
Every move he made was mirrored in the sound of the music, as the drummer and the other percussionists followed his every move with their beat. His band members were decked out in pink “Crepelin” outfits. His dancers were scantily clad, and they seductively swirled and swayed their hips to the rhythmical throbbing of the Africa 70 (the name of Fela’s band in the 1970s).
Over all, his music was of unequalled excellence and his stage work, extraordinary. It was obvious that this maestro had taken music and entertainment in Nigeria to new heights.
The last time I watched him was in the early-1990s in Washington, DC, at the Kilimanjaro Night Club. By then, his years of struggle against the evil oligarchy that ran Nigeria had taken a toll on him. As such, he was not as gorgeously attired and his band was not as splendidly arrayed. But he remained his defiant and indefatigable self, his band, unflappably first-rate, his dancers, vivacious and matchless, and his music, exquisite.
