Makers of Izobo

IZOBO in my native Esan is what Yoruba call Ebo; Ibo, Aja; Ibibio, Uwa; Igbira, Isovo, and so on and so forth. It is that collection of edibles and usables that one particularly finds at cross-roads and busy spots, which the indigent, hungry, strays, ants, animals and ancestors feed from and make merry. In that happy mood, they all pray for the provider and God cannot afford to ignore such wonderful chorus of supplications.

Sacrifice, got it?

Then the white man, the perennial busy-body, happened. Suddenly everything that was the black man’s mode of worship or intercession, became fetish. Now Izobo are so ugly and fit for Governor Fashola’s PSP trucks that the most hungry of madmen knows these left-overs to be healthy sources of cholera. Our ancestors must be wiser than lunatics, so today’s Izobo simply mess up the roads and foul the air until Mother Nature intervenes.

The kind of music Nigeria’s laptop-toting (CD-in-the-back-pockets) singers make is nothing but Izobo. I mean the type that I suggested for the PSP trucks. In traditional African societies, art is not for art sake. Everything is done with the survival of the community as a primary goal.

But patriotism is not engendered by political demagoguery, and Nigerian leaders have breached the social contract. The result is that I belong to a generation that has learnt to say “me” before learning any language.

This generation of indigents and the living-dead (my apologies Kongi) takes today’s cholera-inducing Izobo as manna. Nowadays that just a single (album) turns any unknown hustler to a millionaire musical star overnight, our ancestors must be more discerning than us. All I need to be rolling in millions is a good hook for my chorus. Forget about my croaking voice. There are software to polish it. So when I deign to perform live and the voice sounds different from what you hear on CD, your loss.

Suddenly some youths abroad discovered two facts: One, that they are Nigeria citizens; and two, they have musical talent. But all they did was target their own share of the millions flying around by dedicating so-called talents to the norm of describing and suggesting uses for the female anatomy. Or, better still, coin a word or phrase that will keep the Izobo (sorry, I mean music) in the lapdogs’ consciousness for a few months before another hit single appears.

A creative artiste cannot be divorced from the society he/she evolves from. But that artiste owes it a duty to improve on how that society functions. That the failures of successive Nigerian governments have produced an anti-establishment and counter-traditional generation does not justify the confusion a parent (that still cares, anyway) will face when asked by these sharp children what “Kerewa” or “Eminado” means.

Virtually all sub-sectors of Nigerian entertainment industry is still at its infancy, yet many youths have been taken off the streets by the industry and made millionaires. This is the more reason they should give back to that buyer that spends N100 on a CD by fighting a rotten system.

Majority of what I hear send me back to one small CD shop in Alaba. There you find yourself in the arms of those singers who can sing of and for the society, lark about love and heartbreak, and moan about hope and pessimism. But these philosophers belong in another era.

A few from my time used to prepare good old Izobo. But they had to adjust because Cash-Rules-Everything-Around-Me and a generation of rudderless youths has to be fed. For soul-stirring Christian acapella music laced with humour and satire, you remember DC Envoys, made up of Gordons, Mudiaga (of Mudi Fashions) and a third guy. The next time you meet Maleke, ask him to sing “Small Small.” It was a ballad he did before leaving Edo State for Lagos.

Organised noises from caller tunes, CD stores and commercial buses make you yearn for GT Guitarman’s “Dreamer,” Mode 9’s “Cry,” Asa’s smokey voice and even Oritse Femi’s constant tears.

These days (oh! my Bon Jovi) Plantation Boiz’s oldies sound heavenly. No! I do not mean the Plan B album with which they defrauded fans. Only “Rather Be” has the original Plantation feel in that album. Sound Sultan has also shifted and one waits in vain these days for that gradual enveloping that 2Baba’s songs achieve.

Thank God the old can now tap into the booming market by cross-generational collaboration, and the young can launch their singing career by re-doing evergreens. By the way, where is Soty? She gave me “Malaria” (never mind the bad video) and disappeared.

Oh! You accuse me of idolatry? You are worse because your ring tone, which is the latest dance hall hit and describes how she should utilise “what your mamma gave you” in unromantic and uncreative lyrics makes you principalities without taste. What our ancestors will not smell, you consume with relish.

It is just my opinion.