After Obey and KSA, will Fuji bury Jùjú? (4)

By Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, September 4, 2026)

A sibling going to bury the corpse of his elder brother naked should take his younger brother along. Why? Because the way today’s corpse is buried naked is how tomorrow’s corpse would be buried. That is a Yoruba thought on fairness, respect and reciprocity. But who is burying who?

To interrogate Yoruba popular music with regard to their origins and heritage, rise, peak, vulnerability, decline, and potential rebirth, without talking about Yoruba’s worldview on music and drums is tantamount to tea without sugar; Abeokuta without Olumo; Idanre Hills without monkeys; Nigerian politics without corruption.

Quoting from the Ifa corpus, the Araba of Osogbo, Chief Ifáyẹmí Ẹlẹ́buìbọn, cited Òrosùn Agbe, recalling that drumming started in Ilé-Ife. Specifically, Ẹlẹ́buìbọn recounted a period during the reign of the Olúfẹ̀, Ọba Àjàláyé, when a festival of drums was held annually. “In a particular year,” Ẹlẹ́buìbọn began, “there was a great celebration of drums, dancing, clapping and drinking. Then some young elements became intoxicated and started disrespecting elders. The king became annoyed. So, he banned drumming and dancing in the land.

“From then till the following season, the land wore an apparel of grief. Then, the king became worried, and he called on his diviners to help unravel the reason for the joylessness in the land. Ọba Àjàláyé’s diviners told him that the banning of drumming and dancing in the land was the reason why the land was sad. Ifa told Àjàláyé that drumming chases away evil spirits known as Ajogun in the Yoruba cosmic realm. Hence, the king restored drumming and dancing, but with a caveat: everyone must drink responsibly.”

A former Vice Chancellor, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Prof Wándé Abímbọ́lá, says the first drum ever beaten by man was “abentẹ”. The world-renowned Ifa scholar recites some Ifa verses to support the preeminence of “abentẹ”, describing “abentẹ” as clapping.

Abímbọ́lá, the Awise Agbaye, says, “The Yoruba had 804 different types of drums from time immemorial, with each type having, at least, five ensembles. People only see the Yoruba as the most flamboyant and celebratory; they do not know that no other ethnicity knows the drums like the Yoruba. The flamboyance and celebratory nature of the Yoruba derives from our numerous drums.

“The Yoruba had 804 different types of drums. Each of the drums has five ensembles, and some of the ensembles still have ṣẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀ and flutes. Today, the total number of Yoruba drums is not up to 100. We have lost a lot of them. What is most painful about the loss is that when a drum goes into extinction, its making, its dance and its sounds are all lost forever. Drums go into extinction when they are not brought out for celebration. Every Yoruba deity has its own drum. Every drum has its own songs, dance and sound; these are the literature of each drum. Sẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀ originated from Ìkọ̀lé-Èkìtì, according to Ifa. Indeed, Sẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀ was the son of Ẹlẹ́kọ̀lé; this is why there is the Ifa verse: “Adifa fun Sẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀ ti n ṣe ọmọ Ẹlẹ́kọ̀lé.” Dùndún and Bàtá drums originated from Ọ̀yọ́. Ewọ, a type of iron that is beaten in Ilé-Ifẹ̀, originated from Ifẹ̀. It is the iron beaten by the followers of the incumbent Ooni of Ife, Ọba Adeyeye Ogunwusi.

“In Ọ̀yọ́, there were 44 respective groups that play the “dùndún” and 37 groups that play the bàtá. As I am not at home now, drummers go to my house in Ọ̀yọ́ on chosen days of the week and drum in my compound. When I am at home, they come every day. This shows how the Yoruba cherishes drums.”

Here’s another Yoruba thought about how the cunning cornmeal seller is undone by her own crookery.

Right across the king’s palace in Àsìkòlayé village is the market square known as Ọjà Ọba. The cornmeal seller, Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ, arrives with the first crow of the cock. The king’s burnt palace is undergoing massive rebuilding, so workers arrive with dew on their heads. Ilé ọba tó jó, ẹwà ló bù si.

