MUSIC (Nigerian): KJV's voice in Common Sense

In my post on Patoranking's song titled Make Am, I made the remarks that I reiterate below about the distinctive Nigerianness in KJV's song titled "Common Sense". I revisited those arguments in a piece that I later wrote, and in which I sought to pin down with some examples the particular features of what I understood to be The Nigerian Voice --  which I see as such a hugely consequential component an even larger voice: "the African Voice". 

Critics may of course want to be persuaded that there is indeed a unified African Voice, as opposed to a rich montage of Voices. Some may indeed push that argument to what may seem, to them, its logical conclusion. That is, by querying the very notion of a 'single' Nigerian Voice. But I'll soldier on, remembering that in our student days in the US, it was fairly easy to tell a Nigerian's voice apart from other West African voices -- and certainly from East African "ones". 

Here is what I said about KJV's "Common Sense":

"...one of the most attention-grabbing songs out of Nigeria right now (certainly to me), and which I think is distinctly Nigerian and truly accomplished in its vocal heaves and turns -- the kind we other Africans will hear, perhaps in a supermarket or on radio, and quickly say "That's Nigerian" -- is KJV's Common Sense (forget the awkwardly hilarious 'bedroom' shenanigans which we may blame on the story-line, but which might in turn be blamed entirely on a portion of the lyrics). It's such a memorable song."

You can tell from the lyrics (see the link below) that there's a unified theme in the video and the lyrics, and that it is, unsurprisingly, rather frivolous. But that's beside the point I'm making here. I'm talking about form, not content. My attention is more particularly drawn to the vocal (the audio) 'identity' (or markers) of the song that makes it so copiously representative of a genre I've called the Nigerian Voice. 

It is not just the accent, but you can't take accent out of the broader context of the song. Moreover, there is a big and inseparable chunk of it here. It is not just the lyrics, either; but the words are writ and voiced in an indubitably Nigerian tone. All of this is a matter of degree, of course -- between KJV's piece and what we hear in any selection from Olamide, Phyno, Wizkid, Don Jazzy, Davido, Patoranking, Kiss Daniel, Sugarboy, Korede Bello, Timaya and the like. But KJV voice stands out, and it is wondrously heavy-duty and relatively/infectiously 'unvarnished'. Hey, it's neither Ghanaian nor Congolese, nor South African, nor Tanzanian. It's not Kenyan, for sure. Far from it, in fact. And it's not Angolan (if you're thinking of C4Pedro), or Ugandan, or Togolese. It's not Cameroonian, either. Just listen to the singer's vocal rendition of these already very Nigerian lines:

"Jeje I dey eyeh nile alayo

The boys are happy 

And the girls are joyful 

Before you know oya 

We dey my place aha 

She take a selfie 

On top my bently"


Click to watch the Common Sense video

Here are the Lyrics for KJV's Common Sense

As I conclude, I want to say this: I'm sure that Nigerians in London can quickly tell a Nigerian voice when they hear one. In music, KJV's voice is distinctively such a one -- for me at least. Incidentally, KJV is shorthand for King Jiggy Vokal.


READ (for content): Thomas Paine's Letter/Post to Revolutionary Americans about "Common Sense"

MUSIC: Patoranking's Song, "Make Am", Has a Distinctive Eastern-Central African Tune

Seriously, I detect an Eastern-Central African 'flava' or turn of melodic phrase(ology), in Patoranking's Make Am (thanks in great part to Ebonyi State Band, which accompanies him with so much passion). If you grew up, or have grown up, in the Great Lakes region (call that Great Lakes and Rivers), more specifically, you would know. And just moments ago (that's early last night already -- I must publish this piece soonest) I happened to be watching a video of Oritsefemi's Nack Am on MTV Base (though a subsequent search has yielded only this audio version online) and I'm saying, "Wait! That, too!" Oritsefemi's unique voice-asset is still coming through -- and he's an outstanding icon of African music today -- but there's ferment in the background which, if things go on like this, won't go away but only grow.

READ: Make Am ranks number 21 in #Africa'sTop40PopSongsOfTheYear2015

I'm beginning to wonder if Nigerian music isn't turning a corner and beginning to somehow "alter" -- that is, to add spice to its huge repertoire of sounds and instrumental 'play' -- in order to maintain its emphatic continental leadership and advantage in these matters. If that's it, so be it. Perhaps this 'altering' is a passing fad, or a 'rooted' tapping of something deep inside Nigeria's complex culture that's only now seeming to outsiders like me to be percolating to the surface. If  a tapping, it'll just go to show that Nigerian artistes can still do lots of permutations with stuff that's deeply inside what's, well, Nigeria's artistic weltanschauung. If a passing fad, then too bad, for that sound is going to be welling up and heard more and more, anyway, as artistes elsewhere on the continent innovate and improvise -- and mine 'suchlike' tunes and tones of possibility -- in order to stay confounding steps ahead of "each other".

We're still on Make Am, but I'd just like to say in passing that one of the most attention-grabbing songs out of Nigeria right now (certainly to me), and which I think is distinctly Nigerian and truly accomplished in its vocal heaves and turns -- the kind we other Africans will hear, perhaps in a supermarket or on radio, and quickly say "That's Nigerian" -- is KJV's Common Sense (forget the awkwardly hilarious 'bedroom' shenanigans which we may blame on the story-line, but which might in turn be blamed entirely on a portion of the lyrics). It's such a memorable song.

Now, about Make Am. There's that wonderful strumming of guitar strings -- which awakens old (older) memories, alright, as it repeats and repeats. The chorus is such a one as, blended with the strumming, one re-collects from a sentimental past. All pasts tend to veer toward the sentimental, anyway, if one didn't have a bad childhood or conflicted youth. And, of course, if one didn't, then all pasts are seemingly wrapped only in things one wants to occasionally remember -- things it doesn't hurt to look back with jaded eyes to -- if only in daydreams. Songs do help all that along.


Click to watch the video


The tune in Make Am is my tune. That's the first thing I really wanted to say, before everything else I've said. Really! Listen, and you'll know. The voice is without a doubt Patoranking's. I think Awilo Longomba, a dominant spirit of all that's good in living African musical culture, would agree with all this, too. But, of course, I don't speak for him; and have never met him in person. One day we will, I hope, have a chat where and why the Greater Congo, his country, stopped where it seemingly did. And where we go from there.

Perhaps I was just using Make Am as an opportunity, and an excuse, to say one or two other things I've been meaning to say, and been hearing as well, about the place of Nigeria in Africa's musical future. And then I detect this: What greater Africa's largely untapped musical wealth means for the future of Nigeria's own, and already vibrant, music!

PS: NOW TAKE A LISTEN TO: Longomba's Karolina

After Matheri

With the killing of Matheri, the gangster, by Kenya's Police at Athi River last Monday night (February 19, 2007), and the subsequent claim by his wife that she hadn't known he was a most wanted killer -- she said that she believed what he told her, namely, that he was a taxi driver in Nairobi -- a new line has been added by Kenya's women to popular wisdom. Or is it common sense? It goes like this: "If you don't know what your man does for a living, you are not a woman!"

And we have heard:

"Bunduki siyo kuni!" (A gun is not firewood!)

"Bunduki hapana mwiko!" (A gun is not oludhkuon!)