When I first picked up Sila’s new album, I was skeptical. With a title like The Funkiest Man In Africa, Sila is setting himself up to fall short. While Sila openly admits that the title’s prestige belongs to his idol, Fela Kuti alone, it remains a rather bold hook. Compounding my skepticism of the San Francisco-based singer was his claim to a new American-African funk cross-fertilization: Afrofunk. Few artists, African or American, have succeed in pioneering an entirely unique musical style all their own – Fela is one of the rare, and perhaps best know, successes. Predictably, I was disappointed when I listened to it. The first draft of this review was scathing and pejorative; I compared every aspect of Sila and his band to Fela Kuti, and Sila simply couldn’t measure up. As I got over my initial skepticism and gave the album a few more listens, though, I gradually warmed up to its rock-solid drum and bass backbone, its searing horns and interlocked guitars. While I still have some critiques, the album, taken on its own and apart from its presumptuous title, is a terrific work of contemporary funk.
As a group, the Afrofunk Experience is impeccably tight, recalling the crisp punch of James Brown, the sweltering groove of the Meters and the irresistibly danceable feel of Prince. The masterful percussion of Samba Guisse adds subtle texture and syncopation to many of the tracks while dueling guitars spin fela-esque interlocking guitar parts. The real jewel of the band, though, is the horn section. The powerful trio of trumpet, trombone and saxophone expertly nails sparse, punchy lines and screaming solos on the up-beat, funky songs “Boom Boom Boom,” “Funkiest Man in Africa” and the opening track “Got no Money,” “Get No Respect,” while adding beautifully smooth and melancholy riffs over the dubby track “Justice.” On the melodious New Orleans-style “Dancing Shoes,” Sila urges us to forget our worries (to “give in, give up, put on dancing shoes”), as the horns rise in beautiful harmony with weaving guitars and bass over the march of brushed drums.
As in most of his songs, Sila’s message in “Dancing Shoes” is as strong as the musicianship on the album. On “Got No Money, Get No Respect,” Sila decries the inequality afflicting less fortunate nations and people everywhere. “Why” and “Justice” explore similar issues while “Get Up” urges us to take action against injustice and the corruption of government. While Sila’s message is strong, his voice sometimes feels stretched, at points reaching beyond what his natural tenor can muster. Aside from some hackneyed verse (“Nobody’s perfect…No matter who you are” “doesn’t matter…we’re all the same.”), however, Sila’s vocals are rarely a problem, lending even more energy to the band’s exuberant performance.
Ultimately, Sila does not create a unique style with The Funkiest Man. While he draws inspiration from the funk greats, often to exceptional ends, the songs on the album add nothing new to the funk universe. Each song, however, works a distinct, expertly executed angle on funk, often (though not enough) incorporating African polyrhythm and depth into time-honored, yet original funk grooves as old as James Brown and James Jamerson. Sila may have a disproportionately large ego, but the quality and quantity of funk packed into The Funkiest Man certainly allays, if not abolishes the absurdity of its title.