“Okun inu la fi n gbe tita” is a proverb that spells out the importance of food. It means the power inside the belly propels the power outside it. Food is fundamental. So, before the start of work, bricklayers and carpenters head to Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ’s shed, hungry to warm the whorls of the belly with hot, white pap and steamy moin-moin made in banana leaves.

As she prepares her cornmeal at home that morning, Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ, gripped by greed, scoops rounds of small, raw cornmeal into big but hollow leaf wraps and put them on fire, hoping to deceive customers into buying them at a premium price when she gets to the market.

Her first customer for the day, Asọwòmárà, looks at the underweight cornmeal in cone-like leaves; he sees the fraud, but keeps silent. He picks one wrapped-in-leaves cornmeal up and throws it in his hands a couple of times, ascertaining its weight. He puts it back in the basket. “I’ll be back,” he says, and moves on. Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ’s second customer is a young lad who also spots the big-leaves-small-engine cornmeals in one glance. As the Gen Z that he is, he quickly retraces his footsteps by pretending as if he strayed into Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ’s shed, saying, “Iya mi o ran l’eko,” meaning: My mother did not send me to buy cornmeal. Her third customer is an old man with a shock of white hair. Baba Agba doesn’t need to lift the cunning cornmeal; he could see the fraud with the benefit of experience. He simply tells Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ, “Ajé ó wọgbá,” meaning: May sales boom.

The Yoruba verbalise the the scene above in this proverb, “Ọgbọ́n a pọ́nkọ kéré kò tó ti Asọwòmárà. Ti Asọwòmárà kò tó ti ‘Iya mi o ran l’eko’, ti Iya mi o ran l’eko ko to ti ‘Ajé ó wọgbá.”

For the non-Yoruba speaker, here’s the proverb in English. A crooked cornmeal seller reduces the size of her cornmeal. But she’s not as wise as the customer who comes in, grabs a cornmeal, throws it up for size, puts it down and walks away. But then, the customer who throws the cornmeal up, puts it down and walks away is not as wise as the young customer, who sprints in and sprints out, saying, “My mother didn’t send me to buy cornmeal.” And the young customer is not as wise as the old man, who walks into the shed and walks out, saying, “May your sales boom.”

The proverb of the cornmeal seller speaks to different levels of the human condition. It speaks to all categories of music, including Jùjú and Fuji, and all facets of human endeavour.

The proverb also sets up the Yoruba philosophy of reciprocity, cunning, consequence and self-defeat. It avers that no art is superior or inferior to the other. It shows that no matter how clever, calculating and creative humans are, there would still be faultlines, vulnerabilities, complacency, self-renewal challenges, challenges to transmit tradition, challenges to cultivate younger audiences, institutional neglect, changing economies, technological disruption, or absence of succession. It means that no matter how careful the bite is, the crumbling of the cookie is most unpredictable.

Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ thinks she is wise, but Asọwòmárà is wiser. Asọwòmárà needed to throw the cornmeal up a couple of times, but the young lad did not. He sights the fraud without touching it and meanders like an ọ̀kadà in Lagos traffic, saying, “My mother did not send me to buy cornmeal.” Baba Agba, the old man, was wiser than the dribbling lad; he said a sarcastic prayer, “May sales boom.”

To avoid death, music genres must evolve. The Ìyá Ẹlẹ́kọ tale teaches adaptability. The origin of Jùjú traces back to folklore, church, Western instrumentation, Agidigbo, Highlife, etc. Jùjú adapted all through the years, with KSA and Obey riding the airwaves since the 1960s. Both superstars adapted. Now, the terrain is fast changing. Where are the new men? What are they doing to make Jùjú relevant to their own generation like KSA and Obey did?

