and West African percussion;
  • Highlife guitar patterns;
  • American funk and jazz — the influence of James Brown is clear;
  • A big horn section and interlocking guitars;
  • Call-and-response singing between Fela and his female backing singers.

Songs often lasted 10, 15 or 20 minutes. His drummer, Tony Allen, created the sharp, rolling grooves at the heart of the style; Fela later said there would be no Afrobeat without him.

The Shrine and Kalakuta Republic

In Lagos, Fela played at his own club, the Shrine, where concerts mixed music, political speeches and spiritual ritual. He lived in a large compound he declared the Kalakuta Republic, an "independent" state within Nigeria, with a recording studio, a clinic and dozens of residents, including his band members and the many women he married.

He dropped "Ransome," a name he considered colonial, and adopted Anikulapo — meaning, roughly, "one who carries death in his pouch," that is, one who cannot be killed by human hands.

Music against the generals

Nigeria in the 1970s was ruled by the military, and Fela attacked it directly. In "Zombie" (1976), he mocked soldiers as mindless zombies following orders. The song was a huge hit — and the army did not forgive him.

In February 1977, soldiers stormed the Kalakuta Republic. Residents were beaten, the compound was burned, and Fela's elderly mother was thrown from a window. She died the following year from her injuries. In response, Fela carried a mock coffin to the military headquarters and later recorded "Coffin for Head of State."

He was arrested many times. In 1984, he was jailed on currency smuggling charges widely seen as politically motivated, and was released after about 20 months, following an international campaign.

Death and legacy

Fela died in Lagos on 2 August 1997, from complications related to AIDS. Huge crowds — often estimated at over a million people — filled the streets for his funeral.

His influence is enormous. His sons Femi and Seun Kuti carry on his music; the musical Fela! was a Broadway hit; and an annual festival, Felabration, celebrates his birthday in Lagos. Today's global "Afrobeats" stars — a different style, with an "s" — often cite him as an inspiration.

Why it matters

Fela Kuti showed that dance music could be dangerous: that a groove could carry a political message strong enough to make a government send in the army. He paid a terrible price for it. His music remains a call to think, to question power — and, above all, to dance while you do.

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