A New Spin on an Enduring Protest Album

The music of Afrobeat innovator and activist Fela Anikulapo Kuti had always been part of the background for Stephanie Shonekan, the daughter of a Nigerian father and a Trinidadian mother. But it wasn’t until 1989, during her mandatory year of national service in the northeastern Nigerian town of Yola, that she truly heard it.

In that hot, quiet setting, where time moved slowly and distractions were few, Shonekan listened to the new album “Beasts of No Nation,” which a friend and Fela fan had on constant rotation. For the first time, she began to absorb not just the rhythms but the message. A scathing critique of global leaders as corrupt “beasts,” the album wasn’t just music; it was a wake-up call.

Shonekan went on to become an ethnomusicologist, publishing articles and book chapters on Afrobeat, Fela, Nigerian and African American hip-hop, and soul and country music. Her 2008 award-winning short film “Lioness of Lisabi” was inspired by Fela’s mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, a pioneering feminist and revolutionary in her own right.

Now dean of the University of Maryland’s College of Arts and Humanities, Shonekan has written the new book “Sorrow Tears and Blood” (Bloomsbury), which delves into the meaning and impact of Kuti’s 1977 album, released in the wake of a brutal military raid on his home and commune by nearly 1,000 soldiers. The attack, which left many injured and resulted in the death of his mother, was a turning point in Kuti’s political defiance. Shonekan’s book weaves personal reflection, cultural history, critical analysis and musical insight to situate the album within a wider narrative of Nigerian postcolonial identity.

We spoke with Shonekan about why the album still matters, how music can inspire change and who’s carrying on Fela’s legacy today.

Fela released nearly 50 albums. Why did you choose “Sorrow Tears and Blood” as the focus of this book?
It was an easy choice. That moment in 1977 offered so much to reflect on. The album is an iconic representation of Fela’s body of work and allowed me to explore fundamental questions about who we are and how we got here.

You bring your own story into the book—why was that important to you?
In 1977, I was about 9 or 10 years old. I remember the sirens, the motorcades. I remember people running to find shelter, and waking up to news of yet another coup. I wanted to bring that lived experience into the book. As an ethnomusicologist, I ground my work in the humanities and the arts, but also in who I am.

The album consists of just two long tracks, yet it reveals a historical narrative from colonialism through the 1970s. How does Fela manage to convey so much?
Fela is unique in that way—so searing, so pointed, so militant, but also brilliantly danceable. His music is about building an experience. He used call and response to pull the audience into the story, to make them feel part of the music-making. In these two songs, there are few lyrics, but the meaning runs deep. The first song, “Sorrow Tears and Blood,” is about what's happening contextually with the military and democracy. And then in “Colonial Mentality” he's asking us to reflect and figure out if we’re complicit; if we’re going to do something. If you lived through that history, you feel it immediately. My role was to unpack those layers, so readers could fully understand what’s happening in the music and why it matters.

What do you think music can do that other forms of activism can’t?
Music creates space for reflection. You put on headphones, you listen deeply, and that’s when transformation can happen. You’re not being shouted at—you’re invited to feel something, to think, to change your mind. That kind of personal engagement is hard to replicate through protest slogans or political speeches. Music stays with you.

Is there a contemporary artist that you see using music as both a sanctuary and a weapon, as Fela did?
With albums like “Lemonade” and “Black Is King,” Beyoncé blends social commentary with beauty and joy. She’s saying something powerful, but you can also dance to it. Beyoncé even sampled Fela at Coachella, which to me speaks volumes.