54. Much Ado About 'Fuji Vibe'
A guest post about a modern Afropop classic
I panned Asake’s Lungu Boy less than 12 hours after its release. It was a scathing review partly inspired and acutely disappointed in that ‘Skating’ song. With every reluctant return to that record, my views are unchanged. I called ‘Fuji Vibe’ a gem. Months later, it is a song that rewards listeners with endorphins. Its most vital power is a sense of transfiguration. It takes you to places urgently built of memory from improvisation. It is abundantly participatory. It remakes a live session uncannily recreated with technology and attention to tradition—two things that give Afrobeats its transformative power. I have commissioned a fine music critic here, Patrick Ezema, to discuss ‘Fuji Vibe’. I am satisfied that he has done so in good prose.
—Dami
Halfway into ‘Fuji Vibe’, Asake’s voice trails off and is not heard for the rest of the song. A medley of ancient and modern percussion reworked from live shows featuring the dynamic four-piece band The Compozers is heard. This is how ‘Fuji Vibe’ achieves its five–and–half–minute runtime, satisfying both the Fuji and Vibe aspects of its title. ‘Fuji Vibe’ is listed on the Lungu Boy album as a bonus track, a tricky term that can serve several purposes: it can justify the inclusion of a much older song in a new album. Or explain the presence of an older song reworked with original contributions from collaborators. ‘Fuji Vibe’ is a little bit of both.
The ideas that resulted in ‘Fuji Vibe’ date back at least seven years, when Asake originally released ‘Shodamo’, a slang-dripping Street Hop tune sampling Olamide’s 2017 hit song ‘Wo!!’. In this way, ‘Fuji Vibe’ is similar to ‘Joha’, the 2022 smash hit featured on Asake’s debut LP, Mr. Money With A Vibe. ‘Joha’, in its first iteration, entertained the students of the Obafemi Awolowo University in their 5,000-capacity amphitheatre, where Asake perfected his act as a performer. ‘Joha’ is similar to ‘Fuji Vibe’ in its authentic Fuji flair, save the electronic drums but hold that thought!
Several names have been proposed for the Fuji–inspired, log drum–powered, Yoruba-delivered subgenre of Afropop that has fueled Asake’s musical ethos. It is the best of two worlds in many ways, updating ancient Yoruba genres by swapping traditional drums like the Sakara and Apala for electronic log drums. The artist in the booth employs Yoruba idioms and pidgin English neologisms with a delivery that encroaches into rap in matching the high-tempo production it is placed on. At its finest, Asake’s Mr. Money With The Vibe provides Afropop with a new dimension. Asake and Magicsticks were experimental with Fuji: they punched it up with Amapiano. They refined it with anthemic choruses, providing a sonic experience that broadened the music landscape and brought us new ways of experiencing old genres. They gave us new names, too. Neo Fuji. Fujipiano. Mr. Money Sound.
Asake's work on ‘Fuji Vibe’ conquered more territory for the Fuji. His conquest required the help of Magicsticks, his go-to producer and The Compozers, sidemen for his live gigs. This explains why it is a song of two parts. In the first part, Asake waxes hurriedly over a combination of recorded talking drums and electronic log drums, and Magicsticks is in creative control. Here, Asake adjusted his delivery from the Olamide-inspired flow of ‘Shodamo’, working on intonation and syllabic inflections, a change he made when he ported the song to a Fuji base at least three years ago. The Compozers take charge of the song’s second half with a polyphonic drum sequence interspersed with recorded responses from Asake’s concerts, an interpolation from 2020’s ‘Mr. Money’ played on electronic keys, and a refrain of the nickname he earned from that song: “Mr. Money, Money Dance!”
Most West African music genres are created through collaboration. Palmwine music was born when Kru seamen of Sierra Leone and Liberia would gather after work and combine what instruments were within reach—guitars, hand-beaten drums, accordions—to make music as free-spirited and jovial as the alcoholic drinks that inspired its creation. Apala originated from men congregating for celebrations to strike matchboxes (the precursor to Apala drums) and make music. This communal spirit bleeds into ‘Fuji Vibe’, where Asake is both lead composer and vocalist.
