Lágbájá Revisited (I): Drums, Divinity, and Democracy
This is a 3-part critique of Lágbájá’s seminal album “We before Me” released in 2000 (selections from the double album “We”/“Me” released a year before). I delve deep into the multi-dimensional perspectives of Lágbájá as a musician, a performance artist, and a political satirist.
Part I
Konko below shows us the value of the old and the wealth of the new as it illustrates the Yorùbá musical influence on Afrobeat.
Body Language
Sometimes Yorùbá can sound like singing, it has a rhythmic bounce in the mouth and leaves a euphonic ring in the ear. The diacritics and heavy tonal use are responsible for this intrinsic musicality because they alter pronunciation. This quality makes it perfect for songwriting because it lends itself easily to alliterations, rhymes, metaphors, and double entendres. The dundun and batá drums “talk” because they can approximate the pitch patterns of Yorùbá. Depending on how it is held, the batá can mimic the stress and cadence of the spoken language. The force with which a batá is struck, the frequency at which it is struck and its harmony with other instruments are all relevant to deciphering its message.
Drums are more precise in their ability to communicate messages than ordinary words because their beats inspire thousands of images and feelings far quicker than can be written or said. Words often misconstrue intention and are open to interpretation but the language of drums speaks directly to the soul, they form the foundation upon which the story of a song is told. A talking drummer is someone who has mastered the anthology of drums, plays proficiently, and knows what rhythms are appropriate in social settings.
Below The Beat
Lágbájá’s music is a hybrid of Yorùbá neo-traditional styles and Afrobeat. He cross-pollinates indigenous drumming traditions with the contemporary vocal aesthetics of Afrobeats. The instrumental arrangements on his songs are crowded with Yorùbá drums such as the dundun ensemble, batá, and ashiko. Even the instruments popularly featured in Afrobeat such as the electric bass and saxophone are played as if they were percussive.
Konko below is an Afropop record with impetuous drums that are entropic; rising and teetering before abruptly descending into another tempo. The name of the song is probably a wink to Konkolo which is a standard rhythm in Yorùbá drumming. This is the “current” of the music. The small high pitch of the omele meta (also called the okonkolo) is played at an enervating speed and reiterates a pattern that supports the song. The shekere takes on a life of its own producing short outbursts that ornament the beat. Konko below encapsulates the sophistication of his musical influences; the asymmetric drumming style is typically a feature used in Fuji; the syncopation of the batá drums used in Juju and a horn section that enthusiastically intersperses the beat as found in Highlife.
Dancing Is A Prayer
The veneration of Orisa is accompanied by one specific musical instrument or an ensemble of instruments. The batá is a conically shaped drum used to honor and appease Sango, who was known for expansionary wars in the 15th century in the Oyo kingdom. In the religious pantheon, he is known as the fearsome god of thunder. Though he is often depicted as angry, impulsive, and violent, Sango is also majestic and pleasure-loving. In the video, the men who play the bata with aggressive command wear red Agbadas; Sango’s favorite color.
An Elegun Sango is a consecrated devotee who has been possessed by Sango’s spirit. He or she becomes the medium through which the Orisa manifests and communicates their power to the human world. The Elegun will perform dances at Sango festivals that bless and entertain the onlookers and the town. The rhythmic dancing reveals the powerful energy of Sango. Initially, the movements reveal Sango’s pleasure-loving side, the dance is virile and sexy; his arms are perpendicular to his thighs; his torso is bowed; his ass rounds as he lowers himself on the balls of his feet. The soft grinding of his waist gives shape to the music and makes the melody of the song visible. The drumming on Konko below is polyrhythmic, Lágbájá is able to highlight the meter of each drum with his dance. His dance steps show that he possesses a repertoire of the batá because they share the same rhythms as the drum’s syllables. His shoulders are engaged in a deep alternating in-out, up-down movement, this continuous motion controls the upper torso as similar moves emanate from the hips at the same time.
To become Sango, the Elegun must wear the blouse of possession called Wabi. In the video (minute 8:22) Lágbájá does the same thing; wearing an additional garment over his costume. The bata drums are beaten fast and with rigor echoing a beat that captures Sango’s violent nature. As the encore ascends, he performs a mimicry of the possession dance called Lanku (minute 9:24). Before long Sango’s presence becomes visible in his movements. The Lanku Dance is like the beginning of a gathering display of anger and is characterized by fast thrusting movements. He starts by leaning backward, one foot firmly planted and the other outstretched forward. He elongates himself, straining his back, and elevating his leg until he suddenly falls forward. The backward posture represents tension and restraint and the forward missteps show Sango succumbing to anger. In her book Yoruba Dance: The Semiotics of Movements and Body Attitude, Dr. Ajayi says “[the] pulling [of] the body opposite directions is like a test of […] one’s power of control. On a mythical plane, the whole Lanku dance vividly recollects the story of the gathering energy of Sango’s attempt to come as rainfall but manifesting as lightning and thunder instead.”
Verse 2:
Pade mi ni’sale ele le le le
Arigi di, arigi di
Ah, thunder, Atoto pato
Atoto pato pato wo
Ah thunder
Ose bata
E pade Mi ni’sale e le le
E pade mi ni’sale e e
E pade Mi ni sale
E pade mi ni
Konko below (4x)
Ah, thunder
Ah onibata yi o kare, eee”
The second line “Arigi di, arigi di” though void of literal meaning illustrates how his voice becomes another percussion instrument. This lyrical improvisation is an onomatopoeia of the batá drums. Often misread as gibberish, phrases like this are inspired by ceremonial praise-singing. Its structure, cadence, and content borrow from Oriki; which is defined as praise-poetry, a series of short but interrelated verses that is sometimes characterized by an incantatory quality. These vocal modulations draw emphasis on the preceding phrase and dramatize the content of his lyrics. As an example, the third line “Ah, thunder, Atoto pato, Atoto pato pato wo” not only functions to be descriptive but captures the essence of the drum’s rhythm. This line which sounds like verbal staccato, is not merely poetic but creates auditory imagery of thunder in the soundscape. As he sings the final two lines, “Ah, thunder! Ah onibata yi o kare, eee” the batá roars with riotous abandon.
Konko below reveals to us the profound resilience of culture as he recycles ancient ideas in a new context. As a song, it unites the past and the present with a mesmerizing passion by reviving old musical styles in a contemporary format. What Lágbájá succeeded at doing is giving Afrobeat a strong Yorùbá instrumental anchor, mooring it to something older and more potent. His music is culturally dense and heavily influenced by a synthesis of Yorùbá religious, verbal, and visual culture. He seeks to invent something new while imitating something old. He honors tradition by retaining style-defining elements and sonic motifs of Yorùbá music.
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