From Lagos to Crawdaddy, Tony Allen, co-creator of Afrobeat took five to talk to Úna Mullally.
Tony Allen is one of those scarily influential figures that a mere journo would expect grumpiness from. “How long is this gonna take, huh?”, sighs a gruff legend. But tetchiness has to be humoured when it comes to Allen. Not many musicians carve out whole musical genres. When Allen and his more limelight-fixated partner, Fela Kuti began experimenting together all those years ago, Afrobeat immerged. Mixing manic drumming with African soul, Afrobeat blew up. But Fela Kuti became the superstar, and as the 70’s wore on, Allen became disillusioned and walked away.
“We didn’t know how important the music we were making was going to be. We were experimenting, but we didn’t know where it would lead us. I suppose it’s not easy to accept how ‘extraordinary’ people say it was”. These uneasy self-commiserating comments from Allen don’t make much sense. Afrobeat set the African music scene on fire, and it showed Allen the world. Shades of bitterness eclipse his remarks.
Tony Allen is the best drummer in the world. When he walked away from Fela Kuti, four drummers replaced him - a number barely sufficient to recreate his sound. In fact, he only speaks passionately when referring to drumming itself, “when I started to play drums, I wanted to be one of the best. There were too many good drummers at the time. You ask me ‘what inspired me’, but I had to ask that question to myself if I wanted to be truly the best. I had to keep trying and trying”.
Moving to Europe in the 80’s, Allen played with King Sunny Ade in London and with Ray Lema in Paris, but continued to progress with Afrobeat, releasing albums and playing in the studio for Comet Records. Most recently, Allen has returned to the fore with ‘Home Cooking’, his 2002 record featuring (rather bizarrely) Blur’s Damon Albarn. Allen speaks fondly of the record, “Home Cooking wasn’t confined. I try to satisfy everyone, and that was my intention with it.”
Refusing to single out a memorable live moment, Allen becomes abrupt once more, “you have to understand, it was not just one moment, and it was not just one thing. It was years of playing differently”. Suddenly his mood changes, “maybe I spent too much time playing…” He whispers the remark, fading it out to an inaudible volume.
When I asked him what left he has to achieve as an artist, his reply is another stunning soundbite of self-abhorrence. “I haven’t done anything. I have not done the best things. I keep on time, but sometimes you have to satisfy other people and sometimes you have to satisfy yourself”. Tony Allen’s opinion of himself runs contrary to anybody else’s view. He is a genius, a musician who has carved his name onto the songs that he plays, and onto musical history itself. Yet he seems to still be waiting for a simple thing – satisfaction.