A wounded genre is not necessarily a dead genre. Fuji cannot bury Jùjú if Jùjú continuously reinvents its wounded self. The greatest tribute to Obey and KSA isn’t in imitating their songs. It is in innovation. The younger generation of Jùjú artists must do to Jùjú what KSA and Obey did to Jùjú.

And as Fuji is harnessing Jùjú’s cultural space, Fuji must also be ready to confront the fate Jùjú is facing; the younger brother cannot scorn the elder brother in death because his own funeral may be next. Every genre that thinks it has arrived has already begun to leave.

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After Obey and KSA, will Fuji bury Jùjú? – A Postscript

After the first three publications in this series, reactions flooded my email. A particular reader (name withheld) said Obey does not play Jùjú, but gospel music. However, music expert Alhaji Sulaiman Adegbenro, aka Consoligbadun, says Obey still plays Jùjú. Adegbenro explains that if the lyrics of gospel music are removed, the sound that remains is Jùjú. Maintaining that most Yoruba gospel musicians are playing Jùjú, Consoligbadun says many musicians name their music gospel because they want to harness churchgoers. “What they play is Jùjú. It is wrong to call your music gospel music when you play Jùjú. That diminishes the art of Jùjú. You can sing your Christian hymns and play Jùjú to it. By branding their music gospel, many gospel artists alienate their music from a larger audience. While KSA and Obey were enlarging the scope of Jùjú, the younger ones calling their music gospel are narrowing the scope of Jùjú.”

Apola King, Idowu Animasawun, reasons that gospel music should be a hymnal and not something people can dance to. “Gospel music must deliver a deep message. Modern-day praise worship is more of an American thing. Gospel music is not a praise-worship song. Gospel music must deliver a message; it must preach, it must be soul-searching. It is a song you hear, and you become contrite; you become sober and reflective. It is not a song you dance to. It is not a song you play in a beer parlour,” Apola King stated.

Animasawaun also buttressed the position of Consoligbadun on Jùjú and gospel music, saying the music ‘gospel’ musicians play is Jùjú. According to Consoligbadun, Christians dance to Obey and KSA’s music and sing some of their songs in churches, stressing that good music is good music.

Giving a fresh perspective on why Jújù appears to be on the decline, Consoligbadun says Jùjú musicians connected with the people by playing at nightclubs. He said, “Sunny was performing at Ariya Night Club. Obey was playing at Miliki Spot. Victor Olaiya was performing at Stadium Hotel. Shina Peters was performing at Stadium Hotel. Kollington was playing at Ariya Night Club. Ayuba was playing at Ariya Night Club. This is no longer the case.”

Adegbenro also identified the absence of Obey’s philosophical depth and Sunny’s entertainment magnetism in the younger generation as an ill militating against Jùjú. Most of the musicians coming after these two great men were only content with copying their styles. But if you’re not the original, you can’t be the original.

Consoligbadun believes that Shina Peters watered down the influence of Jùjú by dropping the guitar, noting that there was guitar work in Peters’ breakthrough album ACE, however. He said, “In Shinamania that followed ACE, Sir Shina Peters used 70% percussion, while keyboard got 20% and guitar got 10%. Obey and Sunny used 40% percussion. Jùjú is more melodious than Fuji, not in the sense of comparison, but in its tempered tuning; that is, you can identify the notes.

“Sir Shina Peters’ album, Shinamania, was a disaster, Jùjú-wise. It was part of what led to the decline of Jùjú because it did not conform to the Jùjú manual. Jùjú artists need to do collaborations with artists of other genres like hip-hop. K1, Pasuma and Adewale Ayuba, etc are doing so. This sustains an artist’s name in public memory. Collabos have helped in keeping Fuji in conversation. How many Jùjú artists do collaborations with artists of other genres?”

Popular gospel artist, Evangelist Timi Orokoya, aka Telemi, offers his opinion in these words: “JUJU/FUJI MUSIC.
“Good morning, sir. I read your post on this topic.