Asake’s themes are far from esoteric, drawing from the loose talk of slightly inebriated men out under a natural shade on a humid afternoon. Top on the agenda for Asake is an admiration for the female form: “Baby, you catch my feelings, ahn-ahn/ I'm getting weak ahn/ You dey shack my head like gbana/ This your booty, are you from Ghana?” In this way, he dials back once more to 2022’s ‘Joha’, where a similarly large-sized backside demands a similar inquiry: “Olomi o kere, your ikebe na super/ Shey your bumbum fami gan-gan, kin le ke Hallelujah?” and then, “Joanna ju ibadi bi omo Ghana.”
His proposition to his gluteal muse drips with swagger and innate confidence in her acceptance. His offer is an invitation to his luxury lifestyle of high fashion merchandise: Balenciaga items, trips to America, and, of course, gratuitous credit transfers to her bank account: “Ibadi yẹn fẹ ki n ṣe wire into your aza.”
It is not an Asake track if there is no chest-thumping about his musical prowess. He sings, “I no want to talk, plenty talk, my record can back it up,” but leaves a couple of sentences to dispel a measure of supercilious gratitude.
“Ọmọ ọpẹ, I dey find my way/ Make bad belle no come stop my reign/ Bẹbẹ n lọ like a moving train/ Fun mi big big money, no chicken change.” None of these statements feature in the earlier versions. As Asake grows in stature and expands in his reach, it is harder to consider his self-praise as excessive. Asake’s versatility on Lungu Boy is what makes the addition of ‘Fuji Vibe’ so important. The album initially debuted to somewhat mixed reviews, but it was tuned to be more positive with time. It has particularly been praised for allowing Asake to expand his worldview—beyond the usual suspects Fuji, Amapiano, and Rap—to encompass R&B, Dancehall, and even a bit of Calypso. This comes at the expense of his Nigerian roots, so ‘Fuji Vibe’ stands as a compromise. By reaching into the past with more care and authenticity than most Street Hop tunes have ever done (even more than ‘Joha’) he showcases the importance of Fuji, that vital Afropop protogenre. Asake understands that while his ingenuity and versatility are great strengths, culture is his most distinct marker.
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The more critical ear may find a few things missing from Asake’s recreation, but Asake’s intentions for ‘Fuji Vibe’ are highlighted in its title: a fun toast to the genre and not necessarily the most faithful recreation of it. He wants you to feel as loose and invigorated as he does in his live performances. If you thought Asake’s dance for ‘Joha’ was energetic and cumbersome, his arrangement for ‘Fuji Vibe’ is even more tedious, consisting of choreographed backup singers, intricate legwork sequences and a hand motion that calls to mind the mannerisms of Lagos ‘area boys’.
The response to ‘Fuji Vibe’ in pop culture and on streaming platforms suggests his audience has warmed up to it: the song peaked at number 9 on Turntable’s chart, the fourth highest of any track on the star-studded project. It rouses hope for a future where mainstream Nigerian music can return to genres like Fuji and Apala, not just for reinvention but restoration.
Time is a tool in Asake’s hands. For ‘Fuji Vibe’, he reaches into the past, taking you back to those OAU days. With very little to his name, music was a possible path to a better life—the hope that he would someday achieve stardom. The only way to earn that was to display all of the talents in his arsenal. And Asake did just that: he sang with passion and danced with verve, even if no one else was joining in. These are the days he now recounts with a quiet triumph on ‘MMS’: “Once upon a time, once upon a time / When I just dey try, when I just dey try/ When I drop a song, I go need to dance/ I dey waka kurukere, I dey pay my price.” You know how the rest of the song goes…
For an album that promised to transport you to Asake’s ghetto, Lungu Boy’s bearing is mostly off-kilter, but there are moments when you can grasp a little of Asake’s history and humanity. One is on ‘Fuji Vibe’, between the verve of its first half and the vigour of the second, where Asake invites you to share in his favourite moments—performing music he loves to a crowd that adores him.
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Patrick damọ. Ota lẹ nù.
This is quite eye-opening, ear-soothing and enjoyable.