This was never really an option (and most likely not really an aspiration either) for singer, composer and multi-instrumentalist Femi Kuti, whose own journey in music started as a member of afrobeat originator Fela Kuti’s orchestra Egypt 80 in the 80s, including acting as the stand-in bandleader when his globally celebrated father was imprisoned on trumped-up charges by Nigerian authorities.
40-odd years later, Journey Through Life suggests that not a huge deal has changed musically from those formative days, but dismissing the album as a predictable exercise in the afrobeat idiom is missing the point. Self-producing for the first time, Kuti is clearly intent on keeping the afrobeat flame alight, but this is no toothless exercise in nostalgia, or a low-risk enterprise in replicating old, once formidable formats. Envisioned as a (appropriately enough) a musical journey through different stages of Kuti’s life, the album both expands on the now expected lyrical themes (tackling corruption and injustice both generally and more specifically in the context of ever-messy Nigerian politics), and injects fresh energy, economy and verve into afrobeat’s typically unhurried, generously portioned polyrhythmic splendor. For example, the crackling instrumental showdown “Shotan” inches closer to confrontational, fuzz-fueled post-punk-funk than the gloriously rambling, rhythmically dexterous epics Kuti Sr (and by extension afrobeat) remains renowned for.
Lyrically, the more overtly political themes make the vaguely critical social commentary of artists who inject a bit of ‘protest’ into their promotional cycles seem notably house-trained. Both “24 Years Later” (a long-time live favourite recorded for the first time) and the furiously funky “Politics Don Expose Them” eviscerate past and present Nigerian leaders for using their influence to enhance their own wealth and power at the expense of the common good. This in a country where not filtering your words is a risky exercise with potentially drastic consequences, as highlighted by the reflective rage and exasperation of “Chop and Run”, which refers the raid on Fela Kuti’s Kalakuta Republic by the Nigerian army that led fatal injuries for Kuti’s grandmother. Refreshingly, the political frequently merges with the personal: the unstoppable groove and call-and-response chants of the title track carry heartfelt advice on making the most of your limited time on this planet, whilst “Work On Myself” turns the attention inward to focus on self-improvement, which can easily get waylaid amidst righteous political proselytizing.