“I come from the Christian gospel music space by message, but I’m universal when it comes to presentation and the technical side of music. I grew up as a DJ, so I can tell you the brands and genres available in the Western world, in Africa, and specifically in Nigeria.

“Lately, the desire by Nigerian musicians to be different and to stand out is really shaping the industry. In the studio, artists and producers often change the original idea of a song to express their creativity. The introduction of new instrumentation and vocal patterns has also left listeners confused about what genre they’re actually hearing.

“Let’s look at it this way: Juju music has different styles and patterns, and so does Fuji music. Creativity is about improving, impressing others, and satisfying yourself. That’s why when two genres cross boundaries, their audiences still enjoy it.

“Because Juju music came before Fuji, Fuji learned a lot from Juju. If you watch Fuji bands on stage today, you may not even know it’s a Fuji band until the artist comes out, because of the instruments they now use.”

Telemi, formerly known as Timi Osukoya, continued, “On the other hand, when you listen to Juju performances, you’ll also hear Fuji lyrics and patterns infused. The lines have become so blurred that you can often only identify a genre by the artist performing it.

“Look at hip-hop today. The infusion of African beats into Western R&B is what has given us Afrobeats and set Nigerian music apart. The truth is, no genre has fully kept to its original form — except for a few of our traditional folk songs.

“For that reason, it’s not easy to say one genre will outperform the other. Both Evang. Prof. Ebenezer Obey Fabiyi and King Sunday Adeniyi Adegeye are masters in their own right, and till today. By message, both now sing gospel music, just in their own brand.

“These days, gospel musicians also work across all genres, and they learn from each other in every aspect.

“Thank you, sir, for the privilege to share my opinion.”

However, “No shaking” was the vibe coming from popular Jùjú musician, Wale Thompson, who maintained that Jùjú was going nowhere. The “Lalale Friday” crooner admitted that although a lot of amateurs were on parade on the Jùjú music scene, craftsmanship would stand a professional Jùjú musician out.

“Many people claim they started music from the church, but that is not the issue. The issue is what training did you have? Obey and Sunny worked under Adeolua Akinsanya, Rolling Dollars, Baba Sala, etc. Many of the younger generation don’t have the requisite training. They get publicity and become carried away. Musicians who have played behind big masqueraders only need good marketers and goodwill. Marketers are the ones giving Fuji the needed support by advertising Fuji music more than Jùjú music,” Thompson said.

The Managing Director, Evergreen Music Company, Bimbo Esho, enjoined Jùjú artists in general to imbue their songs with creativity, saying that was the road to success. “Many of the Jùjú artists today want shortcuts to success. You need to do the grind,” Esho said.

Founder of Agbaletu TV Uncensored, Mr Dele Adeyanju, opined that Jùjú was going through natural phases, and he insisted that Jùjú would not die. “Many Jùjú stars have come and gone. But the genre remains. Jùjú will not die,” Adeyanju said.

I must publicly admit, at this juncture, that Adeyanju had been a formidable source of information for me in matters of music. Adeyanju has continuously opened his wealth of music knowledge and contacts to me.

A music buff and publisher, The Tabloid newspaper, Chief Tunde Busari, has also been helpful in giving me information on dates of albums and events in the Nigerian music industry. Busari, a professional colleague, also believes that the eagle should not disturb the hawk from perching; both Jùjú and Fuji should coexist – one should not bury the other.

Like Busari, a US-based music aficionado, Mr Babatunde Kehinde, says various music genres can coexist in the same ecosystem without one burning the other. “Nigeria needs all its music genres alive. They are all parts of our heritage and culture. None should die.”

After all is said and done, perhaps Fuji may not be the undertaker. Perhaps the real undertaker is time, aided by complacency, nostalgia, lack of successors, changing technology, and economics. Perhaps it is reinvention. The breeze is blowing, vultures are circling; may the cloud clear and the breeze blow the vultures away.

Long live Jùjú,

Long live Fuji,

Long live Nigerian music.

ENDS————————-ENDS

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

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