Afropolitan Vibes: Has Musiliu Ishola reinvented apala music?

The album was a huge success. Why? Perhaps because the people had missed the deep and slow rhythms of the apala drum. Or maybe they craved the relaxed proverbial lyrics of the genre.

Or maybe it was because of Haruna Ishola himself—the patriarch they missed so bad that they found succour in his son.

To provide some background for the uninitiated, let me tell you a story about three genres of music found in many south-western 'hoods in Nigeria.

In the 1960s to the late 1980s, the brotherly genres sankara, apala and were had the ears of their people. Initially used to rouse the Muslim faithful during Ramadan, the music became a source of entertainment in various south-western societies in Nigeria. Although now difficult to tell apart, these genres were distinct then, identified closely with the personalities who sang them.

But because the sounds are not exactly grounded formally—as can be said of certain western genres—and perhaps because the singers were physically close enough to influence each other’s tunes, these singing personalities, in time, turned fierce competitors rather than just contemporaries. The singers took what was successful from the competition for use in their own songs as they competed for the same audience. Alhaji Dauda Epo-Akara was known for were, Haruna Ishola and Ayinla Omowura were apala kings; and Salami Alabi was the sakara man. All of these led to Sikiru Ayinde Barrister’s fuji.

But that was a long time ago, and as the originators of these sounds died, the genre seemed to die with them. This was probably because of the very close affinity of these genres with their pioneers.

Then in the late 1990s and 2000s, a trend of offspring taking off from their diseased parents became quite conspicuous in the Nigerian music industry. Paul IK Dairo, Kunle Orlando Owo, Omari Barrister, Seun Kuti, to mention a few sons of famous singing fathers, became professional musicians with varying commercial successes.

It is to this school Musiliu Ishola, son of Haruna, belongs.

This past Friday at Freedom Park during the monthly Afropolitan Vibes concert in Lagos, Musiliu, on behalf of young folks, implored older folks in melody.

"If ever the young do you wrong,” he sang from the title track of his Soyoyo albumk, "do not tell us...we may never be pardoned. We are still kids in need of wisdom.”

Musiliu was channelling a Yoruba belief that an angered elder can forestall a young person’s success.

The audience, a swarm of young people, sang along in exhilaration—proof that it might not be over yet with apala. As he performed, Musiliu, who stands to deliver his songs as against the traditional sitting position associated with his father, intermittently passed looks to make undecipherable communication with his drummers, four men wrapping their left hands around various sizes of the talking drum. The smallest of these drums was the size of a jug. The bearers' right hand wielded a curved stick.

Apala drums speak deep Yoruba proverbs; they are the powerhouse of the genre. The singer, like a messenger, relates or interprets the drum in song. The excited audience on Friday responded, a roaring chorus, spurring those who did not understand the language to run helter-skelter for interpretation only to be greeted with: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to pay me to translate this glorious stream of words.”

While Musiliu maintains core components of the apala sound—the talking drum, and lyrically, slangs and proverbs—he flirts with other elements. Makossa, Nigerian pop, soyayya, and an abundance of vulgar lyrics all come into his music. Could these be his tools of reinvention? Perhaps!

The Afropolitan Vibes night was humid and the clouds leaked a drizzle. One could confuse sweat with rain looking at the faces of the fun-lovers gathered. Yet one thing was clear: the wild grins on their faces meant apala just might be back for good.