Review #465: The Best of the Classic Years, King Sunny Adé
#465: The Best of the Classic Years, King Sunny Adé
I’ve done a lot of complaining about compilation albums, but I took no issue with this one. Maybe because it was all completely new to me. I’ve never had any brush with jùjú music — Nigerian pop — but I had such fun getting to know it through this record.
On the other hand, maybe it’s because Adé himself doesn’t seem all that pleased with the record that introduced him to the world, Jùjú Music, released through Island Records. When Island signed him in 1982, he was already a Nigerian megastar with his own record label and nightclub. (Also, he was literal royalty, with a king for a grandfather.) After Bob Marley’s death, Island Records went searching for “the next Bob Marley,” and found Adé, who went on to release a few records for them. But Adé has expressed dissatisfaction with Island’s vision for his music, which Westernized it by breaking up his eighteen-minute tracks into chunks and adding a generous helping of studio effects.
So this record only spans from 1967 through 1974, nearly ten years before he achieved international success. You can see what Island saw in him — he was innovative, introducing instruments like the pedal steel guitar and the synthesizer to Nigerian pop. He’s said that this was mostly a practical choice to make performances easier, but I kind of think he’s just being humble. It’s clear that he’s a guitar virtuoso — see “Afai Bowon,” which starts out with a classic conversational guitar part and ends with Adé just shredding. And songs like “Ogun Party Part 1” are driven by percussion, in particular the Nigerian talking drum, which produces a buoyant beat like no other.
Adé has also said that all of his lyrics “are more or less a proverb,” which intrigued me, as someone who loves a good proverb. I was slightly disappointed in the availability of Adé’s lyrics online, both in English and its original Yoruba, but I did try and plug some of them into Google Translate to gain a better understanding of them. I gathered that “Ibanuje Mon Iwon” was about making peace with death? And “Adena Ike” about reconciling earthly concerns like money with heavenly ones? If anyone speaks Yoruba, I’d love to know what they’re saying!
While Island Records may have forced Adé to cut up his lengthy songs, this record starts off with an eighteen-minute medley that is broken up into chunks. Each chunk plays with the same beat but highlights a different instrument or musical idea. “Sunny Ti De” introduces Adé’s guitar playing, which is full of joyful character. “Bombibele Horojo” intermingles the talking drum with a forward-thinking keyboard solo. “Oro Towo Baseti” has a lighter, sunnier guitar part, which segues into the quieter “Ko Salapata.” Then the whole thing crescendoes with “African Beats Lu Nsere,” a celebration of both his culture and his backing band. You can hear the camaraderie in the loose harmonies.
On the other hand, “Synchro System” is an eighteen-minute song that stays steady throughout, sitting in its own groove like it’s pleased with itself. There are sirens and harmonies and a profound de-escalation at the end, but mostly it’s the same. I have no idea what any of it means, but it’s impossible not to dance to. Later on, Adé would release an album with this title for Island Records. But on Island, the title track is only seven minutes long. It’s nice that we get the version of the song that he wanted.
